#For those brave enough to read them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

baepsays · 2 months ago

Text

I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN) ‧₊˚𓇢𓆸 ⸻ clan head Gojo

CHAPTER ONE: Lord Gojo

𓍯𓂃 pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

𓍯𓂃 description⋙ navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.

𓆰𓆪 cw in this chapter⋙ canon divergence, nsfw, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, one sided conflict, one sided pining, suggestive stuff, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), internalized misogyny on reader's part, insecurities, dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, self deprecation on reader's behalf, angst, some fluff, condescending Gojo, they do stuff in bed idk how to explain, manhandling, love bites, hickeys and marks, teasing, so much teasing, very lowkey dirty talk, talk about virginity, mentions of breeding, there is reluctant consent, emotionally detached Gojo, Gojo is just a bit mean, sexual tension in the air or just need to runaway? reader in her early thirties, Gojo is in his mid thirties.

𓍯𓂃 a/n: hope you have fun reading <3 art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt. if you'd like to be added to the tag list, refer to the series masterlist<3

word count: 7.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIEW . NEXT CHAPTER>>

The world of jujutsu was reformed drastically following the events of devastation that took place during the Shinjuku showdown. Many lives were lost, and many were left alive with the misfortune of living with the memories of the events. One such person happened to be the strongest himself, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru basically came back from touching death himself.

The sheer surprise of his life being spared after all that he went through to have his students win a losing battle, and live a better life as a sorcerer—was enough to have rumors circulate that perhaps the now scarred up Gojo Satoru is just a shell of a man from who he used to be.

The intensity of his powers were apparently dulled, especially the six eyes. The great blessing and curse on Gojo Satoru’s name, his six eyes, were left intact, but rendered basically powerless.

But it did not matter how much Gojo Satoru has weakened, how the current state of him could not compare to who he was. Because this was a man who has escaped death time and time, any fear that may have been there in those glowing eyes, was gone to say the least.

If one does think of it, Gojo Satoru is just as much of a changed man as everyone thinks of him to be, the nights he used to sleeplessly spent were now spent with a better sleep schedule. False pretenses were dropped. He was older, wiser, a man who has been struck with grief all through his life, and was now living a more predictable life. Now he just spent his days looking after his estate, staff, and helping his students as much as he could as a more powerful figure, in terms of not only his physical but also political capabilities.

The gruesome news of what took place in the room of the higher ups before the Shinjuku showdown was the first of such help. Just whispers were heard about the state of the room, if he was ever bravely asked of what exactly happened that day, the eerie smile was enough, on top of his now mostly left uncovered eyes.

The need for silence was more needed than boasting what he had done, with no remorse, as he never felt any for the vile people present in that room that day. As the jujutsu world was more or less at peace, the clan politics was still present, silently fuming away from everyone’s eyes. And as the head of the Gojo clan, he had to step up to his role more proficiently.

And with the newfound responsibilities and increasing age, the pressure to find a wife was becoming more and more vital.

Hope was not something you relied on usually, or at all. As a person born with no actual cursed energy to wield them in a battlefield, other than being mildly able to see horrifying entities float around, it was hard.

It was hard as it is to be a non-sorcerer born into a family of jujutsu sorcerers, it was probably harder as an unmarried woman, now in her thirties, surrounded by people who deem women nothing more than a womb on a pair of legs.

It was no concern to them if the world was burning down or if you were dying, your apparent reproductive clock was better understood by them than you. At least as a child it was a hush hush, and tease of sorts when the topic of your future husband was brought up, which was more often than not. This went on until you graduated university like any other normal human being, as the world of jujutsu did not seem to work out.

You liked that life. The normal life that these people looked down upon, making normal friends, falling out with them over petty reasons than losing them to some blood hungry curse, going on trips them them, stressing about exams, pulling all nighters to submit assignments, getting asked out on dates, growing plants, spending weekends by reading books and binge watching some show.

There was nothing significant in the lifestyle these people aspired for and maintained.

And you did not want to end up in an unfamiliar house having to start from scratch, how to mind yourself and navigate the unprovoked stares of disgust. Especially by a man who was supposed to love you for better and for worse, til death does you apart—if it were up to you, you would not like to bind yourself to this man, to begin with.

But then again, that was all wishful daydreaming. Especially when you are already sitting in a reserved private room at some fancy place, waiting to meet another prospective husband. At this point you have met at least over ten or hundred possible husbands, you have lost the count. To your parents and the clan, they were either too obnoxious, not as affluent as them, too egregious, not influential enough, or not as powerful as them. But this was no ordinary prospective meeting. After all this was the potential meeting that could tie your family to the Gojo clan.

He was everything they wanted to be, had all the qualities they were looking for in your future husband, and everything they despised. He was too egregious, too obnoxious, too condescending, righteous to a fault, and too giving. Yet, it did not waver their desire to have you tied down to this man. That was the effect of Gojo Satoru. It did not matter how much he had weakened in terms of physical strength compared to the new generation, it was how he boasted about that weakness and walked with his head higher than ever.

You did respect the man immensely. But you could not help but hold grudges against this man, whom you are yet to even meet. Grudges over how freely he lived. You have never in your life felt jealous of your peers’ powers, surely you have felt resentment. But that was fault of your own blood. But this man in particular you could not escape, probably even to the pits of hell he will follow you there to agonize your life.

The thought of possibly calling him your husband made your stomach fill with bile.

Your silent thoughts ran wild as you waited silently, sitting opposite an empty chair, surrounded by people chattering anxiously about the absent man in question. Your parents, a few important members of your clan, and a few members of the Gojo clan started to become more and more weary about the clan head’s arrival.

The clamour in the room stopped way before the doors to the room slid open. That was the sort of energy he exuded. Enigmatic and formidable.

The man who walked in, adorned in the most finely made white haori, complementing his hair, with a scarf around his neck. He looked almost the part of the groom, with half the outfit already hanging off his shoulders. But it was not the careful stitching of the jacket, or his sculpted body peeking through the compressed shirt beneath his jacket, or the piercing blue orbs set on you, that made you static in your seat—breathless even.

The three big scars that cut through his left cheek, under his right eye, and the one stretching from his chin down his jawline, accompanied by more scattered and faded out smaller scars, spread through every visible part of his body—that is what had your mind standing still in awe.

“Ah! Greetings Gojo-sama. Such an honor to be in your presence, finally.” Your father’s voice brought you out of the blue pupils assessing every single cell on your body. The realization that you had dared to hold gaze with Gojo Satoru of all people, that too on your first meeting, ran your throat dry. Quickly training your eyes on the table in front of you, as if it was the most interesting piece of furniture, you reached for the glass of water served to you. Hoping, praying, begging that you did not just offend him.

“Why? I made everyone wait too long.” The tone of his voice suggested anything but a polite question. Maybe steadiness and jest, but no place for ease.

“No! Of course not, in fact you are right on time!” One of the Gojo clan members quipped beside him. Looking ever so slightly from the edge of your eyelashes, you presumed this was the usual.

“Really? Then do you mind telling me if I'm actually on time or not? ” The question was directed to no one in the room but you.

“Gojo-sama, how can she-” Satoru cuts off your mother before she could finish the poor excuse she was about to make, “I was clearly not speaking to you, was I? Now, are you able to answer my simple question or simply too fascinated by the table?” A calculative smile stretched across his face.

“It is made out of cedar wood if you are wondering about that.”

The tone of his voice and that smile irritated something in you. All your life you have been a compliant decorative doll made out of unmoving porcelain, yet the sheer change in the inconspicuous inflection of this man’s words, pissed you off beyond everything.

“You are 24 minutes late.” The words came out unusually harsher than your usual voice. “Gojo-sama.”

The last bit of that respect came from the instant realization of what you did, followed by your mother’s eyes almost popping out of its sockets and your father’s disappointed sigh. They were as sure as you were, that this meeting is not going to work out in their favor. You were, on one hand ecstatic to have ensured that you were never going to be called this man’s wife, on the other hand the anticipation of what was to follow this meeting once you get home, made your stomach drop.

The members of either clan were already engaged in a dispute of words. “How dare a woman born with no cursed energy speak in such a tone with the head of the Gojo clan!” one of the members of his clan spoke with displeasure, slightly sitting up in his seat.

“Please excuse her insolence, she does not know any better. Apologize. Right this instance.” Your father urged you with his teeth pressed together.

You should’ve noticed the anger in his tone, but you were too busy observing the man sitting in front of you, from the curtains of your eyelashes as you held your head low. He sat with his grinning face held in his hand, the elbow of the said hand rested on the table, as he took a big sip of his tea. All the while boring his gaze in your, already itching with discomfort, skin.

The sound of the cup of tea pressed between his shining lips, being set down on the cedar table made everyone stop their sharp words thrown your way. It was definitely not the sound that the cup made, but rather whose cup it was, that made them halt their charges.

“I see. Then I must apologize to my wife to be, for making her wait that long for me.”

Weddings are difficult.

It takes a lot of preparation. Mentally and physically, it is extremely straining and of course the preparation, just organizing a lot of things all at once, drives one insane. The venue, the guests, the font for the wedding invitation, gifts for the guests, flowers, color of the silverware etc. meticulous things. And it takes a lot of people to have two people unite, in the name of the law and society, with God as the witness. But it is particularly harder to realize the significance of the act of being wed to a person, when you have no idea who that person is beyond the whispering gossips and scars of battle adorning his pretty face.

When you had no contribution to the choices made for the wedding preparation, or the person you are to be wed, it all feels less magical and more of a fever dream. The days before the wedding, you spent them holed up in your room, not really doing anything more than what you were required to do. So you solemnly spent those swift days contemplating things over and over again.

You thought you might not want to see your husband to be, before the wedding itself. But when the week before the wedding your father informed you that Gojo Satoru himself seeked out to have dinner at your house, you could not help but anticipate the sight of him. Wondering if he might show up in more casual clothing than his formal getups, wondering if the scar under his eye is still the same or did it somehow morph its shape, even if it has only been three weeks since you have seen him.

So you could not help but feel disappointment when he never showed up. All the food that was decorated on the dinner table was already cold, when an informant came to tell that, ‘Gojo-sama has sent the word that he cannot make it, and he is deeply apologetic to his fiance.’

Your shoulders sagged down as quickly as your father just asked everyone to start their meal. You did not understand the loss of appetite when everything before you was so delicious. It was all very confusing, maybe you just wanted to see him one last time before the wedding to reassure yourself. But then again, you cannot get rid of the doubt that did not stem from worry, but is fostered by fear.

“Are you ready?” your mother's voice made you look away from the reflection of yourself and instead your eyes focused on her. Because at least the harshness in her voice was more familiar than your own reflection.

“Time for you to enter. Everyone is waiting.”

The idea of being a married woman, to the strongest, at that—made the weight of the ceremonial kimono feel heavier than any piece of clothing you have ever dawned. The hood of the wataboshi partially covering your face felt like a shield, because while walking down the aisle it hid your eyes from peeking a glimpse of your groom. As much as it felt like you were dying, with the way your throat was constricting, making it harder for any air to pass—you could not help but take a peek at your groom, from below your hood, who was already standing there waiting for you.

His back was facing the shrine’s altar, and his eyes were trained on you. He looked like no other groom. Probably because no other groom has ever welcomed his bride with such a huge grin, while showing his back to the altar. It was Gojo Satoru after all. When has he done anything the usual way?

“Goodness, felt like you took forever sweetheart.”

His extended hand reached for yours, to pull you up to the podium, to have you stand beside him. The sight of his palms practically swallowing your entire hand, felt foreign. But the coldness emitting off his touch was worse. It was weird that he was touching you, but at the same time, it felt as if he was far away from your grasp. The distance and the coldness was far too sharp for you to keep holding his hand. And he probably understood that as well, as he loosened his grip to let you slip your hands out of his as soon as you could.

How the entire thing happened was beyond you. Your head was too occupied with how gorgeous he looked in his groom’s wear. Or maybe his blinding hair, or the scars scattered all over him, making him look more commanding than terrifying. It was all just very swift, if you had to describe it.

One moment you are contemplating whether you should make a run for it, not that it would help you. And then in another few seconds you two are already on your third cup of sake, completing the san-san-kudo ceremony, uniting yourself to him and joining your name to his.

“Still want to make a run for it sweets?”

You just looked at him, slightly horrified. “Anyone with two eyes can tell what you are thinking if they can catch a glimpse behind that hood, and I have six of them.” There was a tone of jest in his voice and the grin on his face.

“No. I, am just not feeling that well since this morning.”

“Then we must do something about that.” In one quick second, you were suspended in the air in his arms, your body was held close to his chest with the help of his arms.

The yelp that left your lips sounded louder than it should have, because that room full of relatives and influential people fell silent to the ordeal in front of them. But your astonishment was not due to the fact that your newly officialized husband has decided to embarrass you in a shrine where god witnessed your union—it was rather how contrary to the earlier, he felt warm.

“You feel warmer.” you could not help but let your thoughts slip out in a murmur. “Surprised?” you nod hesitantly realizing how that slipped out in a murmur.

“My infinity was up earlier, I noticed how you got startled. And how dare I make Lady Gojo flinch. ” There was a sense of tease in his tone, but also laced with pride and maybe some joy? He never fails to leave you perplexed. You had nothing to answer to that. Lady Gojo. That is who you were. The weight of your title made your head spin as Gojo walked you two out of the shrine, with you still in his arms.

The reception went as smoothly as it could have. Honestly coming to the reception was harder than the reception itself. Being in an enclosed space with Gojo was really more scary than marrying him in front of thousands of people. Now you just have to do exactly that for the rest of your life, or until your services are required.

He did not say or do anything much for the better part of the car ride to the location, other than handing you a water bottle and some packed riceballs, which were kept in the car before you two got there, with his instructions you presumed. You took it without any reluctance.

“Eat well. Who knows how much you might be able to eat there.” He was not wrong, you were expected to look and act as the perfect newly wed bride to the Gojo clan head, and that meant sitting there pretty and smiling at everyone. So you silently ate what you were given, unperceptive to those blue eyes staring at you with the intention of noting down every little detail about you, as a grin involuntarily stretched across his face, unbeknownst to either of you. Just Ichiji saw that in the rear view mirror and felt some relief for his employer.

With congratulations coming left and right, the title of Lady Gojo, being thrown at you at the end of every sentence, you could only think that your husband was right. Even the people of your previous clan were more respectful to you than they ever have been. As nice as they all have been, the pressure still hung suffocatingly high in the air. And you understood it had everything to do with the Gojo name being attached to you now. Or maybe it was Gojo Satoru himself, attached to you at every step, who made them hold their tongue. Your groom made it his mission to follow you around wherever you went, and loomed over every conversation you had with every familiar or unfamiliar individual.

“Will you let her breathe in peace?” “You really thought he was not going to be too much at his own wedding?” Two people chimed, with another man following them closely with solemn eyes.

“Sure, make my wife hate me . Some friends you guys are.” Never in your life you thought you would see Gojo Satoru pout. He was formidable, smug, maybe petty, and condescending, but the only thing you could think for a second was, cute.

Upon introduction you acquainted yourself with Geto Suguru, Irie Shoko, and Nanami Kento. Few of Gojo Satoru’s friends and comrades. They were probably the only people you had a sound and relaxed conversation with. Satoru seemed more at ease around them as well. They were in fact, the first bunch of people you felt were nice to you without any incentive hanging over them. The individual dynamic they have with your husband, and just all four of them together made you feel jealous of their bond. But again, that is something one only gains by growing up together or almost dying beside each other. And they have all of it.

The night ended soon after with everyone taking their leave, and the hall slowly becoming desolate. Satoru was ready to retire for the day as well. As he went to have the car fetched for you two to take your leave, your mother took advantage of that chance to catch you in the hallway, before you could leave after your goodbyes.

“You do know what you have to do tonight. Yes?”

The grip she had on your arm became increasingly tighter as each second passed without an affirmative answer from you. “Yes.”

“Do as you are instructed. And just let him take it.” Those were the last words you heard from your mother. Any sane person would gag at such interaction, but it was no more a surprise to you. Seeing your mother put on a faux smile as she entered the main hall, with one last glance at your way, ‘take it’ , that is all that you heard. You have been taught to just take it, all your life. If your male cousin likes your things, they can just take it. Your father is scolding you for speaking an octave too high, you just have to take that. You have to simply take all the snide comments and slimy suggestions, they are for your own good. When people made fun of your lack of powers, you were told to just take it as a lesser being. And now as you sit beside your newly wed husband, while being driven to his estate, you have to mentally prepare yourself to just let him take it.

After all that is all you were made for, that is all you are worth.

“Still not feeling well?”

The sudden question made you look at the source of the voice sitting beside you on the plush leather seats. “Yes?”

“Yes, you are not feeling well? Or yes, you were not listening to me?”

“Oh. I am sorry.” “Was that either of the options? Hmm?” The smile on his face was oddly comforting, and genuine. But that made it all more sickening.

“I did not hear you, I was just distracted.” “I guessed as much.” He did not say anything more, he looked away and went back to facing his side of the window, as did you. Or so you thought.

Satoru has been observing you since he came back from getting Ichiji to get the car up in front of the hotel, where the reception was held. He followed you closely from behind sensing the cloud of distress making its way back above your head. He somehow managed to get rid of them during the reception, and something or someone ruined all his hard work. And he did not appreciate that.

Right now he was trying to get a glimpse of your reflection on his side of the window. It was not slick. Nor was it very effective. Trying to find your eyes in the dark tinted glass was making him annoyed. He just wanted to hold your face in both his hands and stare down in your irises to draw out all the unspoken answers from the depths of your soul.

But that would effectively scare you off more than you already were.

So the next best thing was showing concern through more subtle actions. Like running out of the car just as it stopped on the stone driveway, in front of the huge doors of the main entrance. He made his way over to your side before you could even open your door. And in a blink of eye you were back in his arms. Now without the Haori, his skin was much warmer through the fabric of his Montsuki.

“Don't want you to tire yourself out more." He mumbled, way too close to your face than you would appreciate, his eyes were focused on the stairs leading into the entrance of your new house.

“Who am I if not your most obedient servant, Lady Gojo.”

Now it felt like he was trying his best to embarrass you. Was he trying to patronize you?

“You should not say something like that Gojo-sama, what if someone heard you?”

“If someone dared to eavesdrop on words meant for my wife, in the privacy of my arms— they know better than gambling with their lives.” The chuckle that left him was anything but humorous. The threat was very real behind those words, probably more present in his voice than his words.

The walk to the bedroom was long, it took many turns at long hallways to reach what seemed like the opposite end of the entryway. Where stood two sliding doors proud and all alone in that entire hallway. And every step he took to get closer to them felt like a sigh of breath leaving your throat to never return. And he probably felt that with the gripping dent of your nails in the back of neck, but he welcomed that. He felt nothing but contentment in you losing your composure in his arms. And he wished for nothing, but a lifetime of you letting yourself express your most hidden self in his arms, and have you leave your mark on him.

The bedroom was huge. And it was decorated with more than hundred candles, to perceptive eyes. All the expensive decoration, furniture, painting and scroll went invisible to your eyes—because there was only one thing in that room that caught your interest.

The bed. It stood on all its strong legs, near the huge windows overlooking the outside. It was surrounded by more candles, scented ones. And it smelled like the ocean and sweet tropical fruits. There were bouquets of roses and Lilies on each side of the bed, on the bedside tables. As Satoru placed you down on the fluffy and soft covers, the mattress almost engulfed you in itself. And it all became too real.

You might be Lady Gojo now. But the man hovering above you was Lord Gojo.

He can joke about being at your beck and call all he wants, but he was not the one married off to serve you. It was you who was instructed to just be a good wife and take it. You were here, on his bed, to serve him. To let him take you, take your virginity, and claim you as one of his many conquests. All you were good for, was to lie there and take his seed, to give him an heir and silently sit in a corner unless you are spoken to.

So why was he walking away from you?

“You are not- going to?” the hand you used to hold onto his wrist, to prevent him from walking away from you, was shaking.

“What do you mean?” The scrunch of his eyebrows made you think for a second he might be genuinely confused about what you might be referring to.

“You should know what I mean.” He truly is such a cruel man.

“If you don't speak to me clearly, I am afraid, I am too dumb to understand.” The smirk on his face said otherwise. “You are so mean.”

“How am i being mean to my own wife, if i don’t even understand what she is implying, hmm?”

“How will it be any more helpful if I say it out loud?” “I don’t know? You might have to find out for yourself.” He was annoying you now.

“I am trying to perform our duties and get over this, Gojo-sama.” Hopefully your stern voice camouflaged your nervousness and fear.

“Do you want to consummate our marriage that bad, Gojo-sama?”

The incredulous look on your face upon being addressed by the same title as him, by Gojo Satoru himself, was the last thing you expected out of this conversation.

“You- you, just- cannot address me like that!” “Why not? You are also a Gojo now. In fact, you are the lady of the clan now.” His argument was making more sound sense to you than your own head.

“I would have to argue your position is much more important than mine. From this day forward you are also Gojo-sama whether you like it or not. I hope you get used to it. And I don’t want to be called out by some title by my own wife.”

“You keep saying ‘my wife, my wife’, yet you are acting oblivious about our marital duties!” Suddenly the air was much heavier than how lightly it was circulating through the huge room. “You might get away with putting up a front, but my position in this marriage has been set in stone. So please spare me the questions and put an heir in me as soon as you can.”

You anticipated an array of reactions after such audacious proclamations. You guessed as much, the very second your tongue stopped speaking, the emotions on his face might be anything but that humorous and kind softness he has, oh so graciously, offered you up to this moment so far. And that made you look away from his face, which looked more halted than stoic, and in your experiences, surprises are almost always followed by anger or joy. And you were definitely not expecting him to clap his hand and offer you a big smile.

Your hand on his hand felt more foreign than before, so you pulled it off him. And it allowed him the satisfaction of at least not feeling your miserably shaking and soaking palm. And there it was, the anger.

Just as you let go of him, his own hand grabbed a mean grip on your wrist. It was confusing to understand what exactly happened in the moments after that. One second he is pulling you off the bed towards himself, next he is bending down to reach you half way across and pushing you on the bed with the weight of his body. You were essentially pinned onto your new marital bed. Both hands pinned on either side of your head, with a mean grip on your wrists by his huge calloused hands, and you were sure that you were done for.

“Since you have already cooked up these false ideas about what this relationship might look like, how about I show you a little glimpse into these imaginations?”

His face was probably close to yours by no more than half of one centimeter, you could feel his eyes searching for something in your own eyes, and you had no confidence to fake it. So you just shut your eyes real tight and waited for what was to come.

Satoru’s right hand glided itself from your wrist, to your forearm, under the sleeves of your kimono, until it reached up to your arms, where the bunched up clothing did not allow him any more access over your skin. The loud gulp you took, out of some sort of relief, was gone in a second.

Satoru was not a man to give up on the first hindrance, and people learn that usually the hard way. His eyes were more concerned with how your eyebrows were scrunched up, how tightly your eyes were closed and how your eyelashes were looking longer like that, or how you might end up making your lips bleed if you keep on biting down on them that hard. And how beautiful your neck looked, with the little knot in your throat going up and down with nervous gulps.

His right hand started working to get rid of the belts on your kimono, and his hand was slipping past every layer of clothing to reach your body. While his mouth made itself useful on your neck, peppering the most delicate kisses from the base of your neck, collar bones, along the column of your neck, up to your chin. And with several little scattered kisses on your jaw, Satoru’s eyes found your mouth open in a small gasp. Thankfully your lips did not bleed. But your eyes remained closed, too afraid to see what was going on, in the dim light of the candles illuminating the room in an orange hue, you were too scared.

You did not want to think about how his hand felt so cold and soothing on your burning skin or how his lips felt so warm and comforting. You did not want to see those blue eyes, or those scars spread all across his skin, particularly the one under his eye—it made you train your eyes back into those dilating pupils every time.

Satoru's hand was just below your breasts, it just stayed there. Sometimes moving an inch too close and then just going back to drawing circles around your torso, squeezing your waist at times—all while his teeth and lips worked all over your decolletage. Little bites and long intervals of his lips sucking marks around your neck, drew out hisses of pleasure out of you.

Who knew that being under your husband could make one feel this much pleasure?

His left hand never left its grip on your right hand. The platinum ring on his finger became warm over time, just like his cold hand, as it remained intertwined with your fingers. While his right hand found its way down your stomach, on the waistband of your panties. It was nothing impressive, not the sort of underwear one expects a newly wed bride to wear. It was a simple cotton panty, the bare minimum. Your family forgot that detail probably.

But Satoru absolutely did not mind. He liked the slightly loose elastic, it felt like any moment he could slip it off you, or slip his own hand inside. And it felt worn in, soft and malleable. He could tear it off you in a millisecond.

“Get it off already.”

“Ordering me around already, Gojo-sama? Hmm?” You were losing your patience. Who could’ve predicted that?

“Stop that.” “Stop what?” “You know what.”

“Again, Gojo-sama, if you do not tell me how will I know? Your poor, poor husband is not that sharp.” His patronizing voice vibrated in the crook of your neck.

“Stop. C-calling m. Me. Gojo-sama.”

“I don't know? Should I?

“Yes! You sound ridiculous!” Your eyes finally shit open and you rose up to now lean on your elbows, to get a better look at him. The unfastened kimono slipping off you and pooling under you in the process.

His eyes remained trained on you, hooded and shadowed by storms and turmoil in the blue sea, as he found refuge between your open legs. He was practically lying on your breast, with your bra on the verge of slipping off and giving him easy access to them, to mark them all over in pink and purple. Because clearly the plethora of lovebites on you, were not enough.

He did not say anything. Just the hand which was previously on your waistband, glided downward until it reached the back of your knees. His fingers worked with stealth while his eyes distracted you, like a predator. He grabbed onto your knee and pushed you back down on the bed, as both his hands found their place back on your wrists. While he cozied himself between your legs, and sat back on his knees.

He leaned in close enough to hover his own set of lips just above your own, just as they barely made contact—he moved his neck to glide those lips across your cheek, to your ear.

“I am glad we agree.”

“Then I can count on you, to not call me by that title again, right sweetheart?”

You did not have to see his eyes or his face to nod an instant yes.

“Use your words. Lady Gojo.” His voice came out harsher than ever.

“I won't call you that again.”

“Ah. What an obedient wife you are. Hmm? Your parents will be proud.”

With those last words dripping with nothing but sarcasm, he got off you. He silently fixed your kimono, tucked you in, and kissed your forehead with a whisper of goodnight. Right before he left you there to contemplate what just happened, and locked himself in the bathroom attached to your bedroom, for what felt like more than an hour. You did not really know if you were supposed to wait for him or not, what was he going to do when he came back?

All sorts of thoughts raced through your head, as you drifted into sweet slumber, on the most soft and comfortable bed you've ever come across in your life.

While Gojo Satoru hunched over the sink, looking like a freshly ripened tomato. He stared at himself into the mirror, with nothing but disbelief at his own audacity.

The morning came faster than it should have. It felt particularly premature to you when you spent the rest of your night, after the events that took place on your marital bed, by watching the ceiling above you with a blank stare. You did pass out for a brief while, but that was out of being overwhelmed to the point of losing consciousness. You were not sure if this was ok, to sleep in this huge room by yourself. But you could not, or maybe did not want to stop Satoru from storming out of the bathroom, and then speeding out of the room without sparing you a single glance. You wanted to enjoy one night peacefully in this bed, to compensate for many tumultuous ones to inevitably follow.

Even when getting off your bed to pace around the room, to maybe tire yourself out, sleep did not come. But if getting married was not tiresome enough to knock you out, then maybe walking around the room won’t do you any good as well. So you decided to take a walk in that huge garden sitting outside the floor to ceiling windows nearby your bed.

You did not make it much far into the huge garden. After the neatly arranged traditional garden, laid vast lands of grass and wild flowers, and bushes, and an arrangement of trees, including two cherry blossom trees sitting across each other, along the edge of a lake. It was lit with the reflection of the moonlight, falling on the surface of its water, scattering everywhere in a chaotic rhythm, because of the busy fishes moving around in it, probably enjoying the serene night. You would have liked to go take a seat near the lake, on one of those benches placed around it. But when you approached the nearest bench, under one of the cherry blossom trees, you found your husband already occupying it.

Maybe in another world, you went up to it and sat down beside him silently, maybe you spoke with him and tried to start a conversation. Maybe you two just sat together in silence, or maybe he saw you and walked away. But in this world, you could not even cross the five feet of distance that laid between you and that bench. Instead you walked back to your room, as silently as you could. You spent the rest of the night trying to get some sleep, as you laid on your side, and stared out of those huge windows by your bed, until the dark sky became blue.

Who knows what the outcome could have been if you walked up to that bench last night. Who knows what could have happened if only Satoru turned around and asked you to sit down instead of patiently waiting for you to come up to him. I mean, you should know better, five feet of distance is not that much for their presence to go unnoticed by him or his six eyes. Especially when it is you.

The morning itself was more uneventful, compared to last night. The shower was particularly soothing. Especially where he touched you last night. Maybe it has something to do with his powers, you told yourself, but you knew better. Why it was burning everywhere he touched or why those marks of his teeth and lips stung so sweet—was not something you really wanted to think about, as it made you go weak in the knees.

It was all very uneventful, until you came out of the bathroom after your shower, to find Satoru sitting at the end of the bed. He was still in the black kimono from the wedding. He looked like he did not get any sleep either, or so it seemed, because this time around his eyes were covered with his blindfold. It was eerie, for most people to see Gojo Satoru without his black blindfold, but for you it was probably the other way around. It was weird to see him with it for once. And that person felt like an entirely different person, than the one you married yesterday.

“Goodmorning, Goj- Satoru-san.” His given name did not roll off your tongue the smoothest. But he appreciated that you listened to him.

“You can drop the honorifics as well.” There was an appreciative smile on his face as he spoke, but even with his blindfold on, you could tell that smile did not reach his face. “I do not know if I can.”

Satoru did not push you. One step at a time, right? Even if these steps did not come out of your own volition, but his petty threats, he still welcomed them with a humorous smile.

“I wanted to apologize about yesterday.” He did not suit humility, that is what you thought when a grin stretched along your face. Seeing him squirm and look so uncomfortable was new, even when his eyes were covered, you imagined them to look more sorry than body language. Satoru really was just not familiar with saying sorry, but he never backed away from apologizing when he needed to.

“I really crossed a line there, just to prove a point.” you did not say anything back but just stood in front of him with your freshly out of shower wet hair dripped droplets of water on the carpet. “I would understand if you do not want to forgive me, I would like to make it up to you however.” He was trying his best. His best to not stare at you blatantly in that silken baby blue robe clinging to your body, that he personally picked out for you. Or the peeking marks he left on you, that made him go dizzy. It was all him.

“It is alright.” you went to sit beside him, but instead of sitting just by him, you sat on one of the corners of the bed, keeping the distance between you two. “Really?”

“Yes. I do not think I would have minded if you went all the way. I do not really have any say in that.”

“What?” He genuinely looked confused for a few first seconds. Then something else creeped up on him, something close to pity or disgust.

“I was wedded off to you to serve you and your bloodline. It is my purpose.”

Satoru felt disgusted. By everyone and anyone who has ever made you think about yourself like this. But he was mostly disgusted by himself.

“I do not know how much more plainly I can put it, and it is not just some opinion of mine, it’s just the plain truth. You are wrong to think that.” He got off the bed, to stand in front of you. At an arms length he looked further away than he actually was. His shoulders looked stiff and his jaw was tight. You have somehow managed to piss him off by saying things you were instructed to say all your life, to not piss off your husband.

“You are wrong.”

That was all he said before he stormed out of the room without a second glance. Exuding the sort of energy that said he might erupt like an angry volcano any minute.

NEXT CHAPTER>>

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from watashitachi wa douka shiteiru drama adaptation. art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

honestly i have been cooking this for almost a month and i am so indecisive about what i wanted to do with him i do not want to make an angsty story where the angst is just because of Gojo being an ass, lol i think there are plenty of those, done far better than wtv i can do. so this guy is still very canon adjacent, emotionally unavailable in a way you know the people you think you have all figured but then suddenly you are like wtf??? i do not know anything about you. so lol i am using my own emotional constipation as heavy reference. he has many many layers, i want to explore his death in the shinjuku fight, his powers which i have left intact mostly but in a more weakened state than his students and what not. i want to explore his thoughts on that. reader's insecurities i wanted to make them as real as possible so if i make anyone sad, it was the goal, also i am sorry. it will get sadder just saying. even though i will make them have so many suffocating with tension scenes. it will be happy eventually!!! and i hope you guys likeee itttt

tag list (1): @cheralith @slayzzz @madamechrissy @gojosperms @naomigojo @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @tabalugax @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thetiredcollegestudent @tokyolhtl @emochosoluvr @moncher-ire @hyunjinspdf @younjunie @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis @em0cleo @novaisbebita @hisarmsaremycocoon @wise-fangirl @sheep-infog @arrozyfrijoles23 @ppejmurde @miizuzu @ricecake-mochi @tushkiiiiiii @ovela @69-gojos-wife-69 @fariylixie0915 @lxxnour @mereniss @theorphicangel

2K notes · View notes

loveanddeepsecrets · 3 months ago

Text

Domestic + Intimate Headcanons Pt. II

An impromptu two parter of me just spitballing (Pt. I for reference). This started out as a cutesy mini headcanon post for Raf’s bday, but quickly grew into hyper specific romantic scenarios and wishful thinking. It’s still probably clear who my mains are 😭 but I did my best to showcase the humility in all LIs

⤠ Disclaimer: I’m quite happy with the intimate headcanons from my initial post and truthfully couldn’t expand too too much without basically repeating myself from last time. So with the exception of Caleb, there’s a bit less spicy bullets this go-round :/

⤠ Tags: 18+, MDNI, *slight spoilers depending on affinity level or personal progress in main story +myths, fluff, mostly gender neutral, but written with an afab + fem!reader in mind

⤠ Word count: 2.1k (mostly proofread)

Xavier

SFW

✧ Eats the raisins you pick out of the trail mix

✧ Always draws stars next to your name when writing you letters/cards

✧ Bookstore dates. At every visit, you pick one of your favourite books to read for each other

✧ After begging him tirelessly to teach you a song, *any song* on the piano, he mischievously chose ‘Heart & Soul’

✧ Saves every voicemail/voice note. He often replays them to stay sane on dangerous solo missions

✧ On top of that, he made a bunny plushie version of you at one of those 'Build-A-Bear' type shops and used one of your voice notes . He sleeps with it on nights he can't sleep with you

✧ Sprays more cologne on his hoodies knowing you love the scent. He also thinks the extra spritz of fragrance will ward off other men since he knows you borrow his clothes. It’s his silent way of marking what’s his

✧ Loves making you blush. He didn't get enough time to court you in the past timeline on Philos, so he seizes every opportunity to (quite effortlessly) rizz you up to see your flushed expression

NSFW

✧ [canonically makes bolder moves to see how you’d react —secret times lvl 165]

✧ Game head. He gets a bit of an adrenaline rush if you do it while he’s online

✧ Doesn’t give not one shit about how loud you guys are. He probably prefers sex on the couch on the off chance Charlie might be passing through the hallway

✧ Though I still think he’s pretty quiet, he becomes a bit of a whiny mess when you’re edging him

✧ A gripper. Grabs on your ass during cowgirl, your chest during missionary, your hips/thighs during doggy, etc

✧ Sprained his neck from holding your hips down and guiding you when you sat on his face. It left him smirking throughout his recovery. Every painful twitch was a pleasant reminder of a job well done

✧ Has the fastest pace ot5. He moves at lightning speed when batting wanderers, so he probably moves at a back breaking break neck speed while inside of you

✧ After rewatching the 'No Restraint' card on YouTube… *sweats* he’s got magic fingers. I’ll put it like this and move on: firm, tiny circles 🫠

Caleb

SFW

✧ 10+ hours long face time calls

✧ Would actually be pretty decent at the claw machine if he wasn't such a massive cheater

✧ Utility man. He's your personal chauffer, home chef, alarm clock, umbrella, trainer, handyman, and so on. He strives to be the perfect emergency contact

✧ Has definitely seen those videos of couples trying to recreate yoga poses and had you try with him (would probably cheat using his evol)

✧ Bounces his leg if you scratch that one spot on his head when you play with his hair

✧ You always end up sitting on his lap when cuddling watching tv or reading peacefully together

✧ Holds pinkies more often than holding hands

✧ Super athletic and adventurous dates i.e. zip lining, skydiving, paragliding, kayaking, hiking, etc. He’s patient, encouraging, and talks you through the scariest parts of the activity and rewards you with several kisses in between telling you how brave you were

NSFW

✧ Hands down has the roughest sex regularly ot5

✧ Mile high club

✧ Orgasm denial + overstimulation

✧ LOUD, TALKATIVE, and MESSY

✧ Sloppy eater

✧ He expects a sloppy eater in return. Is probably the type to grab your head and start guiding you when he’s close

✧ Ik I said Xavier was bossy, but this man? His gravity evol? His colonel position? CONTROL FREAK

✧ Likely has the biggest “Sir” kink

✧ While I do think he aligns slightly more with booktok Sylus, I can’t see where degradation would fit with their dynamic. You’re the very thing he wants to shield and protect. Why would he degrade what he cherishes?

✧ On the softer side, he’s the type to melt into your touch. There’s true devotion in his eyes (and heart) when you’re making love

✧ On the days where he’s not rough, the sex is more sensual and almost tantric

✧ Will always find a way to be physically closer to you during the act. Whether it’s putting his forehead on yours, burying his face in your neck, hugging your waist, or simply holding hands

✧ You both probably cried (happy tears) after your first time. Being intimate felt like a confirmation from the universe that you knew each other more than words could express. There was no trial and error, you just knew

Sylus

SFW

✧ Hot air balloon rides

✧ Monogram matching robes

✧ Secret fan of game shows. He thinks they’re hilarious— or in his words “highly amusing”

✧ Bought you a birdhouse + birdfeeder for your apartment after he noticed you birdwatching on the last date

✧ Purposely chooses horror films on movie nights on the chance you’ll hold onto him and hide your face in his chest. He’ll laugh and make some remark about being hurt that you’d use him as a shield, but will hold you tighter and soothe you later in the night when you’re too scared to sleep

✧ Random slow dances. In the kitchen on the nights you make dinner together; in his study while music emits from his record player; in the bathroom, sleepily swaying side to side while lazily brushing your teeth

✧ Whenever you're holding hands, he often aimlessly draws random shapes on your ring finger

✧ I think all the LADS men have a default position they fall into when getting close or snuggling up. For Sylus, it’s resting his chin on your shoulder. It’s the perfect place to capture your scent plus, he can hear and feel your heartbeat. Of course he’ll playful bite or nuzzle into your neck, but he rests his head there because it’s most familiar and comforting to him and his old dragon form

NSFW

✧ Road head

✧ Mile high club

✧ Eye contact

✧ Has a secluded sex dungeon even Luke & Kieran don’t know about

✧ Due to the nature of his job, I don’t think he’d engage in explicit sexting. Too many people on his case and has probably dealt with his fair share of hackers. If one of your messages/photos/videos leaked anywhere, it would be the end of the N109 zone and the world as we know it

✧ That being said, if he wants to make home movies, it’s done with a vintage film camera to ensure the utmost privacy

✧ More of a grunter and groaner than a moaner. The few times he does moan, is when he’s buried between your legs

✧ I actually think he’d be into role play. He likes how you always keep him quick on his feet in your relationship, and will often humour and indulging in the change of pace. He’d like this even more in the bedroom

✧ Chuckles to himself and humours you whenever you suggest 69ing bc he knows you’ll inevitably just lay there with his dick idle in your hands, while you whimper on top of him

✧ Stamina coach. His methods for overstimulation are twofold. While he loves the state of you withering and coming completely undone, he also does this to help you expand your limitations and enjoy each other for as long as he can go. I already said he’s a pleasure dom, but he’s a pleasure dom with a purpose

Zayne

SFW

✧ Botanical garden tours

✧ Couples ice skating during the holiday season

✧ Uses his surgical skills to patch up injured plushies [x]

✧ He may or may not have added an extra rest day or two in your doctor’s note to Jenna so he can spend more time with you. He’ll deny it and insist you need the additional rest, and who better to take care of you other than your doctor?

✧ There’s something about the way he holds your hand that’s sickeningly sweet. Gentle, slightly cool to the touch that warms up quickly, with loving caresses

✧ Surprised you to a dessert degustation for your anniversary. Each dish is a highlight of the standout desserts you tried over the year

✧ Occasional late night strolls along the river. He passively recalls scenes from the western dramas you watch and (successfully) tries skipping rocks

✧ Enjoys exploring artistic outlets with you. Often suggests different workshops to try i.e. stained glass studios, culinary classes, candle making, terrarium building, etc

✧ A bit needy nowadays. To experience a love he never knew he could have, makes him hold your hand a little more tightly, hug you a few seconds longer and kiss you twice as many times as he did before

NSFW

✧ Much like Sylus, he’s also big on eye contact (when he’s in control)

✧ Literally the cutest thing ever when you go down on him. He’ll keep his composure, and lustfully tell you what he wants, but gets so flustered and stuttering as the pleasure builds and he gets close

✧ Truthfully, I don’t like to compare Zayne and Caleb all that much, but the love making between you two is also very tantric

✧ If you listen to the way he kisses you, it’s pretty similar to how he eats you. When completely drunk off your juices, it’s like he’s breathing you in. There’s a desperation to his licks and kisses, feening for the taste of your nectar

✧ He’s also the type to spell out his name with his tongue over and over again. Think of it as a spell. He needs to hear you call to him

✧ Incredibly patient. Foreplay isn’t some tit for tat curtesy thing, it’s important to him. He’s less of a tease and more methodical. "Relax into my arms. No, I'm not bullying you. I need you to come for me again. You should always warm up before stretching, and I don't want to hurt you so please, come for me love. Can you do that for me?"

✧ A stickler for clear communication. You must speak in full complete sentences. It’s not enough to say just say “Please.” What exactly are you pleading him to do?

✧ Slight exhibitionist. He’ll never allow you to get caught, but likes the challenge of finding the quickest ways to cover your mouth— using his hand, tie or lips to stifle your moans

Rafayel

SFW

✧ Hates going in hot springs, saunas, or jacuzzies. He’ll say he feels like a boiling crab

✧ Asked to keep your first completed sketchbook that are filled with many one on one art lessons with him

✧ Can’t sleep if some semblance of you isn’t with him. Will literally drag or carry you to the couch so he can take a nap. You don’t have to nap with him, just lay next to him and stroke his hair

✧ Apart from Moments, you’re the only one he’s following on all socials

✧ Always responds with a stream of texts in all caps and several emojis when you send him a selfie

✧ His biggest artistic aspiration is to find just the right pigments/colours that encapsulates you. Next is finding a colour palette that encapsulates both of you

✧ Used to think you were mocking him when you took him on aquarium dates

✧ Your pearl engagement ring was made from the tears he cried while drafting his proposal speech [x]

NSFW

✧ Next to Sylus, he’s a comfort king. Making sure you have enough pillows underneath you during missionary; repositioning you when he notices your head leaning off the edge of the bed; several consent check ins; "my hands aren't too cold, right?"; taking over when your legs start to tire out from riding him, etc

✧ Unpopular opinion, I think he’s the most into period sex out of the five. You really think a MERMAN is scared of the red sea???

✧ Speaking of which, he’s extra sensitive to your scent and the way you feel when you’re on your cycle. Though he won’t necessarily initiate anything

✧ Has you take the week off for Ebb Day. You’ll need the extra down time and he’s more than happy to spend the rest the week caring for you till you're back in good health

✧ On particularly intense— passionate rounds, he starts swearing/speaking in Lumerian

✧ Pretty gentle with you when you go down on him. He’s usually holding your hair back, softly running his fingers through your strands or caressing the back of your neck

✧ The biggest tease when he’s eating you out and MEAN about it too. Giggling when you mewl. That annoying "mmm?” when you start to get louder. "Speak up, cutie."

✧ Best stroke game. Ik I said this last time, but I’m dying on this hill. Dizzying backshots, frontshots, sideshots— literally whatever position you’re in, his hips are steady, fluid, and unrelenting

ꨄ︎ A/N: Thanks for reading 🤍 these lists were a bit harder to make this time ngl. Quite a few bullets from pt. I are now canon— which I’m happy about ofc, but it made it harder to bounce around new ideas since there’s fewer “what ifs”. It’s probably best to end this series here tbh. But I’m definitely open to different content suggestions to post next!

[x] - denotes credit for headcanon inspo.

⤠ dividers by saradika-graphics & anitalenia

2K notes · View notes

sixeyesonathiel · 5 days ago

Text

satoru gojo is cocky, top of the class, and one passive-aggressive emoji away from tears.

a/n: nerdjo is so easily rage baited it’s actually embarrassing. one compliment from you and he’s rewriting his entire thesis out of spite. i love bullying him gently.

satoru is going to break his keyboard.

his fingers twitch above the keys—hesitating, retreating, returning again—hovering like they might snap the poor letters clean off. the skin on his knuckles is taut, his jaw clenched so hard it ticks like a time bomb, and his mouth is parted just barely, like he’s one saccharine comment away from spontaneously combusting.

strands of white hair keep falling over his forehead—static-charged from his hoodie—and he shoves them back, again and again, increasingly violent about it, like maybe the hair is conspiring with you. his glasses have slipped halfway down his nose. the gleam of his lenses barely masks the pure, incandescent rage in his eyes.

those eyes, now glassy with disbelief, are locked on the latest reply from you��the class discussion board’s reigning empress of emotional terrorism. his academic rival. personal poltergeist. a sugar-coated demon in pastel lip gloss.

oh satoru, i think it’s so admirable how you stuck by that article! not many people would be brave enough to defend a source that’s been debunked four times. it’s honestly kind of inspiring. keep doing you!

his vision goes white.

that is not a compliment. it is a tactical airstrike in a pink envelope. he knows it. you know it. and worst of all, you signed off with a heart emoji. a heart. he can see your face in his head—tilted just slightly, like you’re too sweet to possibly mean harm, but your eyes glint like you’re holding a scalpel behind your back.

his reply has already died and resurrected five times. the first version read like a cease-and-desist letter. the second had footnotes so aggressive it required double-spaced disclaimers. the third almost made it to the post button, until he remembered your last reply that ended with, “hope this clears it up, prof said some people struggle with statistical nuance.”

you are not just baiting him. you’ve turned it into an art form. a spiritual practice. and your weapon of choice is niceness so passive-aggressive it should be federally regulated.

back in first year econ, you sat beside him, humming under your breath and tapping your pen against the desk in tempo with his unraveling sanity. you kicked his bag under the table. you leaned close just to whisper, “your equation’s wrong, but don’t worry, i won’t tell anyone! not everyone’s meant for regression models.”

you once highlighted his errors in the shared google doc—in pink. pastel pink. with cheerful comments like “uh oh!” and “almost got it!” he swears he could hear the sparkle emoji implied in your tone. the worst part? your spelling was immaculate.

he still thinks about it in the shower.

now?

now he’s two seconds away from flinging his laptop across the room. the lab’s overhead lights buzz like mosquitoes. someone’s typing across from him, calm and steady, and it only amplifies the sound of his own frenzied assault on the keyboard.

his typing is violent. the spacebar clacks like gunfire. he’s halfway through a paragraph when he snarls—actually snarls—and deletes the whole thing. he writes another. more venomous. more precise. then pauses, eyes narrowing.

because you’ve edited your post.

p.s. just reread your old comment and i think i finally get your logic now! i must’ve been too slow before. thanks for your patience <3

he makes a sound. an animal sound. it’s somewhere between a wheeze and a gasp. his knee bounces under the table, leg jittery with restrained rage.

“i hate her,” he breathes.

from across the lab, shoko doesn’t even glance up. “you said that yesterday.”

“i mean it today.”

she lifts her eyes only slightly to peer over her laptop, one brow arched in apathy. “you said that yesterday too.”

“no, no, no—you don’t understand, shoko.” he shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the frames skewed slightly to the left from stress. “she thanked me.”

“chilling.”

“she made it sound real. like she appreciated it. like she didn’t just nuke my thesis and then bake me a fucking muffin.”

“did she add sprinkles?”

“a smiley face.”

he slumps forward, head in his hands, glasses slipping again. his breath fogs the screen. it’s like you’re there—he swears he smells that damn peach shampoo you use. he hears the echo of your voice cooing, “aww, did i mess up your graph again?” like a knife wrapped in a silk ribbon.

he’s haunted. infuriated. he’d rather be insulted outright, mocked, cursed at, anything but this sweet, syrupy condescension that drips like poison into his every academic wound.

then his inbox pings.

a private message.

hey, sorry again for misunderstanding your point in the thread! i know you work really hard on these. if you ever want to explain it to me one-on-one, i’d love that. i learn best from people who are smarter than me :)

his soul ascends. his body remains.

he stares at the message, slack-jawed. horror prickles under his skin like cold water. one hand twitches toward the power button, but he hesitates. you know what you’re doing.

and he hates that it’s working.

“what did she say now?” shoko asks, sipping lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug labeled ‘property of shoko: touch and perish.’

he doesn’t look up. “she wants me to teach her.”

“sounds like flirting.”

“it’s not flirting.”

“she called you smart.”

he pauses. then squints at the screen like it just insulted his bloodline. “she called me smart the way you praise a goldfish for finding the glass.”

he types:

sure. let me know when.

deletes it.

types:

that’s… fine. i guess.

deletes that too.

his fingers hover over the keys.

he types, each letter hammered with the weight of pride swallowed whole:

if you need clarification, i can walk you through it. though i'm sure you'll figure it out eventually.

hits send.

wants to die.

he sags back, hoodie bunching around his shoulders. his sleeves fall over his knuckles. his knee taps against the metal chair leg in a relentless rhythm. he stares at the blinking cursor like it’s counting down to his doom. the little grey dots appear. you’re typing. again. you’re going to be worse. he knows this. the anticipation is psychological warfare.

he watches anyway.

this is war.

#gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo fluff #gojo crack #gojo drabbles #gojo x reader fluff #gojo x reader crack #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk drabbles #jjk crack #jjk fluff #jjk x reader

800 notes · View notes

zillychu · 11 months ago

Text

designs for a zine piece! enjoy some background story my illustration never needed under the read more (fair warning I did NOT edit this at all):

newbie mage apprentices Sam and Tucker who became friends bc they're kinda… the ones at the bottom of their class and struggle the most, for different reasons. they become besties over time and practice together!

except one night, something goes terribly wrong. they spent the last few nights preparing for a project, a bigger spell that needs an intricate circle with precise measurements to work. but when they try to activate it, well…

oops. they summoned a demon.

which is, for one, extremely illegal. only certified demonologists are allowed to summon demons because they're so dangerous. anything less than a perfect binding circle and thoroughly researched info on the demon, including their true name, is even remotely safe.

but, weirdly enough… the demon seems just as surprised as they are. as Sam and Tuck frantically try to figure out how to dispel the demon, they realize–oh god, did their circle actually sufficiently bind the demon? it can't leave. they watch the demon tentatively poke it's claws into the air around the boundary, and watch it fizzle, retreating back with a strained hiss.

okay. okay, they can do this. without death looming over their heads, they can figure out how to send the demon back. it's cool, it's fine. except while they leaf through their books, they notice the demon watching them. it looks kind of… curious. timid. interested in what they're doing. it catches them noticing his staring, and it. apologizes? it seems flustered?

weird, okay. they keep looking, and the demon starts talking. at first, little comments to itself. mumbles that soon get just loud enough to hear. little “ooh, is that a telescope?" and “is that what fire looks like up here?" and “that must be for making charcoal…”

Sam is the one brave enough to be like "are all demons as chatty as you??” and the demon gets flustered again, apologizing. says he's just never been topside before, he's only read about humans in tomes. oh wow is that the moon outside? it really IS blue up here! is it always blue? what are you doing up? I thought humans slept at night?

Sam and Tuck can't help getting pulled in with the demon's genuine curiosity. they're wary though, since they know demons can be clever, conniving. there's a number of ways a demon can get the upper hand on a summoner who has them bound. if he gets their full names, gets them to smudge and break the circle… there could also be ways they aren't aware of. so they consider their words carefully, but engage in some chatter while they research.

it's almost morning by the time they find a way to send the demon back–but as they prepare the spell, the demon says WAIT WAIT and they stop, uncertain. the demon starts stammering out how this is weird but like… he really had fun tonight. he doesn't get to just hang out much, especially with anyone his age.

Tuck is like “how do you know our ages??" and the demon points out "oh, you said something about Paulie’s 18th birthday party, so I thought…” and they're both like oh shit we didn't even notice we did that?

“Paulina" Sam corrects in her dumbfounded stupor.

“Right, Paulina!" the demon snaps his fingers, but quickly loses his confidence when Sam and Tuck continue to stare at him like they're not sure what's going on. he coughs and fidgets and says “um, well, I was just wondering, I guess… if you wanted to summon me another time, I wouldn't mind. you see those circles there? yeah, that's what summoned me. the candles helped too I think. oh, it doesn't need all those runes though, probably don't want to redraw all those.”

Sam and Tuck are practically gawking, but… for some reason, this demon looks so sincere. so much like them, awkward and lonely and genuinely curious.

it's a bad idea. a terrible one, even. the demon probably noticed they're newbies and not demonologists. it could be hoping they make an error in their circle, or mess up a candle, or reveal their names on accident.

But, well. They're stupid. they're also eager for anything to help them in school, and too empathetic for their own good. they send the demon off with a yeah, no. they then think about it for a week, and end up summoning the demon against their better judgment.

the demon is shocked and so happy, they can't help but be a little endeared. they lay down some ground rules, take care to be as safe as possible… and soon, this demon that introduces himself as “Phantom" becomes a nightly visitor. they talk about their worlds, find out they share a lot of common interests, and help each other in their studies. which, hello, demons also study? bro are you serious??

they play games, laugh till their ribs hurt, and open up to each other on a far deeper level than anyone expected. over time, Phantom becomes a true friend.

Sam and Tuck quietly begin to lament the fact Phantom is stuck in that damn circle. they want to take him places, let him see the human world he seems so interested in. they want to paint his stupid claws and noogie him between his dumb horns and hug him.

but it's an astronomical risk. it's legal for a demonologist with a proper permit, but it's still considered a grave taboo to grant access to a demon outside a circle. there's just too much at risk. demons can be dangerous enough to lay waste to entire towns, take multiple teams of military-rank mages to take down.

they wouldn't risk it… if they hadn't snuck into the library’s restricted section and copy a page from a demonologist book that gives them good framework for a contract. they make some edits to it though, giving Phantom at least a little wiggle room to protect himself if need be. and allow him use of transformation magic so he can hide somehow. but they spend weeks making sure they have airtight wording to ensure Phantom can't cause anyone or anything any substantial harm.

when they finally bring the contract to Phantom, he's stunned. he cries. nothing needs to be said, they all know the gravity of their proposal. even if they ask for proof of Phantom's trust in turn, first. they ask for his full name, so they can bind him. just temporarily. but in that moment, they'll have full control over him. they could instead tell Phantom to serve them, force him to obey their every order. even if it's just for a moment, giving them his full name with the proper circle and incantation, is putting his life in their hands.

Phantom, with tears still in his eyes, smiles warmly and nods. with only a breath to steel himself, he gives them his full name. Daniel James Fenton.

magic sparks in the circle, and Sam and Tuck finish the incantation. ethereal chains sprout up to wrap around Phantom's arms and legs, which makes him jump–but the unwavering trust in his eyes makes the two humans choke up.

they release the binding. all that's left is to break the containment barrier in the circle, so Phantom can walk free.

“Uh, about that…” Phantom laughs sheepishly… then proceeds to step outside of the circle, merely wincing when the barrier zaps around him.

Sam and Tucker gawk. Phantom scratches his neck. “Y-yeah, so… your barrier circle was already broken that first night. It's, uh… right over there. You missed a spot.”

abject horror overcomes them because this entire time Phantom's been visiting, he could have broken out? EASILY?? THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD.

Tucker falls to his knees, but soon starts to laugh. it's kind of hysterical at first but slowly, he and Sam are genuinely laughing. they're so STUPID, and Phantom is the most un-demonlike demon they've ever HEARD of. Phantom is still flustered, stammering out apologies because he wasn't trying to deceive them or anything! he just didn't want to scare them! without a proper containment circle they technically couldn't send him back either, so he just… went back using his own magic each time they “dispelled" him.

once they've calmed down, Phantom morphs his body into a human form–which shock Sam and Tuck, because uh, only elite demons are capable of that. they were expecting an animal, or straight up going invisible. Phantom laughs it off, says he just, spent a lot of time practicing bc he's so interested in the human world (not a lie, but). he proceeds to adopt the nickname Danny, and they all have FUN WONDERFUL SHENANIGANS

(and sometime in the near future, when faced with something truly threatening he needs to protect them from, Danny reveals that. well. their contract also had some holes in it. and he's had access to his full demon power this whole time. whoopsie! it's a good thing he genuinely loves them and doesn't want to hurt anyone, or their asses would be SO dead lol)

they're about as normal about his full demon form as you'd expect from me btw:

#danny phantom #dp demon au #everlasting trio #when is it not lmao #zilly art #Tucker: oh I am SO climbing that #Tucker: no I'm serious get me a grappling hook

4K notes · View notes

fishnapple · 6 months ago

Text

Things people secretly find attractive about you

This reading is about the hidden thoughts of people, about what they secretly find attractive about you. This is entirely subjective, some of these can seem questionable or hard to understand but the human psyche is complex, the root of attraction can lie in unexpected places.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

ONE

Some of the people who find you attractive might have a saviour mentality and a serious personality, they gravitate towards someone who they think is in trouble, sad about life or is a little impractical. I'm not saying that you have these traits, but those people seem to pick up some of your behaviours as signs of these traits.

Some people perceive you as outspoken, you have no trouble saying what's on your mind, your words are direct and to the point, they carry force in them. This can seem aggressive to them. But this is not the kind of being attracted to something strong but more like being attracted to the hidden weakness behind that strong exterior. They think that behind your assertive demeanour is someone insecure, someone who hasn't found their footing in the world yet. They are attracted to that thought, the thought that you're trying to put up a front, trying to be brave. This makes them curious and want to see the insecurities that you're hiding, and to do what? They would want to guide you, they think you need someone to act as a teacher to you, someone you can look up to, and they want to be that person.

Your voice is also attractive to some ears, your choice of words is extensive and have a poetic touch to it. Or you don't talk much and some people find that attractive, they feel that you leave space for others to talk and express and you're not judgmental about it. Some will like having deep philosophical discussions with you. You also have different and unique hobbies and whenever you talk about them, you seem so animated and excited, an intense passion can be felt, and that makes people gravitate towards you like moth to flame.

Some people also feel that you can be quite naive or impractical sometimes, they find this endearing, like seeing someone being protected from the harsh reality of this world. They might project a part of themselves on you. Some of them could have experienced a difficult childhood that didn't give much space for them to be carefree or feel protected. So they look at you and see these traits that remind them of a distant longing for a better childhood.

The idea of being in a relationship with you will seem easy and natural. It's easy to imagine themselves taking care of you and having your attention to themselves. Your attention and affection are elusive and people want to catch a hold of these. Some will want to quickly jump in a connection with you, it would get intense very fast and burn quickly, attraction at first sight is very likely, this is not just about romantic attraction but also includes platonic attraction.

TWO

I think people would immediately feel a sense of power coming from you, much like how our skin warming up when we are around a fire. This kind of powerful energy is dynamic, all-encompassing, intense, generous and bountiful. This attraction that people have towards you is not that secretive, some might feel reluctant to show it or talk about it openly because they feel respectful towards you, they can feel a little intimidated and will just silently watch you, occasionally drop a few compliments when they are feeling brave enough. You know how sometimes people see someone so amazing and awesome but keep their distance and not express appreciation for them, for fear of stating the obvious, they would think that this person probably gets a lot of compliments everyday already so they won't be bothered with them? Some people are like that towards you.

Some people will quietly admire your daring and sometimes reckless spirit, the word daredevil comes to mind, with it comes the attitude of an adventurer. You are so brave and explosive, always ready to explore new horizons, always know how to have fun. Timid and quiet people might secretly find these traits so attractive about you but also feel that you are a little dangerous or too forceful for them. It's not physical violence but it's the speed of you doing things, the energy you put in every action, they feel like they can't quite keep up with that. But it's sexy to them. It's intense and it can bring both order and chaos to wherever you go. This energy is like electricity, it can evoke wild reactions in people.

You smile and laugh a lot? People find your smile and the sound of your laughter attractive, it's warm and contagious. You don't just laugh a lot, you also make people laugh a lot, they like your humour, it's carefree, jovial, sometimes it comes as exaggerated boasting, sometimes it's ridiculous, sometimes it's so humble. It shows a healthy ego with enough boundaries and respect. They can see your humbleness as a sign of strength, you're so confident in yourself and so strong that you allow yourself to be soft and be a fool to elevate people's spirits.

Others will be secretly attracted to your intelligence and wisdom. You seem like someone whom they can look up to and learn from. Younger people really like you, they see you as a role model, someone who knows their own path and is dedicated to it. Some will assume you're really successful and have it all. They wonder if you have an inner calling, a spiritual belief that guides your life, because you seem to abide to a certain rules, some strict regimes and they're curious about it.

THREE

The word "wholesome" just immediately came to my mind. You have a very stable aura that makes people think you have your life all figured out. They might even think that your life is so different from them, so trouble-free, peaceful or exciting, anything but similar to theirs. But that doesn't alienate you from people, they actually like this about you. Like how cat videos restore faith in the world for some people. When they see your life, they get inspired to strive to do good with their life.

Your energy is both fast and slow, steady but active. You have no trouble standing your ground, putting down your foot. You can be very cautious and deliberate when investing in something, whether with your energy, your time, your resources, your emotions. But when you see the chance, the most effective path opening, you don't hesitate to take the action, almost like you have an angel or a wise counsellor behind your back who will give you encouragement to go forward. You are not a reckless gambler but a wise one.

Some people feel very safe and secure when they are around you, you feel like a teddy bear, a shelter to them. Because you are generous when you've decided that someone is worthy of your effort. You don't do things half-heartedly, your determination and devotion are very attractive in people's eyes. This can also mean that some people are quite dependent on you, emotionally, and they hate to admit it, I sense that some of them are quite proud and independent, so the notion that they're dependent on someone does not sit well with them.

You also have an amicable energy, people can sense that you won't get angry easily, you don't take out your ego and wave it at their faces. You talk only when it's necessary and don't demand attention. You seem like a humble person who doesn't complain when things get hard and just focus on solving the problem without expecting applause and praises. People who have a more dominant and fiery personality might find this attractive, as opposites attract. Some can view this as you can be ordered and are obedient, which boosts their ego a lot.

While some people wonder, if you truly are that humble or you're just good at hiding your desires and drives, they might think that you have something to hide, you're not comfortable showing your true self and just go along with what others deem good and nice. Would there be another person who is wild, ambitious and fierce behind your gentle image? Some might want to poke, to push you to see a more aggressive reaction from you. Another kind of people can view this energy as you being detached and aloof, like you don't have the time or energy to care. They secretly find this "unavailability" attractive, it shows you have standards and act accordingly to your own rules and set of beliefs. You seem to elicit a wide variety of opinions from people. If all of them were to have a meeting and voice their thoughts about you, it would make a long list. But they all will have to agree that you are unshakable from your resolution once you set your eyes on a goal.

FOUR

This group is a little similar to the previous group, both have strong earth energy with a hidden element. But your group is more youthful, the energy, at first glance, is softer and more playful. The similarity of the two groups is that people perceive you to be in alignment with your soul's desire. You seem to be living a full life. People look at you and feel the liveliness, the joy of living. Like a child beginning to step out to the world, who hasn't been disillusioned by the ugliness of reality yet. People secretly think you are naive and innocent, a little erratic or unpredictable, but you're not lost, you know where you are going, with a purpose, like a ship heading towards the lighthouse. You make people feel like they should act benevolent to you, because you deserve that treatment. To the people who already have children, you sometimes remind them of their own child, subconsciously. They would want to protect you and see you bloom and prosper.

You have an oblivious attitude towards worldly achievements that people secretly wish they can adopt it themselves. You focus on your self development but you don't put too much weight into being conventionally successful like having a good career, earning lots of money, being famous, almost like you're tired of that. Maybe you're well-known to a certainly extent in a community and some people can be a little envious of that, they may wonder how can you garner attention so easily like that, even when you don't do much, aren't active or just keep to yourself, but fame still finds you.

Your appearance shows that you're taking good care of yourself. You have a neat and simple style that people like. It suits your perceived manner, mild and stable. You notice little details and create a pleasant atmosphere and environment around you. Some people who work with you find these traits really attractive, they could develop a quiet crush for you.

You could have some small obsessions that people who are observant enough will notice. They intuitively sense that you are trying to establish a certain order in your life, a certain routine to balance out the inner emotional turmoil. It's like a storm is raging outside so you try to focus on organising the house to feel safe and distract yourself from the storm. This will attract people, some people are just really attracted to emotional depth and complexity. The more contradicting a person act, hinting a hidden landscape underneath, the more they are attracted.

You can be quite serious when it come to learning, this is where your determination shows itself the most. Teaching you is a delight, but can also come with heavy pressure, you don't want superficial knowledge, you want to go to the depth of things, analysing then committing the information into your memory. This, in turn, can also make you an excellent teacher, but you can be a little stern, surprisingly. You can seem young, but in some areas, you are so serious and committed, you seem like a wise old soul.

FIVE

I pulled only 3 Tarot cards for the previous groups, but your group demanded another one, apparently so many people have so many different opinions about you.

Your energy seems so red and fiery, like a burning fire. There are lots of moths flocking to your flame. They know they would "die", but they just can't help it. I can see that you have a lot of admirers, the majority of them are secret admirers though. There's something about your energy that makes people turn inward and become a lot more quiet and introverted than they normally are. They're contented to just keep a distance and admire you from a far. Have you ever see the process of an artist making their artwork? They are so focused in their own world, they emit an intense aura that keep the audience quiet and holding their breath, the people around them don't dare to disturb that creative process. Some people feel like that with you. You have a creative energy that can touch people, it's both very vulnerable but also strong, something that just is, without external shielding or masking.

People view you as someone who loves fearlessly, you have a reverence for love that borders on a religious feeling. It makes them question themselves, how can a human live so confidently like that, can they live like that too? is their life has a different meaning that they haven't thought of before? You are an inspiration to people, your flame is contagious, it spreads wherever it goes.

Those that are brave enough to approach you will like to talk and debate with you, you have a way to show your views clearly without eclipsing others. They admire your courage to defend your worldview and advocate for good courses. You might have a knack for rallying people, persuading people. People can easily be swept along your passionate energy.

Some believe that you have what it takes to be successful in this world. You have the talents, you have the will, and luck seems to follow you with each step you take. The phrase "Fortune favours the bold" can't be anymore apt than this. You have a balanced feminine and masculine energy that can attract people of different genders. To the world, when you need to accomplish something, you have no problem with exerting will power and strategies, to those close to you, you also hold a nurturing space for them. Some might perceive you as a good parental figure. Some will automatically assume that you're successful and rich, or you have someone backing you up. I will be honest, they're attracted to your abundance, the more lack they feel, the more attracted they are to you.

SIX

I wouldn't say you are shy or quiet, but you're reserved and just want to mind your own business. Your energy feels a little awkward and some people can notice that. Again, it's not exactly because of shyness, but more like a reluctance to come out of your own world. You might be a home-body or someone who prefer their private space a lot. If you can, you just want to stay in one place and live quietly, contentedly, but alas, you have to go out and interact with the world, and I do see some life circumstances that would force you to be out, to be more visible to the world. If you are a leader or someone with authority in the workplace, you will be a reluctant leader, but a good one nevertheless. This makes you seem more down to earth and relatable to many people.

You're resistant to disturbances and chaos. You want simple things, things that are essential for a good and tranquil life. A fresh meal, a walk on the beach, tea time with friends maybe enough to make you happy and feel fulfilled, also a heavy pocket full of money to prepare for rainy days. You're risk adverse, that's why you're always well prepared, stable and can shoulder lots of burdens. People can't help but feel peaceful and safe around you, they feel protected. That is, if they managed to get in your inner circle. You're selective of whom you interact and associate with. People like this pickiness of yours, it makes them feel privileged to be selected. You're picky but you're not stingy or haughty, everyone can still see that you're friendly and open enough.

As much as you always try to stay out of chaos, chaos seems to like you and follow you around. Some bizarre and unexpected events might happen that are totally out of your control. You life is somehow attached to invisible strings that pull and lead you to some pretty interesting experiences. Usually these experiences can bring positive changes into your life, if you're open to them. Those who witness these events will find them oddly fascinating. Magic seems to be real around you. You may have a strong manifesting power, whether you're conscious of them or not. You can literally create your reality through your power of imagination and words. So be mindful of what you are thinking and imagining.

1K notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 20 days ago

Text

soft bob becuase bob is soft and deserves soft. e

Yelena didn't need to be an expert to know why Bob was standing in the doorway, watching you as you read a book, completely unaware of the awkwardly pinning man with the dark locks that glowed golden in the light.

It was innocent kind of love that Bob had for you, nothing within his eyes other then pure adoration and fondess for the person with unwavering paitience, the glue and heart of the group as many have called you and for good reson. Yelena sees how Bob fiddles with the sleeves of his baggy sweater, or how he shifts from one foot to another, he wanted to talk to you but couldn't find it within him to interput your moment of peace from your chaotic teammates and their exploits.

'They don't bite you know.' Yelena smiles upon seeing Bob jolt and look at her with wide eyes, embarresed that he had been caught lingering in the doorway of the makeshift library of the Watchtower, something you had demanded to have before moving in and it offered plently of benifits for not only yourself but Bob too; it acted as a safe haven for him when things became too much, or when he just needed to be where you've been when you were away on missions with the group.

'i wasn't- i was just-' Bob tried to explain himself poorly, much to Yelena's amusement.

'staring at (name) longinly like a puppydog?' She asks with a smile gorwing across her face, finally having some normality in having someone to tease for their innocent crush, especially when that crush of Bob's happened to be you because if there was any two people who'd belonged together it's you and Bob. 'It's cute really but i'm sure (name) wouldn't mind you joining them, if anything i'd think they would be happy to have you join them.' She encourages Bob who only smiles as he looks down at his hands, a nervous habbit he would do when he felt too exposed for his liking.

'I'm not so sure.' Bob trails off as he glances up at you, sitting on a comfy chair that faced the wall to floor glass windows, allowing the light to bath you in an ethreal glow or maybe that's just how he always saw you from the moment he had met you, but there was always this warmth that followed afterwards and filling him with a sense of calm. 'I don't wan't to ruin their alone time, i mean they've come here for a reason and i don't want to be a-

Yelena gives him a ponted look when he was about to put himself down, especially when it came to wanting to spend time with you, but not wanting to in fear that you didn't want him to and how you wouldn't feel the same warmth he felt when just looking at you. Yelena knows that this was false becuase she had noticed how you would always want Bob to sit next to you for just about anything, whether it was movie night or dinner, you always saved a seat for Bob next to you without fail and it was enough for her to know for certain that you reciprocated his feelings.

'Don't. Don't put yourself down becuase i know they would be happy, estatic even to have sit by them even if it's just to read a book, or to watch a moive, Bob they want you to be near them all the time.' Yelena reassured as she held Bob by his shoulders, hoping that her words would sink in and allow himself to be happy and get to share that happiness with you like she wants you both too. 'So just go in there and sit next to them and you'll see what i mean.' she adds as she gives Bob an encouraging shove towards the door.

Bob looks back at her with those wide eyes of his, seeing her give him a thumbs up, before looking straightforward and seeing you still sat on the comfy chair bathed in a golden light just like the last time he had looked at you. He takes a deep breath and forces his nerves into becoming still and steady, just enough to let himself braving the first step across the doorway and into the library, just as the coldness of the hallway seemingly vanished and was replaced by a calming warmth; something he had associated with you almost as though you were welcoming him without having looked at him from your book.

Yet one stray floorboard seemed to give him away as it creeked under his weight, making him freeze and you look up from your book for thr first time since you got there, smiling immeditely upon seeing Bob who looked as though a deer in headlights. You set aside your book after bookmarking your palace in order to give Bob your undevided attention, happy to see him where you felt most at ease and calm. 'Hi Bob, can i help you?' You asked.

'no- i mean i just-' Bob stops himself to compose his thoughts, to let himself breath out his anxiety, and tries again as he sees you smiling at him as though he hung the stars in the sky himelf. 'i wanted to ask if you've got room for one more?' He asks, hunchung his shoulders and trying to make himself as small as he possibly could in hopes of not intimidating you into agreeing, yet it seemed as though none of that was necessary as you were quick to pat the comfy chair next to you.

'for you? there's always room for one more.' You told him and Bob felt a weight leave his chest as he smiles and hurries to take his seat next to you, almost tripping over his own two feet in the midst of his excitment, something that made your smile wider as he makes himself comfortable unaware that his thigh was presssed against yours deliciously as though it was meant to be as you two were. Bob reciprocated your smiles and graciously take the throw blanket that you seemingly produced out of nowhere and drapped it across his lap and fiddles with it between his fingers.

You two made light conversation as you talked about the books you have read so far, not notcing that Yelena was watching you both as you smiled, laughed ans sheepishly looked away when caught staring at one another for a second longer then to be taken as platonic. You both deserved this and Yelena was certain to make sure no one ruins it for the both of you, as your biggest supporter she had been waiting for the day you'll say something towards one another, but she was paitient and is willing to suffer seeing more adorable shared moments until you both see that you belonged together and confess.

765 notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 1 month ago

Text

DCxDP fanfic idea: What's your Poison?

Jason Todd's life has always been hectic. Or is tragic the better word? It certainly felt like that was a better way to describe it. Life was bursts of happiness and love for as long as he could remember, but it was often too short and quickly overshadowed by everything he loved being twisted into his worst nightmares.

His mother's lullabies, which once soothed him to sleep, would turn into her humming as she came down from her high, staring with unseeing eyes.

Bruce's warm compliments for pulling off a tricky maneuver would scatter in the wind as he pulled the triggers on the scum of the city, and all he heard from his father figure were swears to bring him in.

His childhood adoration for swimming, the few things he liked when school was out, would drown him in his memories of the liquid green he hadn't stepped foot in a pool in years as an adult.

It was more of a surprise to find that reading still offered him comfort as if he were the same scared, poor little boy who would do anything to escape his reality. Maybe that's why he made it his mission to visit every bookstore in this godforsaken city.

Maybe the magic wasn't the same, and he didn't lose himself in the words, or his passion for it wasn't as all-consuming as it once was. But it was the one thing from his childhood life that hadn't managed to ruin.

This is why he chose to go to Ghost Zone, which opened near the heart of Gotham's nightlife —only three streets away from Ice Lounge—despite doubling as a bar.

It sold drinks alongside books, and the menu featured cocktails based on book characters. At the last meeting, one of the men in the Red Hood gang was talking about it—or rather, the pretty owner. The spitfire had been unwilling to strike a deal about protection money, but his boys knew better than to force the owner's hand.

Jason didn't like bars.

He went to them when his friends invited him out, but these places felt horrible. Either he found people who thought they were untouchable by the world and made terrible choices because of it, or he found people who were so broken by the world that the bottle was all they knew.

Just like his old man.

The idea of being anything like Willis Todd left such a bad taste in Jason's mouth that he had never touched alcohol in his life.

It wasn't the kind of preference people usually liked him having at a bar. He's had plenty of women grow offended that they couldn't tempt him into a drink, not to mention the men who were suddenly brave enough to mock him for it.

Drunks, in general, annoyed him. They were too loud. Too much. And most times, you had to babysit them like an overgrown toddler.

So going to a bar, even one doubling as a bookstore was going to be a pain. Still, Jason pushed through the door, letting it slam close behind him and sealing away the neon lights, thumping music, and the echoing laughter from nearby nightclubs.

Thankfully, the Ghost Zone didn't seem very busy. In fact, Jason could see that he was the only customer in the building.

The bar ran along the left side of the room, more like a traveler than anything modern. Tables and chairs were nearly lined up in front of it. A lone man was cleaning some glasses with a cloth, dressed in a pretty green vest over a long black sleeve and black slacks.

He glances at Jason with sky-blue eyes, shimming with gentle light. "Welcome,"

"Hello," He responds, walking to the bar and checking the menu. There wasn't anything listed for none-alcoholic, which made him grimace.

"Can I help you with anything?" the man asks, stepping in front of Jason and flashing a pearl-white smile. It, annoyingly, lacks any fake costumer service tilt to it, meaning this man was able to appear genuinely happy to serve people.

Those were the worst kinds of salesmen. They sucked someone dry of whatever coins they had before the client even knew what was happening.

Jason knew to be wary as he grunted, "I was told this was a bookstore."

The man didn't even blink as his smile grew. He placed a small menu on the bar counter between them while pointing his thumb to a nearby stairway. "Books are on the second floor. You're welcome to pick one up and read here so long as you buy a drink if you're not looking to buy an entire thing."

There it was. The catch.

Jason doesn't bother hiding a grimace as he waves a hand. "Nah, I'll just browse. If I see something I like, I'll buy it."

"Alright. Let me know if you need anything, " the man says softly, going back to his glasses without care. Jason notes that they resemble roses as the employee holds one to the light. It shimmers slightly, catching a ray that bounces back on the man's face, making him glow for a brief second.

Jason whips around, wondering why he is staring when he should be looking at books. He scurries up the stairway, not looking too deeply into it. On the second floor, he finds bookshelve after bookshelve lined and organized neatly.

Babs would adore how well-kept everything was. As he starts browsing, he hopes this trip wasn't a waste of time. There are titles and authors he's never heard of, not even a money grab of new releases. Even after pulling out his phone to check reviews, Jason discovers that not a single one of these books is sold anywhere else.

They are all exclusive publishers of Ghost Zone. This is odd because even if it's local authors, there are some reviews and proof of the author somewhere. Usually, the lack of anything would have alarmed him, but instead, it fills him with the desire to read every single copy.

Jason soon finds himself with a stack of books. After walking through the entire second floor twice to ensure he didn't miss anything else he may be interested in, Jason encounters a little sign written in neon green.

Please make a book purchase at the bar below.

As he stumbles his way down to the bar, he can't help but feel as if someone is watching him. He glances out of the corner of his eye and manages to catch what appears to be a shadow of a child running and disappearing into a wall.

Huh. The Ghost Zone is haunted.

Well, all of Gotham is haunted. Jason is from one of the most haunted places in Gotham, and the ghosts in Crime Alley are never nice, but they can never harm anyone if you don't acknowledge them. It was a rule to always pretend you didn't see anything, and like any good Crime Alley kid, Jason did just that.

"Have you found everything you were looking for?" the man asks with a smile once Jason places his stack on the bar. He quickly starts scanning them with a ray gun.

"I did," Jason mutters, looking everywhere but the man who seems to have started glowing under his flower lights. He was beautiful in an almost untouchable way.

His hair almost flashed white for a brief second as he reached for a bag for Jason's books. Man, it's been a while since his last date. He was starting to see things if he was that distracted by a pretty face.

"Hey, since you are my first customer to buy some books, I was wondering if you would like a free drink?" the man says, giving the books back to Jason. He leans on the counter a little, giving Jason an almost taunting grin. "Tell me, what's your poison?"

"I don't drink," Jason replies, bluntly stepping back but not because of the offer or the grin. That child made of shadows was watching them from the backroom. Jason did not like that it followed him.

The bartender smiles. "I promise it will taste better than anything you've ever had."

"No, thank you." Jason stays firm, eyes trained on the bartender, but words aimed at the shadow child.

"Pity." The man sighs, leaning back. The shadow child vanishes, allowing him to relax a little more. Whatever that was, it lost interest in him. "I could make you a mocktail?"

Jason thinks it over, then shrugs. "If it's free."

"Great. I'm Danny, by the way. Based on the novels you picked, I think I know just what to get you." Danny twirls a wine glass shaped like a rose in his hand, and Jason is suddenly hit with the urge to never leave as the man trains glowing green eyes on him. "Have a seat."

He drops his books at his feet, stumbling towards the bar stole in front of Danny.

It takes his family three days to realize he's gone missing and five for the Red Hood gang to notice, too. But Jason doesn't mind. After tasting the best thing that's ever touched his taste buds, he's having fun mixing drinks with Danny at Ghost Zone.

Danny, for his part, seems grateful to have Jason around. Apparently, Jason is keeping the ghosts away from Danny- that might have something to do with the Pits being anti-death liquified- and hired him on the spot after Jason drowned his drink and begged him for more.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #What's your posion?#Part 1 #Ghost Zone is the name Danny picked for his bar/Bookstore #Danny unknowingly has Fae vibes #Jason may or may not have been Fae kidnapped #Jason's pov #Jason scares ghosts away #The books are from the real Ghost Zone #Dead on Main

802 notes · View notes

rositaslabyrinth · 9 days ago

Text

Don’t open that drawer - Dean W

Dean x fem!reader

While patching yourself up after a rough hunt, you find yourself in Dean’s room late at night—only to discover a drawer he forgot to close.

Content warning ; canon typical violence, emotional vulnerability, smut, oral (f!receiving) but nothing to crazy, dean being a sweet coward <33

Word count ; 1,511

Minors please do not interact !!

You never meant to find them.

It was late—past midnight—and the Bunker was unusually quiet. Sam had already gone to bed, the echoes of his footsteps fading down the hall hours ago. You’d stayed up patching your jacket, a fresh tear sliced through the arm from the hunt earlier that day. Dean had said he’d help, but he never came back from the garage.

You figured he was brooding. He did that, after a close call. And tonight had been closer than usual.

The kitchen light flickered as you passed, mug in hand. You made your way to Dean’s room instead—mostly because it was closer than yours, and partly because you were tired of pretending that wasn’t a habit.

He always left the door unlocked.

The room smelled like him—leather, old cologne, whiskey, something earthy underneath. You set your mug on his nightstand and dropped into the chair by his desk, rubbing your sore arm. His flannel was slung over the back of it. You pulled it on without thinking.

That’s when you noticed the drawer.

The bottom right. Slightly ajar. Not enough to catch the eye unless you were sitting this close.

You didn’t mean to open it.

But there was a curl of paper sticking out.

At first you thought it was one of his old case notes, shoved out of sight. But the handwriting was neater. More intentional. And then you saw your name.

Your name. On the top of the page. Centered. Underlined.

Your chest tightened. You knew you should stop. But your fingers moved on their own.

“You had blood on your cheek tonight. You didn’t even notice. I wanted to wipe it off, but I didn’t. I just watched you laugh with Sam like we hadn’t almost died. I think that’s what kills me. That after everything, you still know how to laugh. You make the worst parts of this job feel less like hell. And God, I want to tell you that. But I never do. So I’m writing it down, instead.”

Your hands trembled. You unfolded another.

“I had a dream about you. You were wearing one of my shirts, standing in the library. You didn’t say anything. You just looked at me like you already knew. And for once, I didn’t feel like running.”

There were more. Dozens. Some torn out of notebooks, some written on scraps of diner napkins, lined legal pads, the backs of maps. Your name on every single one.

And they weren’t just sweet, or romantic. Some were angry. Frustrated. Devastated.

You walked into the room today and smiled at me like I was someone worth loving.

“I don’t know what the hell I did to deserve that, but I know I’ll never be brave enough to say what I should. So this’ll sit in a drawer. Just like the others.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until a drop hit the page.

“Hey.”

You jumped, heart thudding. You hadn’t heard the door.

Dean stood in the doorway, keys in hand, jaw clenched, green eyes locked on the drawer you’d pulled open.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t rush to snatch the papers away.

He just said, quietly, “You weren’t supposed to read those.”

“I know,” you said. Your voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I saw my name.”

Dean stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he leaned back against it like he needed something to hold him up.

“I wrote them when I couldn’t say it out loud,” he admitted. “Didn’t think anyone would ever see them. Especially not you.”

“Why not?”

He looked down. “Because if you knew how long I’ve felt this way, you’d either hate me for keeping it quiet or pity me for being too much of a coward to do anything about it.”

You stood, slowly, letter still in your hand.

“You’re not a coward.”

Dean gave a soft, broken laugh. “You don’t know how many times I almost told you. How many nights I sat right there—” he nodded toward the desk—“and thought about knocking on your door. But I’d look at you the next day, and you’d smile, and I’d think… if I tell her, she might stop smiling at me like that.”

Your chest ached.

You crossed the room and stopped in front of him. The silence was thick—too full of everything unsaid.

“I never would’ve stopped,” you whispered. “Not ever.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. And all the years of buried emotion hit the surface like a storm breaching a dam.

“God, I’m in love with you,” he said. “I’ve been in love with you since you walked into that diner in Nevada with a busted lip and a silver blade and said, ‘You boys need backup?’”

You smiled through the tears. “I remember that. You said, ‘Only if you’ve got whiskey.’”

He huffed a soft laugh. “You had some in your boot.”

“And you smiled at me like you hadn’t done that in years.”

Dean stared at you. “Because I hadn’t.”

You reached for his hand, gently, lacing your fingers with his. “Then stop writing me letters you’ll never send.”

He squeezed your hand like he never wanted to let go. “Can I kiss you now?”

“You’d better.”

When Dean kissed you this time, it wasn’t restrained. It was everything. The hesitation was gone, stripped away by years of closeness, tension, aching want, and love too long buried. It was the kiss of a man who had written you into the quiet spaces of his life, who had bled feelings onto paper because his mouth had failed him too many times.

His hands cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing tears you didn’t remember falling. You melted into him, fingers fisting into the front of his henley like your body finally recognized where it was meant to belong.

The kiss deepened — slow, hot, careful, then not-so-careful.

Dean pulled you flush against him, one hand sliding down to rest at your waist, gripping tight like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You let out a soft, shaky sound into his mouth — something between a gasp and a whimper — and felt his whole body tense in response.

He pulled back just enough to search your face. “Tell me if this is too fast. I mean it.”

“It’s not,” you said. “Dean… I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His expression softened. “Me too.”

He kissed you again — more urgent now, more certain — and walked you back toward the bed. His hands were everywhere, warm and calloused, reverent as they slipped beneath your shirt, memorizing the feel of you like he’d dreamed it more times than he could count.

When your shirt came off, he stared like you were sacred.

“God,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

Your hands trembled when you pulled his shirt over his head. The soft light of the bunker caught the scar across his collarbone, the curve of muscle, the slight freckle near his ribs you’d noticed years ago and never forgotten.

You touched him like the letters — slow and sure and aching. He groaned low in his throat when your palms slid across his chest.

“Lie back,” he said, voice thick. “Let me take care of you.”

You did.

Dean kissed every inch of skin he uncovered — from your collarbone to your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thighs. His hands gripped you like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go. He kissed like he was still writing to you, but now with his mouth and body — all the things he couldn’t say poured out in sighs and touches.

When his mouth found the place between your legs, you gasped — arching into him, fingers buried in his hair.

“Dean—”

He groaned against you like your voice undid him.

You tried to speak — to tell him how good it felt, how long you’d dreamed about this — but your words fell apart under the heat of his tongue and the rhythm he set. Slow. Devoted. The kind of touch that said I’ve thought about this a hundred different ways, but nothing compares to the real thing.

When you came, it was with a cry of his name, your thighs trembling around his shoulders, your whole body curling in on itself.

He kissed your inner thigh, then crawled back up your body and kissed your lips like he wanted to taste the sound you’d just made.

“Still with me?” he asked, eyes full of warmth and wonder.

You nodded, dazed and smiling. “Still here.”

“Good.” He kissed your forehead. “Because I’m not done.”

Later, when he finally wrapped you in his arms on that old mattress, the letters still sat on the desk. Open. Read. Finally seen.

“I was gonna burn them one day,” he murmured into your hair.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “They’re part of us now.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“I don’t need the drawer anymore.”

Liz talks : GUESS WHOS BACK!! HEYYY did you miss me cause i missed all of you <33 I am so sorry about being away for so long but this app was lowkey draining me, but we should be all good now !! I hope you all enjoy this sweet little thing :))

Tags : @sunsbaby , @starzify , @bluemerakis , @aambearr , @blossomingorchids , @littlesoulshine , @daylighted , @wchswift , @emeraldcrs , @bossyblondie , @lunaleah , @pieandflannel , @sunnyteume , @deanswifeyy , @tinas111 , @kimxwinchester @deansbbyx , @deanswidow , @nymphet-quenn , @multiversefanfics , @star-maker-rain-dancer , @sapphic-destiel , @mochiclouds , @ladykitana90

To be added to my tag list check out this post !!

To check out my masterlist look at this post !!

454 notes · View notes

madwomansapologist · 8 months ago

Text

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 6: 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

title: haunted bang synopsis: when you decided to explored a haunted mansion, all you wanted was to gain more knowledge for your grimoire. you never expected it to be habited, even less for all the residents to agree that sharing is caring. [1.8K] cw: wizard!reader, teratophilia, monster fucking, gangbang, voyeurism, size difference, manhandling, mind connection, scent kink, oral (f!receiving), pet play, pussy drunk, overstimulation, you know that post about "would you fuck your clone?", f in v, monsters included are a eldritch creature, a werewolf, a vampire and a shapeshifter.

PREV POST ✰ NEXT POST

There is so many rumors about the mansion. Some believe it to have been built on top of an ancient cemetery, ending the ghost’s slumber. Others, that a coven filled every room with protection runes to preserve the soul of the late owners. A journal published a profile for an architect that died a day after the construction was completed, but quick research showed he had nothing to do with it.

Lies and gossips spread easily, but those brave enough to walk into the dead-end street can see the truth by themselves. Whoever chained those doors did so sensibly, since nothing sane could ever come out of them. A darkness spreads from within the house.

After making your way in with an old pliers, you explored the first floor. There were many chances of turning away, all of them ignored willingly. At the end, all you had were two options: to stay at home safely, or possibly learning a new spell for your collection.

Wizards aren’t known for making the obvious, easy choice.

Since the moment you sensed the darkness this mansion casted, nothing would’ve convinced you of not coming back to explore the secrets within those walls of bricks and stones. You feel it even better now, this great deal of mana. It isn’t a cursed mansion, only a heavily enchanted one.

A relieved smile appeared on your face when you finally found a library. You invoked flames in the remaining candles on the chandeliers and sat down on a large armchair. With the books floating from their shelves and surrounding your body, you analyzed them quickly in search of something worth your time.

In a few minutes, you found it. Holding an old grimoire in your hands, you blew the dust away. Walking through the library, your excitement blinded you. You put the book down on a table, opening your own to copy any fun spell.

As you begin to read the grimoire, your eyes widened. It takes strength from great old forces, eldritch entities incomprehensible to the average mortal. Based on entropy, it alters the fabric of reality itself.

Ancient magic. Its use is highly forbidden, and usually punished with death. Cleaning your glasses on your skirt, you bended over the table and read every line with an unending curiosity.

The first touch went unnoticed. A soft, quick brush against your arm. As your thigh got pinched, you assumed it to be the work of a hungry insect. But when a cold aura surrounded you, embracing your body and soul, there was no doubt left.

Whatever old force empowers this place; it was right here. Right behind you.

Your quarterstaff materialized between your hands. Your grimoire floated, pages turning as you recite your strongest protection spell. Changing your posture, you were ready to fight.

The quiet nature of this threat shifted.

Something forced its way inside your mouth, putting an end to your attempt of using radiant magic. An invisible force, but not less palpable because of it. As you bit down, trying to stop it, you felt it pressing down on your tongue.

Intruder, a voice spoke inside of your head. Low and strident, all at once. Thief in the night.

A limb embraced your waist, leaving a gelid trace as it fit beneath your shirt. A hand grabbed your left thigh so roughly you had no reaction but to whine with your mouth full. Little by little, there wasn’t a muscle of your body free to fight back.

It lifted you from the ground, forcing your hands open. The quarterstaff disappeared in the air before hitting the floor. Higher and higher in the air, your body trembled. Fully involved by this coldness, you had no way of moving.

Usurper, she hissed inside your mind. Or was it a masculine voice? You couldn’t quite picture it. But thinking back about it, didn’t it groaned and roar? Was it even human? Nothing will harm my home.

Nothing will, you thought. If you could hear its voice, then it could hear you too. You hoped. I mean no harm. I swear.

LIAR.

I want to learn, you tried to bargain. I have no intentions of hurting anyone. I didn’t even know there was someone in here to harm. All I desire is to know more than others. Nothing more, nothing less.

The silence gave you an opportunity to look for your grimoire. Alone on the ground, it was so close and yet so far away. Even if it was near, with you unable to speak or move there were few spells you could cast. And none of them would be of any real practical help now.

A soft caress on your cheeks took you from your hushed thoughts. As your feet touched the floor, you stumbled trying to regaining your balance. It held you in place, the feeling soft and rough.

I can teach you everything I know, it whispered. For a cost. This time, the voice came with pictures in your mind. Do you want that?

In them, you saw yourself. Lips hanging open, forehead covered in sweat, eyes half-closed. You saw tears running down your face, legs spread and trembling, fingers closed tightly around the same table you used before.

And in them, you saw glowing eyes still hidden by darkness.

Yes, I want that.

The same careless limbs bended you over the table, but this time it was gentler. Less worried about safety, more worried about you. Holding your hands behind your back, it placed your legs apart.

Something cold touched your inner thighs. It moved against your skin, lingering. Once more, you invoked flames. Contorting your body, a gasp broke the silence. Kneeled down, eyes fixated on your thighs, you found a werewolf.

“Your scent”, he groaned. His face rubbed against you, inhaling shamelessly. His yellow eyes raised to yours, and in them you saw desperation. His muzzle went away from you and he smiled, displaying his sharp fangs. “Hold her still.”

Once he closed his mouth, you tried to move away. Not because you wanted for him to stop, but because how couldn’t you when he says that? You were forced down, back caressed and head scratched. Like a pet, you were kept still and quiet.

Your skirt was thrown away from your body and he… sniffed you? Half of you bare to whoever there to witness, with a monster between your legs. To know that you’re being watched only makes you desire this more. A huge tongue licked your pussy, you moaned. It was real, just a tad louder than it needed to be.

Putting on a show, it laughed inside your head. Keep on this good work and I might not let you walk away.

Your eyes closed as he continued to ravish you. Restless, he simply continued. Tongue deep into you, teeth sinking into your skin, lips sucking around your clit. Your legs were covered in drool, and you could feel it dripping from your aching core.

A hand grabbed your hair, forcing you to look up. A real touch this time. The candles showed you the tall woman in front of you, nails so long they could be mistaken by claws. Looking into her red eyes, you felt a primal urge inside you.

Everything inside you told you to run.

Nature is such a disappointing force. It is not your fault that you were born a prey, that ancient being spoke. Its voice oscillated, as if it was too far away and suddenly right against your ear. And it is not hers to be turned predator long ago.

“This delicate sparkle in your eyes”, a velvet voice made to your ears. Elegant, but sharp. She smiled, and the fangs weren’t a reason to act surprised. “You won’t allow it to dissuade you, will you? Don’t struggle. There is no use.”

Her free hand closed around your neck. A movement faster than you could see, but delicate enough for you to know she didn’t want you to break apart.

“You are mine now, puppy”, she smirked. “Put your mouth to use.”

As she put her knee on top of the table, moving the black dress enough for you to see her strong legs, the vampire pulled your hair again. “Yes, mistress”, you said.

Satisfied, she forced your head between her thighs. As the werewolf continued to torture your poor pussy, you treated hers like a wine you had to enjoy every little sip. It was easy to get eager, to get lost on your own never-ending pleasure, but you made sure to treat her nicely.

Every whimper of hers made you weaker. Every bite from him made you weaker. Every hold onto your skin, whispers inside your head, made you weaker.

It was no surprise your orgasm would break you in pieces. It was no surprise every single one of you would continue despise it.

As you breathed in, trying to get your legs to work, a hand came back to stroking your skin. It put you on top of the table as if you weighted nothing. Before you could flutter your eyes open, those skilled fingers were inside of you.

Touching in the right place, with the right pressure, at the exact right moment. It was perfect. Did this creature read your mind in a way or another? Or is this fate, and in this wretched place you find someone that really knows exactly how to fuck you properly?

“What a delight”, the vampire spoke. “May I drink from her now?

The werewolf hummed. “Look at her legs. Those pretty lips”, you heard him doing just that. “You can’t. Not yet. I need my plaything strong and capable for the night.”

“But do you really, old dog?” She argued. “No one will judge you for admitting you need to rest. No one but me, of course.”

Her mind is far more interesting, it spoke again. Apparently, everyone could hear it. Her memories taste even sweeter. What a fine thing found us this evening.

“How luck we are”, you said.

But you didn’t.

Opening your eyes, you saw yourself. Fingers deep into your cunt, mouth displaying the most annoying smirk. Eyes glistening with fake innocent.

“Fuck”, you babbled.

The smirk seemed to grow. “Your mind is a interesting place”, that thing said. Even her voice was the same as yours. “But I need to say, your body if far more comfortable.”

Looking into your eyes, all you could do was take it. Let this being have its fill of you. Watch for your tits move. The strechmarks on your waist. Your soft thighs. Those freckles on your skin.

Being used, watching yourself, its voice came back. You want this to stop?

You giggled. “Don’t tell me it’s over already?”

Not at all, the voice came back. Let’s move to the next floor.

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi

2K notes · View notes

mimikyuno · 8 months ago

Text

YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE WAS READY TO TELL HER!! SHE WAS FINALLY FEELING ALMOST SAFE ENOUGH TO BE ABLE TO COME OUT ON HER OWN TERMS TO THE ONE WHO HAS WAITED BY HER SIDE, PATIENTLY WAITING ALL THIS TIME. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE THINKS IT’S ALL RUINED!!!!! SHE HAD A TASTE OF REAL SISTERHOOD AND FEMALE FRIENDSHIP AND BEING ONE OF THE GIRLS WITHOUT ANY “IF” AND “BUT”. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE IS OUT TO PEOPLE WHO LOVE HER ALREADY. AND SHE IS OUT TO TRANSPHOBIC ASSHOLES. SHE KNOWS THAT HER DEAREST FRIENDS WILL LOVE AND ACCEPT HER AND UNDERSTAND HER BUT SHE CANNOT TAKE THE CREEPING DOUBT THAT THEY’RE JUST BEING KIND OUT OF PITY AND ACTING LIKE NOTHING’S DIFFERENT WHEN TO MIZUKI EVERYTHING’S CHANGED!!! BECAUSE NOW THEY KNOW TOO AND SHE CANNOT TAKE THE THOUGHT OF THEM NOW NOT SEEING HER AS A “REAL GIRL”, AS HER BULLIES PUT IT. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE TORE THE DRESSES AND BROKE HER MIRROR AND BLINDFOLDED HER EYES. SHE IS THAT REPULSIVE!! WHY COULDNT SHE BE BORN A “”REAL”” GIRL!!!! YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE WAS SO SCARED OF THEM FINDING OUT, ESPECIALLY ENA, AND NOW ENA FOUND OUT IN THE WORST WAY POSSIBLE!!! YOU DONT UNDERSTANDDDDD SHE WAS SCARED OF COMING OUT BUT ALSO IT WAS EATING AWAY AT HER AND MAKING HER DISTANCE HERSELF FROM THE REST OF NIIGO AND IT WAS ONLY THROUGH ENA’S KINDNESS AND INSISTENCE THAT SHE WAS ABLE TO NOT DISTANCE HERSELF COMPLETELY FROM THE OTHERS, BUT THAT ONLY MEANS THAT NOW IT HURTS THAT MUCH MORE TO LOSE THEM!!! AND LOSING THEM NOT EVEN BECAUSE THEY REJECTED HER BUT BECAUSE SHE REJECTED THEM BEFORE SHE COULD EVEN FACE THEM!!! YOU. DONT. UNDERSTAND. SHE IS GONE FROM THE REAL WORLD, SHE IS DEPICTED LIKE SHE IS ABOUT TO BE HANGED, BLINDFOLDED, OFFERING HER NECK, DEFEATED, AS THE LACES SHE SO CHERISHED FORM A LOOP IN THE FOREFRONT OF THE ILLUSTRATION, AS IF THEY ARE HER ROPE. SHE IS DISSOCIATED AND SUICIDAL AND IS ISOLATING HERSELF. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SHE WAS ALWAYS SMILING AND PUTTING ON A BRAVE FACE – ALWAYS READING THE ROOM AND HELPING ENA, KANADE, AND MAFUYU WITH THEIR STRUGGLES, BIG AND SMALL, SIMPLY BC THEY WERE HER PRECIOUS FRIENDS!! YOU DONT. UNDERSTAND. SHE WAS ALREADY SUICIDAL IN MIDDLE SCHOOL, WHEN SHE WAS REPRESSING HERSELF AND REJECTING HER TRANSNESS, SHORT HAIR AND MALE UNIFORM. NIIGO WAS THE LIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!! NIIGO WAS HER ANCHOR AND HER SAFE SPACE!! WITH NIIGO SHE COULD JUST BE “AMIA”, A GIRL, AND MAKE MUSIC AND FILL WITH LOVE AND WARMTH THOSE ENDLESS NIGHTS. SHE TRANSITIONED AFTER NIIGO GAVE HER A FEELING OF PURPOSE, “AH, LIFE IS WORTH LIVING AFTER ALL.” AND IT’S ALL GONE NOW. SHE SAW ENA’S SHOCKED FACE WHEN HER CLASSMATES OUTED HER WITH THEIR TRANSPHOBIC JOKES. IT’S ALL GONE. IN AN INSTANT. “DONT LOOK AT ME”. BUT ALSO. “DONT LEAVE ME.” GODDDDDD

#the way this event showcases and makes u empathise with trans pain without romanticising trans people’s suffering. goddddd #mizuki akiyama bb girl ur making trans history #project sekai #mizuki akiyama #ena shinonome #mizuena #mafuyu asahina #kanade yoisaki #niigo #n25 #prsk #mzen posting #mine

1K notes · View notes

alohajix · 14 days ago

Text

𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐦

Description: [Y/N] signed her son up for soccer to help him feel a little braver. She didn’t expect it to feel like she was the one learning how to start over. And she definitely didn’t expect the coach to start feeling like home.

Warnings: single parenthood, child anxiety, parental guilt, emotional vulnerability, fear of abandonment, slow-burn romance, eventual consensual smut (soft to intense).

Word count: TBD.

author’s note: this little mini-story is actually part of something a bit bigger! if you enjoyed part one, i’m planning to share the four other parts exclusively on my patreon as i write them. there’s zero pressure, of course—just knowing you’re here reading already means the world to me. but if you’d like to support my work even more and follow this story as it continues, you’ll be able to find the rest over there when they’re ready. thank you so much for reading. i appreciate you more than you know! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

***

Warnings: child nervousness, social overwhelm, parental self-doubt, references to past social exclusion, emotional tension, fear of letting someone in.

Word count: 3,748.

The field is busier than I expected. Parents already staking their claims with fold-out chairs along the sidelines, sipping from oversized thermoses, shouting to each other over the hum of kids in matching jerseys sprinting across the grass like it's the World Cup. My stomach pulls tight as I kill the engine, my hands still wrapped around the steering wheel like I'm not entirely sure if we should even be here.

I glance into the rearview mirror, catching Archie in the back seat, small hands fidgeting with the hem of his jersey again. He's been doing that since we left the apartment—rolling the fabric between his fingers like it might unravel if he stops. It's bright red, way too big on him. He'd wanted it that way. Said the bigger one felt safer. Like armor, he told me, with the kind of serious little face only a six-year-old could pull off. But looking at him now, all I can think is how small he really looks in it.

I let out a slow breath and glance toward the field again, already feeling the weight of every other parent who looks like they've done this a hundred times before. Like they belong here. Like they belong together.

I climb out of the car, shut my door gently, and walk around to his side. He doesn't move when I open it, just looks up at me with those wide, worried eyes I know too well. The same eyes I've seen every time we try something new. I crouch down so we're level, resting my elbows on my knees.

"Alright, champ... you ready?"

His feet swing nervously over the edge of the seat. His voice is so soft I almost miss it.

"Do I have to go with them by myself?"

God, how many times have I heard that question in one form or another? First days of school, new babysitters, birthday parties where he doesn't know anyone but me. The same fear, every time. The same knot in my stomach when I have to lie just a little to make him believe this time will be different.

I reach for his hand, curling my fingers around his.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," I tell him quietly, brushing a piece of hair off his forehead. "But remember what we said? About trying? About being brave enough to see if it feels a little better once you get started?"

He bites his lip hard enough to leave a mark, glancing toward the field. I follow his gaze, taking in the kids already spread out in messy clusters, parents shouting encouragement like this is the most important thing in the world. My throat feels tight just looking at it.

"I'll be right here," I add softly. "The whole time. You can look for me whenever you want."

His chin wobbles just a little, but after a second, he nods. It's barely there, but it's enough. I press a quick kiss to his temple, breathing him in like it might settle something in me, too. That familiar scent of shampoo and syrup and him. My safe place, even when I'm the one who's supposed to be his.

I hold out my hand.

"Come on. Let's go check it out."

He slips his hand into mine without saying another word, holding on tight. Tighter than usual. We start walking toward the noise. And even though I've already promised him it's going to be okay, I'm not sure I believe it yet.

The closer we get, the more it feels like my skin's been pulled too tight. Like every step drags me further into a place I'm not convinced we belong. Archie's fingers are sweaty in mine, small and tense, and I can feel the tiny tremble in them with every squeeze. He's walking slower now, half a step behind, like if he keeps dragging his feet long enough, maybe I'll turn us around and call the whole thing off.

I want to. God, I want to. But I don't.

We stop at the edge of the field, just shy of the first line of folding chairs. I shift my weight, standing tall enough to look like I know what I'm doing, even though the truth feels like it's unraveling by the second.

Parents are everywhere—chatting over the hum of thermoses being popped open, stretching their legs out toward the grass like they've claimed this territory a dozen times before. Some of them are wearing team hoodies. Some already know each other's kids by name. You can tell by the way they laugh like it's nothing new.

I tuck Archie in a little closer to my side, scanning the field until I find the group in red jerseys forming near the far goalpost. A man's standing in front of them, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose from his neck. His sleeves are already shoved up to his elbows, hands gesturing casually as he calls the group to attention.

"All right, Red Rockets, let's bring it in!"

The way he says it catches me off guard—not sharp, not impatient, not the way I expected someone to rally a group of six-year-olds on a cold Saturday morning. It's... soft. Confident, but not loud. Like he already knows they'll listen without needing to shout.

I feel Archie flinch just a little beside me, his body shrinking closer to mine like the sound spooked him. I glance down, smoothing my thumb across the back of his hand.

"It's okay," I whisper, even though I have no idea if that's true.

When I look back up, the man's moving. Walking toward the group of kids gathering into a loose circle in front of him. I catch the edge of his voice again—lower this time, more focused on the ones who haven't settled yet.

Archie stiffens all over again, frozen like he's deciding whether to bolt or hide. And all I can think is please don't shut down. Not yet.

I'm already running through my backup plan in my head—how to peel him off the sidelines gently if he refuses to move, how to keep my voice from cracking when I tell him it's okay, we can try again another week—when I catch movement from the corner of my eye. He's walking toward us. Steady. Unbothered. No clipboard this time, no whistle in his hand. Just easy steps like he's done this before. Like he's not in a rush to fix anything.

Archie stiffens even more, his little body locking up next to mine like he's bracing for impact. I lean down toward his ear, lowering my voice to that quiet, steady hum I've learned works better than anything else.

"It's okay, baby. Just breathe. I'm right here."

He stops a couple of steps away, leaving space like he knows better than to crowd us. His hands are loose in his jacket pockets, his mouth tipping into the kind of smile that feels... patient. The kind that makes it look like this isn't a problem to solve—it's just a moment to walk through.

"Hey there," he says, nodding once like it's the most normal thing in the world to approach strangers this way. "First day nerves?"

I shift my weight, pulling Archie a little closer to my side.

"Yeah," I answer softly, my voice rougher than I mean for it to sound. "We just moved here. Still trying to find our place."

He nods like that makes perfect sense. Like he's heard it before.

"'S a lot, isn't it?" he murmurs, glancing toward the field again like he remembers exactly what it feels like to stand on the outside of something. "Is that your little one, then? Number five?"

I look down at Archie, who's still clinging to me, eyes wide but curious now.

"Yeah. Archer. We... we call him Archie."

Harry crouches down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. He doesn't reach for Archie. Doesn't try to pull him out of hiding. He just lowers himself to his level and lets his voice drop even softer.

"Hiya, Archie. I'm Harry. Coach Harry, technically, but that feels a bit too serious for six-year-olds, don't you think?"

Archie doesn't answer, but his grip on my sweater loosens just a little. His eyes flick to Harry's shoes, then to his face, then back to me like he's checking if I'm still here. Harry keeps going, easy as anything.

"Y'know, we've got a job open today," he adds with a quiet grin. "Someone needs to help me set up all those cones over there before the team comes in. Think you might be able to help me with that?"

Archie shifts his weight, biting his lip, and for a second I'm sure he's going to shut down again. But then—so small I almost miss it—he nods. Just once. Harry doesn't make a big deal out of it. Doesn't whoop or cheer or make it a moment bigger than it needs to be. He just leans back on his heels, pushes to his feet, and tips his head toward the pile of cones on the grass.

"We'll just be over here," he says to me softly. "Promise I'll bring him right back."

I stay frozen where I am, arms wrapped tight around myself like I might actually fall apart if I move too fast.

Archie follows him. Slowly, yeah—but he follows. Two tiny steps at first. Then one more. He's a full body length behind, but he's moving. Moving toward something without me. My throat feels like it's closing up just watching it happen.

I hover at the edge of the chairs, not daring to sit down. My eyes flick to the other parents spread out along the sidelines, already swapping stories about school pickups and carpool schedules like this is just another weekend. Some of them aren't even watching the field. Some are already halfway through their second cup of coffee, shouting out names like they've done this a hundred times.

It's strange, standing here alone. My arms wrapped around myself like I'm bracing for something, like I'm waiting for a punch that never comes. I glance up at the sky for no reason at all, noting the gray clouds stretching low and heavy over the trees at the far end of the field. One gust of wind, and it'll probably rain.

Of course, I didn't bring an umbrella. I didn't think that far ahead. I'd been too busy worrying about Archie. About whether or not I could even get him this far.

I shift again, pressing my tongue to the back of my teeth to stop myself from calling Archie back. My fingers itch to reach for him, to pull him out of the spotlight and hide him somewhere safer. Somewhere smaller. Somewhere where he doesn't have to try so hard. But I don't. I stay planted. I watch Harry kneel beside the pile of cones, picking them up one by one and laying them out on the grass like he's got all the time in the world. He doesn't even glance back to see if Archie's still following. He just... waits.

Archie shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking back toward me like he's asking permission without saying it out loud. My chest tightens, but I nod once, small and steady, like I'm not terrified he's about to fall apart in front of everyone. And then he moves again. Steps right up to the pile and crouches awkwardly, his little fingers fumbling to grab a cone. Harry leans in a little, points to a spot on the field, and Archie starts walking toward it, arms stiff like he's afraid to drop it.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My throat stings with it. Like I've been holding that breath for longer than just today. It's small. So small. But it's more than I expected. I've seen people give up on him before. I've watched them get impatient when he freezes or takes too long to answer or hides behind me when they try to pull him out of his shell too fast. I've heard the tight, strained "it's okay, some kids just aren't social" more times than I can count. Always laced with that disappointed edge like they've already decided he's too much work.

I've seen the way they check their watches. The way they glance toward me with that half-frown, half-smile that really means "he's slowing us down." I've walked Archie back to the car more times than I can count with his head on my shoulder, whispering it's not his fault even when I know he doesn't believe me.

And every time it happens, I feel that weight in my chest. That bitter little voice in the back of my head that says see? This is why you keep your circle small. This is why you don't expect people to stay.

But Harry doesn't flinch. Doesn't push. He just lets Archie take his time, moving one cone at a time like there's nothing else to do today but wait for him to figure it out.

I glance down at the ground by my feet, kicking at the grass with the tip of my shoe like that might ground me somehow. It doesn't. All I can do is watch. All I can do is hope. I feel my heart catch in my throat because I already know I shouldn't let myself get used to that. He's just doing his job. And it's nothing. But the way it feels settling in my chest tells me I'm lying to myself already.

The rest of practice passes in a blur. I barely register what the other kids are doing. I don't hear a single word the parents around me say. I'm too locked in on Archie. On the way he stays close to Harry, watching every move like he's afraid he might miss something important.

And somehow, somehow, he stays. He doesn't run back to me. He doesn't shut down. He doesn't quit.

By the time Harry claps his hands together and calls the team in one last time, Archie's cheeks are flushed, curls sticking to his forehead, his little hands tugging on the bottom of his jersey again—but his shoulders aren't hunched the way they were when we got here. He's tired, but he's still standing.

I push off the fence and start toward the edge of the field, hugging my arms around myself again like it's going to hold me together for the next thirty seconds.

Harry crouches down to Archie's level again, says something low that makes Archie nod. Then he stands, turns toward me, and starts walking over with that same easy pace like we aren't two strangers standing on opposite sides of a life we haven't figured out yet.

"He did great," Harry says when he reaches us, nodding toward Archie like he means it. "Took a little warming up, but he stuck it out."

I swallow the knot in my throat, brushing Archie's hair off his forehead again.

"Thanks for being patient with him. I know he's... a lot sometimes."

Harry frowns a little—just for a second—like he doesn't like hearing that.

"He's not a lot," he says quietly, like it's a fact. "He's a kid. Kids move at their own pace."

And just like that, something in my chest pulls tight again. Because no one ever says it like that. Not without sounding like they're trying to convince themselves. But Harry says it like he actually believes it.

I shift my weight, blinking hard to keep my expression neutral. My mouth opens to thank him again, but nothing comes out. I chew the inside of my cheek instead, heat creeping up the back of my neck.

Before I can embarrass myself further, he clears his throat, rocking back on his heels.

"Listen, uh—would it be alright if I grabbed your number? Just in case we have to reschedule or... if Archie forgets anything?"

I freeze for a second longer than I probably should. I shouldn't. I shouldn't. That little voice in my head kicks in fast, warning me not to blur the lines. Not to give anyone even an inch closer than they need to be. But he's looking at me with that same steady patience I've watched him give to Archie all morning. Like I have a choice. Like he'll back off if I say no.

I nod. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, already unlocked to a blank contact screen. I take it carefully, fingers brushing his. His skin is warm. Calloused, like he works with his hands for real. I feel it all the way down to my wrist, like something I shouldn't notice but do anyway.

I stare at the screen longer than I need to. I could fake it. I could type a number off by one digit and let this stay exactly what it is. Professional. Detached. Easy to forget.

But my thumb moves before I can stop it. I type my real name—[Y/N]. My real number.

When I hand it back, Harry glances at the screen, then up at me again with that easy, unreadable smile.

"Perfect. Thanks [Y/N]." God help me, I don't trust myself not to read too much into it.

Archie shifts beside me, tugging lightly on the hem of my sleeve like he's working up to something. He's got that scrunched-up little look on his face—the one he gets when he's thinking too hard. His cheeks are still flushed from running around, curls sticking to his damp forehead, but his eyes are darting between me and Harry like he's trying to figure something out.

Harry tucks his phone back into his jacket pocket and gives Archie one last ruffle of his hair, starting to turn back toward the rest of the kids when Archie blurts it out—loud enough for half the field to hear.

"Mama... can Coach Harry come to dinner sometime?"

The words hit me like a slap to the chest. Quick. Sharp. Immediate. My stomach drops. My throat closes. I freeze.

Harry doesn't. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't even blink, really. His smile doesn't falter for a second. He just crouches down to Archie's level again, his voice dropping low and soft, like it's just for him.

"Maybe one day, little man," Harry says, reaching out to tap two fingers lightly against Archie's tiny fist. "Gotta keep practicin' those kicks first, yeah? That's the deal."

Archie beams like he's just been promised Disneyland. I, on the other hand, feel like my face is on fire. My heart slams so hard I swear I can hear it in my ears. I glance around like I'm half-expecting someone to be standing there listening, but no one is. No one's paying attention to us at all.

Except me. Except Harry. Except Archie, who's already moved on like it's the most normal thing in the world to invite a complete stranger to dinner.

I clear my throat, tightening my grip on the strap of my bag.

"Alright, bud... let's grab your stuff."

Harry stands again, brushing his palms against his thighs like he's shaking off the grass. His eyes meet mine for one last second, and there's something there I can't quite name. Not teasing. Not pity. Just... something steady. Something that feels like he already knows I'm going to overthink this all night.

"See you next week?" I ask before I can stop myself, my voice tighter than I mean for it to be.

Harry nods, rocking back on his heels again.

"Wouldn't miss it."

And just like that, he's gone—turning back toward the pile of equipment like the last five minutes didn't knock the air clean out of my lungs.

Archie talks the whole walk back to the car. Little bursts of excitement tumbling over each other—how he kicked the ball once, how Coach Harry let him carry the cones, how next week he's going to run even faster. He's out of breath before we even make it across the parking lot, his tiny hand swinging in mine like all the fear from earlier never happened.

I keep nodding, making all the right noises, but it feels like my head is full of static. Like I can't get my feet back under me, no matter how many steps I take.

I get him buckled into his booster seat, double-check the straps even though I know they're fine. I lean in, pressing a kiss to his temple like I always do, breathing him in for just a second longer than necessary. He giggles, pushing at my face with one small hand.

"Mamaaa," he laughs, like I'm embarrassing him. Like it's funny. Like his heart isn't still tangled up in my hands the way mine is in his.

I shut the door quietly and lean back against the car, staring out at the emptying parking lot. Most of the families are gone already. The folding chairs are packed up, the chatter's faded, and the breeze is colder now than it was an hour ago. I wrap my arms around myself, digging my nails into my sleeves like that might stop the way my chest feels like it's caving in.

I don't know what I expected today to be. But it wasn't this. It wasn't the way Archie actually stayed. The way he looked—pink-cheeked and almost proud—for the first time in God knows how long. And it sure as hell wasn't the way Harry spoke to him. Or to me. Like we weren't some charity case. Like he wasn't performing patience for points. Like he actually... saw us. Both of us.

I shove my hand into my pocket, pulling out my phone before I can stop myself. My thumb hovers over the screen for half a breath too long before I swipe it open and scroll to my contacts.

Harry.

I lock the screen again and stuff it deep into my jacket like I can hide from it if I don't look too long.

"Okay," I whisper to myself, pushing off the car and moving toward the driver's side.

I'm already overthinking it.

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk1990 @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee @pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrysgirl2003 @harrystyleshotwife @secretands-blog @dutchtheatrelore @angeldavis777 @idkidcfuboh @maddiesalvatore1839

406 notes · View notes

bunni-v1 · 2 months ago

Text

Lion's Game

🍓Another long-ass smut fic finished. This one has less plot, so enjoy. There are still 2k words of not smut though, so that's what it is. I hope you little sluts enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Kisses <3

TW: Predator/Prey Dynamics; Rough-ish sex; Creampie; Cum eating; Belly Bulge; Mean Mydei; editing errors

Info: Mydei x Fem!Reader; Smut

Word Count: ~5k Words

MDNI

Castrum Kremnos was once a towering city, its grand walls reflecting its people’s prestige and pride. In its prime, the molten sunlight would kiss the shimmering gold running along its exterior, heating the marble flooring and burning the feet of those unaccustomed to its fiery rage. Much like its people, the city was a proud thing, lavish and beautiful – a sight many reveled at upon the first gaze. A city built to show the pride of the Kremnoan people, the fruits of their endless battles reminding all who saw it to cower, for Kremnoans were as mighty as their kingdom. Forces not to be reckoned with, lest you wish to meet a brutal end.

Even now, the city's beauty is magnificent, like something out of a storybook you’d read as a child. Despite the ruin it has fallen into, the cool marble walls stand proud, a testament to how sturdy Kremnoan architecture was. Most of the rubble was from man or monster, not from lack of stability. The once lively halls were full of still air, eerily quiet. With no one and nothing in sight, the halls remained stagnant in their silence, only filled up by those stupid or brave enough to dare enter.

You weren’t sure which category you fell into. On one hand, Mydei had emboldened you, encouraging you to explore before he began his hunt. He was more familiar with the city, even in ruin, and didn’t want you hurting yourself by any means outside of himself. So you were sent off to explore, and you had spent nearly an hour doing so. Yet, the towering walls had a way of making you feel stupid. Stripped naked like the prey you were, the chill bit at your skin, keeping you from fully relaxing. You did not know this place, and its many passageways and turns were dizzying as you explored. Far too much for you to comprehend when the adrenaline was mixed in with it all.

Nearly an hour of aimless wandering and you were still hardly able to map the city out in your head. You had minutes before Mydei would begin his hunt, the seconds ticking away at your nerves. You would have to hide soon, it was an inevitability, standing out in the open of this ginormous room would only get you caught immediately. There weren’t many places to hide, though, only behind piles of rubble and pillars, but that would be too obvious. Mydei would sniff you out just as fast with such simple-minded tactics.

Moving around him seemed to be the smartest solution, but you would have to figure out where he was first. To get a gauge on him, you would first have to hide, and then keep distance – which he would account for, meaning you’d have to be vigilant at all times. A trembling breath leaves your lips, heat pooling between your legs from the thrill of it all. He hadn’t even started and you were weak in the knees, gods you felt like a helpless maiden.

You slap your face three times, coming back to reality with the sting. Focus first, on a hiding spot that would be suitable for a short stay. You glance around the room, eyes zeroing in on a slightly ajar door. Swift as a rabbit you dash across the room, pressing against it and smiling when it doesn’t budge, blocked by something on the other side. The crack is small, but just large enough that you could slide in and Mydei couldn’t without tearing it down.

You slide between them, sighing when you finally get through. This was the only door to this small room, old documents, and parchment paper scattered across the floor. It smells like old books, which is oddly comforting to you in your state. You slide yourself down the opened door, wedged between it and the corner, out of sight from anyone who might try and peer in. As you settle, the game begins, and your body jitters in anticipation.

You hear nothing for a long while, which is to be expected. You had wandered deep into the ruins, and even Mydei would take a moment to get to your location. This does not alleviate the tension around you, not knowing where Mydei was at was reason enough to tremble in fear. Your breaths come out in shallow puffs, rubbing over your cold arms as a means of calming yourself with little success.

Then, you hear it. The sound of marble rubbing against marble as the door opened and the clanking of metal across the ground. He was here. You swallowed down a gasp, he wasn’t near you yet, so you had to keep yourself level-headed. If you panicked now, you would be found out immediately. Deep breaths, quiet, yet shaky. You had to strain to hear him, despite how much metal he was still wearing – he knew how to keep himself silent. He looked around the same areas you had, as evident by the slight shifting of rubble and unsatisfied grunts when nothing was revealed to him.

Naturally, like you, he drifts toward the door. You listen as he walks up to it, feet falling short right behind your back. You tuck into yourself a little tighter, thighs clenching together like he might hear how wet this had made you. The soft shifting of fabric indicated his leaning forward, peering in like a predator sniffing out his prey. The distinct clinking of his metal claws pushes against the door, trying and failing miserably to get it to budge.

You nearly fail to keep quiet, but clamp a hand over your mouth to stop any sounds from falling out. He breathes heavily, each sound a heave of excitement. You can only imagine the wild look in his eyes as he searches for you in this tiny little room he cannot break into. It almost makes you want to taunt him, but you are smarter than that, staying quiet and hiding like good prey should.

Finally, agonizingly slowly, he pulls back with a sigh. Having decided that the room was no longer worth his time. You strain to listen as he walks away, hearing him check a few other places before finally exiting to the room adjacent to this one again. You recall that one, it has two floors, but the access to the second floor is only through this hall – the stairs had long since crumbled. It was perfect, you could get to the second floor easily and remain hidden while keeping tabs on him.

You wait a few moments longer, allowing him time to get comfortable in the next room before making your risky move. Most would not want to stay in the same room as the person hunting them, but that is exactly why you are. Remaining just out of his reach, ensuring you had a visual upper hand was better than cowering like a child. You crawl out of your hiding space, deftly climbing the stairs to the second floor and slipping into the next room through an open door, quiet as a mouse.

Mydei is still there, you hear him just below you. You keep your back pressed to the wall and body low to be safe, unwilling to be seen by him. Your legs tremble when he grumbles something under his breath, the thick annoyance in his tone having your body begging for him already. You ignore the way they shake, moving silently as he moves, keeping your hunter just beneath you. You wonder what he is thinking, what he plans on doing to you when he catches you. Will he take you hard and fast, or will he torture you slow and painful? Is he as excited as you are? The questions swirl in your mind to a dizzying degree.

You take a sharp breath when you hear him leave into the next room. Unlike this one, there is no way to get to it, which means you will have to either run the other way or follow him and risk being caught. You toss your options back and forth in your head, debating on which would be the smartest, and deciding that perhaps waiting here for a moment would be the right choice. He surely wouldn’t return so quickly, so it would be alright to stay here for just a moment.

Yet the door adjacent to the one he exits from opens, and you see him for the first time. He is wearing his usual uniform, armor, and all. The only difference to him is how narrow his eyes are, sternly focused on the hunt. On finding you. And find you they do, scanning the area above him and blowing wide as they zero in on you. You watch his expression shift from calm determination to wild delight, the lion has found his prey.

Like a monster, he turns and sprints toward the next room, sure to follow you up here where you have effectively cornered yourself for him. Adrenaline curls around your limbs, pooling more heat into your core, and urging you to run. You listen, though you have nowhere to go, only furthering yourself along the wall until you are opposite of where Mydei burst through.

His shoulders are drawn back, hands clenching excitedly at his sides as he rakes his eyes over every inch of exposed skin you offer him. Confidence drips off him, rolling across the room in waves and making you feel smaller than you already are, cowering into the corner. Your brain screams at you to do something, anything to get away from his rapid approach.

You agree with it, despite how much you want to freeze, your flight kicks in instead. In an instant, you are jumping forward and down to the floor below you. You roll, tumbling a few times ungracefully, your body screaming at the sting. You ignore its cries, turning to look back at Mydei who looks almost terrified until you stand up and bolt through the doors he’d come through.

A wicked laugh tears through the ruins, but you do not allow yourself to stop, the real hunt has begun. Tearing through door after door, corridor after corridor as his clanking footsteps slam quickly behind you. You’re so deep in you do not know where you are, but you continue onward, ignoring the burn of your lungs. Your mind cannot keep up with your surroundings as you run, too much information to keep up with too fast.

You stumble around, over fallen rubble, cracks in the floor, most anything you cannot immediately process you trip over. Yet, you never fall, adrenaline keeping you upright and running even when your motor skills fail you. Mydei only gets closer with each failure of your feet, until he is practically on your tail. Faster and stronger than you, smarter too without the terror in his veins keeping him anxious.

You come across a large open room, covered in debris from the fall of the kingdom. Loose pillars stand around you, and your only exit is the door that you came through. There is no immediate escape as Mydei backs you into yet another corner, eyes blown wide in anticipation. You think he may tear your throat out like a real predator the closer he comes to you. You are smaller, weaker, and more exhausted than he is. This feels like the end, and he anticipates it to be as he saunters up to you with all the calm of a seasoned warrior.

You never had a chance to truly win this, nor did you really want to. The fear feeds into the heat gathering between your legs, and you want nothing more than for him to take you here and now. That would ruin the fun of it, though, giving up so easily. So, you take into account the one thing you have that Mydei doesn’t. As he reaches out to you, you duck beneath his arms, small stature making it easy to avoid him. No matter how fast his reaction time is, you are just small enough for his second swipe to miss.

Scrambling over to one of the unstable pillars, you manage to use enough force to get it to tumble to the ground just as Mydei charges forward. He stumbles back for only a moment, but it’s long enough for you to get across the room and through the door again. You have all the means of escaping, and you were so close, yet halfway through the next room you stumble, and this time you cannot correct yourself. Your body crashed to the ground harshly, skidding across the floor. You cry out, scrambling to get up, but it is too late. Mydei was already there, hauling you up by your arm and dragging you alongside him to a nearby couch.

You are thrown against the plush cushions and then forced to look up at Mydei as a clawed hand grabs your face tightly. His talons dig into the soft flesh of your cheeks as he drags your eyes to his. You grip at his metal-wrapped hand, squeezing uselessly at the armor like it might free you through desperation alone. He smirks at the pathetic attempt, satisfied with the mess you have become.

“I have won,” he declares simply, “behave unless you enjoy being punished.”

You heave, out of breath, and aching in more ways than one. Mydei does not repeat his previous mistake, of caging you against the back of the couch with his free hand. It takes no effort for him to nudge your legs open, grinning like a beast when your pussy shimmers up at him. You are trembling under his gaze, feeling truly overpowered by him. He was stronger, more physically capable, more intelligent in the ways of the hunt, and he still held the dignity of being fully clothed.

You cannot physically fight him off when he uses the hand holding your face to lay you down on the couch. His body cages yours beneath him, golden eyes tearing a path across all his favorite parts of you. Unabashedly taking in the spoils of his hunt, ignoring the way your legs weakly attempt to push him away from you. So lost in his ogling, he nearly misses the elbow you throw at his head, a last resort to prolong the fight. It misses his temple as he deflects it, instead catching his jaw hard enough to make him blink in surprise.

You almost feel proud to catch the ever-sturdy Mydei off guard, a rare feat from most anyone. You do not get to revel in it, because as soon as you smirk his free hand is shoving its way between your legs, two fingers curling inside you cruelly. He does not bother preparing you in any way, not that he needed to with how well the adrenaline had done its job. Still, the stretch from empty to this stung, drawing a long hiss out between your lips. You are silently thankful that he chose only to wear one gauntlet, likely for this exact reason.

He glares down at you, forcing your eyes back to him with a squeeze against your tender flesh. You fear the golden gauntlets may tear into your skin and scar you. The idea secretly excites you, but you do not voice that. You refuse to voice anything, unwilling to give in yet, despite the futility of fighting.

“Fighting me is useless, you will never win against me. Give up, lest I use more force to make you.” He commands, and you clench around his fingers, excited at the idea of punishment.

It does not amuse Mydei, though, as he frowns at you in some kind of annoyance. The fingers that had been pistoning in you suddenly switch up their movements, instead rolling them against the top of your walls, pressing right into your g-spot. With much effort, you bite your tongue and refuse him any noise other than the choked moan when he initially begins. He watches you with those glowing eyes, hypnotizing you into giving him what he wants, but you remain steadfast.

No matter how hard he presses, how fast he goes, you remain silent. It takes all that you have, but you refuse him the satisfaction of having caught you. He has won the hunt, but you refuse to allow the game to end with such ease. So, even with the coil building quickly in your stomach, you fight him tooth and nail. Fingers gripping the cushions until your knuckles are white, toes curling up until your feet hurt, every exertion is spent on keeping yourself from making noise.

You don’t account for the fact that he will stop so abruptly though, a confused noise bubbling past your mouth when he removes his fingers from you entirely. You stare at him in confusion, even more so when he releases your face. You swallow hard, unsure if he intended to leave you here alone, naked and needy as he stands. He does not walk away, instead, he pulls you up by your hair and shoves you down to your knees.

He keeps a fistful of your hair in his hand as he sits, spreading his legs out and pulling you between them. Thrown off your game, you place your hands on his thighs, staring hard at the lump in his pants. Your eyes find him, and he raises an eyebrow at you, telling you silently to quit playing stupid. Still shaking from your earlier adrenaline rush, you fumble with his pants for a moment, shoving the fabric aside just enough that he springs free. His angry red tip lands right in front of your lips, inviting you to have the taste you’re dying for.

You don’t do it though, staring blankly at his member, entranced by it. Your fingers tap along his armor in anticipation, clinking dully and ringing in your skull. If you sucked him off obediently, you lose. Yet, the sight of his pretty swollen cock, dripping precum down the shaft was wavering your resolve.

All it takes to crack you completely is a shove of your head, the tip pressing into your cheek as he did. A low growl sounds from his throat, “Suck.”

You don’t have to be told twice after that, opening up and taking him in. He’s merciful enough to let you go at your own pace, but he urges you to swallow all you can as quickly as possible. Your eyes tear up as he brushes the back of your throat, thankful you don’t gag, and then swallowing hesitantly. He sighs when you do, spreading himself out just a little more so you lean forward and take just a little more down your throat.

What you cannot fit, you wrap your hands around, giving a careful few strokes to test. Then, with as much courage as your mind can muster, you start bobbing your head at a slow pace. Each move has you slobbering around him, unable to properly swallow him down. Your spit coats his cock, making the movement easier as you spread it with your hands. Each time his tip touches your throat, your eyes water a little more.

Still, you put your all into swallowing him up. Slowly but surely, he was breaking you down into the good little prey you were. The fight you had in you earlier was all but extinguished by the taste of him. Going from hissing and fighting to cooing and cuddling in no time, completely pacified by the weight of him on your tongue.

He sighs, relaxing into the cushions and pulling you along carefully by the hair. You gaze up at him, lashes dotted with sparkling tears. He groans at the sight, thumb caressing your forehead with a tenderness he’d been lacking most of the night. Reminding you that he was still your Mydei, even now. The wet slopping of your mouth on him fills the ruins, sending heat through you again. It takes a lot in you to resist the urge to reach between your legs.

You hear him sigh again, readjusting the grip he had on your head. You don’t think much of it initially, just him getting more settled, but you feel him push a little harder each time you go down. You think maybe he’s just being playful, but he keeps going, inching more and more of him down your throat until your hands no longer have room on his shaft.

His cock throbs between your lips as you struggle to keep up with the faster pace, breaths coming in short uneven blows out your nose. He gives one final push, pressing your nose flush against his skin, hair tickling you. He holds you there, and all you can do is swallow around him. You feel him twitch, your only warning before hot cum pours down your throat. Obediently, you do your best to gargle it down, but you can’t stop it from pouring down the sides of your chin along with your tears.

When he pulls out, you gasp for air, coughing harshly at the invasion of your throat. He holds your face as you do so, swiping the cum off your chin as you catch your breath. Then, he presses it into your mouth. You lick it up, swallowing every last drop he has to offer, then show him proudly. Your reward is him pulling you upward and licking at the salty tracks your tears have left on your face. It makes you moan wantonly, the sound bouncing around the ruins and reverbing right back into Mydei’s dick.

“Stand,” he commands, and you do so without hesitation.

Legs aching and shaky, you support yourself on his shoulder. His eyes roam your figure hungrily, waiting for his final meal to be served like the king he is. They catch on your swollen pussy, leaning forward to kiss your lower lips with a reverence that did not match his earlier actions. He gets his fill, making you stumble in place, supported by his clawed hand digging into your hip. Sure to leave bruises deep into your skin.

He pulls away far too soon for your liking, a thin sheen of you on his lips as he smirks up at you. You bite your lip at the sight, fingers digging into his shoulder as if to hold yourself back. He licks his lips, sure to get all he can of you on his tongue. What he misses, he uses the same thumb that cleaned you of him to gather your essence and push it past your lips. He urges you to taste yourself, like it was as sweet as the pomegranates he loves so much.

You swirl your tongue around the finger, moaning to yourself. There is still the lingering of him, mixing with your own juices, leaving you lightheaded. He pushes down on your tongue, thumb opening your jaw and watching the muscle struggle to still against his hold. He smiles, dragging it down and pulling your lip back on the way down until finally he leaves your mouth alone. Hand falling to your side.

“Sit,” he commands once more, “until you have all of me inside you. Do you understand?”

You nod, placing your knees on either side of him. You align him with your entrance, rubbing your slick along the tip in hopes that it will help with the squeeze. Mydei taps his fingers along your hip impatiently, a warning that he will get involved if you do not listen. With a deep breath, you press his tip inside you. The stretch is instant, stinging as your walls struggle to take his girth within them.

The coating of slick and spit does nothing to help, only making the slide easy, not easing the pain in the slightest. Still, you push onward for fear of Mydei forcing you to take him all at once. Inch after inch, your walls conform and flutter around him, leaving an imprint in your stomach by the time he is fully sheathed inside you. The sting slipped away into a dull ache, begging you to nullify it with pleasure.

Myedi observes you the whole time, doing nothing to step in and help, only drinking you up with his bright golden eyes. They glance down at the bulge in your stomach a few times, fingers lightly tracing over it, raising goosebumps around the sensitive area. You swallow, watching with rapt attention, trying your best not to wiggle too much from feeling him inside and out. When he presses down harder, both of you hiss, clenching around him.

He taps your cheek lightly with his talons, and you gaze upon him in a lust-filled daze. He almost looks sweet with how he gazes upon you. The love for you burns beneath the lust, taking your breath away when he smirks.

“No hiding your voice,” he says sternly, “Do you understand me?”

A test to make sure you were still coherent, you nod adamantly. Moan a lot, you could understand that command easily. Anything else might be a little difficult, luckily this is all he asks of you. “Yes.”

He hums, tugging your hips forward a little, “Good.”

Never one for hesitation, he immediately moves you against him. A brutal pace to begin it all, guiding you along his shaft with his hands. Your hips meet his in succession, wetly slapping against one another. You have to use his shoulders to steady yourself against him, unable to do anything other than that as he uses you to his contentment.

You moan out with each thrust, crying your burning desire out in the ruins. Your voice rang around, reminding you of just how pathetic you were right now. Being split apart on his cock, babbling like an idiot, begging for more of him. You fall forward at some point, forehead pressed to his sweaty chest, deepening the thrusts unintentionally.

You watch as his cockhead presses up into your stomach repeatedly, whining at the sight. Your fingers come to press into the lump, crying out again when it tightens you even further. Mydei isn’t left unaffected either, groaning and tightening his hold on your hips, leveraging himself off them as he begins to thrust up into you instead. Your body goes limp into him, unable to maintain a sitting position with him slamming into you so relentlessly.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to orgasm, walls fluttering uncontrollably around his length. From the way he was twitching around you, you knew he wasn’t far behind either. You were sobbing against him now, your only comfort was the weight of his hands on your hips. He fucked you so well that you couldn’t even think, gasping for air with each upward thrust.

The coil in your stomach has wound itself so tightly that it is making you lightheaded, you think the next thrust will snap it, but it keeps tightening. Mydei’s cock throbs inside you, and that is what you in, body jolting as your orgasm crashes into you. Mydei presses you close to him, thrusting upwards a few more times before you feel his load empty into you.

Warm kisses press against the crown of your head, strong arms keeping you from thrashing about from pleasure. You sob his name into his skin, shaking through your orgasm. He hushes you, soothing you with gentle strokes up and down your back, until you slowly level out. You are left breathing softly against his chest, curling against him for more warmth as the chill of the room settles over you.

He sighs deeply, brushing hair behind your ear, peering at your tear-stained face with something like guilt. Even after all that, he was still worried he’d taken it too far, despite this being your idea in the first place. He was too sweet for his own good sometimes. You smile tiredly up at him, stroking his cheek with a thumb. His own taloned one trace down the tear tracks, frowning further.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly.

You nod, “Mhm. I know our safeword, I would’ve used it if it was too much.”

He hesitates, then settles on kissing your head again, “Alright.”

You stay like that for a little while longer, neither of you wanting to make the trip back to Okhema just yet. It was peaceful and quiet here, just the two of you alone and at peace. Still, you had to go back at some point, so you carefully peel yourself from Mydei sighing when you feel globs of his cum roll down your thighs.

You don’t need to look at him to know he’s staring, the intensity of his gaze following the sight with unabashed enjoyment. You wipe it up on your hand and leave it on the couch. Perhaps historians will overanalyze the stain at some point in the distant future.

Mydei stands after you, shrugging off the rich red fabrics and bringing them up around your freezing body. It does little to keep you warm, but it keeps you covered well enough that you can walk through Okhema without getting weird stares from people. He kisses your forehead again when he finishes, gathering you up in his arms.

You frown disapprovingly at him, “I can walk, you know?”

“I don’t want you to,” he states simply, leaving no room for argument.

You give in, resting your head against his shoulder with a sigh. You are silently grateful for it, your body feeling heavy and your eyes tired. You can’t stop yourself from drifting off every few seconds. The sound of his heartbeat lulls you into a peaceful slumber, the last thing on your mind is how lucky you are to have such a loving partner as him.

#bunni's treats 🧁#x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #hsr mydei x reader #mydei hsr #mydei smut #smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut

552 notes · View notes

daycourtofficial · 3 months ago

Text

Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part seven

Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 5.9k | warnings: SMUT, piv, fingering, cheating?, light choking, creampie

Summary: Azriel’s promise to be more attentive is proving true. When he wants to take you back to where it all started, what happens when there’s someone unexpected in his stead?

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

You winnowed to the cabin, the sight of it different now that it was daylight and the history of the journals was within you. You still hadn’t read the most recent ones, not quite brave enough to read Azriel’s perspective on meeting you.

You would get to them. Eventually.

It had been a few days since Azriel showed up at your bedside, sad puppy eyes convincing you he could make this work somehow. So far he had been true to his word, spending several hours a day with you. He had been bringing flowers and pastries to your room every day, sitting with you and having coffee every morning. He ate every meal with you in your room those first two days.

Each day he opened up about some part of him that wasn’t in the journals: his mother, his spymaster duties, his role in the Inner Circle.

It wasn’t all tragedy or bad feelings, though. He told you stories from growing up with Rhys and Cassian to even telling you his strategies for this year’s snowball fight.

Then you two began eating out around Velaris, a variety of cuisine that filled your belly and your heart. He had always been easy company, your tongue loose and heart bursting whenever you were with him.

It was nice. It reminded you of the before. Before telling Azriel he was your mate, before even knowing he was your mate. When things were simpler and easy.

Whenever his attention strayed from you, leaving you alone, your worries found you, wondering how long this attentiveness would last. Was he truly as sorry as he said? Or was this just to placate you long enough so he could slack off again?

You were open to his attention, his time, his company, but you always felt ready for it to be gone in an instant, never truly letting yourself relax. The one joy you have from if the worst happens is knowing that Nesta would cut Azriel into bite sized pieces for breaking your heart, and then she’d let the other Valkyries at him.

Madja had cleared you yesterday to return to normal, as long as you promised you’d be getting enough sleep and not overexerting yourself. She had lectured you for roughly an hour each day of your recovery, mad and upset one of her healers would be in this position.

To rejoice in Madja’s clearance, Azriel had asked if you had any plans today before running off on a ‘secret errand’. No one had seen him the rest of the day, allowing you time to eat with Nesta and Cassian, the former of which would glance at you every few minutes before pointedly looking at the wall clock.

Tick tock.

This morning you woke up to a bouquet of flowers on your night stand - brilliant shades of black and blue in a beautiful bundle. Some of them only grew in the upper most regions of Illyria. Had that been his secret errand? Retrieving rare and coveted flowers for you?

The card attached to the bouquet had been brief.

‘Come to the cabin by noon. Let’s have a quiet afternoon to show my appreciation.

Love, Az’

You reached the cabin door, unsure if you should knock or just go in. You had left the House of Wind early this morning, stopping in a field to pick flowers, wanting to return the favor. The bouquet was clutched in your hands, a silly notion of making Azriel a flower crown in the back of your mind. You stood outside for a moment, debating your options, until you swore you felt a nudge at your back. The momentum was enough - it brought your hand up, turning the knob to find it unlocked.

You pushed the door open, a smile on your face as excitement bubbled to see Azriel. The smile quickly faded, replaced with something between shock and a grimace. Just like that night all those weeks ago, Eris stood in the kitchen, back to you, his long hair tied back with a leather strop. He wasn’t cooking, but he had two mugs prepared in front of him, the aroma of coffee and tea blending together nicely.

You blinked several times, amazed you found yourself here, again. With Eris, again.

“Are you just going to stare at me or are you going to tell me what you are doing here?” He didn’t turn around, didn’t move at all. You half thought you imagined his voice until he clanked a spoon against his cup.

“What I’m doing here? Azriel asked me to be here.” Indignation colored your tone, unable to overcome the shock of finding Eris here.

“Azriel said he’d be here by noon.” As if his words reminded it, the grandfather clock chimed through the cabin, twelve strikes of the bell bouncing through the silence. He finally turned to look at you, a determined look in his eye, like if he squinted hard enough you’d grow bat-like wings and become a tall, hot Illyrian.

“Where is he?” You muttered, waiting for the door to open. You didn’t want to be stuck with Eris for too long without Azriel to run interference. The cabin was quiet as the two of you avoided looking at each other, an awkwardness that had you bouncing your leg.

At ten minutes past, Eris threw the towel onto the counter, stomping to the front door of the cabin. He grabbed the knob, trying to yank the door open, as if he could conjure Azriel himself, but the door didn’t budge.

“Damned thing.” He strained again, pulling harder, his forearms bulging with the action. He pressed his foot up to the wall for leverage, but the door still didn’t budge. A few shadows wove their way around the knob, gently trying to pry Eris’s fingers from it.

“Mother’s sake.” Eris gave a frustrated sigh before dropping the knob, turning to look at the bouquet that sat on the counter. It had looked just like the one Azriel had dropped off in your room this morning, not even noticing it once you had seen Eris.

“Do whatever it takes to have some common ground and like each other.” The words came from Eris, but he mocked Azriel’s intonation, the words likely from his own personalized note. “Bastardous male locking us in here.”

He strode back into the kitchen, a bottle of something dark materializing in his hand. He poured several generous shots into his cup, the smell causing your face to shrivel.

He didn’t touch the other mug, the steam finally having settled enough for someone to enjoy it.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the only sound Eris draining his mug dry. Eventually you grew bored and crossed the room, standing next to him. You grabbed Azriel’s mug, grimacing at it before adding cream and sugar to it. You felt Eris’s eyes watching you, critiquing every movement you made.

“Why do you think you’re an equal to me?” Eris was the first to speak up, his voice nearly causing you to drop the mug from your hands.

“I beg your pardon.” Out of the corner of your eye you watched him pour more of the alcohol, whiskey probably, into his mug.

“Then beg.”

You stood there, staring blankly at him. How did Azriel put up with this male, much less love him and want to see him? He was an arrogant ass, treating you as if you caused this situation?

His long fingers met your eye line, snapping directly in front of you. “Are you dim? Why do you think you deserve his coffee, much less him?”

“Am I dim?” You felt two steps behind in this conversation, hating how inferior Eris was making you feel through all of this. You needed to get leverage, get ahead of him or outsmart him somehow.

“Are you going to repeat everything I ask you? I’ll tire of that so quickly, I’d prefer to write my questions down so you can sound them out yourself, assuming you can read at a high enough level.”

“I can read just fine.” The coffee was still a bit too warm to drink, but you cradled your hands around it, allowing the warmth to bring more fight back into you.

“You never know with the Night Court. Perhaps illiteracy is contagious and your High Lady is the beginning of it.” The mention of Feyre so casually had you squinting at him, trying to figure out if he truly thought so low of you or was just lashing out at whoever popped into his head.

“If you hate the Night Court so much, why be mated to someone from there?”

“Even broken clocks are right twice a day.”

“That would mean there’s someone else in Night worthy of your time.”

Pride surged through you at besting him, the redhead scoffing before finishing his tea that was more alcohol than tea at this point. You sipped on Azriel’s coffee, the taste different from the coffee in Velaris. It was stronger, even with your added cream and sugar. It had a vague pumpkin aftertaste, just a hint of sweetness you knew Azriel secretly liked.

“Why do you think you are better suited for Azriel than I am?” You had wondered this whole time how Eris viewed his relationship with Azriel - everyone around you described him as a monster, incapable of love or feeling. You had the shadowsinger’s side, and now you wanted his supposed other half’s.

“I can handle his ire. He can take it out on me. I can handle him. His darkness, his violent tendencies, his anger. I’m more of his equal than you are.” Eris had turned his full attention to you, his mug now on the counter as he snapped at you. Ranting and raving, it’d be easy to confuse him with a mad male.

Love teetered that line of sanity and madness, you supposed.

“He could do the same with me.”

“Has he? Have you seen him angry? Have you seen him in the pits of despair?”

You pursed your lips, annoyed he was somewhat right. In the times you had seen Azriel at his worst, he was quick to hide himself away, never allowing you to help lick his wounds for long. Now you realized it was to see the male before you.

“Maybe I’m his equal in other ways.”

“You certainly are equal to him in being a pain in my ass these days.” They were muttered, but you knew he spoke loud enough to ensure you would hear it.

“Diplomacy isn’t your strong suit.”

“It isn’t Azriel’s either.”

“I’m quite good at it, and perhaps that’s why we were mated. Equals doesn’t mean we’re the same person. It means we balance each other out.” You pulled a flower from your bouquet, handing it to Eris. He doesn’t reach for it, only moving his head to look at you in confusion.

“What is this?”

“A flower. It’s a pretty plant that grows and fae enjoy receiving them as gifts.” He only rolled his eyes, crossing his arms at your response.

“I have a bouquet.”

“Azriel told us to play nice. I’m being nice and diplomatic. I’m giving you a flower.”

“From a bouquet you were going to give to my mate.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand and putting the flower into it. “There. What you do with it now is up to you.”

You had finished your coffee by then, moving around Eris to wash it in the sink. Despite how painful it was to speak to him, you couldn’t seem to make yourself stop. Every pause in conversation needed to be filled by something. You wanted his voice to fill the silences, to know more about him, and maybe to prove to him that you’re more than he thinks you are.

“You’re not as mean as you want people to think you are.” You weren’t sure why it came out as a whisper, as if it was some truth that could only be acknowledged in hushed voices and soft tones.

“You have met me three times and think you know everything now.” He turned away from you, peering out of the kitchen window, watching the wind blow the trees outside.

“You helped me. When I was healing Az, you helped me. That wasn’t mean.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You hated me and you helped me.”

“You would have killed yourself saving him. Azriel would have been miserable. I was saving him from heartache.”

You watched Eris’s back tense ever so slightly, preparing himself for the conversation to continue. You let the words settle, let them reach every corner of the room, let Eris relax again before responding.

“Hm. Killing yourself to save someone you love. Sounds an awful lot like Azriel, no?”

Even from behind you watched his jaw ticked and his back stiffen, at being outsmarted or over how well you knew Azriel, you weren’t sure. To best Eris Vanserra in a verbal sparring match not once but twice in such a short time was something to truly brag to Azriel about later.

“You don’t have to lie to me. You can say you were being nice.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” You stayed quiet, only watching him before he sighed. “Fine, if you don’t consider a half-truth a lie.”

A beat passed, accepting that that was all you would get from Eris on the subject.

“Thank you. Even if it was to spare Azriel from pain, it spared me from some, too.”

He didn’t say anything, only moved through the cupboards, searching for something. It only took a moment until he pulled out a sleeve of chocolate, unwrapping the foil and popping a bit into his mouth. Your stomach rumbled at the rich, slightly earthy scent, practically tasting it on your tongue. In your excitement to see Azriel, to pick him a bouquet, you had forgotten to eat anything other than a piece of fruit you had taken with you out the door. You were practically salivating at the scent.

“Get your own.”

“I didn’t think to prepare food.” You expected to meet Azriel here, for him to prepare the two of you food. Which would get a bit complicated with the mating bond, you supposed. You regret not grabbing some granola or more fruit.

“Then I guess you should leave or forage in the woods. Maybe get lost or maimed by pigeons while you’re at it.” You’re not sure why this is what set you off - he had said much worse to you earlier. But something shifted in you, a sudden spike of anger coursing through you. Your mouth started moving before you could even think.

“You are truly insufferable. I could think of a thousand males I’d prefer my mate to be mated to over you.” The words were all bite with no truth behind them. Beneath it all, you truly couldn’t picture any male measuring up to the one before you, aside from the male tethered to your chest who had locked the two of you in here. Eris was insufferable, but something inside of you kept pulling you toward him.

“I could say the same for you. In fact, I could list them out now, list how you fall short compared to them. Maybe then you’ll understand.” He popped a bit of the chocolate in his mouth, the bitter smell heightening your ire.

“You’ve never had a nice word to say in your life, Eris, so why start now?”

Eris’s smirk was equal parts infuriating and maddening. It was criminal how perfect the smirk looked on his face, bringing out a light in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

“You want to hear pretty words from my mouth?”

“Yes, because I’m sure the action would cause your tongue to rot off.”

“You want nice? You can’t handle the harsh edges of me, but they’re the reality. You want the soft, round edges Azriel wants you to see, not the jagged edges he truly is.”

His words pricked at you, gnawing on your bones and unrelenting as the pain radiated through you. Maybe it was instinct, the bond deep inside of you growing frustrated at the idea that Azriel wasn’t yours, but something inside of you snapped. Some dam burst, all of your pent up rage and anger spewing out in the hopes of catching Eris in the floodwaters.

“You think that’s nice?”

He only shrugged, unbothered by your sharp tone.

“It had to be said.”

“Yes, well for things that had to be said, my very existence threatens your mating because you’re too insecure to try to get to know me. You worry about Azriel wanting me because I’m more likeable and palatable as a mate than you are. And if you had to get to know me, you couldn’t write me off any longer.” You gave him a withering stare, watching to see how your words would affect him. He didn’t even flinch, but somehow you knew your words struck a chord with him.

“I know you well enough, I don’t have to see more.”

“Really? Tell me anything about me.”

“You taste like raspberry and mint.”

“I do not.” His only response was a quirked eyebrow. “A past lover once told me I tasted like chocolate and the sea.”

“They lied to you, whoever it was. The sea? Ridiculous. I’d tell you the truth.” Eris had a more jovial tone, something with a slight competitive edge to it. The air had shifted, some levity to the air.

“You’ve lied to me before.”

He was closer now, looking down at you over his button nose. It should have intimated you, should have made you want to cower or put your head in the sand.

“Have I?” You stared at each other, neither of you backing down. Eris made your head spin, conversing with him like a tornado you easily got swept up in.

“I bet you taste like deceit and smoke.” His lips were millimeters from your own, his nose nearly brushing against yours. The scent of chocolate mingled in the air in between you two.

“Want to find out why Azriel would prefer the taste of me?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me to find out your tongue is why Azriel has stood at your side for so long.”

Those words set Eris off, his hips making the first contact, pressing you into the counter. His lips followed quickly, meeting yours in a flare of passion you had never experienced before.

He was warm and tender, the kiss full of need. He bit your bottom lip, quickly swiping his tongue across as a soothing balm. It was much easier than you wanted to admit to get lost in his touch. He was intoxicating and all consuming.

You understood now why Azriel wrote journal after journal about him. The Vanserra was insufferable, annoying, arrogant, and a whole list of adjectives curated to drive you mad. But his hands were holding your hips into place, clutching as if he never wanted to let go.

Eris pulled away, a soft whine coming from you as he did so. He didn’t part far - just an inch or two, but it felt like a mountain separated the two of you.

“Feels strange. You’re much smaller than he is with no wings to accommodate for.”

“I’d imagine they can be quite annoying.”

He pulled further away from you, a trail of spit connecting the two of you that he didn’t seem to notice following him. He was too concentrated on analyzing your face, looking over every inch of it.

“You’ve never touched his wings? It’s his favorite part. Surely he would have asked you.”

“Eris, Azriel and I haven’t done anything yet.”

His brows furrowed, your words something too complex for him to understand. One of your hands clutched at his shirt, wanting him to kiss you again.

“What do you mean?” Heat crept your cheeks remembering how close you and Azriel had been that night, how it felt to have him in the room as you bathed. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the male clutching you was your mate, finishing what you had started in the bathroom all those weeks ago.

“We almost kissed a few weeks ago, but he said no.”

Eris straightened, his hands gripping your face. Amber eyes were searching for something in the features of your face, but you’re not sure if he found it. The scent in the room shifted, something new that smelled smokey and like fresh rain. It practically had your mouth watering, feeling heat pool between your thighs.

“Tell me that again.” Eris’s voice was stern, sounding on the last legs of restraint, his hands tightening their grip around you.

“Um, Azriel drew me a bath and afterward we were sitting around, talking, and we almost kissed but he pulled away. He said he couldn’t do that without your permission.”

Some form of realization struck Eris, his face relaxing before turning up into a smirk. His fingers dug further into your skin, feeling like a marking of his own.

“You kissed me before kissing your own mate.”

His smirk became feline, his eyes alight with some joy you hadn’t yet seen from him. You hadn’t made the realization until the words left his mouth.

You had kissed Eris. And it felt good.

“And I got to kiss my mate’s mate before him.” He continued on, pure delight at the situation coming through his voice.

“Surely a kiss hasn’t changed your world, or are you so inexperienced?” His gaze had wandered off, looking somewhere in the distance, but your words brought him back to you. His eyebrows raised up, a predatory look in his eyes.

“No, but it has been a while since I’ve experienced someone that wasn’t Azriel. He is quite the lover, hard to even consider another once you’ve had him.”

Eris caught your lips once again in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. The bitter taste of chocolate was all consuming. He moved with purpose, as if he could mark every inch of you, explore every inch of you. To gloat perhaps? To mark you as his before Azriel could? You should have stopped it, should have wanted it to end. But you couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the burning desire for the male.

“You haven’t gotten to see all that is Azriel, hm?”

His words were taunting as his fingers quickly pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his pale chest. Freckles littered his skin, dotting him with constellations. You reached a hand out lightly, wanting to lay in bed for hours mapping out every one of them. Your hand gently caressed his skin, wanting to wander down to the waistband of his pants.

Standing in front of you shirtless, he was a gorgeous creature. Some deep part of you knew that seeing him fully nude would be even more divine, a sight reserved for only those truly deserving of such beauty.

“Haven’t gotten to see his cock?”

You moaned into Eris’s mouth as he kissed you again, the only confirmation he needed to keep going. His mouth quirked into an arrogant smirk, his hands gripping tighter. He was certainly leaving bruises, but you didn’t care, you just need more.

“He’s quite pretty undressed. Have you imagined it?” You had seen Azriel shirtless plenty of times - training, in the heat of summer, when he was injured. A few months ago though, he had a cut across his chest and he allowed you to stand in between his legs while you patched it up. Being so close to him had ignited something in you. It made it easier to imagine him in the dead of night, sharing the warmth of his body beneath blankets.

“Do you touch yourself at night, thinking about my mate? Thinking about his cock inside of you?” You didn’t even try to answer him as he pressed his hips into yours, the hard press of his cock through his pants making you speechless. It nearly short circuited your brain, making thinking a luxury you couldn’t afford.

Eris’s hands traveled up your legs, lifting your skirts to the cold air. His long fingers traced the line where skin met fabric, your head dizzy from his touch. His hands gripped your ass, sitting you up on the kitchen counter before standing in between your legs.

“He’s very well endowed, are you sure you could handle it?”

Eris’s hand dipped into your underwear, his finger trailing through your folds as you grinded down onto it, desperate for the friction. His mouth was hot as it kissed down your neck, his teeth baring down eliciting a moan from you. He took his time, his mouth and finger working in tandem to tantalize you.

“Wanna find out?” He tutted at how easily his finger slid inside of you, dripping yet at the mention of your shared mate. He slipped a second finger in amidst your moans, delighting in the arch of your back.

“Think you could take him at his full height? You’ve seen his wing span.”

He sped up his ministrations, his fingers going deep inside you, all the way to his ring, the cold of the metal making you jerk. It was too much, too fast. If you had half your mind with you, you’d be embarrassed by how quickly his words and touch were sending you over the edge. It felt like mere moments since he first kissed you and now the orgasm ripped through you, fast and unexpected. Eris kept the cocky grin on his face as he untied his pants, leaving his fingers inside to let you ride out the wave of pleasure.

The air had now shifted. It felt like this was some sort of race - if he stopped or slowed down he would lose. Flames snuck up your body, their heat fast as they warmed every part of you. He yanked you off the counter, your legs instinctually wrapping around his waist before he threw you onto the bed in the next room.

This room smelled of nothing but Azriel and Eris, their commingled scent nearly suffocating. Your hips started bucking involuntarily at it, and Eris chuckled.

“Have you felt the cold of his shadows?” A new heat pooled as he slid the pants to his ankles, his cock springing free, so angry and red you knew he needed you just as badly as you needed him.

“He’s quite fond of using them to his advantage. He likes having bound partners. Would you like that? Being tied up for him to play with?”

You nodded, but Eris’s hand wrapped around your throat as he lined his cock up to your entrance. You whined, rocking your hips, desperate for him to slide inside you. But he only brushed the head of his cock through your folds, not giving you what you needed.

“Use your words. No need to be coy with me.”

You kept eye contact as he applied light pressure around your neck. The look of arrogance he showed you was nothing more than a mask, his eyes giving away the deep desire buried within him.

“I’d like it.”

“Good.” Eris sheathed himself inside of you, the stretch delicious, like soothing an ache. He pinned your legs to his chest, pressing the two of you impossibly close together. You moaned at how quick he was, the hastiness heightening your desire.

“I despise you, and you despise me. But wouldn’t it kill Azriel to know we were together first?”

His cock felt so good it was hard to make out his words, but you were trying. You were certain he had some retort about being cock stupid on his tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when it felt like this to be in his sheets.

“He’s kept us in the dark this whole time. About time he got his comeuppance.”

Yes. That’s all this was. Revenge. Azriel had wronged the both of you by keeping secrets.

This was nothing more than a ploy to get back at your shared mate. And that’s why each thrust felt incredible.

You nodded, but your eyes stayed on his lips, practically pouting as he looked down at you. It only took a few more thrusts before he grabbed your face again, roughly bringing your lips together.

Eris was so warm. He was the sun, Azriel his moon.

And you were caught during the eclipse.

Having Eris’s undivided attention was intoxicating, you couldn’t even fathom what it would be like to be between the two of them. Moaning into each other’s mouths, Eris grabbed your ass hard enough to leave bruises, bringing you closer to him.

He pushed you further into the bed, Azriel’s scent getting stronger with each thrust. The scent intensified every feeling, heightening that bond in your chest. You waited for any form of guilt to hit you, but it never did.

Instead you felt stronger, bolder, braver with each thrust. The air shifted as you rolled Eris off of you, sitting down onto his cock. As you switched the two of you, you pulled the strop from Eris’s hair, his long hair flowing in a red river on the pillows. Pressing your hands into his chest, you grinded down onto him, delighting in the surprise on his face. It was gone quickly, but you saw it. One of his hands gripped your waist, pushing you down harder. The other hand held your breast, twisting and pinching your nipple. Your back arched, desperate for more of his touch.

Eris’s long hair splayed out on the pillow beneath you, the first time you had ever seen it so disheveled. You grabbed a fistful of his hair at the back of his head, bringing his face up to meet yours. This kiss was more urgent, full of need. You presumed Eris was putting everything he felt towards Azriel into it because you had never felt passion nor urgency like this in bed.

It felt incredible - every thrust of Eris’s cock better than the last, every touch from him heightening your desire. His thrusts started speeding up, the pit in your stomach tightening as you got closer.

You didn’t release his face, kept his mouth on yours as each thrust got sloppier until he moaned into your mouth, finishing inside of you. Hearing his moan was the last push you needed, falling off the precipice into bliss.

You fell off of Eris’s lap, disconnecting your bodies before you laid next to him panting. Air felt like a commodity in the cabin, neither of you getting enough. If you were conscious enough, you would have noticed the movement in the shadows, the soft flick of darkness in the corner by the door. Eventually words came to you, the only thought coming to you from a conversation a few days ago.

“Nesta told me she thought you would be a selfish lover.”

“Am I not?” You looked over at him, the nonchalance of his words and his posture confusing you. Certainly he’d feel some type of way about having sex with someone who wasn’t his mate.

You didn’t even know mated couples could do that. Some naive notion from your childhood perhaps - that mates were all consuming, no one else even registering.

Eris laying next to you was proof enough that that wasn’t true.

“I don’t know.”

Your heart rate started evening out, the world feeling back on its axis, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t bring yourself to get up. The only thing you could do was grab the sheet and put it over yourself.

“What happens when you heal someone?”

His question threw you off guard. A brief flicker of reminder to get more contraceptive tea is filed away in your brain for later.

“They get better.” He scoffed, turning on his side to look at you. He looked genuinely curious, and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

“What happens to you? Can you feel their pain when you do it?”

No one had ever asked you that before. Other fae knew what healers were, but they didn’t really question what it was like to actually use magic to stitch people back together.

“A little.”

“So you felt Azriel’s pain?” Just the reminder of it sent tingles through your body, a ricochet of sympathetic pain. Those arrows had penetrated his chest, slicing multiple organs. Your insides squirmed, the memory a shock for them.

“A little. It lets me know the body. I feel aches and pains, scars tell a story, all that.” It was difficult to explain to someone who had never done it before - weaving skin and tissue back together, as if you were some deity, able to undo the damage inflicted.

“Have you ever tried inflicting pain?”

Now that surprised you. The thought had never crossed your mind, but it’s not surprising it would cross his.

“Like fighting? Not really-“

“No. Your magic heals, but I’ve always wondered if healers could also channel that damage onto someone.”

“Oh!” It was such an interesting idea. If Eris weren’t here, you’d certainly chastise yourself for not thinking of it first, never even considering you could use your magic offensively. “I’ve never tried.”

Eris held out his hand in offering, the fingers that had been inside of you moments ago now stretched out. Your scent was all over them, and you wondered if it would seep into his skin, how long he would smell like the most intimate parts of yourself.

“Is your version of pillow talk just about destruction?”

“Most of the time.”

You didn’t believe him. The thought surprised you - perhaps you’ve spent enough time with Eris, or being mated by proxy, to know when he’s lying. It was such an easy read - how did the others not know, not see?

“Does everything have to be some means to an end or part of a plot?”

“Azriel wasn’t.”

Eris’s voice was full of forlorn and melancholy, as he looked toward the bouquet, lost in some memory or thought. His hand slowly furled into a fist before unfurling, still reaching out. He spoke like a widow at wartime, confusing you more than anything.

If anything, you were the widow at wartime. Azriel’s devotion to Eris had been unwaveringly loyal. You should be the one that was upset.

“Azriel’s the first thing to ever truly be mine.” Eris looked at you, his amber irises glistening. This close up, his pupils look nearly identical to Azriel’s shadows, as if every part of him held some part of his mate. The darkness was so familiar and comforting to you, it was easy to get dragged into its depths, to believe every word he said. “And now that’s not even true.”

His jaw ticked, snapping him back to the present. His fingers interlocked with yours before he squeezed your hand, urging you to do something. You only watched, not saying anything, too afraid to shatter this fragile moment.

“Now, try to hurt me.”

Banner by @tsunami-of-tears

Only, only one taglist: @paleidiot @becstersworld @seasonallyapril @buttermilktea11 @wolfbc97 @carmenadkins78 @shadowsingercassia @abysshaven @myromanempiree @snatched-bubblegum-bitch @chaos-on-stand-bi @moonlwghts @witchymomfrien @awkwardnerd @ssmay123 @scarsandallaz @meritxellao @saltedcoffeescotch @2ooopenbook @wintersquirrel @manicmanuscription @wavegirl @thisishwrworld @tempermentalbookworm @romantasyreader28 @marina468 @i-know-i-can @rcarbo1 @lifesdisasters @tele86 @ireneisbored @yazzzmints @azysmate @bsenpai @curiosandcourioser @elisha-chloe @yasmin-oviedo @that-one-little-soybean @azrielslittledove @stormieandateacup @anon1227 @phoenix666stuff @asahinasstuff @acourtofbatboydreams @anainkandpaper @mother-above @sunshinedayz19 @bibliophilr @famousprincesscollector @calamislunafox

Author’s note: what are we thinking, how are we feeling about the man of the hour 👀

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #acotar writing #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel x eris x reader #azriel x reader x eris #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #eris x reader #eris vanserra fanfiction #eris x you

613 notes · View notes