#and also like the way he carries himself and the way he makes points like its just so obvious when people are used to being treated a

[darnell-la]

can we get some nsfw of logan heavily infantilizing reader? i know he's a mean mean man and i want him to make us cry 🥺 just wanna be doted on but also fucked like a beast

note: Logan is a very nasty individual in this story. He’s degrading, calls the reader out of her name many times, fucks rough, is manipulative, possessive, and more…

having Logan Howlett claim you are one of the best-given things that could happen.

———

How do you guys feel about a x men story with reader? Logan being rude Logan at first, then slowly shows small affection towards the reader. Jealousy and things of that sort. They soon hit it off, and after Logan starts acting rude again, because he’s scared of the love he grew for her. It’ll be a long story, but something to read at night. ALL ON WATTPAD! Comment below, please!

———

“You’re so fuckin’ childish, y/n, do you know that!? So fuckin’ childish!” Logan shouted at the girl as he placed her into his passenger seat. The man slammed the door in her face before walking around to the car.

Y/m scoffed as she crossed her arms, knowing she was wrong for what she’d done tonight, but at least she had fun.

Logan treats y/n like she has no idea what the world is like. Wade speaks to him, telling him he should take it easy because is his friend. Not Logan’s.

“Well, if I’m gonna stay in an apartment with two kids, I expect them to have manners and respect. If not, then I’m out of here,” Logan threatened a few months ago when he first got here.

Y/n had come home drunk out of her mind at three in the morning after Logan and Wade had been worried all night.

Her phone had died. She explained that to them, and Wade understood, but when she came through that door smiling, laughing, and giggling with the friend who dropped her off, it triggered Logan.

“I know pay the bills, and the apartment is his, but I’ll kick you the fuck out, kid,” Logan threatened as he got into the car and started it up, ready to get home and rest without stressing about y/n.

“I’m a grown woman, Logan. If I wanna go out and get drunk with my friends, I can!” Y/n turned towards the man just to yell before turning back towards the door, looking out of the window.

“What kinda fun is that, y/n? You’re a college student, you’ve got classes in the afternoon, you need to study, but instead, you’re out almost every weekend, pissy drunk and begging for a man to touch you,”

“What!? I don’t even go out with men! I reject them all,” y/n said, confused about why he even cared about her getting with anyone.

“Sure you don’t. Every time I pick you up or you walk through that door, you’re dressed sluttier. Every fucking time!” Logan yelled, hands groping the wheel as he drove through the city to head home.

“At this point, you’re just stressing yourself out. Let me live my life like I let you, okay? Fuck!” Y/n complained.

“So slutting around is living life now? God, you kids are fucking dumb,” Logan shook his head. “I don’t slut around!” Y/n basically screamed at the man.

“Lower your fucking tone when you talk to me, young lady!” Logan looked her way. The anger in his voice made her back up, trying to keep a straight face, but it was hard.

“Always fuckin’ yellin'. Can you ever shut the fuck up for once? Just do better in life and shut the fuck up — Grow up! Because you’re a-fucking-nnoying,” the man got out.

Y/n looked out of the window in silence, holding back her tears as the man continued.

“Be a fuckin’ lady, and respect yourself for once. For once!” He hit the wheel, making the girl jump. “Respect me!” The man hit the wheel again, but harder.

Y/n wiped a tear from her cheek quickly so he wouldn’t notice, but he did. Once he did, the man laughed to himself. “Unbelievable,” the man shook his head, disappointed in her.

“You can yell at me, but when I start yellin’ and tellin’ you what you look like, you start carrying. Fucking pathetic. Seriously!”

Logan didn’t mean to hurt the girl's feelings. He was just angry. He hated seeing her out and doing things he didn’t want her to do. Why can’t she just listen to him? Why does she need other people to make her happy when she has Wade and him at home.

The rest of the car ride was silent. Y/n wouldn’t sniff here and there, but low so she wouldn’t start Logan up again. She was embarrassed and disappointed in herself.

Right as Logan parked the car, y/n pulled on the handle to get out, but he had locked the door before she could.

“Looks y/n-“ Logan went to say, but y/n cut him off. “Let me out,” y/n said with a stern voice. “Y/n, just hear me out-“ he tried to say again. “Let me out!” She yelled, not even looking at the man.

“Hey!” Logan reached for her arm and grabbed it tightly. Y/n tried yanking herself away, but he was stronger. “Let me go!” Y/n yelled, only angering the man further. He had become obvious to the strength he had.

“Ow, Logan!” Y/n shouted at the man, but all he did was grip harder. “Stay still, y/n!” Logan demanded. “You're hurting me!” She finally said as tears streamed from her eyes.

The way she looked at the man in pain, not just from his grip, but more so from his words. Looking into his eyes, he realized he had gone too far.

“Y/n,” Logan said low as she fought the man, slapping his hand, but he wouldn’t let go. He only loosened his grip. “Let me go!” She could barely yell, only cry.

Logan shifted his body and lifted his other hand to cup her cheek. When he did, she tried shaking her head to get him off, but it wouldn’t leave.

“Please!” She cried, but Logan didn’t let her leave. All he did was let her arm go, only to push her seat back and hover over her quickly, the other hand still on her cheek.

“Baby, don’t cry,” Logan said, but she couldn’t stop. She sobbed as she weakly slapped Logan’s body, telling him to leave her alone, but that was the last thing he was going to do.

“Baby, look at him — It’s okay, just look at me,” Logan said as he placed the other hand on her other cheek, forcing her to look at him.

“I’m sorry, y/n, okay? I’m sorry,” Logan spoke. That was when y/n cried harder with no words. “Aw, baby,” Logan said, trying to wipe her tears away, but they kept rolling.

“All I wanted was for you to be safe, baby. That it. It’s dangerous out here. You can’t just be goin’ out every night, looking the way you do. You just can’t,” Logan said.

“If you wanna drink, we got it at the house. You know that. No more goin’ out, and you won’t look like this anymore,” he said, hoping to manipulate her into staying in the house, and in his sight.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Logan said and kept repeating until she ducked in her cries. It took her a while, but she managed.

“Please understand that I want you safe, y/n. Do you understand that?” Logan asked. Y/n slowly nodded her head with a sniff, making him smile slightly.

“That’s it, baby. All I want is for my baby to be safe — No more goin’ out after tonight. Maybe with me, but I have to be by your side. It’s too dangerous,” he said.

“B-But my friends,” y/n sniffed. “They’ll be fine, baby. They love you and will understand. You want me to trust you and not be stressed out, right? You want me to be? I’m gettin’ old, and ion needa be stressin’ about my girl,” Logan said.

Y/n nodded her head, halfway understanding what he wanted, but not fully. She didn’t ask though. She just knew by the way he always acted that he wanted her in sight and safe with no funny business.

“Good, baby, good,” Logan said, looking into the girl's eyes as she looked back up at him, eyes bloody and eyelashes batting.

“You’re too pretty to be seen without me, baby, and you know that, don’t you? Don’t you, baby?” Logan asked, making her nod again.

“That's right, and you're sorry for disobeying me, right?” He asked. The way he spoke to her, made her feel like she’s actually done something wrong.

“S-Sorry,” she said low. A groan slipped past the man’s lips at her words and voice. She was too sweet to believe she was real.

“Ah huh, and are you gonna show me just how sorry you are?” He asked. Y/n surprisingly nodded quickly, wanting him to know that she meant nothing personal by the way she lived.

“Good girl — Now turn around for me,” Logan said. Her mind wasn’t honking straight, but she did as told, apologizing for her body rubbing on his as she did so. “It’s okay, baby - You’re all good,”

“I’m just a little angry, and you understand that, right? It’s acceptable to why I am, right, baby?” He asked her, making her him with a nod.

“Ah huh, and you’re gonna help me relax, right, baby?” He asked and she repeated what she had done before, but more shaky. “That right,”

Logan began unbuckling his belt, watching the girl underneath him shiver from how drunk she was, the cold air coming through the cracked window, her crying session, and the confusion of this situation.

“Never listenin’ to me, baby. I don’t like that,” Logan said before giving y/n a hard slap on her ass that was covered in her tight thin dress. A whine had slipped from her mouth, only making the man groan.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna bring all this anger right out on and into you, baby,” Logan said as he pulled himself out. “And guess what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna lay here, and take it like the disrespectful little slut you are,”

Y/n whined at his words, feeling shitty for not being respectful towards the older man, but she’ll soon understand to listen.

“Every time I pick you up or watch you walk through those doors, you’re fuckin’ soaked. I just know you’re out and about, waiting for some random man to offer his cock,”

“I know you’re whore enough to take it too, now ain’t you?” Logan asked. “N-No,” y/n shook her head with a whine as he pulled her dress up, revealing her dark wet patch.

“Sure you’re not, baby. You know the drunk sluts always say that, right? Until they’re caught being stuffed and fucked in some bar bathroom,”

Y/n whined again at his comment about what he thought of her as his fingers hooked around her pants. The man pulled his fingers back, causing the panties to rip perfectly.

“You wanna be treated like some dirty slut at the bar?” Logan asked as he put his cock in his hand. “No,” y/n truly spoke, but he didn’t believe her.

The man grabbed a handful of her hair and then pushed her head into the seat. “Are you sure, baby? Because you’re gonna spreading in my passenger seat just like them club whores,”

Before y/n could say anything, the man laughed into her, forcing his huge length through her walls, knowing she would barely be able to take him.

“Logan!” Y/n cried out loud, voice crazy as she gripped and clawed at the seats. “Nah uh, you shut the fuck up!” Logan spat through his teeth as he leaned over and into the girl's ear.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, I know you want this. You always do. Comin’ back from the fuckin’ bar all soaked and full of attitude. I just know you rub that shit in my face,”

“I fuckin’ know you come through those doors wanting me to fuck your drunk ass through my mattress,” the man snapped his hips hard.

“Oh yeah? Can't take it?” Logan asked as the young girl cried in pain and pleasure. “S-Sorry, sorry,” she quickly whined as she back arched.

“No, you’re fucking not. You’re only sayin’ it now because I’m fucking this cunt dumb,” Logan growled in the girl's ear as he tugged on her hair.

“Slutty fuckin’ cunt - Grippin’ me like she ain’t been fucked in the club already,” Logan said, making the girl shake her head.

“N-No,” she managed to say. “Oh yeah? You’re tellin’ me no man has been in this cunt at the club? Fuckin’ you silly in the bathroom as you pass out from the liquor?” Logan asked.

He had already known the answer, but he was angry. He wanted to get everything out. If he could smell how wet she was every weekend, he could smell a man on her, and thankfully for her, he never has.

“N-No,” y/n whined as she came around him without warning. He hadn’t cared that she soaked his leather seats. All he cared about was how could he could fuck he’d. Maybe if he fucked he’d be good enough, she wouldn’t dare leave the apartment again.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought. You don’t let another man touch you. Never!” He pounded, knowing the wind out of her with every thrust.

“I swear, if you do, baby, ima kill him. Ima fuckin’ kill him then lock your ass in my room,” Logan threatened, only making y/n moan.

“My fuckin’ cunt — Mine! All fuckin’ mine and you know it. You’ve been known it, Bub, and because you wanted to play games, I’m gonna teach you what the fuck happens when you do,”

Logan took the seatbelt to the car and tied it around her wrist after pulling them man. The man soon continued his anger by slamming into her until she cried, begging him to stop.

He was rough, but y/n knew deep down that she deserved it. She was disrespectful and didn’t listen to him. He should get what he wants.

“You're mine, right, baby? All mine to use like those I want at the bar and club?” Logan asked as y/n could barely keep herself conscious. “Y-Yes,” was all she could get out.

“That’s my girl,”

[jujutsukaisenwriting]

JJK Characters Realizing They Start Falling for You [Pt.1]

Yuji Itadori:

He always saw you as a bro but suddenly, your jokes and your laugh started being cute instead of the usual funny

He wants you to always see him at his best and he now starts paying double attention to everything he does in front of you

Blushes intensely and avoids direct eye contact, dying of both embarrassment and desire to stare in your eyes forever

Starts being super attentive to small things, like always making sure you are comfortable

Touched your hand “on accident” but immediately admits he kinda likes it

Smiles widely at you letting him keep your hand and brushes your knuckles with his thumb gently

Feels like the luckiest guy in the world (and texts Fushiguro about it almost immediately)

Megumi Fushiguro:

Starts missing you when you are not around

Everything seems…less annoying to him, even the stupid jokes that Yuji makes

Catches himself contemplating whether he should just hit you with a casual “hi” text (and tries to find reasoning for that)

Wants to share every movie and song with you

At one point, just starts randomly carrying your stuff, walking you home and etc

During one of such walks, asks if you might be interested in going on a date?

Smiles confidently and a bit shyly upon hearing you say yes

Gojo Satoru:

If you think he was clingy before, think again

He will just be... everywhere you go, popping out of thin air with his signature grin.

He will never admit it but he simply misses you dearly and wants to be by your side.

Also, trust issues: he is scared that once out of your field of view, he'll be... forgotten.

Saves the last sweet for you and puts his jacket on your shoulder when walking you home in the evening

Accidentally tilts his head to breathe in your scent and looks away, smiling

His whole world just concentrates in you, all of a sudden, but he doesn't mind at all

Nanami Kento:

He didn't plan any romance while working as a sorcerer but lately, he's been paying more attention to your presence. In fact, he starts looking forward to you being near him and it causes his mild annoyance.

He hates to admit the fact that you have become something much more meaningful and important than a colleague.

Starts smiling more around you and overall feels more relaxed. His small smile goes amazingly well with his sharp features.

His love language is acts of service so he starts bringing you sweets and pastry, takes some of your tasks and fills in paperwork for you.

Offers you a ride home one day and on the way, suddenly suggests to have dinner together.

"It's just a meal"

At one point during this dinner, just takes your hand and doesn't let go ever since.

Sukuna:

His jokes and wits become less cruel and more... gentle? If he knows what this word even means

He has always been in search of something his whole life, killing people and curses and gaining more and more power. With you around, he just wants peace.

Starts accidentally seeking touch with you: like touching your hand, playing with your hair, wrapping his arm around your waist.

Also, starts making these jokes that you two are together. Their amount intensifies when other men approach you.

One day, just states that you and him are spending the evening together. Doesn't tell you the details though and feels a tingle of unknown excitement.

"Of course it's a date, silly. I want you to be mine and I won't take no for answer"

[oatmilkandcookies]

UNLESS (sanemi x f!reader) Pt 3.

MDNI, 18+ angst, swearing

Pt. 4 >

warnings: arrangedmarriage!au, angst/fluff, MANGA SPOILERS, abuse

nightmare (/ˈnʌɪtmɛː/)

a terrifying dream in which the dreamer experiences feelings of helplessness, extreme anxiety, sorrow, etc.

word count: 4k

Part Three (Newlyweds)

-

There was sobbing, and he can’t see anything. His hands felt sticky as he fumbled around to find his bearings. That voice…

“Sanemi…”

A person collapses into his hands, making him fall to his knees to cradle them.

“M-mom?”

It can’t be…there’s no way. She’s crying into his hands, and he can feel the sharp fangs and claws he had worked hard to supress in the trenches of his memory graze against his hands.

“Are you becoming your father Nemi?” she sniffled as she finally looked up, holding his gaze with her very human-looking eyes.

None of this was making any sense. His father… Sanemi winced as more memories resurfaced, the way his father would drag his mother by the hair and fling her across the room, raining angry punches on her shrinking figure. He remembers the bitter taste of his father’s fists when he had tried intervening before, and he remembers the twist in his gut when his father would threaten to hit the rest of his siblings if he ever stepped in between his parents again.

“I-If you turn into him…she will end up like I did,” his mother’s shaky voice pulls him out of his own head.

His eyes widened as the pieces clicked. No. No way. He swore to himself he would never let it happen again.

“She…She’ll become a demon?”

Why was his voice shaking? He watched, frozen as his mother sat up to face him, wiping her tear-stricken cheeks with a clawed hand. She shook her head as she grinned, all her razor-sharp teeth showing, stained dark red with the blood of his siblings. She grabs his hands, which he’s realising are also covered in someone’s blood, and he doesn’t know whose. He could see the tremors in his fingertips as she places his hands on both sides of her neck.

“She’ll die by your hands”

“No!”

A sickening crack echoes as her hands force his to twist.

-

Sanemi jolted awake, sitting up as his breathing heaved, cold sweat running down his back and chest. It was just a nightmare. A fucking horrible one, but it was just that and only that. He rubbed his face as he left his room, silently opening the door to the bedroom opposite his, and he couldn’t lie, he was relieved to see your sleeping figure, gently rising and falling with each soft breath. He leaned against the door frame as he recalled what happened a week ago.

Kamado Tanjiro had accused him of being an abusive husband, and it had made him see red. He didn’t care if people treated him like he was some brute, but the one thing he had sworn to never become, was the pathetic excuse of a man his father was. It took all the trainees, and a screeching Sorai cawing the news that Y/N had been found unconscious and had been admitted into the care of the Butterfly Estate, to stop him dead in his tracks.

He had sprinted as fast as the winds could carry him, and he was met with a sharp gazed Shinobu before he could burst into every room to find you. She had spoken in a very pointed tone as she revealed that you were beginning to show symptoms of malnourishment. She had also dropped that a diet of only birdseed and water, as well as sleeping outdoors was no way any spouse should be treated and it was a miracle you had survived that way for almost a month.

For the whole week you were unconscious, the sinking feeling of guilt only deepened the more he remained by your side, noticing how frail your figure had become, the way your cheeks were sunken and your wrists bony. He’d take naps in the spare bed next to yours whenever the tiredness of staying awake got to him, and when Obanai and Mitsuri came to visit, he would take their harsh words with his head down.

“You know she came from a mountain clan, right? How could you not know their history with women?” Obanai accused.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean it Sanemi! There’s no way you would treat her this way intentionally, right?”

“Nonsense, Oyakata-sama was very clear in his advice to him, Mitsuri. He has no excuse.”

Oyakata-sama’s advice. Why didn’t he remember it earlier? It felt confusing at the time, and he didn’t keep the words in mind, but it all made sense now that he’s piecing the pieces together.

“Speak clearly and have meals together.”

What the hell kind of marriage advice was that anyways? How was he supposed to know that the food you laid out each day was for him, let alone the fact that him not eating it meant that you wouldn't? Fuck, what kind of twisted upbringing did you have?

But Sanemi was never one to dwell in regret, so he swears to himself to dedicate his all to your recovery. By the time you were finally discharged, he had arranged for the Kakushi to deliver groceries daily and had requested for another week off.

Sanemi had been awkwardly looming around you as you went about your daily chores post-recovery and though there was a tiny weird tension between the two of you, you had learned to ignore it and enjoy his adorable attempt of company instead. The only few moments he would leave you alone were when he would be shuffling about in the kitchen while you were mending his uniforms in the living room, (and mysterious plates of ohagi would appear on the table in front of you after you wake up from your mid-sewing naps) or when you would take your evening sit in the backyard (and you can still hear his soft pacing as he waited for you to come back inside to the safety of your home). It was sweet that he was truly working on being a better husband for you.

It was during this week that he learnt about your past. He swears he didn’t mean to, but it was late, you were out in the backyard longer than you usually were and he’s never been a man of patience. He had slammed the sliding door open, and you squeaked as you dropped the wet cloth you were using to wipe your body to cover yourself with a towel. He was stunned into silence, the flash of bare skin and the sight of the gnarly scars that ran down your spine gone in a blink as your wide doe eyes turned to him.

Realising he was staring and had interrupted your bath, he could feel the heat rushing to his face as he averted his gaze and muttered an apology, scampering back indoors. He was dying inside from embarrassment. Gah, you probably think he’s a pervert now.

He slid down against the thin door, face in his hands as he tried to rub off the heat on his cheeks. He didn’t stay that way for long though, jumping back on his feet when he heard your soft knock, and your shy invite to join you in your evening sit. You’d open the door when there was no response to the sight of his back to you, but he’d let you slip your hand in his and he’d let you guide him back to sit outside.

You sat in a comfortable silence, staring at the moon, pretending you don’t feel his heavy gaze on you. Your hand was still in his, and he made no move to remove it as you absently traced your thumb along the large scar that ran across his knuckles.

“Yours aren’t that bad to be honest,” He finally spoke carefully.

“Oh?” Your eyes locked as you shifted to face him.

“These are from my demon turned mum after she murdered all my siblings,” he gestured casually to his face, pulling your hand to rest on his bare chest and the bigger scars that ran across it, “These when I had to kill her.”

And maybe this was a very subtle way of him showing off his muscles to you, so you indulged him by letting your fingers trace the scars along his chest, internally giggling at how he almost seemed to preen proudly under your touch. You’d look up at him, and the faint smirk on his handsome face made your gut swirl in some type of way.

“Mine’s Muzan. Grabbed my spine like it was a handle and he yeeted me,” you’d state so plainly, that it shocked him when he realised what you said.

“Oh shit, you win,” he’d choke a laugh, which made you playfully push his chest with an “It’s not a competition!”

“Yeah, yeah you just want a reason to keep touching me,” he scoffed as he rolled his eyes mirthfully, but his larger hand kept yours held to his chest, and you’d both sit in silence again as you feel his quick pulse, unaware of his fond gaze as you eyed his heart quizzically.

“Um…shujin?”

“Hm?” He’s too caught up in the moment to realise you were still addressing him like that.

“…Are you having…a heart attack?”

- -

Autumn nears as the heavy monsoons shift to rough gales, that have you pinning the laundry with extra clips (so you wouldn’t have another one of your panicked sheet chasing incidents). You could only pray you’ve bribed Sorai with enough fresh peas that he wouldn’t tell your husband about them.

You’ve moved in to the guest bedroom opposite Sanemi’s room, upon his insistence, and married life has been quaint for the both of you. Your husband had left for the regional patrol again, and he had given you strict instructions to keep yourself well fed while he was gone. He had arranged for the Kakushi to collect a grocery list from you each night and to deliver the fresh produce every morning. He’d warn you to keep all the doors and windows shut at night with a gentle pat to your hair, and your heart skips a beat when you thought he was leaning in to kiss your forehead, but he ends up reaching behind you to grab his coin pouch.

You’d giggle nervously because oh no if you had leaned in it would’ve been so embarrassing, and he’d smirk knowingly as you turned shy from how close you were standing together. You’d send him off with a wave, and immediately slumped at the thought of being alone again in the estate for the week.

The week flies by in a blur of chores to keep yourself busy, and today, you had chanced upon your blood stained haori from the well incident, shoved in a messy bundle in the dark corner of a random wardrobe. So you set it out to soak in a tub by said well itself as you continued your work on reviving the dried wisteria tendrils that line the walls of the estate.

A long afternoon of trimming all the dead vines had absolutely exhausted you and you had completely forgotten about your laundry. You were too excited at the possibility of your husband’s return that night, and may have prepared a slightly bigger dinner spread in the hopes of having his company to share it with.

But alas, you end up storing most of it when midnight came around and there were no signs of Sanemi. You were headed off to bed, and that was when you heard what sounded like…a large dog…lapping water…?

—-

There’s an odd stillness in some nights that leaves one’s senses heightened. The sharpened instinct of a held breath and darting eyes, an anticipation for a movement or sound to break the world from its sudden frozen state. Sanemi has learnt to associate these nights with the ones where demons prowl stealthily in their hunt for blood; so he keeps his footsteps quiet and his hand ready on his new blade.

He’s had a long week, and he hopes this next demon would be a quick kill on his way home. The dead air is broken by the sound of beating wings and the sight of his crow flapping towards him. His guard drops for a second but is immediately replaced with a sinking sense of déjà vu. His crow was coming from his estate. Sanemi pushes the wind beneath his feet, desperate to confirm that you were safe and soundly asleep, even though he knew the creeping stench of demon and human blood only got stronger as he neared his home. He jumps high, slashing through the roof with a reinforced slam of wind to land in the middle of your bedroom.

The demon was ugly, human features twisted into a giant mouth that was sucking desperately on a dripping blood tinted haori. Sanemi’s eyes widen at the sight of the broken half of his old blade, lodged into the side of the creature’s neck. Shit. He spares a quick glance to your quivering bloodied figure crumpled into the opposite corner of the room, sobbing face hidden and shaky hand wildly waving the other half of the katana in front of you in a desperate attempt to put some distance between you and the demon. Even though it had already taken a nasty bite out of your forearm, Sanemi couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest knowing you had almost managed to kill a demon all on your own.

“It’s you, so you’re…him…” the demon slurred, four eyes swirling with delirium and sucking harder on the cloth stuffed in its mouth. Of course.

“Yes, it’s me,” Sanemi grins as he swiftly slashes the back of his hand with his blade, cackling when the effect of his ambrosial Marechi blood was immediate. Saliva pours like a fountain onto the wooden floor when the demon drops the haori in its mouth, stumbling drunkenly towards the source of the irresistible whiff it had been tracking for a month.

And as much as Sanemi would have loved to cut the demon into a thousand pieces and left it to burn a painful death through the rising sun, he settles for a merciful slice to its neck, ignoring its dying gurgles in its own spit to turn his attention to you. You. Fuck, you had passed out.

He’d gingerly remove the blade that had dug into your palm before picking you up to rush over to the Butterfly Estate (again).

——

Fortunately, you had fainted out of shock and not out of blood loss; a quick waft of a medicinal balm and bitter tea being poured into your mouth was enough to rouse you. The gnarly bite on your forearm and the cut on your palm had been swifty disinfected, stitched and bandaged by Shinobu herself. She’d sent you both off with a pouch of wisteria incense sticks to light around the estate.

In the following week after the ordeal, Sanemi would up his patrol rounds, the guilt of his negligence being the reason why you got attacked. You’d barely see your husband around the house but he catches you one night, when he was leaving just before the night was at its darkest.

He had slid his bedroom door open to find your sleeping figure slouched next to it, frowning as he wondered how many days had you been sleeping in this state before he noticed? Ugh, he’s an idiot. Of course you couldn’t sleep in your own room after what happened. Even though the roof had been patched and the interior of your room thoroughly cleaned, you were no member of the corps, and demon trauma wasn’t exactly something you could get over easily.

He picks you up and lays you gently on his bed, lighting one of the incense sticks in his room to soothe your sleep with its calming scent. He shuts the door to his room quietly, a small smile resting on him at the thought of you seeking comfort from him.

He strolls towards the forest near his estate, sword unsheathed as he nicked his wrist then stretching his hands over his head with a yawn. He scoffs as a rustle of movement clearly echoes throughout the silent night. Demons are so stupid.

Sanemi smells the rotting scent of it before it lands with a soft thud behind him. He takes a quick breath, pulling a gale with his sword as he shifts to quickly slice the head off the wretched creature, only to halt an inch before it pierces skin.

Human.

The girl before him was no demon, and the stench he had sniffed before had completely vanished. And though her head was bowed, her uniform was clear: she was a member of the Corps.

Sanemi felt a vein in his temple throb as he's miffed. How did some random girl manage to sneak up on him, a Hashira? He's really losing his A-game and he mentally beats himself up to be harsher on his personal training. There’re no chances to spare when it comes to staying in top condition while demons still roamed the earth.

"My name is Sumiko, great Wind Hashira. I wish to be your Tsuguko and undergo your training," she speaks in a sweet, wispy voice.

She looks up, and if he had not been stunned into how her eyes were the same colour as yours, he would've cut her off already.

"I am here with recommendation from the Love Hashira, who had deemed my ability to manipulate air particles and smells best be refined by the Wind-"

"No."

He stared as her eyes widened in shock at the immediate rejection, and felt irritation bubble as they squint in defiance. It fueled his need to stamp the flickering flame of hope in the young demon slayer.

"I am not looking for a Tsuguko, you can fuck off and tell Mitsuri the same," he scoffed.

He shifts to continue his patrol, pressing down the soles of his shoes onto the earthy forest floor before shooting off to run the rest of his route, leaving behind only a floating leaf and the girl still standing in a sudden daze.

-

Today's the day! Tengen and his wives had sent word that they wanted to visit the Wind Hashira's estate on the way to a famous hot spring nearby. Unbeknownst to both you and your husband, Shinobu had slipped him a crow message with a heavily implied threat if he didn't check in on you and how your husband was treating you.

You had seen the happy bunch in passing at the Ubuyashiki Mansion, only having spoken to the wives once when they were looking for something. And yet, they had treated you like an old friend when you greeted them welcome, immediately dragging you away into the kitchen as the husbands had small talk in the living room.

"Eek, so exciting right? I remember when we got married our newlywed vibes were sooo romantic!" Suma squeals as she admired your wedding ring.

"Suma! Behave yourself!" Makio smacks her hand away, "do you need help with anything?" she graciously...demands?

You politely refuse her, and the three beautiful women trailed behind you as you carried out a tray of onigiri, letting out delighted gasps as you served the group.

A tiny frown creases Hinatsuru's smooth features as you bow politely and retreat back into the kitchen, "Is Y/N not joining us for lunch?" She glanced at Tengen who in turn shoots a look at Sanemi.

"It's not what you're thinking you idiots. It's in her culture that she only eats after me," Sanemi rolls his eyes, picking two of the nicer looking onigiris onto his plate, saving the best one for you later.

"Sounds abit misogynistic," Makio mutters loud enough for Suma to nudge her which starts a small tiff between them until their husband stuffs the halves of a riceball in each of their mouths, making them flush as they chew silently.

Hinatsuru stares patiently till Sanemi sighs, "It's something about making sure the food's not poisoned and whether I decide it's good enough for her".

Suma lets out a sound that sounds similar to an 'awwww' with her mouth full while Makio huffs disgruntledly.

"How's the new intern?" Tengen expertly swerves the conversation topic, his wives letting out an internal sigh of relief as the Wind Hashira gets carried away ranting about Mitsuri and the Demon Slayer Corps.

The quadruple watch as Sanemi gets up, their eyes lingering as he grumbles his way into the kitchen. They hear him pause as he gently sets his plate on the counter, a small grunt of acknowledgement for you to eat before he heads back towards them, immediately picking up where he left off with his rant.

The wives take it as their cue to slip their way back into the kitchen, leaving the husbands to themselves again.

-

"He's such a tsundere," Hinatsuru giggles as you obliviously dig in.

"And he saved the best piece for you too, how romantic," Suma adds with a wiggle of her shoulders.

"So kind, so generous," Makio rolls her eyes, pausing as she catches the look of mischief in Suma's eyes, a small smirk forming on her own face as they both slink nearer to you like Siamese cats.

"How generous is he?" Suma asks, seemingly innocently.

You pause mid-chew to think. Generous? He'd saved your life twice. The infamous ohagis he makes only for himself, yet he shares with you. He'd eaten your cooking everyday since your malnutrition stunt, and he'd save a portion for you neatly, unlike your father who would consider you lucky to get to pluck the rice grains off the floorboards.

He let you sleep in not just his room but his bed, for Kami's sake. You had tried to protest the first time he offered to sleep on the floor instead but he had just turned his back to you pointedly. And you would never tell, but you knew he tucks the blanket back over your shoulders when he gets home just before the sunrise, pats your hair gently before he settles on the ground beside you, joints cracking with a grumble.

Makio lets out a groan as you hum in contemplation, "Is he generous in bed, Y/N?"

...In bed? He gave you his entire bed for Kami's sake, how much more generous can he get? You feel a blush forming as you remember that on colder nights you'd wake up the next morning tucked into his warm side, big arms engulfing you in a comfy hug that has you secretly snuggling. You'd pretend to stay asleep until you feel him tense, the telltale sign Sanemi's awake. It's impressive really, how he'd manage to slowly shift till you're gently laid back in his bed without you feeling a thing until your head hits the pillow. He must be the stealthiest Hashira.

"Um...very..." you finally reply, almost feeling...shy, the three wives began squealing excitedly which made your cheeks grow a few shades darker, Suma gasping as she smacks Makio's arm repeatedly.

You put your hands on your cheeks to cool them down, why were they being so excited? For some reason it felt like you were embarrassed but you don't know why exactly.

You get up as you realised that the dining table hadn't been cleared yet, and you quickly excuse yourself from the ladies. You bow slightly as you collect the plates from the table, not listening to the conversation of the Hashiras. As you turn to carry the pile of dishes, Tengen's loud voice booms,

"This one can really cook! You got yourself a good one, Shinazugawa."

Time stops as he lands a hefty smack on the middle of your back with his wide palm. You tense with a gasp, plates falling to the ground and shattering. Your feet puddle beneath you as you collapse forward, shards of porcelain digging into your palms.

The ensuing chaos is a ring in your ears as your breathing heaves into a panic attack.

----

A/N: A NICE COLD LEMONADE bc i deserve to eat whole lemons for making yall wait this long...

i've had alot of major life changes since the last update (dad died on my brother's bday rip, unemployed twice, back in uni) and i've only recently come back to writing as my escape from reality. (dont worry im fine now, i think)

i rly thank you guys so much esp those who've been here from the start (2 years ago wtf) i cant express how much i appreciate yall sm ya guys are literally the sweetest T.T

i'm following the taglist that i have saved in my notes app from ages ago so if any of yall got new users do lmk!! lord knows that thing needs an update fr

hope this one's worth the wait, i'm looking forward to yall reading it <3

hint for the plot? gotta keep an eye out for selener (Sumiko)

taglist:

@sunaswife @mac-the-oregonian @noelledleapier @therulerofanime @calamitykor @screeeechqueen @a-single-pizza @multilingual-birb @settingmyheartablaze @stressed-lala @behaktaylorgriggs @galaxyfruits @abbylouamanda @dreamsholdpowers

[laura1633]

Because there was a little alpha/alpha discussion earlier I felt like coming up with some thoughts because sometimes it's fun to write random headcanons

Dom Alpha Charles x Sub Alpha Max headcanons

Max loves submitting but he also loves to feel like he has put up a fight before doing so. This means that Max and Charles often engage in play fighting before engaging in any sort of sub/dom scene. Normally it is low impact but if they are in pre-rut or rut then it can turn a little more feral, biting and scratching does happen and there is a lot growling at each other. 

If they engaging in any sort of bondage when Max is in pre-rut or rut then Charles needs to double up on the restraints because Max seems to have an extra level of strength during that time. 

Sometimes Max will be instructed to build a nest as part of a scene. Charles can either hand out praise or punishment depending on how he does. If Max is craving some sort of punishment, a poorly put together nest is a good way for him to ensure he gets what he wants. 

If no nest is built during a scene then Charles will often build one around the two of them as part of aftercare. 

During ruts they both get broody which can lead to breeding kink role-play, Charles telling Max how he is going to put a baby into him, Max whining for Charles to breed him. 

They like to enact a little of their dynamic in public by getting Max to wear Charles’ clothing or being scented heavily by Charles before leaving the house. Just something small to remind Max that he ‘belongs’ to Charles. 

They’ve worked hard and carried out a lot of conditioning work to get to a point where Max subconsciously reacts to Charles’ alpha voice. It’s not something they use often but sometimes they find it fun to play around with this. 

Max cried the first time Charles knotted him. Charles was terrified he had hurt the other alpha but Max was just crying with relief for finally allowing himself something he has wanted for so long but thought was only for omegas. 

As an alpha Max doesn’t produce natural slick so lots of lubricant is required. Charles makes sure to carry a small bottle of it around with him at all times incase they need it! 

The first few collars Charles brought for Max were too small and delicate and seemingly designed for tiny omegas. He decided to get a bespoke one made and Max rumbles happily when he puts it on him. 

Charles calling Max his ‘pretty little alpha’, is a surefire way of getting the alpha to blush. 

Charles has been with omegas previously but finds it hotter to have a strong muscled alpha writhing beneath him. 

[koyagifs]

Fractured Promises

pairing: wooyoung x reader au: ceo genre: angst summary: ready to give wooyoung exciting news, you witness your heart and future shattering warning(s): mention of pregnancy, swearing, cheating, wooyoung being a dick :( a/n: not edited - also who BROKE my heart???

──･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.────

You push open the office door with a playful grin, clutching the gift bag containing the pregnancy test. You’re excited to share this big news with Wooyoung, imagining his reaction and how happy he’ll be.

But as you step into the room, your smile falters. There she is, his secretary with her mouth full of wooyoung dick. The sight hits you like a punch to the gut, and the gift bag slips from your grasp, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

Wooyoung eyes snap open, shoving said girl away from him as he tried to fix himself. You feel a mix of anger, betrayal, and heartbreak surging through you. The joy you felt moments ago is replaced by a deep, gnawing pain. Your vision blurs with tears as you turn on your heel and make your way back out of the office, not sparing another glance at the scene behind you.

You stagger down the hallway, each step feeling heavier as the weight of the moment presses down on you. Your hand rests protectively on your stomach, a small but significant gesture of the life you’re carrying, while your other hand covers your mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the sobs that escape.

Just as you reach the elevator, your blurry vision catches sight of Hongjoong and Seonghwa approaching. Their expressions are a mix of concern and confusion, and you see them exchange worried glances as they hurry towards you.

“Hey, are you okay?” Hongjoong’s voice is gentle but firm, his hand reaching out as if to steady you. Seonghwa’s eyes are full of empathy and worry as he takes in your tear-streaked face and trembling form.

You can’t find the words to explain, nor can you bear to look at them fully. Instead, you turn away slightly, trying to keep your composure. “I… I just need to go,” you manage to choke out between sobs, your voice barely more than a whisper.

As Hongjoong begins to speak, trying to offer reassurance and a semblance of comfort, Wooyoung’s voice cuts through the tension, raw and desperate. "Wait! Y/n please" he calls out, his tone laden with frustration and sorrow.

Both Hongjoong and Seonghwa turn toward him, their expressions hardening with a mixture of concern and protectiveness. They see the depth of your distress, the way your sobs have intensified, and without hesitation, they guide you into the elevator.

The doors close behind you with a muted clang, and as the elevator begins its descent, Hongjoong and Seonghwa stay close, their presence a steadying force amidst your tumultuous emotions. Hongjoong glances at Seonghwa, nodding subtly, as if to confirm their decision to shield you from further confrontation.

Wooyoung’s frustration reaches a boiling point as he bangs his fist against the closed elevator doors. The dull thud reverberates through the hallway, mingling with his muttered curses. His face is flushed with a mix of anger and regret, the weight of his actions pressing down on him heavily.

From behind, his mistress approaches, her demeanor unsettlingly calm. Her lips curl into a smug, self-satisfied smile, a stark contrast to the turmoil that Wooyoung is experiencing. She stops a few feet away, her eyes glinting with a mix of defiance and arrogance.

“Looks like you’ve really messed things up this time,” she says, her tone dripping with a cold, calculated edge. “Didn’t expect you to lose your composure like this.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flash with a mix of fury and sorrow as he turns to face her. “This is not the time,” he snaps, his voice low and strained.

The smug expression on his mistress’s face falters just slightly, a flicker of realization crossing her features. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t back away. “Well, it seems the drama’s really unfolded, hasn’t it?” she says, her tone almost taunting.

Wooyoung ignored her, the elevator dinging open as he went inside. She was going to follow but Wooyoung held her hand up, a glare planted on his face. " you're fired."

Her smirk wavered as Wooyoung's words hit their mark. For a brief moment, confusion and surprise danced across her face. Then, with a forced, haughty laugh, she stepped back, her gaze fixed on Wooyoung with a mix of irritation and grudging respect.

"Well, isn't that a dramatic exit," she said, her voice tinged with annoyance but also a hint of admiration. "We'll see how this plays out, Wooyoung. Don’t think this is over."

──･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.────

The drive was nearly silent, the silent sniffles that came from you in the backseat as Seonghwa drove you back home. The bag held tightly in between your lap as Hongjoong tried his best to comfort you.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he said softly, his voice full of concern and warmth. “We’re here for you.”

You glanced up at him, eyes red and swollen, and managed a faint, grateful smile through your tears. The silence between you all was heavy but filled with unspoken understanding and support.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Hongjoong gently guided you to the couch, his concern evident in every step. As you sank into the cushions, the bag that had been clutched so tightly was finally set aside on the coffee table.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong exchanged worried glances as they took in the contents of the bag. The test inside, unmistakably clear in its result, elicited an audible gasp from both of them. Their eyes widened in shock and disbelief, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

Hongjoong moved to sit beside you, his hand resting reassuringly on your knee. “We’ll get through this,” he said, his voice steady despite the concern etched on his face. “Whatever you need, we’re here.”

Seonghwa, still staring at the test, nodded in agreement. “We’ll figure this out together,” he added, his tone gentle but resolute.

Tears weld up again as the emotion overbear you.

"he- he cheated," you cried out

Hongjoong wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as you leaned into his chest, his warmth providing a small measure of comfort amid your sobs. He whispered soothing words into your ear, his voice a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions.

Meanwhile, Seonghwa quickly made his way to the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers for tissues. He returned with a box, gently handing it to Hongjoong before taking a seat nearby. His expression was one of quiet concern, his eyes reflecting the weight of the situation.

Hongjoong carefully handed you a tissue, allowing you to dab at your tears. “Take your time,” he said softly, his fingers gently brushing your hair away from your face. “We’re here for you.”

Seonghwa nodded in agreement, offering a supportive smile. “Whenever you’re ready to talk or if you just need to sit in silence, we’re right here with you.”

The room was enveloped in a cocoon of support, a small sanctuary where you could let your feelings flow and start to find solace.

[oliviablancmom]

"Enemies - Pablo Gavi (Part IV)"

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x OC!reader

A/N: And finally, we have the fourth part. I hope you enjoy it. It’s so hard to write them, but I feel so happy seeing the path they take. I hope you like it.

Gavi realized he still hated the cameras, and the media side of football was something he had carried with him since he was just a kid. Yes, he was only 17 years old, and as he grew, people always said that his shyness around cameras would eventually pass, but it wasn’t. He still got embarrassed during interviews, felt equally uncomfortable in photo shoots, and, above all, it was still strange to see his name in newspapers and gossip pages. That’s why he had mentally cursed the person responsible for the chaos he had been dealing with in the past weeks.

Journalists kept speculating about the nature of his relationship with her, weeks after the confusion during El Clásico. He had hoped it would have blown over, but on the contrary, people loved talking and making things up. What comforted him was that maybe she was also suffering from the incident, as she had locked her Instagram account, which was previously public.

"What are you thinking about?" Pedri asked. Gavi looked up at his friend, who had an inquisitive look on his face. That was another thing he had to deal with—Pedri had been a little annoying lately, especially when the subject involved the Madrileña.

"Don't you think this should have blown over by now?" Gavi asked. "I’ve already made it clear that I was just helping her, and people keep making things up. It’s annoying," Gavi huffed.

"Well, it’s a hot topic—‘Barcelona’s son and Madrid’s daughter,’" Pedri said dramatically, referencing a magazine headline. Gavi's scowl was immediate as if the title itself had struck him. He hated the way those words sounded like they were trying to tie something between him and Florence. It was ridiculous and infuriating. Not just because it was a media invention, but because there was something uncomfortably real about how people insisted on placing him next to the girl. Gavi huffed, frustrated with himself.

"Why do I care so much about this?" he asked almost unconsciously. It was just a stupid phrase from a magazine, but his mind kept returning to his interactions with Florence as if trying to decipher something beyond his understanding.

"So, what’s your thing with her, anyway?" Pedri pressed.

"There’s no thing," Gavi said quickly.

"That’s not what it looks like. You get all worked up about her," Pedri pushed further.

"I don’t!" His voice came out louder than he intended, but he couldn’t let Pedri think he was right. Not when even he didn’t fully understand what was going on. The silence that followed made his stomach twist. He glanced at Pedri, who had raised his eyebrows.

"Your reaction proves my point," Pedri laughed, and Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Why are you being so annoying about this?" Gavi asked defensively.

"I’m just worried. You get too affected by what she says." Gavi abruptly stopped his workout, his mind flashing back to a similar accusation Florence herself had made.

He didn’t care that much about what she said; she was just... Boring, and someone had to tell her. Now that he knew who she was, she probably didn’t hear it enough. So, if the task fell to him, he would make sure she knew.

"If it were just a back-and-forth of insults, I wouldn’t be worried. But the problem is, it bothers you. I’m concerned it might start affecting your game," Pedri said with honest concern. Gavi swallowed hard. To him, Pedri’s worry was exaggerated. He didn’t care about what she said, quite the opposite, so he didn’t see how it could affect his performance. "I think you should ignore it if you want my advice."

Gavi thought about it and suppressed the urge to say he didn’t want the advice, but he didn’t want to be rude to Pedri. He understood his friend’s concern, but it was unwarranted. He wasn’t affected, and he wouldn’t let it impact his performance on the field.

"Yeah, I think I’ll just ignore it," Gavi said, avoiding Pedri's attentive gaze. Gavi remained silent for the rest of the training, lost in his thoughts.

******************************************

Florence used to love parties and gala dinners. Since she was a child, she was used to attending these events with her grandfather. They were her playground, where her favorite characters—football players from all over—were the main stars. She was always walking around, paying attention to conversations and taking photos.

But since her grandfather had turned it into a professional obligation, the events had become dull. Especially now, Florence felt he was still punishing her for the mess she had caused during the last El Clásico, which had drawn the kind of attention Florentino hated.

The King was hosting a special dinner for the Spanish national team, a sort of good luck in advance for the Nations League finals.

Florence was accompanying Carvajal, the Real Madrid player who had been called up. Both were greeting the royal family and had engaged in conversation. Florence listened carefully to what the princess was saying, but she wasn’t paying attention. There was something about her that got on her nerves, though she couldn’t explain what it was. That’s why she internally celebrated when others approached, allowing her to step aside.

"A little more of your visible irritation with the royal family, and I think we’d be kicked out," Carvajal whispered as they sat at their assigned table. "Princess rivalries," he joked, and Florence laughed.

"I’m not in the mood to be social tonight," Florence shrugged.

"Is your grandfather still making your life difficult?" He asked with concern, knowing well the expectations the man placed on his heir. Florence shrugged, choosing not to respond so the conversation would end quickly. She didn’t want to be there, and she didn’t want to talk about her grandfather.

Carvajal started a conversation with other players sitting at the same table, and Florence looked around the room, noticing a few important people. Her grandfather always said these events were about being noticed and building connections, and she was sure that when he saw her, he would ask for a summary, so that's why she walked gracefully around the room, greeting some important people.

But before she could venture further into the hall, she stopped as some speeches began, including one from the king. The man and his family loved sports and were always present when the Spanish national team was playing, so there was always a higher level of formality. Florence sighed in boredom; at other times, she would have loved all of this. As she watched the king’s speech intently, she felt an irritatingly familiar presence beside her and didn’t suppress the urge to roll her eyes. As if she had developed a sixth sense for noticing the player’s presence, she could use that to avoid running into him. After all, Florence was furious; because of him, she was at odds with her grandfather and had to deal with stupid, baseless rumors.

Gavi stopped next to the girl, and though she didn’t bother to look at him, the way she took a deep breath showed that she had noticed his presence.

"Is your mood bad because your team is doing poorly this season?" Gavi teased, and she finally looked at him.

"We’ll eventually find our way back, unlike you guys, who start well and then it’s a complete disaster." Gavi’s expression hardened, and a smile appeared on the girl’s face as he rolled his eyes and looked forward again.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Gavi looked at her again, his brows furrowed.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"The last time I saw you, you had that same confused look on your face. Have you figured out what it was?" She asked with a shrug, and Gavi’s mouth dropped in surprise at how well she had read him. Gavi quickly glanced back, seeing that Pedri had a watchful eye on him. Gavi gave a small smile to his friend and turned his attention back to the girl beside him, ignoring the memory of the conversation he had with Pedri.

"No," she concluded, turning to face forward with a smug smile.

"It wasn’t anything important." Gavi replied, trying not to lose face, and she looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure? You seemed really bothered," she insisted.

"Oh, querida, is this concern for me?" Gavi joked, watching Florence grimace.

"Never," the girl quickly retorted. Gavi nodded with a smug smile, raising his glass to his mouth.

"Why aren’t you over there with your girlfriend?" Gavi choked on the liquid he was drinking, drawing attention from a few people, and felt his face heat up. He looked up at the girl in front of him, eyebrows raised and an amused smile on her face.

"What are you talking about?" Gavi asked, clearing his throat. Florence tilted her head in a direction, and Gavi followed it, seeing the king and his family in the distance. This time, Gavi's face twisted into a grimace.

"Your fans attacked me for days, claiming I was ruining their couple," Florence said humorously, remembering the numerous hateful messages she received after the confusion in the last El Clásico. Gavi had seen some fan pages sharing things along those lines—it was funny. The player looked at Florence, who remained focused on the royal family’s table, and then looked back at him.

"Would you leave your career for her?" Gavi resisted the urge to choke on his air.

"What are you talking about?" He asked indignantly.

"For you to date someone from the royal family, you wouldn’t be able to be a football player anymore. Because of all the rules they have to follow and everything," Florence explained. Gavi scanned the girl’s face for any sign of mockery, but she was serious. For the first time, they were having more than just teasing conversations, and it stirred an odd sensation deep in his stomach.

"I’m not going to stop being a football player," Gavi said impatiently, just thinking about it gave him a headache. Florence tilted her head, analyzing him.

"So how are you going to be with your princess?" Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Stop it," he said, feeling frustrated, his face heat up. A mocking smile appeared on Florence's face.

"Or, she’d have to stop being a princess to be with you, which honestly would be a mistake. Imagine, giving up being a princess for you." Florence looked him up and down, and the action deeply infuriates Gavi.

"Have you stopped being a disappointment to your grandfather?" Gavi asked all at once. The words flew out of his mouth so quickly that even he was surprised. Here's the thing: she pushed a nerve in him, something that drove him crazy, something he only felt at the height of adrenaline in a tight game. Gavi had seen that her grandfather’s approval was important to her, and the silent, hidden crying he had also witnessed, told him that he had hit a sensitive topic. The girl looked at him in shock, her eyes wide for a moment as if he had just struck an exposed nerve. Anger flashed across her face, hardening her expression. For a moment, her lips trembled as if she were about to say something, but the words failed to come out. Instead, Florence clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and with a sharp motion, she pushed Gavi. She spun on her heels, her legs rigid as she marched toward the exit, each step echoing on the floor like a relentless beat. Involuntarily, Gavi found himself following her.

"Leave me alone," Florence said over her shoulder, visible irritation in her voice.

"You’re losing your talent for insulting me," Gavi said, more annoyed than he wanted to admit. Florence turned to face him.

"Don’t worry about that. You’re an idiot, a terrible player, with a huge ego," Florence said all at once, and Gavi laughed.

"If I’m such a terrible player and I still beat your team, what does that make them?" Gavi asked humorously, and Florence rolled her eyes.

"You got lucky. You can’t rely on luck forever, Pablo," she said with a shrug, and Gavi was a bit shocked because up until then, she had never mentioned his name.

"Oh sure, when you lose it’s the other team’s luck, but when you win, you’re extraordinary, practically a Renaissance masterpiece," Florence furrowed her brows and let out a small laugh at the insult but quickly tried to hide it, turning away and continuing her escape from the hall. Gavi promptly continued following her to a distant area. On the way, they bumped into someone. An older man, accompanied by what was probably his family, looked familiar—some director of one of the leagues or something like that, Gavi couldn’t quite remember.

"Miss Perez, your grandfather hasn’t replied to my emails," the man said bluntly. Florence took a step back, bumping into Gavi, visibly uncomfortable.

"He’s busy," Florence said simply, ignoring the man’s outstretched hand, and then he turned his attention to the player.

"Gavi, you’re having a brilliant season."

"Thank you, sir," Gavi replied, returning the gesture. The player couldn’t see Florence’s expression clearly, but he was sure she was rolling her eyes.

"My daughter is a fan, Charlotte," the man turned to the shy girl behind him, who took a step forward. Gavi extended his hand to greet the girl, who blushed. Florence rolled her eyes—seriously, what was it with girls and their fascination with him? Florence impatiently poked him, and the player quickly turned, seeing a disapproving look on Florence’s face.

"Oh, so the rumors are true," the man pointed to the two of them. "I thought Florentino Perez would never allow it, but it’s good for the new generations to understand that rivalry is only on the field." Gavi frowned, trying to decipher the director’s words. Gavi turned his attention back to the man, visibly confused by the direction of the conversation. "A beautiful couple."

"Yes, we have to go," Florence quickly interrupted, grabbing Gavi’s arm and dragging him away from the conversation before he could process what was happening.

"What was that?" Gavi asked, his voice filled with irritation and confusion. "You just implied we’re together. Have you lost your mind?"

Florence gave him an impassive look. "He was going to ask for a picture, and believe me, you don’t want to be associated with that man. I did you a favor."

"Favor? You’re just making everything more complicated," Gavi shot back, his eyes fixed on Florence, searching for an explanation. There was something more behind that gesture, something he couldn’t quite grasp but that made him uncomfortable.

Before he could press her further, Pedri appeared beside them, a mischievous smile on his face. "Hey, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?" He asked, clearly curious about the tension between them.

Gavi averted his gaze from Florence, his blood boiling with frustration. "No, she’s leaving," he responded brusquely, his tone colder than he intended.

Florence raised an eyebrow, defiant. "I’m not. Nice to meet you, I’m Flo..." She extended her hand to Pedri, but before she could finish the introduction, Gavi grabbed her hand and dragged her away, his touch firm and decisive.

As they moved away from Pedri, Gavi led her to the table where a player from her club was sitting, but when they got there, he hesitated. There was a palpable tension in the air, a heavy silence that neither of them knew how to break. Florence looked at him, perplexed, her expression shifting between confusion and frustration.

Gavi abruptly let go of her hand, the warmth of the contact still pulsing on his skin. "Why do you feel the need to disrupt my life?" he muttered, more to himself than to her, but Florence heard him.

She took a step closer, narrowing the distance between them, her eyes shining with an intensity that made him hold his breath. "Isn't that what we both do?" she replied quietly, her voice laced with something deeper, something Gavi wasn’t ready to face. "Why are you so upset about this?" Her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

Gavi stared at her for a long moment, lost in the intensity of that gaze. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words failed him. The strange sensation in his stomach that he had felt earlier was now almost unbearable. He knew he should say something, anything, but all he could do was shake his head and walk away, leaving Florence behind, unsure if he was running from her or himself.

Gavi walked away, the feeling of disorientation growing with each step. As he moved further, he realized that contrary to what he had imagined, Florence's presence still lingered in his mind, like a persistent echo. He tried to convince himself that the discomfort was just irritation, but the image of her intense gaze wouldn't leave his thoughts, her voice was imprinted deep in his mind. It was deafening and maddening, the space she had occupied in his head, and he couldn’t understand or control the effects she had on him.

**********************************************

Gavi walked quickly through the hallway leading to the box where his family was. For the past few weeks, he had been avoiding the people who knew him so well, especially his sister, who could read his mind with just one look. With the mess inside his head, he decided he didn’t want to face them, which is why he hadn’t been going to his family house. Instead, he hid away in his apartment in the city center, so he could be alone with his confusion without anyone asking him about it.

He hugged his family quickly and exchanged a few words, a slight discomfort hanging in the air. Then he said goodbye just as quickly, but not before his sister Aurora stepped in front of him and looked at him intently.

“What’s going on?” she asked directly. Gavi frowned and grimaced.

“Nothing, Aurorita.” Gavi forced a smile and saw the frown deepen on his sister’s face.

“You only call me that when you want something or are hiding something from me,” she concluded.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Gavi shrugged.

“But something is going on. You’ve been avoiding us, you look exhausted, and according to your friends, you’re more annoying than usual.” His sister looked at him with concern. Gavi swallowed hard, feeling the anger rising within him, but he knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on his own family.

“I swear, it’s not—” Gavi didn’t finish his sentence, because the voice he heard echoing from the hallway caught his attention. He looked back so fast he felt a strain in his neck, but there was no one there. Great, that damned voice was stuck in his head.

He turned his attention back to his sister, who was watching him curiously, but before he could continue speaking, the voice echoed again, this time louder. “I have to go,” he said quickly, kissing his sister on the cheek before pulling away.

He walked fast down the corridor, but his steps were cautious, once again that feeling that a monster might jump at him at any moment crept in. In an involuntary gesture, Gavi clenched his fists, a growing anger, a strange sensation burning in his chest. As he rounded the corner in the hallway, he saw the monster that had been haunting his mind.

She was leaning against the wall, her phone pressed to her ear, one hand on her hip. Florence’s eyes were closed as she listened attentively to the voice on the other end of the line. She seemed completely absorbed in the conversation, her face drawn in visible frustration. Gavi, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, watched the scene with a sick satisfaction. Seeing her suffer comforted him in a way he refused to admit. It was a relief to know that, like him, she was also under pressure.

“What do you want me to do?” she said in a louder tone, breaking the bubble of concentration she was in. Gavi narrowed his eyes, realizing she hadn’t yet noticed his presence. A sly smile formed on his lips as he impulsively decided he wanted to interrupt whatever was happening.

“You’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said casually, not caring if the person on the other end of the line could hear him. And there it was, big blue eyes, looking straight at him. Florence’s response was an eye roll as if his presence was insignificant.

“No, I’m not,” she said into the phone, completely ignoring Gavi, which instantly irritated him.

.“I can’t do that, and I won’t,” she continued, her eyes now fixed on his. He saw impatience growing in her, but he also noticed something deeper, something he rarely saw: her eyes began to shine with a repressed emotion. She was becoming emotional, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

Without thinking twice, Gavi crossed the hallway with firm steps, snatching the phone from Florence’s hand and ending the call without ceremony. The gesture was brusque and impulsive, but seeing the surprise and anger in her eyes made him feel... Something.

“What did you do?” Florence practically shouted, her voice filled with disbelief. Gavi froze for a second, only then realizing what he had done. Her expression grew even more perplexed when, out of pure reflex, he covered her mouth with one hand.

“I already told you, you’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said quickly, trying to maintain control. She frowned, and with a swift movement, pushed his hands away, her blue eyes sparkling with fury. Gavi felt a current of electricity run through his body at the brief contact, and he hated how that kept happening. His eyes locked on hers for a second longer than necessary, and he found himself wondering if she felt it too.

“Have you gone mad? He’s going to be furious,” she muttered, more to herself than to him, which only increased the tension. Florence made a desperate attempt to retrieve her phone, but Gavi lifted it out of her reach.

She grunted, frustrated and visibly exhausted. “Can you stop being so annoying?” she asked, almost in exasperation. For a brief moment, Gavi let his eyes wander over her face, and suddenly he understood. The weight of the conversation. It was about her grandfather. Of course it was about him.

Florence rarely showed vulnerability, especially not in front of him. But whenever her grandfather was involved, it was like an invisible wall came crashing down around her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her voice lower now, but still full of tension. Gavi frowned, confused.

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her body in a gesture of self-protection. Gavi noticed the movement. It was subtle but clear. A barrier. He knew that gesture; he had seen it many times. Maybe she wasn’t as impenetrable as she wanted to seem. And knowing that made him feel a mix of power and discomfort.

“I don’t pity you,” he replied, letting out a short laugh. She rolled her eyes again, but this time, without the same force. When she didn’t throw a quick retort, he decided to press her. “Quite the opposite... I’m just making sure you behave. Like I said, you’re not at home.”

“Thank God I’m not,” Florence shot back. “I’d be extremely upset if this were my house.”

Gavi narrowed his eyes. “Are you ready to lose?” he asked, his voice dripping with provocation.

“Vinicius is going to destroy you today,” she replied confidently, making Gavi laugh out loud.

“You wish, querida,” he said with disdain. At that moment, Florence’s phone vibrated in his hand, and without thinking, Gavi glanced at the screen. The sight of a photo of Florence with the other player, he felt anger someway...

“Of course...” he muttered to himself before tossing the phone back to her, his irritation now evident.

Florence caught it in the air and looked at him for a moment before shaking her head, clearly exhausted from the exchange. Gavi, on the other hand, felt something shift inside him. He was eager for the game, not just because it would be the last El Clásico at Camp Nou before the stadium renovations, but because, somehow, something else was consuming him from within. Something he couldn’t name.

When the ball started rolling, Gavi played with unmatched intensity. He was truly having the game of his life, but his teammates didn’t seem to keep up with his pace. Misplaced passes, missed goals—it all piled up. He was furious.

"You need to tone down your intensity, or you’ll end up getting sent off," Xavi warned during the halftime break.

Gavi let out a sarcastic chuckle. "If the rest of the team was playing, I wouldn’t have to," he muttered. The locker room fell silent for a brief moment. He waited for some reaction, but nothing came. Xavi kept talking, and everyone started getting ready for the second half.

As he put on his jersey, he felt Pedri’s gaze on his back, watching his every move.

“What?” Gavi asked, frustrated.

“I thought we agreed you’d ignore her,” said Pedri, reminding him of the last conversation they had. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“I am,” he replied, frowning.

“Then why did Aurora text me asking what you had with her?” Pedri turned his phone, showing a picture of Gavi and Florence in the hallway.

“Aurora are being nosy. And so are you,” Gavi said, his patience running thin. “And why are you so interested? Are you interested in her?”

Pedri laughed. “As if you’d let that happen.”

That phrase hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. It bothered him deeply. “Man, I’m not trying to push your buttons,” Pedri started, but Gavi cut him off.

“Then don’t,�� he shot back, his voice cold. “You’re annoying me with this. Nothing is going on, so stop getting involved.”

Pedri raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. But Gavi was already at his limit. He stormed out of the locker room, bursting with pent-up energy.

In the second half, his intensity only grew. The frustration with Pedri, the confusion about Florence, the team’s mediocre performance—all of it boiled inside him. When Vinicius Jr. ran down the left side of the field. Gavi didn’t think. He slid in, taking the player down aggressively.

Chaos ensued. Real Madrid players rushed at him, and Gavi, of course, didn’t back down. He shoved Benzema, who was yelling in his face until the referee intervened. Vinicius got up with a mocking smile, and Gavi tried to go at him again, only to be held back by his teammates.

The red card was inevitable.

Laughing in disdain, he walked off the field. His eyes drifted toward the box seats as if trying to spot Florence. The anger boiled inside him. As he shrugged off Xavi, who was both trying to confront and reprimand him, he headed straight for the locker room, ignoring everything and everyone.

When he turned the corner, there she was, sitting on a bench. He huffed, frustrated.

He huffed, frustrated. "Not now, Florence. I’m not in the mood for your provocations." His words came out harsher than he intended, but it was the truth. Her presence stirred something in him that he didn’t know how to deal with. She slowly raised her gaze from her phone, with an expression he couldn’t read. The air between them suddenly felt heavier, as if something unspoken hung in the space between them.

"Not everything I do is about you, querido." Florence shot back, but this time, there was no teasing. The absence of mockery in her tone threw him off. It was rare to see her like this, without her usual wall of sarcasm. And for a second, he felt an opening, a crack in the wall she kept so high. "But if you want some advice..."

"I don’t," Gavi said sharply. What was it with the people close to him today wanting to give him advice and tell him what to do? Florence stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Gavi felt his throat go dry at the sudden closeness. His eyes ran over her face—there was no sign of irony, no sign of irritation, but still, Gavi could see that lingering glimmer in her eyes, the one he had promised himself he would strip away so he could see it more clearly.

"Your intensity and provocation on the field will be appreciated up to a certain point. But at some point, it’s going to get annoying, to the point where even your fans will start to hate it," she said in a surprisingly calm tone. That caught him off guard. Florence rarely spoke with such gentleness. She looked him straight in the eyes, and Gavi felt a discomfort growing in his chest.

That was new, and he didn’t know how to handle it. His mind immediately went back to when he saw her at the gala dinner hosted by the king, and she stopped him from taking pictures with a guest, someone Gavi later realized wouldn’t have been a good association. He looked at her, confused.

Florence raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Could she be right? The doubt appeared quickly and annoyingly, but he pushed it away. No. He was playing well, and giving it his all. There was nothing wrong with that. Still, the uneasiness grew.

Ignoring how he felt, he turned his back on her and headed for the locker room. But no matter how hard he tried, her words echoed in his head. The discomfort increased. Why was this bothering him so much? Maybe she wasn’t wrong. Maybe he was so surprised by the calm and honest tone that he didn’t know how to react. That wasn’t her, that wasn’t them. The player stopped on his heel and turned back. Immediately, a smirk appeared on the girl's face.

"You know what, I don’t need your advice. You can’t just sit on your pedestal and think you have any superiority to talk to me." Gavi snapped, completely annoyed.

“Okay...” she replied with amusement. “I told you I wasn’t your good luck charm.” She raised her brows. Gavi furrowed his, confused, and then his mind recalled when he had made that connection. There it was—the provocation, the irony. That he could handle, that he could push back against. Gavi chose not to respond, so he turned and continued on his way without saying another word.

Gavi had declined his usual ride with Pedri, still embarrassed by the way he had treated his friend. He also didn’t want to go with his family because they would ask questions about his mood and his expulsion, especially his sister, who would bombard him with comments, and the last thing he wanted was to be rude to yet another person that night.

So now he was with his friend Chris, about to enter his friend’s girlfriend’s house. It was funny how Chris had a key to her parents’ house and everything, for someone who swore the relationship wasn’t serious, it was at quite an advanced stage.

“Baby,” Danielle said as soon as Chris walked in, kissing and hugging him. Gavi quickly looked away from the scene, feeling awkward for a few minutes. “Oh, you brought company,” Danielle said, stepping away from her boyfriend and greeting Gavi with a quick hug.

“You're okay with it, right?” Chris asked, and Gavi wanted to kill him because he had sworn he had already talked to her.

“Yeah, it’s just... well, I had to bring someone too,” Danielle said, somewhat hesitant.

“Oh, it’s fine, it’s not like we’re short on rooms. If it’s a cute girl, they could even share a room, and Gavi could finally get out of his rut.” Gavi flipped his friend off while Danielle let out an overly loud and awkward laugh. Chris looked at her, confused.

“They’d kill each other before that happens...” she muttered under her breath, but Gavi heard it, which confused him until he heard footsteps coming from the stairs and a familiar voice that had been haunting him everywhere.

“Dani, are these the only towels you have?” Silence fell when the figure appeared at the top of the stairs, distracted by something on her phone, not even bothering to look up. Danielle quickly glanced between her boyfriend and Gavi.

“Florence, darling, I told you we don’t have 500-thread Egyptian cotton towels or anything like that. We’re mere mortals. My mom was hoping you’d bring some so she could steal them from you,” Danielle said, walking toward what Gavi now realized was her friend. The girl finally lifted her eyes to her friend and then noticed there were more people there.

“Oh, hi, Chris...” She came down the last step and then got a full view of Gavi. “You’ve got to be kidding me...” she said, shocked. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“Oh, right,” Chris said, finally catching on. “You guys are enemies and all that,” he said, moving to stand next to his girlfriend. Gavi was in his bubble of shock. He quickly glanced around and realized that Danielle’s house was the same one where Chris had hosted his last party, where he had also ended up running into Florence. Gavi had always wanted to ask how his friend knew Florence but had never had the chance—or needed to.

Florence crossed her arms in front of her body and raised an eyebrow at Gavi. If she expected him to greet her, she could keep waiting. All he wanted was to end the night in peace; she had already disturbed his life enough that day. He must have seriously offended the universe with how it was playing tricks on him. With the distance between Madrid and Barcelona, and considering the teams only had four Clásicos that year, their encounters were becoming strangely frequent.

It was almost as if his hatred for her had the power to transport her directly into his reality.

Gavi looked at his friend and saw him whispering something to Danielle, who was watching the scene, concerned. Before anyone could say anything, the doorbell rang.

“Thank God...” Danielle exhaled. “It must be the pizza.” She laughed awkwardly and walked past everyone to the door. Before Gavi could see who it was, he noticed Florence’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in shock, which made him turn quickly, seeing a tall man dressed in a suit.

“I’m not going back,” she said, her voice rising, with something Gavi couldn’t identify as anger or disappointment.

“Come on, Florence, your grandfather told me not to leave here without you. And if necessary, to carry you.” The man sounded impatient. Gavi looked back at Florence; her eyes were bright, and her face was turning red. That strange feeling inside Gavi returned.

“Well, tell him you didn’t find me,” Florence said simply.

“Your grandfather knows this is the only place you’d come. He asked me to remind you that you’re still a minor, and he’s responsible for you when your parents aren’t around.” The man continued. Florence let out a bitter laugh.

“Well, you’ll have to carry me then because I’m not going voluntarily,” Florence retorted, defiant. Gavi glanced at the man by the door. Despite his cold posture, Gavi could sense worry and hesitation in his face.

“He said if you don’t come with me, he’ll disinherit you, and you’re fired from your club duties.” Silence fell over the room to the point where even breathing could no longer be heard. Gavi lowered his eyes to the floor, somewhat shocked by the direction the conversation had taken, and also refused to look at Florence because he knew if he did, that strange feeling inside him would return to haunt him.

“Incredible,” she said with a shaky breath, and it was impossible not to look at her. She swallowed hard, her eyes briefly falling on Gavi’s, and he saw her face turn red again. Gavi wanted to make some sarcastic comment, maybe smirk at the situation, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to; he just kept his eyes on hers.

“Florence, your grandfather will disinherit you when he finds out about this,” the man said more firmly, noticing the exchange of looks between the two. Gavi looked at him, confused about what he was referring to. Florence sighed heavily and walked past everyone, grabbing the bag that was on the couch. She quickly hugged Danielle.

“I’ll see you in Madrid,” she said, kissing her friend on the cheek and heading out the door, bumping into the driver.

Danielle quickly closed the door and then turned to Gavi.

“I know you love provoking her, but if you tell anyone about this or use it against her, I’ll kill you myself,” she said firmly to Gavi, who widened his eyes. He didn’t know if he was more shocked by the way she had spoken to him or by the fact that Florence had talked about him with someone and even blamed him for their situation. If it was her who provoked him, ironically, Danielle’s words had no effect, as Gavi couldn’t suppress the internal laugh at the thought that he now had something to continue his exchange with Florence.

**********************************************

a/n: I hope you guys have like this one, let me know... We probably won't have the same scheme as it was with pedriii, with three chapters, and bonus ones.

[terukotime]

allow me to be super delulu for a second

if either Eden or Ace are the actual killer, that would mean one of them would be saying their secret quotes in the next coming episodes. but...do we really feel like the situation warrants them saying what their quotes are?

Ace's is: "I don't know what to do with myself anymore."

Eden's is: "You can't go back, no matter how hard you try."

Ace's feels a little strange to say in the trial. we're very close to unearthing the real culprit, and if Ace really is the killer, when would he say that? immediately upon being found out? the quote itself has their air of melancholy and defeatism, and even at his lowest, we know Ace isn't someone to concede or go down without a fight. and if he knows he's about to die, what's the point in saying "I don't know what to do with myself anymore" when he's not even going go be alive in the next few moments? He WON'T be doing anything with himself anymore, he'll be dead.

Eden's, while not as strange of a thing to say as Ace, is also kind of peculiar. when would she say it? while she's admitting to the murder? if Eden did it, sure, it's believable that she'd feel some regret, but the setup to her being the killer feels very odd now that we've gone through this big emotional moment between her and Teruko. honestly, after all that, if Eden really is the killer, i'd be more inclined to believe she WOULDN'T regret killing Arei. it'd seem like her crying and pleading was all just emotional manipulation. it also seems strange to me that Eden would have already had it in mind to kill Arei when she and Teruko found Ace, and took the opportunity to steal the tape to carry it out. i could definitely be wrong, and please correct me if i am, but i think the attempted murder was the same day as what happened with Eden and Arturo? honestly, even if it wasn't, it just feels weird to me that Eden would find some way to disguise her handwriting, set up a murder method even more elaborate than Nico's original version, and then do the whole trial pleading and sobbing for people to believe she didn't kill her and actually have regretted her actions. that shit is so premeditated that everything Eden has done thus far feels like immense emotional manipulation. while that could still be possible...it's not really that satisfying, i'd say. who knows, maybe i'm in severe denial, but i just think this characterization of Eden would be really weird. it would feel less like a betrayal of "man, this character i liked turned out to be awful", and more like a betrayal of "man, this character i liked has made a 180° in their personality without any foreshadowing of having a darker side to them".

and i'm just still really hung up on Hu. her secret quote, "I want to pay for what I've done. But even then, I still want to live." makes total sense in the context of this trial, especially after her secret reveal. and while it's pretty unlikely she took the tape from the gym, there's no guarantee that the person who took the tape at the time HAS to be the murderer. i'm just still hung up on the fact that it feels like there needs to be one last, big twist before the true killer is revealed. a moment where Teruko comes to her realization and the culprit is selected before she makes any actual accusation against them. we already knew Eden and Ace would be the ones Teruko was going to interrogate in the selection because of her explanation. just given how drdt has been written thus far, i feel like they wouldn't hand the potential answer to us like that so easily. like we wouldn't get to the point of selecting the culprit with the story already telling us it can only be one of two suspects.

it's entirely possible that i'm just coping and am refusing to accept that one of my favorite characters is actually the culprit. or that drdt could have a trial that isn't greatly written. it's totally fine if i'm wrong and Eden or Ace really is the killer, i definitely won't enjoy it much but it's not my story, nor would it completely make me drop drdt.

i honestly just needed to rant LMAO. this episode left me with a LOT of feelings.

[camilledlc]

Because I love relating songs to characters and analysing why it works so well, I just have to rant about how So Long, London by Taylor Swift is Vanessa's perspective of her break up with Wade. This one is reaaaally long, so be ready for that if you still chose to read this. It is 4,5k of a weird analyse no one asked for. You have been warned :

I think the main reason why Vanessa (that I will from now call Ness) ended things with Wade was because of how bad he was doing. She tried to be there for him, but there's only so much you can do for someone who doesn't want to be helped. So really, it is quite evident as to how this song can be related to their story. I'll go in order of the lyrics, and really dive in with the meaning of the song. I'll write this as if Ness wrote the song herself, kinda. But despite me relating it to Ness, it will also kind of be a study of the song in itself, if anyone is interested in that.

The opening line "I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist" shows two main things that to me will be crucial to understand exactly how it all went down and Ness' state of mind. The two central element being obviously the fairy lights and the mist. The mist represents this gloom, this sadness that had surrounded Wade, and therefore herself. He was extremely depressed because of the Avengers' rejection, and didn't seem to be able to pick himself back up. Everything for him became a mist, but it also made everything for Ness turn into a mist. Always being around a deeply person, to whom you're entirely devoted, it will take a huge tole on you. Their sadness become yours, etc. And by that point, you may think that there was no reason for her to stay, but no. That's why the fairy lights are here. The fairy lights doesn't represent the exit, the ending of this relationship that would finally brought her peace. This early on in the song, it wouldn't make sense. The author is still too deep into this relationship. The fairy lights are probably the reason why they are still together by that point, despite all the pain that it's causing Ness. Because while the relationship can generally be associated to a mist, there are moments of happiness, of "fairy lights through the the mist". Not all moments are bad, and they are occasions where Ness can see the old Wade, and what they used to have. And she wants to fight for that. Because deep down, they love each other in ways that can't be matched, and they loved each other for so long.

And so, this leads us to the next lyrics : "I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift / Pulling him tighter each time he was drifting away". Because Ness can see that not everything is bad in her relationship, that there are still pieces of what they used to be left to fight for, she tries. She tries to "[keep] calm", to be the rock Wade is in desperate need of. For Wade, it feels like his world is falling apart, as he can't seem to find a purpose for his life, a way to matter. He falls more and more into depression, unable to pull himself back up. The only thing stopping him from "drifting away" is Ness. But on the other hand, she can't keep carrying them both on her shoulders. It "weights" on her, and understandably so. She wants to be there for Wade, and she tries as much as she can to save him. But maybe it's a responsibility that's too heavy for her, and so, the come the next lyrics.

"My spine split from carrying us up the hill / Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill". Those are pretty easy to understand and very explicit. The weight of Wade's sadness is becoming too much for us, and she is breaking under it. By being the only one trying to lift them up, she's going to end up even more broken than Wade. I of course think that "wet" references sadness in general. Sadness is often paired with deep blues, cold colours and a general theme of water--because of tears. With the "mist" being also a metaphor for this sadness, it isn't surprising. But this means that this sadness that Wade carried, this "mist", finally got to her. The "mist" finally reached her and made her "wet", meaning that his sadness started to become her sadness. She "caught the chill", she started to feel depressed too, because always being around someone depressed--especially if you're the only one lifting them up--makes you depressed too.

"I stopped trying to make him laugh / Stopped trying to drill the safe". Another easily-understandable set of lyrics, yet devastating in the context of Deadpool. We know a handful thing about him and how he is generally perceived by others, and one of his main traits is that he's funny. He is always one to laugh, or crack a joke, the one that makes you happier when things are bad. He is the one supposed to make other laughs, but with how bad he feels, the roles are reversed, and Ness has to try and try and try to make him happier, to "make him laugh". It must have been really heart-breaking to see the dynamics in their relationship change this much, see a person she knew like the back of her hand becoming a ghost of who they used to be. And eventually, he started to close up too much to her. He would be 'somewhere else, not fully there'. He wouldn't let her in, tell her what he was truly feeling--despite the fact that she could sense how bad he was doing. He became a "safe", a total stranger that she couldn't figure out, until she eventually had to give up. This is even more depressing when you know that Wade has had tendencies to lie to protect himself and push people away, which he could've also done here with Ness.

All of this leads her to start being angry, and confused, and wanting answers from him. Not the Wade she saw before leaving him, but her Wade, from before all this. She wants to understand : "Thinkin, how much sad did you think I had / Did you think I had in me?". I see this as both a rhetorical question, telling him that she can't handle all of his sadness and that she has to leave him behind at some point. That she doesn't have this much sadness in her to support him. But I also believe it has some genuine aspects of an earnest question, always waiting for an answer. Yet, she will repeat this multiple times, probably alluding to the fact that she doesn't have any. Because Wade doesn't have an answer to that either. She wants to know just how far Wade was willing to let himself fall down while thinking that Ness would stay, that she would pick him up. In a way, I think she felt betrayed and hurt by the way he was treating her, waiting for her to be there for him while he purposefully let himself drown in his own misery. So, eventually, she's angry and demands answer, demands an explanation to all of this, because this isn't the Wade she fell in love with.

And that's why it's so tragic : "Oh, the tragedy... / So Long, London". In this, we see just how heart-breaking their entire story is. It wasn't supposed to end this way, yet at that point in time, she saw no other issues. She didn't want to leave him, but she had to. It was tragic because it couldn't have been avoided, yet she felt as if it wasn't fair, and it wasn't meant to be this way. She can only constate that their ending is tragic, and she has to accept it despite the evident pain and sorrow (the punctuation). And so, she leaves. All of this, only could lead to that conclusion. She went through all stages, from loving him, to trying to support him, to giving up on helping him, to being angry at him, to giving up on them altogether now. She isn't fully saying goodbye, as she still feels as if their lives are too intertwined for them to not see each other again eventually. They both love each other too damn much to never do so, to truly end things here. By that point, she accepts that she must leave, and that their story ends, but she knows the love hasn't completely disappeared yet.

But when she says "You'll find someone...", she does admit that while love may persist, the relationship is over for good. By that point, she only includes him in the finding someone part. I think it's because she herself hasn't moved on from him, and she isn't sure by that point that she can. They know they can't date anymore, but she doesn't think that she'll fall in love as hard as she did with Wade with anyone else. But for him, she wants him to move on and find someone who will be able to handle Wade. In a way, she may feel guilty for leaving, despite knowing that it was killing her on the inside to stay. So she wishes for Wade to find someone who, unlike her, will be able to help Wade, or at least carry his burden with him without splitting under the weight.

I feel that the next part is a bit trickier, so if my ramble doesn't make sense, feel free to ignore it! But otherwise, I think that the lyrics "I didn't opt in to be your odd man out / I founded the club she's heard great things about" are definitely laced with bitterness. To me, it really represents that moment of Wade getting better, and how Ness will view herself into that. One the one hand, she knows she isn't entitled to anything regarding Wade anymore because she chose to leave, but on the other hand, she feels as if she didn't have a choice to leave. Everything was so awful that she had to leave for her own sake, so she didn't opt out of his life. She didn't want to be his friend, but she couldn't be anything else. Yet, everyone--including Wade--will make her feel like it was her decision. Even though they respect it, she feels that they don't understand that it wasn't truly her decision, and that under other circumstances, she would've never left Wade. If it wasn't for her survival, she would still be with him. But now, she is purposefully being left out of everything regarding Wade and all of his accomplishments. People will say that it's great to see him better again, to see him happier, and a true hero that wants to matter, etc. And yes, he did that on his own, but it does feel to her as if it invalidates everything she went through. She helped him for so long, and eventually had to give up. So he got better on his own and is praised for it, but what about all of her efforts? Don't they count in his recovery? Isn't her support the foundation of the person he is today? She is one of the reason Wade found his spark back, yet because she left before he did, she can never say as much. And it must feel bitter to see how much time and energy and love you lost trying to help someone who got better after you left them, after you've had enough.

Which is why we have "I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath". Because, yes, she may have been the one who left Wade first officially, but Wade had left her way before that. When letting himself become a shadow of who he once was, he left Ness to fend on her own, the only one keeping their love, their home alive. The "house by the Heath" represents this home that they made for themselves, it was their lives, their futures. But Wade abandoned that mentally. Yet, it falls on Ness when she decides to abandon it physically. In this whole verse, she is feeling bitter, and angry, and regretful. She left everything behind, because Wade felt like her everything. But she wasn't the first one to do so, and Wade had actually done it before. She had in the past tried to support him when he had cancer, only for him to leave her to bear this alone. So, actually, she was the only one trying actively not to leave, not to let this relationship die.

"I stopped CPR, after all it's no use / The spirit was gone, we would never come to". It implies that for a long time, she tried to maintain their relationship alive, but it was for nothing. "The spirit" of their love had left when Wade did too, when he metaphorically left the relationship. It couldn't be brought back, and even if they had tried, it would've been too late. Their relationship was already too damaged to be salvaged. There is no use to perform CPR on a dead body.

The next lyric is heavily marked by the voice of the singer, showing the anger and resentment growing : "And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free". For this one, I think it's crucial we remember the context of both who they are in general. Ness is a woman in her mid-thirties/forties, meanwhile, Wade is an immortal guy who can't age nor die. Wade still has the whole eternity in front of him to do whatever he wants, to be someone great. But Ness spent most of her life with him, and now she's getting older. No matter who she ends up with it will be a very recent and new relationship, and it will take time to grow, and so she may have trouble later having the family she'd wanted. For her, it may feels like as if she's spent so many years with Wade, only to be back at square one. Except that for him, he can take the eternity to move up a few square, but her, she doesn't have that time. She doesn't have eternal "youth", which is why she may be so pissed, both at herself and at Wade. It can be very easy to start resenting someone when you feel like you have wasted so much time on them, for nothing to come out of it eventually. And it would be better if Wade was in the same boat as her, because then they would both have wasted time and it would be no one's fault. But she is alone in this, she is the one who gave her "youth for free".

The "For so long, London / Stitches undone / Two graves, one gun" only reinforce this idea. She gave her youth "for so long" and now she's feeling resentful. In a way, it feels like her decision killed them both. She knows the negative impact their breakup had on Wade, of course. But here, she also acknowledge just how much it affected her too. With "one gun", aka her decision to leave, she killed the both of them ("two graves"). Kind of in a "you had to kill me but it killed you just the same kind of way". And now, the relationship that she carefully spent time stitching up each time it split is now completely broken, the "stitches undone".

And so, she accepts that she has to move on : "I'll find someone". She knows how bad her decision also affected her, and how hard it will be to get back everything she lost to this relationship. But she can't stay down, and she has to find a way to move forward somehow. And she knows that it's possible, that eventually, she'll find someone else, she'll fall in love again and that life goes on. It's a way for her to try and find peace, to definitely put her relationship with Wade past her. And by the beginning of Deadpool and Wolverine, she believes that she has found that someone, she found Dermot. Someone good, who is different yet someone she is really happy with. She can fully move on, and so wants to try and befriend Wade, as a way to really put this all behind. Because despite knowing they can't ever get back together, she still has a lot of love for him--whether it's romantic or now platonic, she'll always love him, as he is one of the most important person for her. But it's clear that while she's almost moved on completely from him, he hasn't done the same. And because of the way he still holds out hope for them to be together again, she feels as though he thinks she abandoned him all over again.

So in a way, the upcoming bridge is her way of defending herself. "And you say I abandoned the ship / But I was going down with it" is literally her reiterating that she wasn't the one who left first, she was actually holding onto that relationship even more than Wade was, even though it was killing her, "My white knuckle dying grip". The singer's voice is by then really angry, and I think Ness is too by now. It feels unjust to be blamed for leaving a relationship. I don't think they are blaming her consciously, because Wade would never want to make her feel bad about it. But the sole fact that he's still holding out hope that they work out put the blame on her for the fact that it isn't working out. In a way, him still wanting her and not being able to move on makes her even now the responsible for Wade's misery, which is unfair because she already had to bear it and suffer from it for long enough in their relationship.

The next lyrics will all be analysed as a whole, so sorry for that : "Holding tight to your quiet resentment and / My friends said it isn't right to be scared / Everyday of a love affair / Every breath feels like rarest air / When you're not sure if he wants to be there". This may be a bit triggering, se be careful, but I think that while the original song may be talking about not wanting to be there in a relationship, from Ness' point of view, it will be more like there at all in this life. Wade is canonically a character that has a severe mental instability, a lot of traumas and issues, and he is one of the character who tried to off himself the most--even before having a regenerating factor. He clearly has always struggled with his mental health, and it was even worse during his depression. So when Ness feels scared that because she's "not sure if he wants to be there", she's talking about being scared that Wade would take the opportunity to off himself if he could die. It is extremely scary to be in a relationship with someone who doesn't wish to live anymore, when you never know if they are faking their smiles, planning on leaving it all behind, if you're not sure you'll wake up and they'll still be there. Even while knowing he can't die, it is still a terrifying thought. So now, their entire relationship, their "love affair" is completely overtook by this fear that it will all end at any moment, and also by this need to take every good thing in because they may not last, or there won't ever be any other good thing afterwards. Every moment of true joy "feels like rarest air". Because now, everything in her mind revolves around Wade's sadness, his "quiet resentment" of feeling like he doesn't matter, of not finding his purpose in this world.

But there's only so much that one person can take, and so, eventually, she is back to asking "So how much sad did you think I had / Did you think I had in me? / How much tragedy?". This times, it really feels as though she exposed previously during the bridge every arguments in her favour as to why she had to leave, and now she's showing him all of those arguments and telling him 'see?', and in the words of the song "Just how low did you think I'd go? Before I'd self-implode / Before I'd have to go be free". And those two last sentences summarize pretty much everything : she was self-imploding, so she had to leave and be free. This relationship, despite still having some good moments that guilted her into staying, was more like a prison to her by that point. In this bridge, she seems finale with her explanation, and feels a certain form of validation of her decision. By then, she is certain she made the right choice, and she is trying to show others, and especially Wade, that she had to move on and that still holding hope for a relationship together was just invalidating everything she went through (even if Wade isn't necessarily wanting that, or even realizing she might feel that way. He can't help but love her, but respects her decision nonetheless. There is no bad guy here, just a very complicated situation).

The very end of the song is definitely right by the end of the events of Deadpool and Wolverine. Wade tells her explicitly that he still loves her, still wants her, wants them. But when he tells her he still loves her, all she can think of is : "You swore that you loved me but where were the clues? / I died on the altar waiting for the proof / You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days". She may know, realistically, that Wade really did love and still do, but during the end of their relationship, she couldn't feel it. Everything in Wade's life was now centred around his sadness, which is here represented by the "gods of [your] bluest days". Their relationship was too much, and so he "sacrificed" it, because in his mind, there was no room for anything other than his depression. Which is valid and comprehensible, but extremely hard to live for Ness. She was desperately waiting for him to show her that he cared for her, that he still loved her, that he was still with her, like shown in the flashback when Cassandra Nova peered through Wade's mind. She asked him directly for proof of his love, and she eventually had to leave the "altar" because she was dying there otherwise. Wade was feeling so awful that he couldn't remind Ness just how much he loved her, so even now, she can't accept that he still does.

Besides, we know she has supposedly moved on, as she is happy with her new boyfriend Dermot : "And I'm just getting color back into my face". After everything, she eventually felt like a lesser version of herself, beaten up by this tragic relationship. Wade's constant sadness got to her. But now, it's been a while, and she had time to move on, to find her own new happiness. It might be different colours than when she was with Wade, but she has colours nonetheless. She is happier out of the relationship. Yet, she can't help but be mad : "I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place / For so long, London". It is quite obvious that despite being happy now, she had also been happy with Wade before all this. There had been so long where she thought she was gonna marry Wade, found a family together, that he was her soulmate. She knows it's for the better, but there's also something so frustrating about having to leave something that brought you joy for so long because now it has soured. The lyrics "Had a good run / A moment of warm sun" reminds that. Before Wade got depressed, there relationship was truly and utterly an happy relationship. There was so much good in it, and for a long time, it seemed like it would last. But it didn't.

"But I'm not the one / So long, London". She is here fully letting Wade go, and letting their romance go. In admitting that she isn't the one for Wade, she is admitting that they weren't soulmates who were meant to be, and that maybe it's better this way. She is admitting that even the earlier stage of their relationship was extremely good and happy, it was not enough. She isn't the one for him because she could love him at his best, but couldn't at his worst. And there is no shame in that, she knows now that some people aren't meant to be, despite being perfect for each other in every other aspects. For example, when she sees Logan, she understands that he can handle Wade at his worst, that he can lift him up. At the same time, it's a bit bitter because she wished she could've been the one, but she is also really grateful to be out of this relationship, and yet knowing that Wade's got someone else that will be there for him. She can leave peacefully knowing that.

Then, we have another repetition of "Stitches undone" which symbolize definitely the end of relationship, with nothing holding it together anymore, and "Two graves, one gun". Personally, I always heard something else and liked what I heard more, which is "Two graves, one gone". Here, it would be a representation of how they felt during Wade's depression. He was so sad that he was almost dead, which killed her on the inside too. They were "two graves". But some graves aren't meant to be side by side. She left the graveyard, found happiness again somewhere else. She brought herself back to life by leaving. Now, there is one grave that is "gone". But by using the last sentence "You'll find someone...", she is in a way giving him permission to move on from her as well, to leave the graveyard that was their relationship. She hopes for him that he'll find someone who will bring him back to life to, and she even thinks that Wade found that person already, found that in Logan. Now that she let go, she's telling Wade to do the same. To let her go.

The three different instances of "you'll find someone / i'll find someone / you'll find someone" really represents the progression of the breakup and the healing from it. At first, it's a way to convince herself that she has to leave, that she isn't made to handle this. By then, none of them have moved on. Then, it's her finding her own way of happiness, admitting that she's moving on. And the last one is her telling Wade to move on too. By the end of the song, their relationship has definitely ended, it's over for good.

"So long, London".

[peachjagiya]

I hope you don’t take offense to what I am about to say cuz i’ll speak freely. I think the issue here is, so many taekookers kept talking about how much Jungkook didn’t want to do the show and even went as far as claiming that he was forced to do this show no matter how much Jungkook verbally proclaimed how much fun he was having and how he loved the show. Let’s also be serious here, does anyone really believe that Jungkook would have continued shooting in other locations if he hated the first experience in NY? Before someone comes up with the contract excuse, I need to remind everyone that this show was never the company’s idea. It was Jimin who thought of it, told Jungkook about it and then pushed at the level of the company to make it happen. I had never gotten chance to watch ITS friendcation with Tae because honestly I am more a music fan and their variety shows or other healing shows kinda bore me but I recently watched Friendcation and it was Tae too who wanted to film the show with his wooga squad and from what I understood from what they said at the beginning, he was the one who took the idea to the company and they let it happen. So I don’t think it’s fair to claim that Jungkook couldn’t back out of the show even if he didn’t like it because he was contractually bound.

Right now if I were jikookers I would gloat too because so many people have claimed that Jk looked miserable, looked disinterested, didn’t want to do the show at all or didn’t see the point but from his own words we know that is far from the truth. Not only did he declare how much he loved the show and how free he felt during the show, he also thinks that out of all the trips he been on in his life, these trips for AYS were the best. He also mentioned wanting to go back to the start of their trip so anyone still claiming that Jungkook didn’t love being on that show is not being realistic or reasonable at all. He could have just not said anything if he didn’t feel that way because ofcourse he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the trip if he didn’t (or maybe he could) so knowing how blunt Jk can be if he said he loved it, then he loved it. So I think it is wise to just stop with all the stuff about him not liking it or not not wanting to be there because nothing we have seen and heard from him supports that line of thought. He clearly looked bummed that the trip was ending, him and Jimin, and someone wouldn’t feel that way if they didn’t enjoy the trip. I feel like those trips to him, were an opportunity for him to break away from his excessive work load for a few days and just unwind, have fun and eat to his hearts delights. In hindsight, I think it was a great Idea that the show was there to film as after watching his documentary and seeing just how much he worked and pushed himself, I think those few days inbetween schedules to just have fun did him some good.

This is just me stating my honest opinion and I hope I didn’t say anything condescending or rude.

Honest opinions are fine and you're welcome to them.

The only thing I want to query is that jimkookers should gloat. What is this victim storyline? Oh well they're only gloating cos we were so mean to them?

They spent a couple of weeks saying JK visibly hated Tae, laughing at misinterpreted jokes to make it look like JK wanted him gone, mocking their short lay down. Did they all bow at our feet when he finally said it was better with Tae? No they absolutely did not. What they did was just carry on. Cos they perceived events a different way. And I couldn't give a fuck if they do that.... until they get pissy when others do it.

I have never, in my life, been to a JMKK space to "gloat." Or to say anything actually. I've often wondered about their thoughts on things and I just haven't ever. It's not my space.

Imagine if the tumblr Taekookers reacted to, for example, Hawaii this way. Ran into Jikook spaces to "gloat". Because as you say here, we had plenty of reason to. After months and years of "JK can't stand being around him" and "Tae just lies" that became too much even in the short time I've been around, there was vindication. Yeah, we could have gloated.

I bet if we'd done that, the first thing the jmkkrs would say would be "why hasn't this made you feel good?"

What actually happened is we just had a couple of exciting days being dorks about it, feeling good and happy in our "community" here.

So they should go do that.

[dxxtruction]

Louis' "You're boring!" Could mean so many things, but I think what's most apparent about that line is that Armand takes no initiative just for himself. He's not really anybody, because he never goes out and finds himself or gets attached to anyone but Louis. Without Louis as his guide he's literally just sitting on a couch picking lint! That's the thing.

He orbits constantly around what would make Louis happy, and never really fully going what would make me happy? Ultimately that drive to please Louis is what drives him to torturing Daniel, not so much that he'd care to just do it. Ultimately, not giving proper care to Louis is just a way to make sure Louis knows he has to orbit around him as well, with shoving Lestat onto him just that other nail on the coffin. So, even if he fails to figure out how to make Louis happy with him, he still knows what Armand is good for, and better than.

That dependency is what drives Armand's abuse. It really just comes down to that. Armand doesn't even realize how suffocated he is by his own dependency. This is just how life is to him. (It shouldn't be lost either that dependency is a theme considering this episode also deals with addiction).

Daniel's fascinating because he's just so driven to be somebody. He's largely independent, he seeks things because he wants them. It's his drug to poke and prod at all the things that he shouldn't. Daniel's exciting because he lets Louis in to something different, lets him in to all this potential in another person that he can also do the same with for himself. It's a real connection. A two way street. It's easy to tell how Armand can be smothering then because he's never introducing him to anything really new, and most the ways both of them connect are all painful and traumatic. It's never just fun because there's always that layer of that pain. Fun died with Claudia.

50 years on they've gotten to a lot better place, both of them, but it's still that same shit. No seriously, "How is this any different from last time, Louis?"

Well... Because Armand's going to be, at the very least, making one [1] decision only for himself - and that's to hold power over Daniel's life. Fucking sick foreshadowing.

They aren't driving each other to the brink anymore but "The vampire is bored" STILL. Maybe it's even worse, despite being in better places, because Louis' sort of just been defeated by it. (I mean, can he even really leave this either?). He's accepting the dependancy cause he kind of has to. He'd literally ended up letting all the enjoyment be up where he can't reach [The book shelves]. Armand so desperately wants Louis happiness but what really ends up happening is that Louis ends up having to give Armand all his own. He's got no one or anything else to get it from. But like an iPad and an over the top eating ritual. Two extremes of what's just more lint picking.

This whole relationship is one I find just tragic inside and out. You have to just pity it, really. There's ways in which you can find yourself feeling bad for both of them. But you can only really be mad at Armand for any of it. Armand, who isn't even 'free' in any sense, having so little concept of his own independence, but is at the same time so controlling over other's. It's a tragic cycle. It's an infuriating one.

Louis at least has the mind to know when enough is enough. If just needing that extra push to get there. Armand's too scared of it being over to even try.

[francisforever2014]

you can take the white boy out of the stem class but you can't take the stem class out of the white boy

[waywardsalt]

:3

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six. 

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four. 

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 

scarily handsome, in fact. 

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

[coffee-and-geto]

“HAVE YOU SEEN MY PANTIES?”

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: in a lazy, hot summer afternoon, it’s your boyfriend’s turn to do the laundry. but why doesn’t he respond when you’re asking where’s your panties?

warnings: +18, smut, nsfw, gojo is your boyfriend, needy! gojo, cute! gojo, fluff, nipple play, panties sniffling, masturbation (m), oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, sex (p in v), also based on a @/yunonoai’s comic!

wc: 2,128

“Babe, can you do the laundry? I have a call.”

“Sure,” Satoru replies, standing up from the couch where he was lazily lying down, chilling out in front of some tiktoks.

He steps towards the bathroom, the laundry hamper waiting for him to be emptied and washed. With a resigning sigh, he looks down at the heap of dirty clothes. One of them overhangs them all: your favorite panties — the one he bought you last month. 

The lace surrounds with finesse the satin fabric of your favorite color.

So how can he not be hard at the only sight that reminds him how long you both haven’t had sex?

Fuck.

His breathing becomes heavier, each inhaling being a trial to not pay attention to the prominent bulge swelling down his gray jogging pants. Of course, the memory of your whimpers will always be like music to his ears, the fwap sounds of his cock buried deep, so deep, inside of your wet pussy, and his balls, so much filled with his cum and tightening when he's about to climax, slapping against your ass at each pound into you.

He is grouching now, at the edge of whining in need of your full attention — but of course, you needed to have a call at this very moment.

His hand twitches to his crotch, palming his already hard erection through the soft fabric of his pants, electricing at quiet moans, Satoru’s beautiful face wincing in pleasure. He swallows thick, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and gives in. With messy movements, he lifts up his black shirt to grab the hem at his watering mouth and muffle his cute sounds between his clenched teeth and jaw. The fresh air blow at his hard abs, making him tensing his belly with scorching skin.

His big, calloused hand fiddles with his erection, so ready to free himself from the torturous sensation of your pretty panties, which he holds between his fingers and brings to his nose to inhale your scent, which makes him like a little puppy for you. Satoru utters a desperate whimper and finally buries his hand under his clothes to release his quivering cock.

It’s much bigger than usual, beads of precum glistening on the angry red tip, and veins sinuating the flesh. Of course, it’s perfect. That’s why it will never seem strange to anyone to see him stroke himself. He lazily fucks his tight fist, picturing your sweet pussy as he closes his eyes, beads of sweat leaking from his temples a flush spreads all over his cheeks.

His length girth throbs between his digits, coursing waves of lust through him as Satoru quickens the pace, as the same as his heartbeat. Saliva damps the fabric of his black shirt, and the idea of substituting the hem of his shirt with your panties carries out straight away, increasing his arousal until it’s twitching in a maddened way. With each stroke, the pre spreads along his shaft to allow it to be lubricated, at the point that if you all of a sudden show up in the bathroom, you both can skip the foreplay but damn!

“Toru? Did you see my panties?” Your voice echoes through another room.

But he doesn’t answer anyway.

“Fuck,” he grunts in a quiet whine, “miss you so much, babe.” His balls tighten, following the next moment — and it doesn’t take that much time he expected, because a few seconds after he twists his wrist in an upstroke movement — the exact way you’d do to him — he’s already cumming on the heap of laundry, dirtying them even more they already were, puddles of a viscous liquid, spreading out in droplets as the orgasmic peak subsides.

Panting heavily, he doesn’t hear you burst into the bathroom as you exclaim, “Satoru? You serious? Look at the state of the laundry now!”

With a swift gesture, he removes your panties from his mouth and turns his head suddenly towards you. He’s unable to justify himself and simply watches your disapproving pout ruffle your pretty lips. “Sorry babe, I'll clean it up.” He also notes how your mere presence makes him hard immediately despite having softened a moment earlier with the moment of “relief” he wished to provide for himself.

“Where are my panties?” you ask a second time as you rummage, eyebrows furrowed, through the basket of dirty laundry.

Satoru rubs the back of your neck nervously and hesitates to hide your underwear in his palm. “Uh... here,” he murmurs softly, slightly discomfited as you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“You’re that much needy?”

Satoru looks down, a little boyish pout on his lips that breaks your heart. “Sorry...”

Your frown softens. “Oh, um— No, Toru, please don’t gimme that look,” you whisper, walking over to him, your hands instinctively cupping his cheeks to make him look down at you. “I’m sorry, my love. You need to tell me when you need me, okay?”

Satoru nods slowly, still guiltily pouting. “Can I have you? Please? Just one round, I swear I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs.

His request makes your lips curl up. “My boy does want me? You’re cute, almost begging like this.” You graze a kiss on his cheek. “Get on your knees.”

“Like that?” His knees make contact with the floor, his cock still outside his dangling jogging suit. He so fucking cute, listening to you so obediently.

“Good boy,” you coo, sliding pants down your thighs. Your black panties hug the swell of your hips, your intoxicating scent spreading toward Satoru’s nostrils.

He moves towards you using his knees to grip your hips and sniff your scent once more. The action makes you giggle so much that it makes you suck in a breath when he pulls down your underwear to kiss your groin. “Love you,” he whispers. “I want to taste you, please.”

“Satoru, just wait I—” But he cuts you off, darting out his tongue to lick a strip enough to feel your bundle of nerves. A moan escapes your lips, driving your breath as crazy as he’s doing with his skillful mouth.

“You’re dripping,” Satoru comments, kissing your lower lips swiftly before grabbing you by the thighs and lifting you up, dropping you off the washing machine. “Spread your legs,” he mumbled, all needy and flushed to eat you out.

And how long he hadn’t—

It’s like he’s drunk on you, ignoring your moans and whimpers as he rests his cheeks on your inner thigh to wrap his wrist around your thighs. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your thighs, trapping you firmly. “Keep ‘em spread, baby,” he purrs, lapping your soaked core and sensitive, puffy clit. “It tastes s’good, I’ve missed you.”

His dick twitches and throbs afterward, your sweet sounds re-hardening him and making him more swollen than he was even after the few rubs he did to relieve himself.

“Hmm, ah, Satoru, you—” you trail off, throwing back your head against the wall, your hands grabbing the washing machine’s edge until your knuckles turn white. “I’ll be close, I—” you babble, and the realization of how much not having sex with him for so long is turning you into a virgin-like. And also, the clenching feeling of your pussy, lips parting and closing around nothing hits you so hard.

You need to cum on his cock.

“Satoru, stop,” you gasp, your fingers snaking gently through his white lock and tugging them carefully.

He stops the moment after your whine reaches his ears — a sound ringing like music to his ear. “But… I haven’t made you come yet,” he murmurs, rubbing your clit slowly with his forefinger and middle finger. His cute pout is now begging you to give him grace.

“I want to cum on your dick,” you clarify, leaning in, your lips pressing down a gentle, loving kiss on this beautiful forehead of him.

“You sure? I haven’t stretched you beforehand.” He rises from his former crouching position and holds his sensitive length closer to your core.

“I don’t mind, I just want you right now,” you blow out, kissing his free hand.

Satoru blushes — and oh, how can anyone fall in love with this cute little face you want to madly shower with cuddles and kisses? “Can we put it in while I kiss you?” he requests, bringing his lips closer to yours.

You let out a little laugh, pressing a first kiss on his lips. “You’re so cute.”

But something makes your eyes drop lower, and you feel it. Satoru’s hand holds his shaft enough well to tap the tip and the length below on your core, teasing your squelching cunt.

“C’mon, don’t tease me, I want you n— Ah!” He shuts you down by crashing his lips on yours and sliding himself easily in you, stretching you impossibly wide. “S-Satoru, you’re bigger than usual,” you whimper. 

Your hands grab his broad shoulder, nails sinking in his compressed black shirt, lips moving on their own to taste yourself on his wet lips. His tender tongue asks to enter you, and you allow him, soft strokes on each other’s tongue.

Satoru moans in the melting kiss, waiting for you to adjust, and starts gentle back and forth hips moves, hissing through his teeth by the sweet, delicious tightness of yours. “You feel so good,” he squeals between kisses. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You gasp, swallowing hard because of the different paces your brain can’t focus on — stolen kisses and perfect pounds into you. It’s so deep, so mastered, that it’s driving you mad and making you see stars.

Breaking the kiss, Satoru wraps his muscled arms around your back and encircles you flush against him, your heartbeat matching with his, and your fingernails slide down his back as you almost lose strength and balance every time his tip brushes against your cervix, etching red scratch marks for sure on his back as soon as he will remove his shirt.

With another buck before pulling out fully, he slides back in and manages to reach your deepest point, making your back arch and cry out. “Satoru, please, I’m so close,” you whine, wincing because of his hips rocking in you faster and harder. 

The washing machine sways to the same rhythm, threatening to give way under your weight. Your heavy, ragged breaths fill the air in a kind of steam room. Blood beats at your ears, your gummy walls clenching around his long, big dick without ceasing and have mercy for you.

But as if that wasn’t enough, Satoru slides your top off with a swift movement of his hand to free one of your breasts and taste the nipple. He sucks hard, tongue pulling and swirling at the nub like no other. The action makes you roll your eyes, the overstimulation engulfing you like a wave would.

He then uses his head to tease your nipple with a gentle tug, his cerulean-blue eyes captivated by your curve. You squeal, your walls swallowing up his thrusts inside you, tightening more and more until he gives in and takes you back into his arms, but this time with a hand under your thigh to lift it up and enable him to reach an even more precise and deep angle, making you scream out his name.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Satoru warns you, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and his jaw tense from clenching. “Please, where—”

“Inside me, Satoru,” you whimper in the hollow of his neck, closing your eyes before the following ride crashes the two of you.

Pussy clenching around his length, you squirt on him with a small cry, and Satoru does likewise, twitching as he grunts and his hips jerk to reach your womb and fill you up with his cum.

Muscles trembling from the aftermath, you pant against him, as weak as after an intense workout. “I’ve missed you so much,” Satoru whispers in your ear, in the same state as you. His large, quaking hands stroke your hair, soothing you.

White strings escape from your full, swollen-lipped pussy, the sound of trickling filling the silence of the room.

“I promise I’ll do the laundry, but please, can we have cuddles?” Satoru demands, blinking down at you with puppy-dog eyes.

You rest your cheek on his shoulder and nod, a smile stretching your lips, as you reach out to stroke his cheek.

“Of course, my baby.”

DING DONG.

The ringing of the front door echoes in your ears and a memory pops into your head, slapping you in the face.

“Wasn’t Suguru supposed to come to borrow the washing machine here because his is broken?”

Satoru froze, flickering his eyes. “Huh?”

a/n: feelin to write something cute and smutty haha! i think writing things easy like this is unwinding me.

see how he’s so cute? 🥹 pls God give me one…

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t

[physalian]

How To Make Your Writing Less Stiff 5

Movement

Dredging this back up from way back.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much during heavy dialogue scenes. E.g. two characters sitting and talking—do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them…

Gesture

Wave

Frown

Laugh

Cross their legs/their arms

Shift around to get comfortable

Pound the table

Roll their eyes

Point

Shrug

Touch their face/their hair

Wring their hands

Pick at their nails

Yawn

Stretch

Sniff/sniffle

Tap their fingers/drum

Bounce their feet

Doodle

Fiddle with buttons or jewelry

Scratch an itch

Touch their weapons/gadgets/phones

Check the time

Get up and sit back down

Move from chair to tabletop

The list goes on.

Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t—what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

As in, you could say “he’s nervous” or you could show, “He fidgets, constantly glancing at the clock as sweat beads at his temples.”

This site is full of discourse on telling vs showing so I’ll leave it at that.

Epithets

In the Sci-fi WIP that shall never see the light of day, I had a flashback arc for one male character and his relationship with another male character. On top of that, the flashback character was a nameless narrator for Reasons.

Enter the problem: How would you keep track of two male characters, one who you can't name, and the other who does have a name, but you can’t oversaturate the narrative with it? I did a few things.

Nameless Narrator (written in 3rd person limited POV) was the only narrator for the flashback arc. I never switched to the boyfriend’s POV.

Boyfriend had only a couple epithets that could only apply to him, and halfway through their relationship, NN went from describing him as “the other prisoner” to “his cellmate” to “his partner” (which was also a double entendre). NN also switched from using BF’s full name to a nickname both in narration and dialogue.

BF had a title for NN that he used exclusively in dialogue, since BF couldn’t use his given name and NN hadn’t picked a new one for himself.

Every time the subject of the narrative switched, I started a new paragraph so “he” never described either character ambiguously mid-paragraph.

Is this an extreme example? Absolutely, but I pulled it off according to my betas.

The point of all this is this: Epithets shouldn’t just exist to substitute an overused name. Epithets de-personalize the subject if you use them incorrectly. If your narrator is thinking of their lover and describing that person without their name, then the trait they pick to focus on should be something equally important to them. In contrast, if you want to drive home how little a narrator thinks of somebody, using depersonalizing epithets helps sell that disrespect.

Fanfic tends to be the most egregious with soulless epithets like "the black-haired boy" that tell the reader absolutely nothing about how the narrator feels about that black-haired boy, espeically if they're doing so during a highly-emotional moment.

As in, NN and BF had one implied sex scene. Had I said “the other prisoner” that would have completely ruined the mood. He’s so much more than “the other prisoner” at that point in the story. “His partner,” since they were both a combat team and romantically involved, encompassed their entire relationship.

The epithet also changed depending on what mood or how hopeless NN saw their situation. He’d wax and wane over how close he believed them to be for Reasons. NN was a very reserved character who kept BF at a distance, afraid to go “all in” because he knew there was a high chance of BF not surviving this campaign. So NN never used “his lover”.

All to say, epithets carried the subtext of that flashback arc, when I had a character who would not talk about his feelings. I could show you the progression of their relationship through how the epithets changed.

I could show you whenever NN was being a big fat liar about his feelings when he said he's not in love, but his narration gave him away. I could show you the exact moment their relationship shifted from comrades to something more when NN switched mid-paragraph from "his cellmate" to "his partner" and when he took up BF's nickame exclusively in the same scene.

I do the same thing in Eternal Night when Elias, my protagonist, stops referring to Dorian as "it" and "the vampire" instead of his name the moment they collide with a much more dangerous vampire, so jarringly that Elias notices in his own narration—the point of it being so explicit is that this degredation isn't automatic, it's something he has to conciously do, when everyone else in his clan wouldn't think twice about dehumanizing them.

—

Any literary device should be used with intent if you want those layers in your work. The curtains are rarely just blue. Whether it’s a simile with a deliberate comparison or an epithet with deliberate connotations, your readers will pick up on the subtext, I promise.

[gaysindistress]

Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.