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saturnsorbits · 4 months

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LiSyK: Lesson One

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Prince!Bakugo, Concubine Reader and Kirishima, Smut, Voyeurism, Unprotected Sex, Unprepared Sex, Cum Eating (Kinda). Word Count: 5k.

A/N: So, it's a series... No regular uploads, I'm just going to see where it goes.

Bakugo claps his hands, the sound echoing around the chamber like a rifle shot. 'You'll find my bed behind you.'

You blanch. 'Your bed, my lord?'

Concubines were a fixture of the royal rooms and have been for as long as anyone could remember. It wasn't unusual to see a collection of beautiful men and women lounging in living rooms or bedrooms, their skin almost entirely bare with only silk and gold to adorn them. Some, if favoured enough, were even gifted their own rooms were they could entertain their lord at their leisure.

And yet, it was unheard of to entertain a prince in his own chambers.

'Is there something wrong with my bed?' Bakugo's voice is a growl, low and deadly in the back of his throat. The idea of seeing you, the two of you, in his own bed sets up a stirring in his groin – one the demands to have its reward.

'No... No, I -.'

Kirishima's voice is an even timber when he steps in, easily picking up where your babbling had left you off. 'To share your personal bed chamber is a true honour, my lord.'

You curtsey, bowing you head low, thankful for the out.

The implications of Bakugo's excitement swarm in his head, but the buzzing never comes close to dampening his desire. Nodding towards the bed, he clenches his jaw tight. He'll deal with whatever fall out that comes later, right now... Both his heart and cock are set on this. 'Continue.'

Perching on the edge of the bed, you scoot backwards until your back presses against the plush cushions piled at the headboard. You can feel your pulse migrate, its steady rhythm sinking lower and lower until you're forced to resist the urge to cover your sex.

At the foot of the bed stands Kirishima. He smiles, soft and without his teeth, the apples of his cheeks swelling as he tries to render you at ease. The bump of his throat bobs as he leans forward, hands braced on the mattress as he prepares the advance on you, but before he can move, Bakugo's voice is ringing out clear from across the room.

Even across the room, Bakugo's throne feels far too close for comfort. He perches there, one knee raised with all the posture of a boy king. Atop his head the gold circlet of his crown sits off centre, the mess of his hair forcing it to tip towards his forehead. Beneath, his ruby eyes shine – deadly in their stare as he grips the edges of his chair with an almost white-knuckled force.

'Strip.' It's a command. One he's glad doesn't slip from his tongue with the anxiety that bubbles in his stomach. The acid is thick there, anticipation turning to bile as he fidgets, hoping neither of you can see his cock already raising to half mast under his trousers. 'Bare yourself to us.'

You swallow, tasting trepidation at the back of your tongue as you sit up and work at the straps of your covering. You'd been gifted new clothing after being chosen by the prince, upgrading your simple cloth rags for finer silks and golden bands. Now, a thin silken top cascades over your chest, the folds of the material deep and red, like waves of fresh fire licking at your skin. At your neck, a chain keeps the material from falling as it hangs from your golden collar.

The collar bares a series of symbols. Those for both the house of Bakugo, granting you movement throughout the entire fortress and those for the prince himself: a mark of his ownership. The chain wraps your back too, meeting in a clasp that you quickly undo, allowing the material to sink and expose the edges of your breasts as you work at loosing the chain to let the entire article slip away.

Kirishima's eyes linger. He can't help it. The fabric covering you slips to the mattress and immediately leaves you bare. Soft tits fill his vision, the gentle rise and fall of your chest making them jiggle slightly as you try and calm your breathing. His palms are sweating, making him thankful for the bedsheets under his hands and his voice demands he speak words of praise and devotion, even despite his not having permission to utter a word.

For the prince to be able to touch you seems obvious, for you're nothing short of a royal gift, but for him... He's not quite sure how he managed to get so lucky to be allowed to lay his eyes on a treasure such as you.

'Show him everything.' Bakugo clicks his tongue. His fist is balled in his pants, pulling them from his crotch to save their staining. Shifting in his seat, he attempts to hide his arousal. Not for the first time, he's glad he placed himself away from your gazes.

'Yes, my lord.' Your breathing catches as you unbuckle the silk skirt at your hips. You'd been denied underthings. Such items are inconvenient for the prince, should his cock wish to be buried in your tight heat at short notice. Instead, leather straps sit at your hips with long silken strips of material stitched to their edges. Falling to mid calf, the material flows effortlessly with your movement just as it drifts easily to the floor now as you unbuckle it.

'Knees apart.'

You comply, sensing the tightness in the princes voice and drop your knees, exposing the softness of your inner thighs and the sweetness of your sex to the air.

You're dripping. Even from this distance Kirishima can tell. There's a sheen coating your skin, a slick mix of arousal that gives off a heady scent. It infests his lungs, soaks into the roof of his mouth as he drags more of your aroma into him with each breath. His fingers twitch on the mattress gathering more sheet between them as he tries to stop himself from moving too soon and gaining the punishment of the prince.

Bakugo leans so far off his throne he's not confident he won't fall. He's never smelt sex before, but if it smells anything like you do, he's not sure he'll ever be able to be without it. Your musk is an aphrodisiac, making his mouth water and his cock twitch as he gives up attempting to hide his erection. Reaching for his belt, he loosens the buckle and reaches into his pants squeezing around the base of his cock as he pulls it into the air.

The princes cock is average in length. Delicate, almost, in how it bends slightly to the left – the rose petal head rounded and plump, dribbling more than it's fair share of pre-cum down the man's fist. Along the pale shaft, a series of purpling vein's break up the tone. Most are wide, pulsing with his heartbeat and splaying as they reach his base, where a delicate crop of blonde hair obscures the rest. It's darker than the hair on his head, closer to the brown of his fathers as it trails, reaching up over the muscle of his stomach and beyond.

Kirishima gulps, quickly snapping his gaze from over his shoulder and back to you. He can't say for certain, but he's pretty sure he has a bigger cock than the prince.

It should be an ego boost, something to brag about in those few moments of peace he's awarded outside of his royal duty, except there's just one thing he's worried about.

You.

'Stretch yourself...' Clenching his teeth, Bakugo refuses to show his breathlessness. His cock kicks in his hand, demanding a friction he withholds; but even with his precaution, there's no removing his affliction entirely from his visage. He straightens, rolling his shoulders to flatten against the back of his throne. Still, greed and longing sink into his tone. 'Let me see.'

Reaching between your thighs, you do as your told. The stickiness of your cunt clings to your fingers immediately, your clit twitching as clumsy fingers spread into a 'V' to expose your insides.

'Fuck.' The word trips from Kirishima's tongue carelessly and drops into the air like the last firework at new year. Around him, the world freezes – the muscles of his shoulders tense as he watches your abdomen hitch. He hadn't been given permission to speak. For all he knows, your allure has truly become the end of him. After all, it isn't unknown for rulers to punish their concubines for far less than speaking out of turn.

Bakugo clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and savours the knot that appears in the centre of Kirishima's back. The muscles bunch, writhing in a manner that makes him wonders if he could recreate it. 'Yeah...' He sighs. 'Fuck.' Coughing the delicacy from his voice, he licks over his lips before addressing the scene again. 'You. Kirishima. Strip.'

Kirishima complies in a heartbeat.

His loin cloth is much like yours in design, a thick strip of leather wrapping his waist just below his navel that buckles at either hip. Attached is the same material, thin and translucent and falling to mid-thigh; sheer enough to almost see the heft of his cock as it lays against his thighs.

Thick fingers work at the buckles, nimbly loosening the leather until he can swiftly shuck the material down his legs and discard it with a flick of his foot.

From his throne, Bakugo has to bite back the groan that threatens to rock through his chest and spill into the air. His mouth waters. Kirishima's cock is larger than he'd expected... A lot larger than he'd expected.

It bends under it's own weight, almost hanging despite his being fully hard. His foreskin is dark, a flush of deep mauve that slips back just enough to expose a slither of dark cherry head. Pre-cum leaks from him like a tap. It glistens on his skin, making the two thick vein's that raise from his skin just below his head glow in vague purple as they pulse. The crop of hair at his base is thick and black, a stark contrast to his own pale, downy hair.

Bakugo swallows, ridding his throat of the desire to be full. His tongue flattens to the roof of his mouth, his taste buds desperate for a lick of whatever divine nector drips from the pair of you. 'Go on then...' He barks, excitement flooding his bloodstream as he attempts to maintain some kind of dignity with his hand still squeezing the base of his cock. 'Fuck her.'

'I... Uhm,' Kirishima's cock bobs, threatening to steal his cohesion. He struggles to remember his teachings, a million and one things racing through his mind as he tries to remember the diagrams and words of the old mothers. 'I need to, to... Prepare her first.'

'Of course.' Bakugo frowns. He knew that. Of course, he knew that – he's eager, that's all. Maybe a little too eager.

'Can... Can I?' Kirishima's eyes shine when he brings them up to meet you. There's a gentleness there, a softness that barely disguises the blind pleasure that coils his stomach into knots. He reaches forward, a hand brushing the skin of your shin as his thumb draws an awkward half-circle in your calve.

You nod. With your fingers still spreading your cunt, you can feel the rush of slick that gathers there as you wait under his gaze for your devouring. It coats your fingers, leaving strings of pearl on your skin like jewellery.

Kirishima climbs up onto the bed, forcing it to dip under his weight. You feel bare laying there, exposed, as you watch his eyes dip between your legs and grows hungry. Fighting the urge to snap shut your legs and scramble away, you force yourself to relax. No-one has seen you quite like this before. Your intimacies have always been your own, exposed only to the King's consort Inko to confirm your virginity before a bright 'V' had been painted on your chest.

You wonder if you're pretty down there. If you look appealing... Fuckable.

A large hand wraps your thigh, a reassuring squeeze drawing you from your thoughts and back into the moment. Kirishima smiles, the tips of his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he reaches out with his other arm and hovers centimetres away from your sex. He catches your eye, eyebrows raising slightly on his forehead as the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 'You'll tell me if you want me to stop, won't you?'

There's a trepidation lingering under his skin, the kind of anxiety that is laced with excitement and easily highlights his inexperience and yet, his movements are sure when he finally touches you.

The pad of his thumb swipes at your clit making your back arch. Your eyes widen as the breath is taken from your lungs, a soft gasp leaping from your mouth. You become aware of your body then, more aware than you've ever been as the tingles of pleasure begin to recede with his touch. It leaves you raw and desperate, hips lifting from the bed in order to seek him out once more.

'Louder.' Bakugo's voice is broken. His cock still sit in his hand, pulsing angrily at it's neglect. Already he can feel his balls pulling up tight against him, threatening an end to something he hasn't even been able to start yet. 'Make her louder.'

Kirishima repeats the action. This time, the pad of his thumb presses harder, circling, until he earns another gasp from your lungs. He's surprised to learn that you're soft. Softer than he'd expected. You're so wet he can feel it clinging to his skin, the heat radiating through his thumb and making his mouth water. Against the mattress his cock stirs, smearing pre-cum against his stomach as he grinds down, offering himself only the smallest amounts of relief. He licks his teeth. 'Can...' His thumb moves lower, slipping off the wet hood of your clit and hovering over your entrance. 'Can I?'

'Please.' Lifting your hips from the bed, you attempt to rub his thumb back over your clit, desperate for more of his touch. You don't know what he's offering, you're not sure you care as long as it means you get to feel his hands on you again. 'Please...'

With your permission, Kirishima presses into you until you squeeze around the base of his thumb. You're hot inside, your walls silken and soaking, tightening around him as he pulls back out, testing your reactions. His eyes flicker to yours, a quick check in before he twists his wrist and offers you two fingers. This time you struggle with the stretch. He can feel it, the flutter in your walls as you breathe through the intrusion, but soon enough, you're relaxing, sucking him in and whining soft and breathy above him.

Your voice doesn't feel like your own. Each noise that escapes you is new, sinfully sweet as it escapes your throat and floats through the air. The women at the temple may have trained you, but they had never prepared you for this. Their lessons had always been focused on pleasing, not being pleased – the pillow dances and allure routines, all of it was useless here with you on your back and a man's thick fingers pressing up into the spongy roof of your cunt.

You writhe as a pressure builds below your pubic bone, encouraging a series of moans to leak from your mouth. It feels as though you might burst as your cunt clenches, but before you can discover just what comes next Bakugo's voice is spilling into the room and Kirishima's fingers still inside of you.

Bakugo is hanging on by a thread. His cock has gone pale with his grip around the base, his balls pulled so tight he can feel his pulse beating through them. Still, he refuses to embarrass himself. Not without seeing what he came to see. 'That's enough...' He speaks through his teeth, gritting out his words. 'Fuck her already.'

Kirishima looks to you before he moves. His brow is set, his eyes cool as he waits for your permission once again. He crawls over you until his arms bracket your shoulders, your chests almost level.

You look stunning like this, your lips shining, eyes wide and watery as you heave in deep, steadying breaths. There's no denying that he wants you, the sheer fact he's been allowed to touch you alone has his cock jumping against his stomach, but his mother's taught him to be respectful before anything else and so, he waits...

'I said...' Bakugo growls, but before he can finish his sentence, you're shifting.

Looking between you body and Kirishima's, you stifle a squeak as you see just what you have to contend with. Lined up as he is, it seems as though he'd reach your navel with ease – a far from appetising idea and yet, there's a yearning that spreads from the curve of your stomach to the depths of your cunt. One that has your insides tingling.

You don't care how big he is.

Don't care if it'll hurt.

As a matter of fact... A small piece of you wishes it will.

You reach between your legs, petting over your pubic hair until you can smooth your fingers across the twitching peak of your clit. A breathy whine slips from between your lips, but you continue, denying yourself in the quest for something more. Slipping further, you take two of your own fingers and arc your spine, feeling the beating of your cunt squeezing around you softly. With the other hand, you lean forward, taking Kirishima's cock in your palm and giving it a slow, gentle tug.

The man shudders at your touch. His whole body quakes at the faintest gripping of your fingertips, thick muscles rippling like he might collapse. Locking his elbows, he narrowly avoids falling on top of you as you ease him down and press his tip to your clit. He's panting openly now, his chest heaving as he struggles against the sin of your hands. If he's like this now, he dares not to think of what the tight heat of your cunt will do to him.

Tapping him against you once, twice – you enjoy each jolt of pleasure as it zips down your legs. It leaves you tingling and wanting more as you finally, finally line him up with your entrance. His cock catches against you, but before you can bask in the power you hold over him, Kirishima slips his hand between your bodies and collects your wrists in one, large palm.

He doesn't speak when he pins your hands above your head, he doesn't think he can. Instead, he holds your eye and hopes you can see what you're doing to him. Shifting his hips, he rocks into you and almost sees the Gods when the head of his cock sinks into you. You feel divine, hot and wet and tight and begging for his release. He breathes, unsure just how long he'll last. For a moment he waits, giving you just the tip and nothing more, waiting for the both of you to adjust.

The stretch he gives you is impossible. Even with so little of him inside of you, you feel full, incapable of taking the more you know he's going to give you. There's a burn radiating through your pelvis, a persistent, but delectable pain that subsides only as you breathe through it. You moan, a pretty noise escaping your throat as you feel him rut just a little deeper, taking the air from your lungs. Fisting your hands in whatever bedsheets you can find, your ribcage lifts from the bed, tits pressing flush with Kirishima's chest.

Bakugo thinks he might explode. He can see the rim of your cunt, Kirishima's cock stuffing it full and barley a quarter in. It's exhilarating as he watches both of you shiver, trying to hold it together as much as possible. Loosening his grip on his cock, he chances a slow, but firm pull upwards and quickly regrets it.

You moan, eyes rolling as flick up your hips as harshly as you can. The movement sheaths him further inside of you, dragging a harsh grunt out of his lungs as he falters. His cock presses up into you, bringing tears to your eyes as he slides back out almost immediately, but his fullness isn't a sensation you're willing to give up. Desperation claws at you, begs you for more, for a release you're dying to experience. 'Please, please, please...'

You're incensed, but then again, so is Kirishima.

Maybe that's why he gives you what you want, despite knowing you probably can't take it. Dipping his head to your neck, he rolls his hips to fill you completely and hopes he he can hold out long enough to please both you and the prince.

Your body struggles, cunt pulsing with that familiar sweet throb as he stills his movements once more and waits. You feel light headed, your body pulled taught as you hiccup through your next few breaths.

Teeth graze the junction of your shoulder, a whispered 'Is it too much?' tickling your ear before you feel the slow sensation of him pulling out. You move instantly. Wrapping your legs around him, you stop his retreat and squeeze tight, anxious to keep him inside, to be stretched and full.

The moan he lets out is pure sin. It's deep, guttural, lingering in his throat as he rocks his hips back into you and basks in the heaven that your cunt provides. With your ankles locked at the base of his spine, he's forced to bottom out – his thicket of pubic hair brushing against your clit making you twitch and writhe against him.

A strangled whine leaves Bakugo's throat as he comes to terms with his nearing end. He fucks his fist, hips lifting from the cushioned throne seat as he quickens his pace, eyes glued to were your two bodies meet on the bed. It takes barely a handful of strokes, especially when Kirishima's hips begin to move earning a cacophony of moans from both of your throats.

You can't help it. Neither of you can.

Both of your eyes drift to the back of the room, stealing quick glances at the prince. He looks ethereal, lost to his own throws of pleasure with his eyes squeezed shut and his head tipped back. A trickle of moans sneak from his lips despite his breath catching behind his Adam's apple, making goose flesh prickle on both of your arms. It feels wrong, to watch him like this – to see him so vulnerable, throat exposed, cock in his hand and cumming in his own fist, but you swear you've never seen a more beautiful sight.

He cums in waves. His body shaking as he coats his fist, his hand still smoothing the rest of his orgasm from his body. Eventually, his breathing levels out, the faint tingle from his release making him loose and light-headed. His skin prickles. The odd tug of being watched itching at the back of his neck, but when he finally blinks open his eyes there's no-one watching him.

Kirishima groans. He could feel you, your cunt pulsing around him as you watched the prince come undone. It spurs something inside of him, calls on him to please you in the way your body so desperately wanted to be pleased. Spreading his legs a little wider, he forces your hips open allowing him to reach even deeper inside of you and begins to rock his hips.

Something spoilt bubbles in your stomach. Watching the prince has made you hungry, but before you can get carried away feeling jealous of his release Kirishima begins to fuck you. Each of his thrusts gets deeper, his pace quickening until it becomes hard to concentrate. His cock fills you perfectly, making your whole body raw in a way you've never felt before.

It isn't long before Kirishima feels the tell tale pit in his stomach begin to swell. His balls pull up tight, the muscle in his abdomen twitching as he holds onto his composure with his finger tips. Still, he knows exactly what he has to do. Angling his hips down, he ensures his pubic bone brushes yours with each stroke, the thick mess of hair at his stomach tickling over your clit with each stroke.

You moan with each of his thrusts. There's no pain now, no sharp stabbing as his cock presses up inside of you. Instead, there's the dullness of a rising pleasure, one that threatens to tip you over the edge at any moment as you hold on for dear life. With your wrists still bound in his, it's impossible to pull him as closely as you want him, but Kirishima seems to read your mind.

Without pausing his rhythm, Kirishima presses his forehead to yours. Your eyes lock, the wildness in your iris' laid bare for him as his brow scrunches in concentration. He learns more about you in those following few seconds than he has for the week you'd been sequestered together before the selection. It's as if he's attuned to every inch of you, every hitch of your breath, each twitch of your lip and pulse of your cunt.

That's why he sees it coming.

He watches as your eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back towards the ceiling of the bed chamber. Your chest heaves, breath lodged there as a wave of pleasure strong enough to steal your breath rolls through you. Your mouth drops open, lips spit slicked and shining.

And then, then he feels your cunt pulse.

You milk him endlessly. Tightening around him in a vice he's not sure he'll ever want to escape, your pleasure is the most delectable thing he's ever experienced. A groan leaves his throat raw, his biceps shaking as he keep fucking your through your high, prolonging it for as long as possible. There had always been talk of what it was like to make a woman cum, the teachings endless, but none of it had come close to the real thing.

'Not...' Bakugo is breathless. His crown is still lob-sided, his smile lazy and satisfied as he kicks a leg back over the arm of his throne. 'Not inside. Don't come inside of her. That's an order.'

'Yes... Yes, my lord.' With his composure waning, Kirishima waits barely a beat, just until your cunt relaxes, the ghost of a smile tugging at the side of your lip. And then, he pulls out.

You whine, lurching forward as your wrists are released, but you don't get very far before thick strings of pearl are being lashed over your tits. The liquid is warm and coats your skin generously, painting you in his release. Above you, Kirishima fists his cock. His abdomen is tight, his nose scrunched, eyes heavy and half-lidded as he fights to keep looking at you.

And then, just like that, it's over.

The prince allows you a moment of reprieve, a minute or two to bask in the enormity of what has just occurred. The deflowering of a concubine was often a ritualised event and yet, here you were, with the spend of another concubine on your chest having just been taken for the first time. Kirishima's palm curls around your shoulder, steadying you as your world spins. His comfort is welcomed, something you offer him back with a hand on his thigh.

Bakugo clears his throat. 'Go...'

Your head snaps towards him, eyebrows scrunched. There's a shake in your knees still, one you're not sure will support you if the prince chooses to toss you out of his chambers so soon.

Licking his lips, there's a new softness in Bakugo's tone when he speaks again, shifting in his seat as he does. 'Go clean yourselves up. There's a bath through those doors, the servants should have it warm by now. You're welcome to it and whatever you wish to use in there. Sooth your muscles and return to your own quarters. I'll call for you again tomorrow.'

Kirishima glances at you and shrugs. There will be time to talk about the princes strangeness later, for now, you're not about to turn down a chance for a dip in the royal baths. Scrambling to your feet, Kirishima supports you into a messy curtsey before the prince before you slip out of the room and descend upon a world of luxury.

The door to the baths slams shut behind you, leaving Bakugo alone once again. He shouldn't have let you in there either, people will certainly talk if you're discovered, but the servants are obedient folk and his harsh nature keeps away the other prying eyes efficiently enough.

Springing from his seat, he crosses the room in barely two strides before he's at the bed. He crawls across it, feeling the warmth of your bodies still radiating through the sheets as he goes, imagining what it will feel like to be caught between the scene he witnessed only moments earlier. There's evidence of the act. Dips where you'd been lying, the sheets rumpled and tossed, but the thing that catches his eye is the darkened wet patch clear on the bed.

He doesn't think, he just moves. His chest meets the bed, his tunic falling open to allow rosy nipples to rub against the sheets as his tongue slips from behind his teeth and drags across the wetness. The taste of you bursts across his tongue. A deadly mix of both you and Kirishima ensnares him, causing him to go back for more. He laps at the sheet until his saliva mixes with your essence overpowering your tastes, leaving him wanting.

Collapsing on the bed, Bakugo stares up at the ceiling and listens to the hushed tones and splashes of you in the next room.

Tomorrow. He thinks.

Tomorrow, he'll have you...

Or, at least some of you.

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loveyouprongs · 8 months

Text

are you awake?

prompt: "are you awake yet?" "no." "oh, okay sorry." remus lupin x reader

upcoming content: fluff! pls lmk if u think i missed anything. 1.8k words

authors note: despite any photos used in the header, it’s important that people of all races can identify with my work so please let me know if any of the descriptive language i use is exclusionary, i’m trying my best!

masterlist

you had no idea what time it was, your phone abandoned on the night stand atop remus' book. he had come over in a huff, one hand holding his cellphone, keys, and book all at once, the other holding a warm cup of hot chocolate he had picked up along the way.

"rem, is that you?" you called, fumbling with wrapping a towel around your just washed hair while keeping the other towel tucked under your arms. you weren't expecting to see him today at all, he had, in his own words, a fucking shitload of reading to catch up on and planned on spending the entire weekend holed up in his room.

you understood, having just finished your own finals, so you planned on spending the evening watching movies and finally removing the old nail polish that decorated your toes and repainting them. an easy, uneventful night.

“yeah, it’s me dove,” remus said, bending down to untie his laces, “sorry for just barging in on you like thi- did you just take a shower?”

he snapped his head up and drank you in, your body still damp from the hot water and the ends of the towel wrapped around your chest fell apart against your thigh revealing more of your smooth skin. your face was free of makeup or the tendrils of hair that constantly fell between your eyes that remus always brushed away.

“y’don’t have to do that every time, remus,” you said on your fourth date when his fingertips danced against your forehead once more that evening.

“you have to be able to see, darling, i don’t mind,” he replied as if this was something he was doing as a favor to you and not because he was so desperate to touch you in any way.

you looked beautiful, he thought.

“thank you, baby,” you let out, giggling at the sigh of your boyfriend still bent half over himself, looking up at you as if you would disappear if he wasn’t.

“did i say that out loud?”

“you did.”

“well, it’s true,” he had since walked over to you, setting his phone, keys, book and cup on the table and grasped at your shoulders, stamping a kiss to your forehead. in this moment, he felt all his tension wash away and reveled in the feeling of your warm skin under his and the vanilla scent of your shampoo wafting around him. he didn’t even remember why he was in such an annoyed mood earlier until you asked him how come he came over.

“ugh, i have to move out!” he exclaimed. this is something remus said maybe four times a week, seven if it was really bad. when james left his dishes piled up in the sink for too long, “i have to move out!” remus would say while ranting to you over breakfast the next day. when they went on a trip for a few days and sirius forgot to pack any underwear so he took it upon himself to borrow remus’, you woke up to a text from your boyfriend that simply read “i have to move out.” sent at 2:18 a.m. then “good morning” at 2:19 a.m. and “you better not be awake right now, dovey” at 2:20 a.m.

“what happened this time?”

“was trying to study ‘til those idiots had the bright idea of rolling bottles down the stairs, i mean who even thinks of that?”

you had to bite your lip to keep in your laughter. you had seen that trend all down your social media so you knew exactly where they got the idea from. but your sweet remus who had no profiles whatsoever, -unless you count the facebook page he made when james told him he had to have one at least-

“what do you mean it doesn’t count? you can share photos and talk to people.”

“it’s facebook! only mums use it. i’m making you a BeReal.”

“you’re making me be real?”

“oh, nevermind.”

had no idea and believed this was just another stupid activity his roommates shared brain cell came up with.

“i don’t know, remmy, people are weird,”

“right? anyway, i sat through listening to ‘clunk, clunk, clunk, smash! again, again, again!’ for about fifteen minutes before i had to get out of there so i thought to come here.”

a warmth started growing within your chest and spreading throughout your entire body. he thought to come here, to your place. your lanky, fluffy haired, nerdy boyfriend who you loved so so much thought to come to you. the smile that had spread across your face was so wide you knew remus knew exactly how you were feeling.

“don’t go all moony eyed on me now, sweetness,” he began, “i’m here because i still have a lot of work to do.”

“of course”

“with no distractions, at least for the next few hours,” he was looking down at you with a familiar look in his eye and you couldn’t even bother to feign cluelessness. the image of remus bent over a book, concentrated look on his face and glasses slowly slipping down his nose was irresistible to you and when you two studied together, it caused a lot of assignments to go untouched.

“alright, i’ll leave you be. but i expect some form of compensation for my good behavior.”

“hence the hot chocolate, for you dove,” he handed you the tall paper cup he had brought in with him and you smiled as it was still warm enough to drink.

“oh wow, my boyfriend and a hot chocolate? it’s like my birthday!” you laughed as remus rolled his eyes and started setting himself up at your kitchen table.

“you can’t say that whenever i get you something, you need to have higher expectations for your birthday silly girl, or i really will just get you a drink and that’ll be it.” he said and the last thing he heard was you laughing down the hallway.

hours had passed and your hair was dry, toe nails now a light peachy color, and one and a half movies had been watched. you mainly kept to your room, only coming out to get a drink and set some biscuits out for remus who hadn’t even looked up. you were sure a bomb could off in the building across the street and he wouldn’t notice. he was so concentrated that all you wanted to do was press your fingers to his temples and relieve his pretty face of the wrinkles, surely his eyes were sore as well, but you knew better than to bother him.

it wasn’t until it was dark out that remus had finally slumped against your bedroom door and trudged like a zombie to your bed, face planting right into your lap. his calves were hanging over the edge so you grabbed his face and shuffled yourselves closer to the headboard. remus was laughing, the feel of his lips tickling your stomach, and with that information he only began to blow raspberries on your belly button.

“remus stop i’m serious!” you let out and lifted his head up, your hands pushing his cheeks up causing his lips to reach up into a smile. he looked so soft, and happy, but obviously tired.

“‘m finished with all m’reading, dove,” his speech was slurred, surely from exhaustion.

“i’m very proud of you baby, you’re so hard working.”

he wrapped the comforter around both of you, and flipped onto his side, pressing his back to your front. he must have been really out of it because he never let you be the big spoon.

“but don’t you like being held?”

“i like holding you. besides it just makes more sense that way, i’m much taller.”

“there’s no sense to cuddling!”

“there’s sense to everything!”

“i am hard working! and they don’t care, all they care about is smashing things and making lots of noise. i have to move out.” he grumbled.

you ran your fingers through his hair, letting him mumble on, knowing he’ll soon fall asleep.

“well, you’re always welcome here, my love.”

he sighed and pressed a kiss to your wrist, “i know,” he spoke softly, the two words so full of content he could hardly stand it. he thought every day how lucky he was to have you in his life. a love full of soft kisses and hot chocolates and intertwining under moonlight. “i love you so much.”

“i love you too, now get some sleep.”

the night had come and gone, remus sleeping away in your arms and the sun was shining through your curtains. you slowly lifted your arm off him and felt around for your phone, careful not to disturb him. the screen flashed 10:15 a.m., meaning remus had been sleeping for close to twelve hours now.

it made sense due to how tired he was yesterday, but you had done nothing but relax, so your body was ready to get up and start the day. you answered a few messages telling marlene you’d had to get back to her about if you and remus could make it to brunch in a few hours and sending a rolling eyes emoji to james who sent you a number of videos of bottles rolling down the stairs.

remus shifted, unconsciously flexing his back, and you froze. it wasn’t until he began cracking his knuckles individually that you knew he was awake, you still asked though.

“are you awake yet.”

“no.”

“oh, okay, sorry.”

“mmm.”

two minutes passed, “are you awake now.”

“are my eyes open?”

“no, but you are speaking to me, and this isn’t what you usually say when you sleep talk.”

“i don’t sleep talk!” he let out, craning his neck to look at you perplexedly.

“got you to open your eyes, didn’t i?” you said with a wry smile. his look of confusion morphed into annoyance that you both knew was fake and he fully turned so you were both facing each other now.

“i haven’t slept that good in a long time,” he said lowly, his voice still rough from sleep.

“finals are over now, rem, you can sleep for as long as you want.”

he smiled and tangled your fingers together, opening his mouth to say something back when his stomach rumbled loudly.

“that wasn’t very sexy, was it?”

you giggled and shook your head, finally throwing the covers off yourself.

“nope, but that’s okay, marlene wants us to meet her for brunch in thirty minutes, so we better get a move on, sleepy head.”

remus groaned and reached for his designated dresser from the bed and pulled out whatever shirt and bottoms were on the top of the piles. the two of you got ready in comfortable silence and while you were sitting on the floor, pulling up the zipper on your boots, remus realized that he really could see himself moving in here. always doing his course work at your kitchen table, picking up a hot drink for you at the coffee shop two streets away, not because it was on his way to you, but because it was on his way home.

“ready, baby?” you asked, now standing at full height, holding your hand out to him.

i’m ready to wake up here every morning. “ready,” he said, wrapping his hand around yours.

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shoyostar · 11 months

Text

𝓓𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝓕𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝓗𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!

oh future husband, better love me right!

premise. the nhk is hosting another special broadcast featuring the popular fiancées of the jnt’s lineup! and this time, it’s truth or drink! ❤︎

content. haikyu!! jnt / f!reader. (koutarou bokuto, morisuke yaku, kiyoomi sakusa & tobio kageyama). fluff. downbad fiancés. suggestive jokes & allusions to sex. petnames. alcohol. overseas!kageyama & yaku (LDR). reader lives in japan (does not equal being japanese). a little angst.

notes. this part is… a little long! sit down for it ❤︎

soundtrack. dear future husband : meghan trainor.

part one can be read here.

dear future husband m.list // hq. masterlist.

KOUTAROU BOKUTO.

“Been awhile since I last drank,” Bokuto cracks his knuckles upon seeing the many selections of beer he gets to choose, fingers twitching eagerly as they hover over the bottles. “Wonder what I should get…”

You sigh beside him jokingly, nudging his shoulder with your elbow, “We don’t have all day, Kou.”

“I’m just looking!” He chuckles, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

He randomly picks up a bottle of Sapporo, rotating it in his hands before nodding to himself, “This seems good!”

You place your hand on the small of his back, guiding him towards the studio for a final run through before the broadcast, “Alright, Kou. Now let’s get this started!”

The NHK film crew do a final mic and sound check when you arrive as a staff member seats you both at the table in the centre of the studio, a pile of cards with questions written on them, two shot glasses and the Sapporo bottle your fiancé picked out lined on it’s top.

After fiddling with the microphones hidden inside your clothes, the crew give you two a thumbs up and rush back to their cameras to start the recording.

Bokuto’s entire body is turned towards the cameras, sitting on the edge of his seat as he eagerly greets the viewers, “Hey! I’m Koutarou Bokuto,” he catches your eyes with a bright smile, grabbing your hand from across the table, “And this is my fiancée!”

“And we’ve been together for three years now,” You finish for him, hands folded neatly on the table, the cameras pan to show off the engagment rings that sits prettily on both you and Bokuto’s fingers.

“Four months engaged.”

“And we’re playing truth or drink!” You and Bokuto announce happily together, smiling at each other before turning your bodies back to face the cameras. The film crew adjust their angles, moving their cameras off their stands to get better opening shots of you and your fiancé.

“You guys ready to play?” The head camera crew member asks, giving you the okay to start the game.

The studio lights illuminate the white backdropped room, enveloping your eyes in waves whenever you stare at the camera lenses for a little too long.

You and Bokuto nod as he shifts his gaze towards you, “Want me to go first, Baby?” He asks, already grabbing his shot glass and the bottle of Sapporo. You giggle, “So eager to get drunk, Kou?”

“I told you, it’s been awhile!” He beams, pouring out the alcohol carefully into his shot and grabbing the top card from the pile on the table.

“What do you like most about me?” he reads aloud, looking up at you curiously, “I’m pretty sure you’ve told me this exact answer before.”

“Have I?” you tilt your head in thought, thinking the question over, “I mean, probably. It has been three years, after all.”

Bokuto places the card face down on his side of the table, combing through his hair, “I think when we first started dating, you told me it was my hair.”

“It is nice,” you agree, causing Bokuto to start laughing and in turn making you giggle as well. The two of you are already giddy and snickering despite no alcohol being present in your systems yet, “But I think now that we’re engaged, I can give a more detailed answer.”

“Oh?”

He leans over the table excitedly, a wide grin plastered across his face, “Tell me, Baby! What do you like most about me?” His hand is still placed atop of yours, the perfectly cut gems in both of your rings twinkling in sync underneath the studio lights, perfectly complimenting you fiancé’s eyes.

You hum in faux thought for a moment before smirking, “Hmm, your muscles.”

Bokuto’s smile drops slightly to a pout, still keeping his bright composure while masking his lowered grin, “Awe, Baby I thought you were going to say something like, real deep and emotional!” He jests, “Like how you love that I make you smile, y’know?”

You throw your head back in laughter, nudging his shoulder with your free hand, “I’m kidding, Kou!” Your smile is genuine when you see how disappointed he was at first at your reply, looking straight into his eyes as a way reassure him.

“Yes, Kou. What I like most is that you make me the happiest every day I’m with you.”

His smile brightens significantly, a chuckle of his own escaping his lips as he leans back into his chair, “Damn, played by my own girl.”

He slides the pile of cards over to you with a mischievous smirk, “Not that I’m complaining.”

You take the top card off the pile and read it over, fingers twirling the empty shot glass in your hands. Your lips purse as you try to contain the giggles making their way up your throat while reading the question on the card, hands quivering in silent laughter.

“Have you ever wanted to fuck one of our friends while with me?” Bokuto’s eyes seem to pop out of his head at the vast difference and shift in questions, turning to the NHK staff while laughing, “Are you sure this is okay to broadcast?”

The film crew nod, to which Bokuto shrugs, “Alright, then,” before turning back to you. “Uhh, can I just like- take a shot right now?”

“You’d rather drink than not tell me?” You joke, pouring out the Sapporo for your fiancé, “Damn, Kou. Do I not satisfy you enough?”

“Of course you do!” He corrects himself hastily, “It’s just, uh..” he leans in closer to you whisper in your ear quietly, “I don’t want to say Atsumu on national T.V...”

Your hand flies to your mouth in shock, shoulders shaking as you try to contain your cackles, “Atsumu?” you repeat in a hushed tone, making sure you heard him correctly. “Him?”

“He’s got nice hair!”

You both start to laugh at how hair seems to be a common appealing trait you notice in people. Shaking your head in mock disappointment, you shove the stack of questions back over to your fiancé’s side for his turn.

“What is the most embarrassing thing you caught me doing when I thought I was alone?” Bokuto asks, reading from the card he picked off the top of the pile and glancing back up at you.

You hum in thought for a moment, pondering the question.

“Uhm, I think that time you were rehearsing your Valentines day speech to me before we went out to eat at that restaurant a few years ago,” you reveal cautiously, “but you were using a pillow with a photo of my face taped on it as a stand-in.”

Bokuto’s jaw drops at the revelation, nearly falling out of his chair from the shock of what you just divulged to him, “You were there? Watching me do that?”

You have to practically fight the cackle bubbling it’s way up your throat, a smile creeping onto your face when you answer, “Yes, Kou. But it was sweet, so I didn’t mention it to you.”

“You kept that a secret for two years?” He asks again, and you nod.

Your fiancé’s face remains stunned for a few more moments before breaking out into a smile of his own, hand running down his face while laughing to himself. “Damn, I must’ve looked so dumb.”

“I thought it was cute!” You attempt to salvage things, giggling as you pick up the next question card, this time it’s for Bokuto.

“What part of wedding planning is the most challenging part for you?”

“The money…” He pouts, taking the card from you to read it over again before turning to the cameras.

“Weddings are so damn expensive— Did you know wedding flowers can cost up to two million yen?” He exclaims in shock, “For flowers!”

You sigh, plucking the question card from his hand and setting aside on his pile with a smile, “This is why you should leave the financial decisions to me, Kou. Our floral arrangements will not be that expensive, I can assure you.”

“Of course, Baby,” he grins, “I trust you completely on that,” his hands move to pick up the next card, lifting the corner and taking a peek at the question before flipping it over and reading it.

“What is something you’ve wanted to try in the bedroom but haven’t told me about?”

“Impact play,” comes your answer a bit too hastily to be considered normal.

Bokuto has a silent stare off with you for a few seconds after before you both break out in hysterical laughter, your fiancé cackling at how fast and prepared you were when you answered while you exclaim that’s why you could never tell him.

“Baby, that was so fast!” Bokuto reels over the table, pounding his fist into the wood while howling with laughter, gripping his empty shot glass in hand.

“Were you— were you that prepared to answer?”

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you make an attempt to defend your response, “I know you’d absolutely wreck me if we tried, that’s why I never asked!”

“I mean…” He trails off, glancing at you and letting his eyes roam your ring finger as a smirk makes it’s way onto his face, leaning closer to you over the table. “We could always try it at home later—”

“Last question!” You interrupt him, pulling the cards over to your side and grabbing the last question from the stack, you see Bokuto’s smile drop when he sits back in his seat from how you changed topics until he sees you wink at him from the corner of his eye.

“What is something you wish to tell me before we get married?”

Bokuto’s eyes light up at his question, holding up his shot of Sapporo and beaming brightly. Despite not drinking much during your game, his cheeks are flushed like he’s been drunk on your love this entire time, eyes crinkling with glee when he smiles.

“I hope I can keep being this happy when i’m with you after marriage,” He declares, “I love you, Baby.”

“I love you too, Kou,” you smile with him, raising your own shot to clink your two glasses together and down them simultaneously, the cool smoothness of the beer running down your throats.

You can feel the mild bitterness on your tongue afterwards, it leaves it’s taste behind even several hours after your drinking game when you two return to your shared home.

But the sincerity in Bokuto’s eyes when they fell on you back in the studio, and the way he gazes at you like you’re the only thing in his world even with the several NHK staff and film members recording your every move washes that all away instantaneously, overpowering it with sheer sweetness.

It’s just not one you can taste as easily as the flavour of Sapporo.

You might not have gotten drunk that night, but Bokuto’s certain he’s been drunk on your love for the entirety of all three years you’ve been together and wouldn’t mind if things stayed like this forever.

MORISUKE YAKU.

“You’re going down, sweetheart,” Yaku warns you with a teasing wink, lifting the bottle of Vodka in his hands to inspect the label, “Playing in the Russian League gives me an alcohol tolerance advantage that you don’t have.”

“I didn’t know just playing in Russia meant you were an experienced drinker,” you hum, playing along with his jokes for the fun of it. “I don’t think athletes are supposed to consume a lot of vodka anyways.”

“Well, you might as well back out now,” Yaku advises, shrugging with a sly grin, one of the camera crew’s members rushes up to fix the loose microphone on his suit before scurrying back to their position.

“Don’t wanna get beaten by your own fiancé now, do you?”

You merely roll your eyes at his antics, a reluctant smile making it’s way onto your face as you realign the messy stack of cards on your table, sounds of the director doing a final run through of lights and cameras are heard around you.

“Yeah yeah, save it for after you get wasted, Mori.”

The cameras start up as the director nods in your direction, indicating for you two to introduce yourselves to the viewers tuning in, Yaku holds your hand as he recites his lines.

“Hi, I’m Morisuke Yaku,” your fiancé beams, giving your hand a comforting squeeze, “And this right here, is my wonderful fiancée, whom I adore very much.”

Even several years later, Yaku’s swoon worthy words have an effect on you after all this time, making you feel like you’re still in that young and eager love stage. Attempting to hide your giddy face from him, you turn to face the camera as well with a wide grin.

“We’ve been together for four and a half years,” You gush, the sparkling engagement band on your finger being shown outwardly when the cameras zoom in for a closer look. “Engaged for eight months, now.”

“And today, we’ll be playing truth or drink,” Yaku reveals to the excited viewers, the cameras change positions to new angles while the sound crew makes sure your microphones are picking up your words.

After signaling to the director that they are indeed working, he asks you two, “Are you ready to play?”

You and Yaku both agree as he opens the bottle of Vodka, pouring it into your shot glass first before he pours out his own, “Hm, what a gentleman you are, Mori.” You joke, noticing he gave you your alcohol first before serving himself any.

“Always, for you.” He sighs dreamily, setting the bottle down beside him and pushing the cards over to you with his familiar cheshire grin. “And because I’m such a gentleman, you should go first, love.”

You stifle a laugh into the palm of your hand at the sudden switch in personality but take the top card off anyway, flipping it over and reading the question for Yaku written on it, “What is one thing you wish I did more of in our relationship?”

He groans, slumping down in his seat with his Vodka in hand, “Fly over to come visit me overseas,” he jokingly groans, faux-booing you with a thumbs down and all as he turns to the film crew.

“Did you know she doesn’t get on the first plane to Russia whenever I ask, can you believe her?”

You merely snicker at his jeers and turn your card over, placing it down on the table beside your shot. “Well I’m sorry, but I’m unable to predict whenever you’ll miss me spontaneously.”

“It’s not spontaneous,” Yaku argues, “I tell you like, two minutes in advance.”

You raise an eyebrow at his claims, “Wanna bet, Mori? I have screenshots.”

“Maybe I’ll just drink to this instead.”

You both giggle as he shakes his head in defeat, taking the next card off the pile and reading out loud the first question for you.

“Have you ever—” Yaku begins to lose his composure as he reads, holding back his giggles before sputtering out, “faked an orgasm with me?”

You burst out into laughter as Yaku discards the card to his side, head thrown back in hysterics while using the table to stabilize himself.

“Well?” He asks, wiping the tears that have begun to form around his eyes, “Have you?”

You begin to reach for your Vodka shot, causing your fiancé to break out into another, more excessive fit of cackles, “Are you serious, honey?”

“Okay well, maybe!” You confess wholeheartedly, raising the Vodka to your lips, “Back when we were first dating!”

Yaku scoffs disapprovingly, but you can tell he’s not seriously mad when you down the vodka and he’s looking at you worriedly, asking if it was too strong for you afterwards.

You dismiss his concerns, saying it’s fine and that you can handle it before he relaxes and pushes the cards back over to you.

“Have you ever had a dream about me cheating on you?” You ask him, Yaku’s face immediately sours at his question, you look to him expectantly and wait for his reply.

“… Ugh, yes,” he begrudgingly admits after a few moments of silence, eyebrows furrowing as he recalls it unpleasantly, “I had a dream once where you cheated on me with Lev.”

“Lev?” You cackle, “The— the 6’5 russian guy from your highschool volleyball team??”

Yaku’s hand moves to his vodka-filled shot glass, “Yes,” he moans, “It was awful. Hope I never see Lev butt-naked in my dreams ever again.”

“You don’t have to drink to this one, Mori,” you giggle as Yaku downs his vodka quickly, not even flinching at the burn, maybe he was right about the tolerance advantage. “Since you answered it.”

“Ah, don’t care,” he groans, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his suit, “After having to reimagine that scene, I needed the alcohol.”

Yaku takes the next card off the pile of questions skeptically, flipping it over and reading it out loud.

“Do you have any insecurities when it comes to me playing overseas in Russia?”

The question causes you to stop and think as Yaku places the card face down next to him, pouring another shot and sliding it over to you. “You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart.”

His gentle tone reassures you but you shake your head, pushing the vodka away, “No it’s okay, I don’t mind saying it.” Yaku looks surprised but nods understandingly, taking the glass back and giving you the room to process your next words while he remains quiet.

“I think my only insecurity is not knowing if you’re safe while overseas,” you admit to your fiancé. Yaku doesn’t say anything in response, knowing you have more to say as he lets you say what you need while silently encouraging you to elaborate.

“I hate not having you beside me because I don’t know where you are, and I just miss you a lot you know?”

Yaku’s cheek rests against the palm of his hand, concern washing over his face again as he looks across the table to you, “Awe, honey. I didn’t know you felt that way,” he coos, “do you hate whenever I leave for volleyball season?”

You shrug dismissively, the weight of your words beginning to catch up to you as your voice becomes quieter, trailing off at the end. “I mean, I don’t hate it, but like- I wanna know you’re alright while in Russia…”

Yaku’s about to speak when you shake your head dismissively, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” before you’re reaching for the deck of cards, already pulling the top question up and flipping it over to read.

Your eyes drag over the words as a pit begins to form inside your stomach. The next question for Yaku causes you to cringe, still reeling from the uneasiness of the last one as you awkwardly ask him, “Have you… ever regretted or had doubts about our engagement?”

Yaku’s face of concern turns into one of astonishment, he looks almost appalled at how unsure you look and sound while asking him.

“Absolutely not,” he states firmly, holding your hand that holds engagement band on it, you can feel the distress radiating off him as he reassures you in a hushed tone.

“I’ve never once regretted proposing to you, and I fully intend on marrying you.”

Yaku’s words dislodge the lump in your throat as you begin to chuckle to yourself, eyes looking down at his hand where the engagement ring he wears that matched your own. “I’m sorry if you thought I was doubting you, Mori. It’s just—”

“You don’t need to justify your feelings,” Yaku reiterates sternly, “I know, okay? You don’t need to explain this on live T.V.”

Knowing he’s only trying to make sure nothing of what you say can be interpreted wrongly later by media, you nod as he sighs in relief with an uneasy smile.

“I think this next question is our last one,” he announces, his smile morphing back into that familiar cheshire grin, the one that always brightens your day. You think he’s doing it in an attempt to lighten the mood, or maybe he just naturally makes you happy.

Yaku picks up the final question card and flips it over, reading it over with a calm smile, “What have you enjoyed most about being engaged to me?” His voice is gentle as he looks up to you, placing the card down on his pile.

“Well, love?” He encourages you, knowing he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable he gives you the choice, “Do you want to answer, or take a drink?”

You’d be a fool to drink at this question, there isn’t anything to drink for here but there’s just so much about being engaged to Yaku that you love that you can’t quite find the words for it. And while the majority of your engagement has been spent with Yaku being away in Russia, it doesn’t mean you enjoy it any less than if he were with you in Japan.

“… I enjoy knowing you will always be with me,” you begin to speak slowly, making sure your words are clear and concise while twirling your empty shot glass in hand absentmindedly.

Trying to fit all you want to say to your fiancé in a few words is tough, but you manage to shorten it enouhh to say all you want to tell him. “Because even while you’re playing overseas, I know you will always come back home to me.”

Yaku’s face unexpectedly heats up at your words, the apples of his cheeks turning bright red as his lips form into a shy and nervous grin, one isn’t anything like the mischievous and playful personality you’re accustomed to seeing while with him.

“I… I love you, sweetheart.” He manages to speak after some time, loosening the collar of his dress shirt nervously, but the smile on his face never falters. “I always have and always will.”

He extends his hand out to you, motioning for you to give him your shot glass. You hand it to him and he pours out some Vodka, sliding it back over to you once full before filling his own.

“Yes, honey,” he whispers unconsciously while pouring his alcohol, and it’s the happiest you’ve seen him all day. From his flushed complexion, dopey smile and euphoric demeanour, he appears to be glowing. Or maybe it’s the blaring lights behind him that are playing tricks on you.

Your fiancé has never looked so sure of himself until this moment, Yaku’s eyes never straying from yours as he raises his shot glass, breaking into his biggest smile yet.

“I will always come back home to you. No matter how long we are apart for,” and to that, you both cheer, clinking your glasses as you toast to your engagement.

Downing the alcohol in unison, the bitter sting of the Vodka attacks your throats relentlessly, but neither you or Yaku care about that in this moment or the next.

The world’s most intense Vodka brewed directly in the heart of Moscow, Russia could never be so strong as to have an effect on either of you when you’re in the presence of each other. You’re certain that Yaku would drown himself in the harshest of Vodka’s if it meant it was all for you.

A little Vodka is nothing compared to what he’d go through for you.

The way Yaku’s entire demeanour changes when with you, the largest of smiles etched onto his face for a side he only shows while you’re with him here, in Japan.

Remaining wholely committed to you even while seperated by land and sea is all a true testament to your relationship, and it puts your heart at ease.

Yaku may not always be at home; but Yaku knows that home is with you, and he knows he’ll always be with you in due time.

KIYOOMI SAKUSA.

“Oh, he’s a lightweight,” you tell the film crew who are adjusting their camera stands nearby as Kiyoomi pulls out the chair at the table for you to sit at, giggling when you hear the faintest muffled groan come from underneath his face mask.

Sitting atop the table is a bottle of Scotch, the deck of question cards and two shot glasses on it’s sanitized surface as per request by your fiancé.

“This’ll be so easy for me.”

“As if,” Kiyoomi scoffs, taking his own seat across from you and scooching his chair forward, “I’ll beat you and then have to hear you drunkenly cry about it back home later for the next several hours.”

“Nope,” you declare mischievously, folding your arms over the table and laying your head in them while looking up at your fiancé, “Hey, did you know Atsumu told me you’re an emotional drunk?”

You can see Kiyoomi’s eyes twitch underneath his thick black locs, hand reaching to grip his hair in annoyance. “That fucking—”

The director interrupts him unexpectedly when he calls to the rest of the crew in the studio for everyone to take their places behind the cameras, Kiyoomi sighs deeply as his shoulders relax and he leans back in his chair waiting for the broadcast to begin.

“I’m Kiyoomi Sakusa,” he states to the viewers plainly, barely acknowledging the cameras pointed straight at his face when he motions to you, “And this is my fiancée of almost a year.”

You can hear the way his voice softens lightly when referring to you as his fiancée.

“We’ve been together for four years now,” You welcome the viewers much more warmly than your fiancé does, announcing eagerly, “Engaged for eleven months, and we’re playing truth or drink!”

Again, you’re a lot more excited than Kiyoomi is when the director asks, “You guys okay to start playing?” but he agrees to it nonetheless, the subtle nod of his head doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

Kiyoomi grabs the stack of cards full of questions and shuffles the deck around a bit, when asked by the director why he did so he answers, “So if anyone planted any weird questions at the top of the pile for her they’re pushed to the bottom.”

After reorganizing the cards, Kiyoomi hands the stack to you, letting you have first pick of the game. You try to argue, but he doesn’t listen.

“Ladies go first,” he says, expectantly waiting for you to start.

You take the first card of the newly shuffled deck and begin to read it for your fiancé, “Favourite memory of us, pre-engagement or post-engagement?”

Kiyoomi taps his empty glass against the mahogany of the table repeatedly for a brief moment, thinking it over before letting out a deep sigh-turned groan, reaching over and pouring out some Scotch for himself as you sit back in stunned shock at his actions.

“Wait, what—”

“Don’t question me,” he rasps, lowering his face mask and downing his shot with ease, there’s hints of floral notes in the Scotch he can taste.

He pulls his mask back up seconds later and looks up at you, you swear you can see a smirk forming under his mask from the way his eyes lift in amusement afterwards, causing your cheeks to heat up at what he could’ve been thinking about that he had to take a shot to get out of saying it.

Finishing off his Scotch, your fiancé takes both the top card off the deck and his empty shot glass before reading aloud his first question for you.

“What was your first impression of me when we met?” Kiyoomi reads monotonously, his stare hardens when he notices you jokingly reaching for your shot glass, tossing the card over to your side with a groan.

“Really?” He huffs, arms crossed over his chest and glaring halfheartedly at your tease. “Didn’t Motoya say you like… hated me at first or something?”

“I didn’t hate you,” you giggle, pouring the Scotch into your glass while avoiding your fiancé’s gaze, “I just.. am a little thirsty right now.”

“Haha,” Kiyoomi laughs dryly, watching as you down your shot quickly, the citrusy notes in the Scotch make it pleasant to drink. “You’re soo funny, dear. Must be really thirsty today.”

“I am,” you wink, placing your glass back down on the table before taking the next card off the pile.

“What is the most embarrassing nickname for me you have in mind?” Kiyoomi asks, and you snort.

“It’s only embarrassing because Atsumu came up with it…” you turn to the cameras to whisper to the viewers, facing your fiancé who’s giving you a skeptic look that soon turns into existential dread when you begin to snicker.

He groans, “I swear to god if it’s Omi-Omi—”

“It’s Omi-Omi.”

You can practically feel the annoyance radiating off of Kiyoomi while you bat your eyelashes innocently at him, playful shrug of your shoulders as you pull the cards back over to your side, taking the next card off the deck while your fiancé whispers something about killing Atsumu at the next practice from across the table.

“What colour or colours are your favorite on me?” You look up at the director almost immediately before Kiyoomi can even open his mouth, “Can I just say it— Because I know.”

The director nods, “He told me once it was black and gold,” Kiyoomi mumbles something incoherent under his breath, whatever he’s saying being muffled by his nask as he hides his face away from the cameras, the camera crew exchange a look amongst themselves.

“Aren’t those the colours of the MSBY Black Jackals?” One of the crew members mentions offhandedly and you smirk, looking over to your flustered fiancé with the most shit-eating grin you can muster, “Yes, yes they are.”

“Should’ve just let me answer instead,” he mutters while pulling out the next card from the deck to move the game along, coughing as his face slowly returns to it’s natural colour.

He chuckles when he reads it over, “How would you spend an entire week without me?” he turns to the cameras with his own smug face, placing the card down on the table. “She doesn’t.”

“I can,” you interject and he gives you a deadpan stare, “Yeah, can. Doesn’t mean you do, though.”

“Anyways,” you swerve back to your answer, taking the card from his side and reading it over yourself.

“I would have a very relaxing week without you, consisting mostly of singing and dancing in our empty kitchen without you to judge me.”

“I don’t judge you.”

“Yes you do.”

“Nope.”

You two could probably have this back and fourth for hours on end but you stop when you catch the director’s eye, one of his assistants motions to you hurriedly that it’s nearly time to end the broadcast.

With that in mind, you pick up the last question card, flipping it over and reading it for Kiyoomi.

“What’s one thing you’d like to tell me at the alter if you couldn’t say anything else.”

“That I love you,” Kiyoomi says almost immediately, tracing the rim of his shot glass with his ring finger delicately, you can hear the gentleness in his voice when he speaks. “And that I hope you’ll always be my lover, whatever that means for us in the future.”

“That’s more than one thing, Kiyo.”

“I don’t care.”

You scoff playfully, tossing the card aside and pouring out two shots of Scotch for you and your fiancé. Whilst handing him his glass your rings bump together momentarily, the clinking of the diamonds makes the two of you smile, though Kiyoomi’s is hidden underneath his mask.

“Cheers, my dear,” he mutters softly, lowering his mask again to drink and allowing you to finally see the beautiful smile he hides underneath, usually reserved only for you.

“Cheers, Kiyo,” and you two drink, the Scotch tastes lovely and refined on both of your tongues when it runs down your throats with ease.

It’s light and sophisticated, and the flavour profile fits Kiyoomi so well. You consider telling him that, but refrain because you think he won’t understand what you mean; not knowing he’s thinking the exact same about you.

Kiyoomi thinks you two may be a match made in heaven, if such a thing exists then it perfectly encapsulates the two of you.

As the cameras cut and several crew members rush around the studio, Kiyoomi doesn’t notice any of that in this moment— his gaze continues to be locked onto you wholly; lovingly enraptured by the beautiful image of you across from him that he hopes will be burned into the back of his head like the taste of this Scotch, but for many years to come and not just a mere few hours.

Kiyoomi can drink Scotch at any time he pleases, but being married to you is something he is excited for and craves everyday of his life as the days on the calender tick down to your wedding, it keeps him motivated to continue each day if he knows it’s just one day closer to a life with you, one where he knows you will be with him every day going forward.

The day you two will finally be united as one. Kiyoomi can’t wait for that morning to come, when night falls and after the ceremony is done he can finally refer to you as his wife and not just his fiancée.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA.

Tobio gulps upon seeing the Sake being poured into his shot glass by the NHK staff member, being handed the alcohol before they pour out another shot for you, to which you graciously accept with a smile and nod of your head.

“Uhh…” His piercing gaze reaches across to you across the table, nervously fiddling with the glass in hand as he twirls it inbetween his fingers, “I don’t, really hold alcohol well, love..”

“Really?” You stare at him blankly, squinting down at the alcohol in your own shot, “what do you drink in Italy then, Tobio?”

“Limoncello,” he sighs, “but it’s supposed to be sipped slowly, not downed like shots usually are.” He makes a face as the thought of attempting to drink Limoncello like shots ripples through his mind, it would most definitely not end well for him.

You chuckle and give him a reassuring smile, placing your hand over his gently. The diamond on his ring is cool to the touch when you run your thumb over it, with sharp and well defined cut corners. “You’ll be fine, Tobio.”

He nods unsurely but allows the NHK camera crew to do their final run through, making sure everything is in order before the cameras begin to roll and the director is motioning for you both to recite your lines.

Your fiancé’s voice is a little strained, a faint stutter can be heard as he speaks slowly, “I’m… Tobio Kageyama,” he manages to say before craning his head to his left, across the table.

“And I’m her fiancé,” his eyes shift towards you as you give the cameras a polite wave, “We’re playing… truth or drink.”

“We’ve been together for five years,” You excitedly tell the viewers, holding up your ring finger to show off the dazzling diamond atop it, “And engaged for two.”

The director asks from out of frame, “Why have you two been engaged for so long?” A question that most viewers are probably wanting to know, Tobio answers it for you.

“I wanted to marry her sooner,” he timidly admits, looking down at his lap to avoid the harsh glares of the camera lenses, “But with me playing in Ali Roma, it’s hard to plan things out, I guess.”

You nod, “Besides,” you chime in giddily, taking over for him, “It’s fun to be in this little engaged stage for a long time, makes everyday that bit more exciting.”

You ramble on about how fun it is to call Tobio during his off days; calling him at three in the morning in Japan while in Italy it’s 7PM to tell him about a cute floral arrangement you saw earlier that day while shopping that you’d love to have at your wedding.

Facetiming him in the dark of the night, wrapped in blankets and wearing his highschool volleyball jersey to ask him what kind of food from Italy he wants to incorporate into the wedding menu, and texting him photos of different style of wedding dresses you’re considering wearing on your big day while getting out of the shower.

You unintentionally forget about your jittery mess of a fiancé while you speak, beaming as bright as the glowering studio lights as Tobio looks at you amazed.

Tobio’s nervousness slowly fades when he sees the ring on your finger and just how happy you are to be engaged to him. It’s always been a worry of his that you hate the long wait to get married to him, that playing overseas would hurt your relationship because of long he is away from home at times.

But your gleeful joy in telling thousands of viewers in real time that you love just being engaged to him for two years; that you don’t mind it at all, brings some peace of mind to his fragile heart.

“Are you two ready to play?”

Knuckles slowly unclenching as he takes a deep breath, he nods his head to the director, indicating the start of the game. He starts first, picking up the first card from the pile.

“What is the most awkward date we’ve ever been on?” Tobio’s face drops immediately upon reading, turning the card face down on the table and turning to the director, “Can I start over? Or make her drink?”

“It’s her choice if she wants to answer or drink.” The director answers.

Tobio turns to you hastily, eyes practically pleading with you not to say what you have on your mind, he’s already inside your mind and fears for what you could potentially reveal on national television, causing you to erupt in a fit of giggles as you reach for the Sake.

“Fine, fine. I won’t say, Tobio.” You’ve never seen your fiancé so relieved, almost seeing the metaphorical weight lifting off his shoulders with your own eyes when you take the shot.

The Sake is sweet, like sticky rice. It’s feels cool when it hits the back of your tongue and nice to drink, reminding you of the Italian sweets Tobio would send you from Italy. Noting that they’d pair nicely with Sake, you consider getting Tobio to send you more of them in the mail soon.

“You owe me for that one, Tobio,” you chuckle after finishing your shot, “Whatever the next question is you have to answer it.” He groans in protest but agrees after some convincing as you reach for the question pile and grab your first question for him.

“Have you kept a secret hobby or interest hidden from me?”

Shockingly, Tobio nods his head and unexpectedly calm about the question he was supposedly ‘forced’ to answer, “I got into gardening when I first came to Italy.”

“You what?” You utter, delightfully surprised at this revelation, “What plants do you take care of in Italy?”

“I have a few hanging Boston Fern and Ivy in some pots around my apartment…” Tobio tells you, adverting his gaze from your eyes the more your smile grows towards him. “I didn’t mean to keep them from you, I just… forgot to mention it everytime we call.”

“Tobio…” You laugh at how empty headed your fiancé can be at times, sometimes you think he’d forget his head if it weren’t secured to his body. “We call almost every day!”

“Yeah, but you usually call me late at night!” He defends himself, “I don’t normally leave my room that late at night, so you never see them!”

You shake your head in disbelief at this, faux disappointment at your fiancé for keeping this interest of his hidden for so long, “When I visit you in Rome, you have to show me these plants, deal?”

He nods in approval at that arrangement, a small smile creeping onto his face as he takes the next card off the deck, “Have you pretended to like a gift I gave you when you actually didn’t?”

You consider reaching for the Sake but reel your hand back at the last second, deciding to tell him straight up.

“Yeah, the lingerie you sent me a few months ago.”

“You didn’t like it?”

Tobio’s mouth hangs open, visibly swallowing his shame away as he sets the question card down on the table, a hand running through his hair in deep thought.

“Okay well, didn’t like isn’t the right word per se—”

“Was it the style?” Tobio begins interrogating you sternly, brows furrowed and that determined look in his eyes you’re so familiar with while watching his volleyball matches.

“Was it the colour, or was it too flimsy? I tried going to a new store that time, I knew I should’ve just stuck to the other one—”

“Tobio!”

He’s immediately brought out of his thoughts by your cackles, blinking as he’s focused on your laughing figure in front of him. His cheeks are tinted a dark shade of red, thinking he’s said something embarrassing when he whispers a low, “Yes, love?”

Through fits of giggles and laughter, you barely manage to sputter out, “It was just the wrong size, babe!”

Tobio’s eyes widen significantly at the reveal, looking down at his hands where his engagement ring sits comfortably in his ring finger, feeling his body shrink in on itself further into his seat while you’re howling across from him.

If you were seated beside each other he’s sure you’d be slapping his arm too for good measure.

“C-can we move onto the next question…” He mumbles just above the microphone strapped to his dress shirt’s minimum level to pick up sounds. If his old highschool teammates were here— if Hinata were here, god, he’d never hear the end of it. “Please?”

Finally settling down from your giggly high, you vaguely nod, still catching your breath when you reach for the next question card on the pile and flip it over as Tobio tries his best to calm down his reddened face.

“What is the most romantic thing your partner has ever done for you?”

After Tobio’s managed to relax himself, he thinks the question over, chin in hand as his gaze lands directly on the Sake bottle on the table beside him where he gets lost in thought while mulling over the question.

“I think…” he mutters to himself, “When you told me it was okay to go play in Ali Roma, instead of discouraging me to stay in Japan.”

His answer legitimately surprises you, “Is that, really your response, Tobio?”

He nods, hands reaching up to the nape of his neck. “Yeah… I don’t know if romantic is the right word, I guess.“

“But knowing you were there to support me; even if I could tell you were scared for me going overseas, it felt like the most romantic gesture someone could ever do to me.”

Tobio blinks, suddenly remembering his words are being broadcasted on national T.V and coughing awkwardly, “Uh, yeah, that’s my answer.”

He begins to notice the gazes of the rest of the film crew and director that are burning right through him, feeling the colour returning to his cheeks.

Tobio looks over to you anxiously, finding you with the brighest eyes he’s ever seen, he could get lost in them if he stared into them long enough. You purse your lips for a moment, before a smile blossoms across your face.

“Wow, Tobio,” you breathe out dreamily, “That was… so sweet of you to say,” Tobio has a hard time meeting your gaze, you can tell he’s still feeling anxious so you grab his hand and force him to look you in the eye.

“I will always support you, okay?” You tell him firmly, he’s a bit startled at how forward you’re being but nods before you quickly add, “Even if I don’t like being so far away from you, you don’t need to worry about me. Don’t be so nervous about this, alright?”

Tobio’s lips quiver into a strained frown before he sighs, “It’s not that simple,” you feel his hand give yours a light squeeze for comfort, interlocking his fingers with your own. “I wish I could just… not be so worried for you. But I love you too much for that.”

“Loving me means you understand that no matter what, I am right behind you,” you voice to him directly. “Maybe not physically, but no matter where you go, I will follow eventually.”

Tobio goes silent for a few seconds, even when he knows dozens of people in this studio— hundreds of thousands are watching him live, he’s only looking at you; having eyes only for you. With a shaky nod of his head, he finally manages to crack a smile.

“I understand.”

Releasing your hand from his grip, he pulls his next question for you from the pile, looking far more relaxed than he did at the beginning of your game. He’s comfortable in this stage of your relationship, even if he knows that others think it’s strange— the distance between you two, the long engagement period.

He knows the only opinion that should matter to him—that does matter to him is yours alone.

“When you hear my name in public, what comes to your mind?”

“That you have done another amazing set,” You answer with ease, allowing yourself to feed his ego for once. “Or won another game, who knows at this point? You can do it all.”

Tobio seems satisfied with that answer, even uncharacteristically relishing in your praise. “Ah, I am pretty good at volleyball, aren’t I?”

You lean over the table to punch his shoulder lightly, a teasing grin dances on your lips which matches his own, “Yeah yeah, you’re welcome for being so supportive of my fiancé.”

“Well thank you then, love.”

One of the camera crew’s members motions to the director, indicating it’s almost time to wrap up the broadcast. Feeling at peace, you grab the final card of the question deck, eyes flickering to Tobio as you read.

“Anything else you’d like to say to me about our engagement?”

Tobio takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he speaks. He wants to make sure he tells you everything on his mind, but maybe that will have to wait for another time— a more private time.

One that isn’t being broadcasted on national television. So he’ll settle for the next best course.

“I just wanted to say…” He hesitates for a moment, his mouth opening and closing at times until he can find his bearings. “That being engaged to you has taught me a lot of things.”

You’re about to say something in response until he holds his hand up, indicating he isn’t done yet.

“And… I wouldn’t mind if we stayed like this forever.”

Tobio notices the slight look of confusion in your eyes as he continues, “Wh-what I mean is, uh… even though we aren’t married yet, you make me so happy that I feel like I could be okay with what we have.”

“I still want to marry you!” He blurts out worriedly in an attempt to explain himself, “But knowing you’re not bothered by how long we’re engaged for is enough to reassure me that no matter how long we wait for, I’ll still be as happy as the day we marry.”

Tobio shuts his eyes, burying his head in his hands from sheer embarrassment, “Fuck, that was so stupid sounding-”

“Hey now..” You pry his hands away from his face with a pout, leaning across the table’s surface to cup his cheek, “That wasn’t stupid, that was sweet!”

“Really?” He asks, unsure if he believes you, “I’m not really good with my words, y’know.”

“Well I understood what you meant,” you smile, pressing a kiss to your ring finger and placing it on your fiancé’s lips, “And I feel the same way.”

Tobio’s face erupts into a bright scarlet red as you pour the two of you a shot of Sake each, downing them together with your rings on prominent display for all of Japan to see.

Your fiancé is still quite popular in Japan despite now playing overseas, overhearing the NHK film crew and the thousands of viewers who tuned in were watching his broadcast with you while dying in laughter.

It’s not laughter to mock him however— as he soon finds out when after the cameras cut and he can still hear the staff talking about how adorable he looked during the live special.

And his old highschool friends blowing up his phone, sending him clips of his broadcast with hearts and kissy face emojis, but you swear to him that it’s all well intentioned. Maybe not Tsukishima’s to some extent, but nontheless.

All Tobio knows he can do is sigh, turn his phone off and settle into your arms after everything’s been said and done. His time in Japan is limited after all, he has to fly back to Italy in a few days time.

He knows it hurts to leave you again, and you hate sending him off at the airport. He wishes he could marry you immediately— but there’s still so much to be done until that day can arrive.

Tobio doesn’t know when the lucky day will come when you can instead wear a wedding ring on your finger rather than an engagement ring, but as Tobio has discovered today; the two of you will be okay until then despite it all.

It takes a lot to make Tobio anxious about your engagement, but it also takes a lot to shake the strong foundation the two of you have built with each other over the years.

The two of you have planned your future with each other as the main component of it all in the centre of it for as long as you can remember, and he’s prepared to withstand any obstacles that threaten his happiness with you.

Tobio is at ease knowing you have his back, and he has yours even while separated by thousands of miles of stretching oceans and ground.

reblogs are appreciated .ᐟ ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

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envy-of-the-apple · 2 months

Text

Rewound Infinitely

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Part one: Infinite Rewind

Synopsis: A decade later, Gojo has finally caught up with you. Weddings take a lot of planning.

Word Count: 8.6k

(Warnings: flashbacks to gore, not healthy trauma coping, thats all tho! pretty wholesome compared to last time)

Some things about him had changed within a decade, while others stayed the same.

Even taller than you last saw him. His hair has been styled, no longer ivory chaos. You can't see a single blemish or mark despite the decade of fighting curses. He's as flawless as the first day you met him. No glasses; the entirety of his blue keeps you still.

You've seen this Satoru before: Suguru's memories, with glassy eyes, ruffled ivory hair, and an empty expression. Seeing such beauty yourself when you're standing right in front of him, it's breathtaking.

Even the lights of Tokyo couldn't compare to him.

You say nothing. You can't. Your mouth is dry and pointless. You're not even sure where to even begin. In front of a God, your insecurities pile up all over again. Is he disappointed by you? How could you explain everything that you put him through? Your mouth opens, you think you're about to speak: an apology, a plea, anything-

"—You're late!"

His hands reach up to squish your cheeks together. It was so unexpected, you squeak.

And Gojo Satoru is pouting.

It's a wave. The ocean of anxiety, guilt, and fear crashes into the shore. You feel nothing but indignant rage at the brat who clearly hadn't matured one damn bit.

"I'm not late!" You hiss back. "If anything, you're the one who's late. I was—"

You're cut off by his laugh, light and happy.

He isn't offended by your outburst; he's overjoyed about it. His cheeks are dabbed with pink, and his lips are so wide that he's showing his teeth. Your anger wanes when he pulls you into his chest, arms circling around you. You can smell his cologne when he buries his face into your hair.

"There you are. Finally." He melts into you like butter. "I missed you, Greeny."

His voice is soft, quiet, and sincere. You can't do anything but hug him back, allowing him to sink.

"I missed you, too." You whisper.

He hums. Apart from the wind, it's quiet. He's clinging onto you as though he's afraid once he lets go, you'll disappear forever. His behavior is justified. You were constantly meddling with his life before whisking away. Just this once, you allow him to keep you within his reach, letting the cat catch the canary.

"This is sweet 'n all. But we're actually getting late." He mutters. "Also, we gotta do something about your clothes."

"Hm?"

One moment, you're atop the Tokyo Skybridge; the next, you're standing in an upscale boutique.

Satoru skips away from you. Meanwhile, you're frozen, brain scrambling to catch up with what happened. Teleport. He can teleport now.

"Mr. Gojo, sir." A voice calls. An older woman smiles at him.

He gives her a casual wave before gesturing over to you. "Mind giving this one a dress? It's a black-tie event. We don't have a budget."

The woman turns to you with a smile. "Of course, sir."

What?

Dazed, you pliantly follow the woman into the back of the boutique. Her hold on you is gentle as she ushers you through the hall with one hand on either side of your shoulders. When you look back, Satoru is waving with a wide grin. The door shuts behind you.

"Do you have any preferences?"

You turn back to the woman. She's still smiling. You can't tell if it's genuine or customer service. Perhaps both.

Did Satoru not like what you're wearing? When you look down, it makes sense. Your time on the tower wasn't kind to your hair, not to mention your clothes. This morning, you'd just thrown on the first thing you saw.

This morning. That felt like centuries ago.

She's still waiting. You give a trepid smile.

"Anything," you say, "anything as long as it's cheap. I'm not exactly swimming in cash."

She gives a confused look. "Oh, but Mr. Gojo is paying, isn't he?"

Was he? You had no idea what was happening, much less what he had just said. She returns to her usual smile.

"If you have nothing in mind, let's see here..."

Some time later, your usual clothing was removed and replaced by something satin and long. It was a pretty dress that fell right to your feet. A set of women also flitted in and worked on your hair and face, putting everything back in your face so that you looked more human and less cryptid.

"What do you think?" She asks, looking at you through that mirror.

Pretty, you looked pretty. But when you looked closer, no amount of make-up could remove that look in your eyes.

When you step back out, Satoru is waiting with a tapping foot.

"Finally!" He exclaims, standing up. He doesn't acknowledge the dress, probably because he's seen himself in better. "Thanks, Hana. Okay, let's go."

"Go?" You prod. "Go where? You—you still haven't told me what you're even doing—"

It's no use. He grabs your hand, instantly warping you away from the boutique.

You're outside. There's people everywhere. In the distance, you can see a crystal glass dome. The sun was still in the sky, which was strange because you remembered watching a sunset not too long ago, unless you weren't in Japan anymore. To prove it to yourself, you check your phone location. Yakima, Washington. What the fuck.

Was this some type of torture, him flitting you from continent to continent, all in a ploy to punish you for something? You give him a pleading look.

"Just tell me what's going on—"

"Nuh-uh." He grins. "It's a surprise! Besides, you'll figure it out soon enough. Now, I gotta' go. Stay here, be good, and find the panda!"

And then he's gone.

You always knew he was insane, but this is ridiculous, even for him. To leave you in the middle of nowhere, that asshole.

There is no one you recognize in the crowd, but they are all walking towards the dome, so you meekly follow. What did he say? Find the panda? It had to be a metaphor of some kind, or perhaps there was a panda statue you needed to wait under.

And then you see a panda on two legs walking and talking with a group of teenagers.

Seriously, what else did you expect?

Feeling like you've just aged five years, you approach the group. Including the animal, there's five. They all look like 14-16 years old. You feel like you're in high school all over again when they glance over at you. The girl looks particularly unimpressed.

"Hi." You look at the panda. Maybe it's a really good costume because no one else looks shocked. "Satoru said I should find you...?"

One of them seems to get the code. The one with black hair and puppy eyes perks up.

"Ah! Are you 'Greeny'?" Did he tell everyone about that nickname? Didn't you tell him it was supposed to be a secret? Though, it doesn't really matter anymore.

"It's not my actual name." You say before introducing yourself.

He gives a nod. "Okkutso Yuta." He bows. What a polite kid. "This is my friend, Inumaki Toge."

The kid with half his face under his scarf gives a wave. You smile.

"Just Maki." The girl steps in before she gives you a once-over. "I like your dress."

"Oh, thank you!" You say happily, "I love yours as well!"

She looks away, but you have a feeling she has a hard time taking compliments.

"I'm Panda." The panda fucking says, and no, it isn't a costume, but you're too tired to ask at this point. "Nice to finally meet you."

When the final kid says nothing, Panda reaches over and wraps a furry hand around his shoulder.

"And this is Fushiguro Megumi! He's shy." Panda says cheerily. The boy flusters under his weight.

"Get off." Fushiguro gripes.

"Don't mind him." Maki rolls her eyes. "He's just throwing a tantrum because his sister couldn't make it, and he's gonna have to socialize with people instead of hiding behind her."

Fushiguro glares, but he doesn't respond to that. He just gives you a nod, and you decide these are good kids. At the very least, they're all way better than that brat Satoru.

"So, why are we waiting out here?" You ask, peering around.

"The doors haven't opened, yet," Okkutso kindly relays, "we're just waiting out here until everything is set up."

"If they're taking this long, then they should at least ask for help." Maki crosses her arms. "We've been waiting out here for at least thirty minutes."

"At least there's food." Panda tries to assuage.

"Salmon," says Inumaki.

"They're serving salmon out here?" You give him an incredulous look and he waves his arms around.

"Bonito flakes." Inumaki says. Okkutso tries to come to his rescue.

"Inumaki can't speak anything but food items because of his curse-" Maki quickly yanks him down by his collar frantically. Fushiguro is whispering something in his ear. You watch them go back and forth before it clicks.

"Does it have something to do with his technique?" You ask, curiously.

They stop squabbling.

"Oh, our bad. Sorry 'bout that." Panda gives a sheepish grin. "We didn't think you'd know about jujutsu sorcery 'cause...well. Your cursed energy is really low."

"Super low." Maki agrees.

"Salmon."

"Even lower than Maki's." That earns Panda a punch from her.

"Thank you," you dryly say, before you turn back to the building.

"What's going on in that place anyway?"

They all give you an odd look before they look at each other. Did you say something wrong?

"Did Gojo-sensei not tell you anything?" Okkotsu asks.

You allow yourself to leak some bitterness. "Satoru just dropped me on the sidewalk before teleporting away. He never tells me anything.

"That sounds like him." Panda nods.

"Idiot," Maki says.

"Such an idiot," Fushiguro says, and now you feel bad for Satoru.

"Our sensei's getting married today." Okkutso supplies. He points at the dome.

You don't get why you didn't realize it sooner. You knew these kids, at least Okkutso, Maki, Panda, and Inumaki. They all showed up on the very last day Geto Suguru died. Okkutso, in particular, had fought and defeated Suguru.

These were Gojo Satoru's students.

You think back to the last time you saw Satoru. He didn't look like a groom, but he's an eccentric guy. You wondered what kind of person would put up with him for the rest of their lives. You pitied them.

"Oh." You frown. "His wedding? I—I would have at least brought a gift."

"I don't think he'd mind," Panda said, "besides, you didn't even know!"

You still felt a bit guilty.

"We didn't bring anything either," Fushiguro states, and it helps just a tiny bit.

"When the ceremony begins, you can sit with us," Okkutso tells you, "we're supposed to keep an eye on you, anyway."

"You're not talking to a dog." Maki grunts.

"Oh no I—I didn't mean to be offensive!" Okkutso backtracks. "It's just—well, Gojo-sensei's been talking about you for a while, and we want to make sure everything goes smoothly and we were all really excited to meet you so—"

He keeps rambling like that until Inumaki pats his shoulder. You laugh, amused.

"I wasn't offended or anything." You tell him before his words sink in. "Wait, Satoru talks about me?"

"All the time." Maki responds, an edge to her voice. "'Greeny this', 'Greeny that'."

"We usually tune him out when he gets like that," Panda says, "honestly, we didn't even think you were real until just now."

"I always thought 'Greeny' was an inside joke Gojo-sensei and Haibara-sensei had," Okkotsu admits.

Something warm bubbles in your stomach.

"So," Fushiguro speaks, "how do you know Gojo, anyway?"

You didn't know the story Gojo told them so you simply keep it vague.

"I knew him as a kid."

It's Panda who gets the most excited about this.

"Really? What was he like as a teenager?"

"A brat." You instantly respond, and then you think a little more. "But I don't think that ever changed."

They ask you a couple more questions about Gojo's high school days. You oblige, thinking this as payback for how Satoru dropped you here without saying anything. You don't know how long you spend out there, airing out Gojo's younger days while his students get increasingly giggly.

Okkotsu is the one who notices the crowd is moving.

"I think they opened the doors." He smiles. "Let's go, everyone."

You follow behind Maki, admiring the architecture. It's a grand building. Sparkling crystal glass lets the sunlight bleed in. The decoration was something else entirely. Small white flowers adorn the chandelier, and they cascade down the edges. Ice sculptures of angels greeted the guests. Live music was already playing. Satoru knows how to plan a wedding.

Maki finds you all seats. You sit next to her. Fushiguro follows you. Okkutso, Inumaki, and Panda take the seats behind you. While you wait for the guests to settle down, you pass your time, waiting for the students to bicker with one another. From your assumption, it looked as though Maki, Panda, and occasionally Inumaki butted heads with each other. Okkutso often served as the timid referee, trying to get everyone to calm down, which almost always made things worse. Fushiguro just elected to ignore everything.

"Are they always like this?" You lean over to whisper to him. Fushiguro gives a tired nod.

"Every. Single. Day." He's saying this from experience, but at least you get a show.

Everyone settles down eventually. The kids grow quiet when the music starts to swell. The indoor lights dim. It's starting.

You've never been to a wedding this grand before. There was a live orchestra. Women and men were dressed in baby blue, gently strumming away their cellos, violins, and violas.

It's how you miss Satoru's entrance. He's already standing on the altar by the time you look back. He's changed into something more formal. The suit and green tie fit him. A perfectly put-together beauty. As though he can sense your stare, he catches your eye and winks.

But why was he already up there? Shouldn't he be—

"Sensei's coming!" Okkotsu whisper-yells. Inumaki hushes him.

Everyone turns to face the door. You do, too.

Your heart stops when you see him.

It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool.

You don't think you're breathing when you watch him walk down the aisle. The music is low, barely loud enough to hide the click of his heels. He takes his rightful place beside Satoru, his best man. Satoru gives him a nudge, and Suguru shakes his head fondly.

Everyone turns to see Shoko's entrance. You should too, but you keep staring at him. How much he's changed since high school. How much he's changed since he waltzed onstage wearing a priest's outfit, filled with nothing but empty hatred for those he viewed as weak.

But he's not wearing that twisted monk costume. His eyes aren't dull and dead and bitter. There's no sickly faux smile on his lips.

Today, Suguru looks like the happiest man on Earth.

His eyes are wide and eager and sparkling purple beauties. He's 27, but he looks younger. The lines of exhaustion and heartbreak aren't so prominent. And you—and you—

You just sit there, watching as Shoko walks up to the altar, watching as they stand as bride and groom. His daughters, adorned in pretty blue dresses, stand right behind him, smiling so hard you're sure it hurts. The priest speaks. They say their vows. You can't hear a single word. It's like you're behind a glass wall, and you can see him, but you can't feel him.

When they kiss, everything comes back. The crowd celebrates. Satoru ruffles Himeno's hair. Nanako smiles wider. Behind you, Inumaki and Panda sniffles. Okkotsu hands them a tissue.

"It’s pretty." Maki comments. Fushiguro gives a hum of agreement.

ⴵ

Satoru finds you and the kids when you're waiting for the reception to start.

He appears behind you with a cheery, "And how are my lovely students holding up?" You almost spill your drink in shock.

"Sensei!" Okkotsu chirps. "Where's Geto-sensei and Ieiri-sensei?"

"Shoko's around; Suguru's taking a break," Gojo answers with a grin. "If you don't mind me, I'll be stealing this one for a sec."

He doesn't wait for an answer, steering you away by your shoulders. You look behind you. Panda waves. Fushiguro just looks even more upset. You wave back at them regardless.

"I can't believe you put your students out on babysitting duty." You tell him. "And what's with this wedding? There's no alcohol anywhere." To make your point, you take another sip of your apple juice.

"We have kids here. Kinda' have to make it alcohol-free," Satoru says.

"The bartender could ID them." You suggest.

"You think teens who fight curses daily wouldn't figure out how to get around that?" He grins. You frown at his frustratingly good response.

“What’d you think of them?”

“Hm?”

“The kids.” He urges. “What’d you think?”

Your brows scrunch. You have no idea what he means by that. Eventually, you take a breath.

“I like how...close they are.” You eventually say. “The bond they share. They care. I think each one of them will be good sorcerers.”

He’s silent, and you think you might have misunderstood his question.

“I learned that from you,” Satoru says, “keeping them together, making sure they can grow, get stronger, together. You were always so insistent on that, back then. I’m glad you were. It was one of the best things about you.”

You stare at him. Really stare. You’ve never heard him sound so genuine, so sincere before. You look into his crystal-blue eyes, wide and earnest. Part of you wants to take a picture, so you could keep it forever.

Eventually, Gojo successfully drags you to a less crowded area of the party. He looks around.

"Hm, he should be around here somewhere...?" Satoru hums to himself.

"Who?" You ask. That question answers itself.

Haibara Yu is waiting a little ways ahead. By now, the sun was starting to set. His brown hair turned gold. Gojo eagerly hurries you forward as he calls out to him. You stumble, still lost at what you're seeing.

"Guess who I brought?" Gojo sweetly sings, Yu-Haibara, he hasn't let you call him Yu yet-tilts his head.

He smiles, confused. "Oh? Hello!" He says cheerily. "Who's this?" He asks to Gojo.

"Guess," Gojo says.

Haibara stares at you, and you decide to give him a hint.

"Brocolli head?"

He gapes. It's almost the same reaction he had last time. Last time, when you had to convince him to kill you so you could go back in time to save Satoru.

"No way." He gasps. "Greeny?"

He doesn't remember. He wouldn't, why would he? Still, it's nice to see the innocence on his face, rather than the pain you saw last time. Right before he snapped your neck.

You think he was crying the last time you two saw each other.

In this timeline, Haibara is hugging you so tightly you think your head's about to explode.

"It's really you?" Haibara says, but his bear hug muffles his words. "“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again even though Satoru said we'd see you again one day, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

"Haibara." You plead. "You're suffocating me."

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry." He lets you go, and your lungs inflate again. "I—I'm just so happy! And—and you're a girl!" He says it like it's the most surprising thing about this whole revelation. Maybe it is.

Satoru is always needy for attention and whines as always.

"Wait, you two came up with a code word?" He complains. "That's not fair. We never did that."

"I mean, it was Haibara's idea." You point out. "You should be smarter next time."

That makes him frown even more. You laugh.

"Yu." Haibara suddenly says.

You turn to him.

"My friends call me Yu."

It's nice to know that no matter what timeline you're in, Yu will always remain stagnant.

"Okay, lover boy," Gojo says with a not-so playful bite, "keep your eye on this one for me, okay? Gotta' go do more best man shit."

Satoru's gone once again. You look at Yu.

"He's been running around since I got here." You tell him. "Does that man ever rest?"

"Nope." Haibara grins, before taking your arm. "Follow me; you should meet a couple of people."

He leads you through the crowd. You spot the teens moping about out of the corner of your eye. Panda and Inumaki seem to be in a push-up competition. Maki is egging them on. You wisely decide not to disturb them.

Yu drops your hand to wave to someone. There's no need for any kind of introduction for these people.

Riko and Misato Kuroi smile at you first. Miss Kuroi's aged beautifully since you last saw her. Wispy silver hair knitted seamlessly into brown strands. She never got that chance to grow gray hairs last time. You're staring so much it might be rude.

"Yu?" Riko asks and you think you're about to break because they know each other. "Who's this?"

"Uh, this-" Haibara chokes before looking at your awkwardly. Right, he doesn't know your actual name.

Come to think of it, Satoru doesn't know either. He never bothered to ask too. Probably on purpose. Ass.

You smile and politely introduce yourself. It takes everything within you not to scream and hug them both because in this timeline, they don't know you. They never did.

But you can change that now.

"Hello!" Riko beams. "I'm Kuroi Riko, but just Riko is fine! And this is my mom: Kuroi Misato."

She says that so plainly, like that had always been her name, like Miss Kuroi had always been her mother. You wonder how long it took for those two realities to become her norm. Or maybe it hardly took time at all.

"It's wonderful to meet you." Miss Kuroi states before she tilts her head. "May I ask how you know the couple?"

Haibara jumps in for you. "Um—actually, this is Satoru's date!" He fumbles.

You do a double-take. No, you technically weren't Satoru's date. But you technically entered the wedding with him. And he was the one who 'invited' you. Fuck, you were the brat's date. Damn it.

"Ah." Nanami cuts in for the first time. "So, you're the one Gojo won't shut up about."

His accusation sounds like Maki's, but less harsh. You wonder if he has a favorite student.

Nanami looks the most different from his high school counterpart. A new haircut, less slouchy, more tall and refined. He blinks at you, slow and calculating.

Sheepishly, you laugh. "Yeah...that's me....sorry."

"Don't be rude, Kento."

Ieiri arrives with a soft smile and painted features. She's changed out of her glowing gown, sticking to something small yet perfectly elegant: a short white dress that curls ever so slightly at the ends. Riko's the first to hug her, ecstatic. Ieiri hugs her back, too, because they've become friends in this timeline. The circles under her eyes are less prominent. Her smile looks more real. This isn't the timeline where she's had to bury her friend; it's the timeline she's allowed to marry him.

"Congratulations," you say politely once everyone is done cooing over her. She smiles at you, the way a stranger would.

Then, her head tilts.

"Sorry," she hesitates, "do we know each other? You...feel familiar somehow."

Ieiri was the first person you met when you activated your technique and returned to the past for the first time. She was the one who calmed you down, kept you grounded. In a way, you owed a lot to her.

Looking at her, you can see why Suguru kept her cigarettes in his pocket.

You shrug. "I must have one of those faces."

The attention turns back to her, her beautiful dress, pure and white and beautiful. You feel Haibara stare at you. You shake your head at him. It wasn't the time. Maybe it never will be.

"This really is a beautiful wedding," Mistato says when the conversation reaches a pleasant lull, "I can't imagine how much it cost."

She shrugged.

"Probably a fortune, but I let Satoru deal with the numbers."

Misato looks confused, and Ieiri laughs.

"He paid for everything." She gestures to the venue. "Suguru and I didn't have to fork over a single cent. It's the least he could do for being a pain in the ass for 12 years."

Damn, you knew he was rich, but you didn't know he was rich rich. Maybe you should consider being nicer to him. If you ask politely, perhaps you could get him to pay off your car loans.

"I'll get him to pay for my wedding too." Riko proudly says.

"He'd probably do it, too." Ieiri nodded along. "He offered, just like that. The only thing he was hellbent on was the date."

"The date?" You echo. Ieiri shrugs, messing with her laced sleeves.

"Said it absolutely needed to be on December 24th. Something about spirituality. I never listened to that guy's rants."

It comes to you immediately, but you're pushing it away. No way. Satoru wouldn't. There isn't a chance in Hell he would have convinced his friends to have the biggest day of their lives on the same day you were supposed to meet him.

No, of course, he would do that. Ass.

"So, how do you know Satoru?" Riko asks you. When she realized how rude it sounded, she backtracked. "I—I didn't mean anything by it! It's just...the guy only knows five people. When he spoke about bringing someone along, I thought he was joking."

"Same here," Nanami says. Haibara stifles a laugh, and you realize all of Satoru's friends think he's a loser.

Friends. Back then, he only had one of those.

"Um." You toss Haibara look. He shrugs. "We met a few years ago! But we just recently reconnected." That's close enough to the truth. Good enough.

You remember your blunder. You sympathetically look at Shoko.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't able to bring a gift," you say, "I was blindsided. Satoru barely gave me enough time to get ready."

You laugh, and you're hoping they laugh it off too. They don't, instead Shoko, Nanami, Riko, and Misato look at you. Then, they look at each other.

Nanami speaks first. He clears his throat.

"Did Satoru....abduct you?"

"What?"

"That sounds like him." Misato sighs, more exasperated than anything else.

Riko nods along with her. "We tried to teach him. Where did we go wrong?" she laments.

Haibara and Shoko laugh as you desperately try to defend your not-date date because he didn't actually kidnap you, but he did bring you here against your will and started dragging you along like some toy, but it's the context about that that matters. You wished they could've had a bit more faith in him. Poor Satoru.

It ends eventually. Ieiri excuses herself. Riko and Misato go too. You stay with Yu and Nanami, watching as they get into increasingly petty arguments. It’s hilarious how quickly Yu is able to bring the usually staunch and serious Nanami down to his level.

Sometime later, you find yourself roaming the balcony. The party roars on indoors, laughing, talking, cheering. It was chilly outside, you should go back in within a few minutes. You just needed a break from the action.

The sun had already gone down, by then. You were somewhere out in the country. The buildings sparsely dotted the horizon. There were no artificial lights. It meant the stars could shine as brightly as they wanted to, with no one to stop them.

You hadn’t seen Satoru in a while. You had no idea where he’d run off to. It didn’t matter; you knew he’d eventually pop out of a box to harass you again.

But now that you had space for yourself, you needed to think.

You rest your hands over the rail, looking up at the stars. There were so many out tonight.

You fixed the future. You changed everything. Does that mean you still needed to tell Satoru about the past timeline?

You promised him answers the next time you two met. You promised him an explanation. He waited ten years for that. You pinch at the fabric of the dress.

This future that you carefully built, crafted with your own hands. It’s delicate, a glass castle.

It’s justice, but did that make it right?

“Want one?”

The voice makes you jump.

He stares at you, leaning against the rail. Purple eyes, mirroring the starry sky.

You knew these eyes, for a while, they used to be yours.

You stare at him. Then, you stare at the cigarette in his inviting fingers.

Your fingers twitch.

“No—no, I’m fine.” You smile. “Actually, I’m trying to quit.”

“Ah.” Suguru says, lighting it up before bringing it to his lips. “Shouldn’t tempt you, then. Pardon, what’s your name?”

You can hear your heartbeat. It’s loud, right in your ear. You wonder if he can hear it too. Are his curses around? Can they smell it? Your blood? Are they still as ravenous as the last time, eager to tear and fester and eat—

“It’s Greeny,” you say, “you can call me Greeny. ”

He hums in approval.

“Geto Suguru,” he says, “though I’m pretty sure you already know that.” You both share a huff of laughter.

“My fiancé quit a few years ago.” Suguru starts, mentioning the cherry-red cigarette. “Thought I’d follow in her footsteps, but here I am.” He shrugs before he winces.

“Wife, sorry.” He corrects. “I still can’t believe it.”

The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more.

You smile at his tone. He sounded like that 12 years ago, when he was still just a kid. Full of soft wonder.

“I’m guessing you’ve been planning this for a long time?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Shoko did most of the work. This is all thanks to her, really. Unfortunately, I was too busy managing the school.”

“I heard you were a principal?” You prod.

Suguru nods, “Our current one recently retired. I’m trying to follow in his footsteps.”

You think of Principal Yaga, the one with sunglasses and a stern expression. He looks a lot like Nanami in some areas. But he acts more like Suguru than anyone you ever knew.

And you knew Suguru; you knew him as well as yourself.

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru.

“I can tell you’re already making him proud,” you say, “I met your students. They’re good kids.”

He smiles, soft, gentle. Those used to be your smiles.

“They are, aren’t they?” He repeats back, “some of them had a rough beginning, but it all worked out somehow.” He hums. “I’m glad.”

His daughters, the ones standing beside him as he kissed his wife, wide eyes and even wider grins. They didn’t have the darkness in their faces. The bitterness. Like they did in the last timeline.

You were glad, too.

This death is a lot more painful than the others.

The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die.

You forgive Suguru.

“It sounds like you’ve had personal experience with that sort of thing.” When he looks at you, you quickly say. “Your eyes. I—I can see it. I’ve always been good at that sort of thing.” You knew Suguru. His eyes matched yours.

He doesn’t look offended. Suguru takes a minute, reaching up to his black locks. He removes the elastic, pretty black hair falls down his shoulders He’s grown it out since high school. It reaches his waist.

He eases himself back onto the rail, looking up at the stars. You follow.

“Yeah, I do,” he’s saying, “I think I know what it’s like being them at that age. Alone, isolated, slipping down a rock. Drowning, but no one can see it.” Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised.

“When I was younger...it was really hard. Some days, I was so full of hate and anger. The pain was a lot. Sometimes, I had this despicable idea that it was someone else’s fault I was like this. Someone innocent.” He laughs, bitter.

“And, on those days, I would often feel something.”

You look at him. Suguru doesn’t stare back, eyes lost in the stars.

“Sometimes, it’d be a voice. Other times a small nudge on my shoulders, pushing me in the right direction. Once, it was a hug, keeping me from doing something that would’ve changed my life forever. And it would be just a bit more bearable, like I wasn’t so alone.”

You can feel your heart in your throat. Your fingers grip the railing.

“What did you think it was?” You expect hate, disgust. You want to give yourself a reason.

You forgive Suguru.

He takes a moment, coming back from heaven. His eyes find yours.

“I’m not sure.” He admits. “I’m not religious, but I always liked to think of it as—”

An angel. A hand of God. A higher power. It doesn’t matter what Suguru said, you knew what he meant.

A part of you always wondered why Suguru would return to Jujutsu society, when he wanted nothing more than to run from it. You expected him to retire. Instead, he took the reins of the beast, wrangling it down. Now, you get why.

“That’s why you’re a teacher now,” you say, “so you could be the same thing for your students.”

He nods, and you think of Maki. You think of Okkutso. You think of Panda. You think of Fushiguro. You think of Inumaki. Suguru must have been there for Maki, even when her own family wasn’t. Suguru must have helped Okkutso control his technique, being the only one who could. Suguru, must have made these kids better than they ever possibly could’ve been. Fighting for them instead of against them.

“Sorry.” He blinks. “I—I didn’t mean to get so sentimental. It’s been years since I thought about my own highschool years.” He laughs, voice full.

“You’re just...really nice to talk to.” He hums. “I don’t think I can explain it but it’s...familiar somehow.”

You look at him. He’s older, but in some ways, he hasn’t really changed. Even now, when you look at him, you see a reflection of yourself.

“I can see why he likes you.”

“Who?” You ask when he brings you back from your thoughts.

“The idiot.” But he says it so affectionately, so lovingly, you can’t help but smile. “I saw him dragging you around earlier. Sorry about that. I would’ve stepped in but...” He trails off, thinking.

“It’s been a while since I saw him like that.”

You hadn’t noticed anything about Satoru. He smiled just as brightly as he did in highschool. Now, you wonder if this was the first time in a while Suguru had seen that side of him: carefree, no longer The Strongest.

It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.

You forgive Suguru.

“Are you and him…” he trails off.

“No.” You laugh. “No, I’m his….childhood friend. We just haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head. “How long has it been?”

You decide to be honest. “Ten or so years, give or take?”

He whistles.

“No wonder he’s bouncing around like a yipping puppy,” He says, and you can’t help but agree with the analogy.

“In any case.” He leans over the railing. His cigarette is down to its last embers. “I hope you stick around. A friend…I think he needs more of those more than anything.”

You stare at him. Those purple eyes. You can see what Shoko sees. You can see what Satoru saw all those timelines ago. They only ever saw the light, the gentleness, of Geto Suguru.

You are the only person in the world who knows him.

He’s killed people. He’s killed you. No matter how much logic or justification or pain was involved, the blood of the innocent is still sticky. It still drips across the pavement, scarring the sidewalk in red. It still hurts.

When Suguru would kill you, you’d force yourself to forgive him. You needed to die without regrets, because the pain of hatred builds up, you’ve seen it happen firsthand.

But now that you’re free, what Suguru did to you wasn't fair. Just because his innocence was taken away doesn’t give him the right to take the lives of others. It never gives anyone the right to murder. You keep telling yourself that this Suguru and that Suguru were different…but they weren’t. Not really. The look in their eyes matched perfectly.

He’d do it again, in the right conditions.

And yet.

You forgive Suguru.

You can’t judge him. If there is a God, maybe Suguru will have to pay for the crimes he committed all those timelines ago. You can’t save Suguru from that. But to you, the debt is paid.

Besides, you’re too tired to hate him. And you won’t allow yourself to fall into the same cycle he struggled to break free from.

You look into his eyes. Then, at his ring. You smile.

And that's enough.

“I will,” you say, “I will.”

Then, as two parts of a whole, the two of you stare at the stars for a little while longer.

ⴵ

The reception was nice. A fancy dinner, you can’t remember the last time you ate something. The speeches were beautiful, especially Shoko’s. You swore you saw Nanami shed a tear, but you never said anything about it.

You saw a glimpse of white hair in the crowd before the first dance began. Stunning music. The couple must have practiced for months. Bride and Groom, husband and wife, held hands and looked at each other like they were the only ones in the room.

Megumi stood beside you, watching Ieiri and Geto sway to the music. As though the kid could sense him, Megumi’s serene face sours. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when there’s a tap on your shoulder.

“Cute, huh?” Satoru starts, mentioning at the dance. “It didn’t look this put-together in the beginning. Shoko gave him a ton of bruises,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

You frown. “Shouldn’t you be doing something else than gossiping about your friends?”

“I am! I’m checking up on my son!” And then he turns to Fushiguru. “Megumi!”

“No.” Fushiguro instantly rebukes.

“Don’t mind him.” Satoru chides. “He’s going through an angst phase.” Fushiguro rolls his eyes, but he shifts just a tiny bit.

“Y’know, he was actually supposed to be the flower boy, but he refused. Such a shame, the pictures would’ve been something else.” Gojo sighed and now you’re convinced they aren’t father and son.

“That was never going to happen.” Fushiguro says, and as if he thinks you’re naive enough to believe Satoru, he glances at you. “Never.”

“Of course not.” You crack a smile.

You watch as Ieiri descends into a graceful spin, Geto taking the lead. When he tips her over, your eyes soften.

Gojo leans over; you can feel his breath in your ear.

“Next year.” He whispers. “For us, it’ll definetly be next year.”

You jerk away but he’s already skipping off, having the audacity to call out a cheerful ‘toodles’.

“What did he say?” Fushiguro questions.

That’s what you wanted to know, too, but you were so tired, and the night was so long, and you couldn’t bother to get out your Gojo translator and figure it out.

“The same stuff he always says. Nonsense.” You decide on. Fushiguro takes the answer.

“I don’t understand how he has all that energy.” You mutter, watching Satoru disappear through the crowd.

“I thought he’d get better with age, turns out I was wrong,” Fushiguro says.

“I wanted to ask,” you start, your eyes still on Ieiri and Geto, “how do you know Gojo? Aren’t you still in middle school?”

“Everyone knows Gojo. He’s pretty famous in the jujutsu world.” Fushiguro shrugs. “But personally...he’s my benefactor. Took me and my sister in when my parents left.”

You look at him. And you feel like an idiot.

He’s the spitting image of his father. Sharp cobalt eyes. Black hair. Fushiguro Toji is all over the young man.

Gojo Satoru, the one who killed the sorcerer killer, took care of his enemy’s children.

“What?” Fushiguro asks when you’re smiling

You shake your head. “No, no it’s nothing.”

Satoru told you that you’re the one who taught him about the importance of bonds. But you think he should take some of the credit too.

ⴵ

Eventually, everyone gets on the dancefloor.

It’s a mess. Absolute chaos. Panda and Inumaki are trying and failing to do the waltz. Maki and Okkuttso are lightly swaying to the music. They’ve managed to get Fushiguro up there too. Though, he doesn’t look extremely happy.

The adults are even worse. Apparently, the retired principal Yaga is a pretty good dancer. You think one of them found alcohol, because Haibara looks absolutely wasted. He’s swinging his arms around, almost hitting the other guests. Nanami is trying to get his attention, but the guy wants none of it. When Haibara catches your eye, he wildly waves in clear invitation.

You smile back, but you shake your head. You think he’s about to come up to you, but something else catches his eye, and he’s grinning at a very irrated-looking Iori.

You were sitting on a chair, just people-watching. It was a nice break from everything. To listen to the music, lightly tap your feet, play with the frill of your dress. You weren’t really in the mood to dance.

Besides, you weren’t technically invited here anyway. It’d be rude to just burst on the scene.

“There you are! Been looking all over for you!”

You don’t have to look over to see who it is. Satoru slumps down in a chair next to you.

“Greeny, you gotta’ do something about your cursed energy. It’s so weak. Like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Thanks,” you say dryly.

“Always happy to help.” Satoru beams, and then he glances over at the floor.

“We’re dancing after this song, by the way.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s so cute you think you have a choice, Greeny.”

You frown. “There’s no point in calling me Greeny anymore. Unless you still don’t know my name.”

“I do, but it doesn’t matter,” Satoru says arrogantly. “You’ll always be my Greeny to me.”

You roll your eyes. Even now, he’s a brat. You thought all these years would mellow him down just a tiny bit.

“So,” you start, “are you done with your ‘best man shit’?”

“Yup.” He announces. “Now, I can sit back and enjoy the show.”

You smile, but you can still feel the butterflies in your stomach. He’s been running around so far and it’s given you time. Now, that he’s free, it means you two have to talk.

And you aren’t sure if you truly want to.

You flex your fingers.

“Um, how have you—”

“Stop.” Satoru interrupts. “Let’s not make this awful, Greeny.”

You nod immediately, relaxing. His voice gets softer, after that.

“I’m glad you chose that color,” he says, “I was sorta’ hoping you would.”

You look down at the dress. A deep green. You hadn’t even thought about the color, the boutique lady had basically thrown it at you.

The shade of Satoru’s green tie matches your dress. You can feel your smile again. Typical.

“I’m glad I did too,” you honestly say. And then, you continue to fiddle with your fingers. Ultimately, you decide to just bite the bullet.

“I thought you’d be mad.” You finally say, words jittery and unfocused. “Angry at me for...for what I did.”

He’s silent, and you feared that it was all true. The laughs and the jabs were all a facade.

"I don’t think I was ever mad." He responds, staring into the crowd. "Hurt, yeah. Then, it faded into something that stung everytime I thought about it, and then...something else. And now, I know it's a waste to get mad because you're finally here now. With me."

His tone pitches upwards as he reaches over to painfully pinch your cheek.

"'Sides, I know you can't escape me anymore, Greeny," Satoru cheerfully says, "Now, I know your face, your name, and with little effort, I could probably find your address, your social security-"

"Okay! Okay!" You pull away, rubbing your cheek. Damn, he's scary. "Threat acknowledged."

"Good!" He straightens himself back up, and you find yourself slumping again.

“I am sorry, though,” you say, “for leaving like that. I...I always wished I could do that a bit differently. You deserved better.”

“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head. “Don’t blame yourself for only doing what you could. It eats at you, Greeny. It really does.” He sighs, leaning forward in his chair.

“You deserved better too,” he says back, voice barely above the music, “I always had some regrets about those years. I thought I could’ve done more to help you, back then.”

There it was again: selfishness, the urge to do good to others while retaining that greed. You supposed you taught him that.

You put your face in your hands.

“Even though, you dragged me here against my will, I feel so guilty being here.” You complain, hoping it’ll lighten the mood. “You should apologize to everyone because I crashed the party.”

Satoru scoffs. “What are you talking about? Everyone loves you!” He exclaims. “Look, Yu’s ecstatic. Riko won’t stop gushing about you; you even have Nanami’s approval! I don’t even have that!” You roll your eyes, sinking back in your seat.

“Besides, you needed to come. You needed to see it.”

“See what?” You ask.

“This.” He points to the venue, the ballroom full of glittery whites and sparkles.

“Look around, Greeny. Look at all the people you saved.”

Haibara and Riko are dancing together. Two dead children finally had the chance to grow up. Misato speaks to Nanami. Beautiful gray hair, eyes that aren’t so tired. Shoko sparkling in her dress, and Geto—

The same day he was supposed to die, Suguru was getting married.

“Thank you.” When you look at him, Satoru is staring right at you. His sea eyes give everything and more.

“Thank you for saving all of us.”

Your heart skips, then just stops completely. You can’t cry, you won’t not here, not on such a happy day. But your eyes are stinging. And Satoru is turning blurry.

And then, like Satoru always does, he ruins the moment.

"Did you just fall for me a little?"

His head tilts. That same mischievous, irritating smile lights up on his face.

You relax, laughing out of disbelief. When you speak, your voice is barely scratchy. "You're so full of yourself; it's actually a little cute."

"You think I'm cute?"

"Did you hear anything else that I just said?"

"I heard you think I'm cute,” Satoru responds proudly, and you doubt he’d ever let you hear the end of it.

“And besides! Today is supposed to be a celebration for you too!” He exclaims.

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” Satoru says proudly, “you did it! You became a fully-fledged sorcerer. Considering your low CE, you might pass as grade four, but when I talk to our new principal, I’m sure he’ll make things right. Get ready to join be and him in the big leagues.”

You could read between the lines. Satoru wanted to tell everyone. You think a while ago, you might have agreed, but...

“Can...Can I quit being a sorcerer?” You ask. “I’m tired.”

He takes a second. Some of you wonders if he’ll try to talk you out of this. It’s more beneficial for him if you stay as an asset to the jujutsu world. How many people’s lives will be saved by a technique like yours? To be able to go back in time again and again and again. To die again and again and again.

“Someone once told me that it’s okay to be selfish every once in a while.” Satoru looks at you, eyes like lilies once again. “I won’t fault you for it. I don’t think anyone will.”

When you try to smile, it feels wobbly.

“That person sounds smart.”

“Nah.” He grins. “An idiot, actually. Way too oblivious.”

You laugh, despite the insult.

“Quit,” Satoru says when it’s quiet again, “do whatever you want. But...you can’t run away, okay? I won’t let you.”

It’s barely a touch. His hand reaches for your fingers. You’re the one who grabs it.

“I won’t.” You promise. “I won’t.”

He’s satisfied with that. You can tell when he squeezes your hand back.

You look at him, and you decide you won't tell Satoru what happened in the last timeline.

There's no point. It wouldn't do anything but shatter everything he worked so hard to make. Why would you break the glass when you could just add concrete, make it stronger? You saved everyone. A few white lies here and there just keep this future safe.

And you know this Satoru. If you told him, he'd carry that burden with you like the soldier he was. You don't want him to do that. You don't want him to have the same look you see in your own face. One last sacrifice.

When you come back, Satoru is shifting in his seat, uncrossing his legs.

“So...about that dance?”

“Ugh, fine.” You stand up. “One dance. And if you do anything embarrassing, I’m leaving.”

“Clearly, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” He grins, standing up himself.

He doesn’t release your hand for the rest of the night.

You don’t mind.

(When you disappear again, Maki’s the one who finds you.

By then, it’d been long into the night. Shoko and Suguru were already gone, off to their honeymoon in the Maldives. Riko, Misato, and most of the students were sleeping off the night. Maki, his most diligent student, was helping the remaining adults pack up the venue.

She’s dragging chairs away when she grunts in Satoru’ direction.

“By the way, your date’s sleeping outside.”

Ah, you were on the balcony. No wonder he couldn’t find you. Satoru needed to do something about your cursed energy. What’s the point of having six eyes when he can’t even find the one person who’s evaded him for a decade?

You’ve completely passed out. Slumped over on a chair, head bent at an angle that could not be comfortable. Satoru knows he should feel bad. He dragged you around the entire night like a ragdoll. This was partially his fault.

He can’t really blame himself, not when you were finally here.

It still feels like a dream. Being able to hear your voice, not Suguru’s, not Yu’s. Your touch. Your eyes. Your face. Your laugh. For years, he’s wondered what it sounded like.

Reality beat even his perfect daydreams.

Seeing you up there on the Tokyo Skytree. The wind pushing your hair back and forth. It was breathtaking.

Even the lights of Tokyo, couldn’t compare to you.

He leans down, lips at your ear, voice low because he’s too prideful to let anyone else hear, not even you.

“I know it’s too late, but you looked really pretty tonight.”

You say nothing, but you shift, murmur something in your sleep. It’s all he needs.

He ditches the clean up party, taking you within his arms. He thinks he says something to Yu, but Satoru doesn’t really care if he heard. Right now, he only has one priority.

Tonight, he’ll sleep on the hotel’s pull-out sofa while you snooze in the luxurious queen-sized bed. You’ll probably be mad in the morning, something about how you should’ve taken the couch, but he doesn’t mind your mindless acts of selflessness.

He’s waited a decade. He deserves to keep you.

And he knows you won’t fault him for being selfish one more time.)

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #slight yandere gojo #butnotrlly #time travel fix it #time travel #unrequited feelings #temporarily unrequited feelings #maybe #x reader #jjk fluff #just a bunch of closure rlly

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year

Text

Practice On Me — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Young Azriel (twenty years old) in Windhaven. A deliciously cliche trope that’s always fun to write. You and Az are close friends, and that’s why he trusts you with a certain insecurity. And also why you come up with an interesting solution. Doesn’t mean it’s necessarily a good idea, though…

Word count: 4.5k.

Warnings: None.

These nights are cold and unforgiving.

The snow began hammering down in silent droves a couple of hours before. A thick layer of it now blankets the ground and paints the Windhaven camp a brutal white that makes you glance at the boots on your feet. Basic, brown boots that will be soaked and frozen by the time you reach your shoddy hovel of a house. You should have left at the sight of the first snowflake that kissed the ground.

But Rhysand’s mother’s cottage is warm and cosy in a way that yours isn’t. It lulls you to sit back rather than sit up, the fire crackling away in the corner and the smell of spilled ale tinging the air, Cassian’s clumsiness, of course. Your friends eyeball each other around the table, and this game of cards has been going on for too long, and you think your eyes might be growing heavy. If you don’t muster the energy to walk home now, you’ll regret it.

“I’m out.” You announce wisely, eyeing the pitiful deal of cards in your hands. You pile them atop of the table, stretching your arms above your head. The game continues around you.

Playing cards with Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel is always a little amusing — seeing them transform from boisterous, drunken fools to serious, suspicious competitors. They study each other across the top of their cards as if there are any real takings to be had by the winner — but Rhysand’s mother would have your heads if you actually gambled under her roof, so a pile of plastic buttons it is.

Certainly not an incentive to stay any longer.

You stand from your chair, earning curious looks from your three friends. To them, the night is young, at least while Rhys’s mother isn’t here to berate you about the late hour — two, three o’clock, perhaps — but to you, with an unpleasant journey across the camp still to be completed, the night is very much old and very much over.

“I’m heading home before the weather gets any worse.” You announce, plucking your jacket from the back of your chair. “Enjoy the rest of your game, ladies.”

Cassian snorts and Rhys studies his cards once more, ever the serious player, but it’s Azriel — Azriel, who places his dealt hand face-down on the table and also stands from his seat.

“I’ll walk with you.” He announces. Your other two friends don’t so much as bat an eyelash at the offer, because it’s a regular one, one you’ve heard a thousand times and one you know not to politely protest.

Azriel is your closest friend in this gods-forsaken place. And he will genuinely plunge a dagger into his heart before allowing you to brave your walk home alone.

So, you wait by the door as he shucks his jacket on, sliding warm gloves over his scarred hands. And then you’re opening the door, and a savage flurry of snow is pelting your face like it’s been waiting to attack.

“Fucking hell, close the door.” Cass grouses. “It’s glacial out there.”

As if, as Illyrians, the four of you aren’t used to the brutal temperatures. You roll your eyes at his whining and shove your hands into your pockets, before planting a boot into the thick layer of snow already on the ground. You grimace at how little protection your shoes afford you. Twenty years you’ve lived here. You should know better, be more prepared. Hopefully you can make it home before your feet turn to blocks of ice.

“Goodnight, assholes.” You call over your shoulder, and your friends momentarily break from their poker faces to return the sentiment. “Love you!”, Cassian calls, and “Keep warm!”, Rhysand reminds you, and then Azriel is following you out of the door.

“Cass is definitely losing that game.” The Shadowsinger immediately sidles close to you, his side pressed against yours. It doesn’t do much against the glowering cold, but it’s a comfort.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to hear it across the camp the moment he realises.” You breathe a laugh, curling in on yourself. Not only is the temperature simply unpleasant, but it also causes you pain — any extreme weather seems to make the ruined remains of your clipped wings twinge. You search for a subject to distract yourself from the sensation. “How come you didn’t invite Kaeda tonight?”

The name of Azriel’s recent interest has him angling himself towards you, snowflakes catching in his hair. He raises a dark eyebrow. “We’ve not moved past the casual stage yet. Certainly not enough to subject her to Cassian’s company.”

“Shame. It’d be nice to have another female around.” Rhysand’s cousin, Mor, sometimes comes to visit, and you have a few good female friends around the camp, but in your closest circle, you’re a little outnumbered.

Something that didn’t seem to matter so much when you were all younglings making mischief. But you’re adults now. Things are different. You are different.

Azriel presses his arm into yours. “If things progress, I’ll bring her to meet the three of you.”

That’d be nice, you think. To have another friend, and to see Azriel happy. See him appreciated. He deserves to be appreciated.

“And are they?” You press back. “Progressing?”

It’s then that there’s the slightest shift in his demeanour. Anyone else might not catch it — he’s the Shadowsinger, after all, and damn well guarded and cryptic and good at hiding what he’s thinking, feeling. But you’ve known him since you were mere, little runts, and you know every little mannerism.

Even in the freezing cold, Azriel blushes. Turns coy.

“What?” You urge, trying and failing to read him.

He gives a half-hearted shrug. “I want to kiss her.”

“Then why don’t you?

“I want to do it right. I don’t…I don’t want to fuck it up.”

The concern seems like a baseless one. You’re sure Azriel has kissed people before, although he’s always been considerably more reserved than Cassian and Rhys when it comes to females, and you’re not certain how far he’s ever gone. Of all the things you talk about, this isn’t usually one of them. You’re not sure why.

But you’ll help, if possible. You mull over his words as the two of you crunch through thick snow, more and more of it seeping into your useless shoes. The soles of them are worn, and you need a new pair, but you can ill afford it right now. Eventually, the cold starts to get painful, and you stop for a moment, leaning on Az’s arm as you swear quietly.

“There’s no way you’re making it home in those.” He’s totally right, of course. “I told you to get new ones.”

“And I told you, I can’t afford them.” Your toes are numb, now.

“I could fly you straight to your door—”

“Az, you know you can’t.” You sigh; the two of you have had this conversation countless times, because Az takes your safety very seriously indeed. “My father won’t like it.”

It’s not like your father isn’t aware that you’ve been friends with Az and the others since you were youngsters. But as you’ve gotten older, he’s only gotten more paranoid. The last person in the godsdamn universe he would want to think about you having relations with is any of your three closest friends. And if he so much as catches a whiff of them at your door, one of you is sure to pay for it.

Azriel knows you’re right, even if he doesn’t like it. He curses under his breath, and then his arms are snaking around you. “Alright. Hold on to me.”

“What are you…” You cling to him as much as your frozen fingers will allow. He’s always a little warmer than you are, and the feeling is pleasant. As pleasant as his scent is. So naturally, you press closer to him.

“We’ll go to the mead hall.” Azriel explains. “No one will be there now, but the hearths will still be warm. We can spend the night there, and I’ll fly you home in the morning when your father has left for the forge.”

The mead hall is where the Illyrian families across the camp congregate almost nightly to eat their dinner and learn of camp news. It mostly becomes an unpleasant atmosphere, with the males drinking too much and at least one fight certain to break out. You try to attend as little as possible, opting to eat your meals elsewhere, usually in the company of your friends, but your father sometimes insists that you accompany him and drag his drunken ass back home afterwards.

At this time of night, though, the brutes will have been long kicked out and sent home. The cooks will have followed soon after, and the only remaining presence in the long hall is the heat that filled the place. The mere thought of it is a mouthwatering one.

Unsurprisingly, it’s locked, and unsurprisingly, Azriel and his shadows get the door open as if it isn’t. He places you down in the entrance, and you’re immediately heading through to the mammoth dining hall, the warmth breathing out at you and thawing your frozen skin.

Az’s boots thud on the wooden floor after you, leaving little patches of melting snow in his wake. “I’ll get another fire going.”

You hop up onto one of the long wooden tables, first kicking off your sodden shoes and then stuffing your socks into them. You wiggle your toes, trying to generate some warmth into your pinkened feet.

You watch Azriel from across the room. The strands of his dark hair are damp and falling into his eyes, his skin cold-bitten. Sometimes, in moments like these, it stuns you how beautiful your closest friend is. You suppose it’s easy to forget, sometimes, when you’ve known somebody for so long; easy to become desensitised to their beauty. But looking at him like this, you’re sure he must have a whole line of suitors — both female and male — vying for his attention. Even if it’s something he never talks about.

To you, he’s just Az. And you can’t help snorting quietly as he so predictably scoops your shoes and socks up and places them by the fire he has lit.

A mother hen, truly.

“You should start to warm up any second.” He says, traipsing back over to where you’re sat. He slots himself between your legs, and his warmed hands cup your face. “I’m going to buy you a new pair of boots.”

“No you’re not.” You immediately quip, narrowing your eyes up at him. “I’ll buy them when my father chooses to pay me.”

You know it ticks him off — he, like the other adult males, gets a semi-decent wage for his commitment to the Illyrian army, the hours of training he puts in. You, on the other hand, might spend hours — days — helping out in your father’s forge, using the skills you’ve observed from him, and you’ll still only see the flash of a coin on a rare day that he decides he tolerates having a daughter, and that you’re not so bad, after all.

Hence why Azriel can afford a pair of boots, and you can’t. But you’ll not take his money.

So, you change the subject, relaxing into the pleasant sensation of his shadows tickling your skin, warming you. “Why would you fuck it up?”

Azriel’s face turns blank. “What?”

“You said you don’t want to fuck up kissing Kaeda. Why do you think you would?”

He stares back at you for a beat. And then his cheeks darken imperceptibly — nothing to do with the cold.

It surprises you. Az can be coy; shy, even. He’s the quietest of the three males in your circle. A pensive observer, never having much to say but certainly always having much to think about. And you know he has his insecurities, things that bother him, but he’s mostly sure of himself. Knows his power, his strength.

You’re not quite used to him balking from a subject. Becoming flustered by it.

“Has anyone complained about your technique before?” You cock an eyebrow, already knowing that no, they absolutely haven’t. Azriel has very full, kissable lips — something you’ve observed a couple of times before. In a totally platonic way, of course. Totally.

“I didn’t say that,” he lowers his gaze, “I—”

“Just go for it.” You reach up, pinching his flushed cheek between your fingers. “Jump right in and land one on Kaeda. Impress her with your kissing prowess—”

“You,” he tugs your hand away, “are so annoying—”

“The rest will naturally follow when you have your tongue in her mouth. Trust me. And then you’ll be wondering why you were worried in the first place—”

“Except that I’ve never kissed anybody before.”

Immediately, you fall still.

He may as well have shouted the words, from how loudly they seem to echo through the hall.

You stare up at your dear friend, and you blink. Wait for the punchline. Wait for a teasing grin to tug at the corner of his lips — something that very few people other than you get to witness — and for him to tell you that he’s jesting, and of course he’s kissed somebody before, and done a lot more stuff than that, too. All the stuff. Every bit of it. Over and over again—

“Let’s just drop it.” He murmurs, stepping away. You think you might have offended him with your silence, your surprise.

“Wait.” You blink, grasping hold of his arm. “Just…wait.”

He studies you. “Is it that much of a shock?”

Honestly? Yes, yes, it is. Because how did you not know this? You met Azriel when you were both eleven years old. Nine years ago. You faced puberty together and all the awkward things in between. And while you may not sit and discuss the ins and outs of your respective experiences, you simply assumed that his were progressing and evolving just as yours had. Cauldron, Rhys and Cassian stuck their cocks in different males and females every other week. You supposed you’d merely…grouped Azriel in with such things.

But when you think about it — really, truly think about it — Azriel is the only one of the three males who has never introduced another female to the group; no matter how short or fleeting their presence might be. You can’t pluck from your brain a single name he’s ever mentioned besides Kaeda — and that’s a very recent thing.

You’re still waiting a teeny, tiny, little bit for him to say he’s joking. But his cheeks are redder than ever.

“You’ve never kissed anyone.” You repeat, blinking at him.

He purses his lips. “I haven’t.”

“You’ve never pressed your lips to another person’s—”

“I think we’ve established that, Y/N.” He pivots, turning his back on you. “Just forget it.”

“No, wait, fuck, Az, you know I’m shit with words.” You reach for his hand. “Just…how come? Why have you never kissed anybody?”

His hand is tense in yours. You don’t like it. So many times, you’ve held his hand, felt his fingers fold around yours and your palms warm against each other’s. But he holds it limp, now, barely any weight to it. You give it a gentle squeeze.

He pauses. Then squeezes back.

And it’s then that you realise that’s where the problem lies — his hands. Scars.

“Az,” you sigh softly, tugging him closer to you. “Your hands are beautiful. A part of you, your story. Anyone worth knowing — worth kissing — will think the same.”

And gods, you mean the words with every tiny shred of your spirit and soul. There’s no one on the Mother’s green earth that you love more fiercely than the male in front of you. So kind, despite the hatred that’s been shown to him. So gentle, despite the brutality of your environment. He’s wiped your tears and kept you warm and shared his food and given you a place to sleep when your father has made your life particularly difficult. Platonic soulmates exist, and Azriel is yours.

He turns back to you and keeps hold of your hand. And he chews his bottom lip as he says, “I do know that. I know that not everybody is judgemental. But it’s not just the scars.”

You brush your thumb over the back of his palm. “What else is it?”

“I just simply don’t know…how. Fuck, theoretically, of course I know how kissing works. I’ve seen it more than enough. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be any good at it. I could be awful, for all I know.”

You highly, highly doubt that to be the case. “You just…practice. Until you know what you like. Until you know your technique.”

Hazel eyes study you curiously. “So…you have, then. Practiced.”

It’s rather strange, but a sudden, random slither of guilt presses down on your shoulders. Silly, because Azriel would never begrudge you your experiences — and you’ve had plenty of them, good and bad.

But in that moment, you want nothing more than to be able to tell him that you, too, have never kissed anybody. That you’ve never touched anybody or lain with anybody. That you’re just as inexperienced and clueless as he is.

But that would be a bare-faced lie. And you and Azriel do not lie to each other.

So perhaps it’s the guilt that causes you to blurt out, “Practice on me.”

Azriel blinks at you. His hand slackens in yours. “What?”

And fuck, you’ve said it now. You’re not sure whether or not you even meant to, but you think it’d be more awkward to retract the words than stand by them and ride them out. You square your shoulders. Try to seem sure, confident.

“Practice kissing with me.”

The poor male is completely dumbfounded. “You’re…my friend.”

“Yes, Azriel. That’s why I’m offering. Practice on me, refine your technique, and then you can apply that confidence to Kaeda.”

“Practice…on you…”

“I’m trying really hard not to be offended by the disgust that’s on your face right now.”

“Shit, no, that’s not—”

“You know what? Forget I said that. Dumb idea. Terrible idea. Forget I even mentioned it.”

Az stares at you. And you don’t want to balk from the eye contact, but you also totally want to throw yourself in the fire, because it would burn less than your embarrassment right now.

And then he says, “Is it a serious offer?”

You lift one shoulder into a shrug. “Why not?”

Oh, there are a million fucking reasons why not. The most pressing being that yours and Azriel’s friendship is, perhaps, the most stable thing in your life. Certainly the most precious and treasured. Rocking that is a very bad idea, indeed.

And you think, for a moment, that that’s precisely what Az is going to tell you. He has that look on his face that he usually gets when you’re about to do something stupid. The one where he chews the inside of his cheek and his eyes rove your face.

But then the word leaves him, quiet and a little breathless, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I accept your offer.”

He—damn. You didn’t think this far; suppose you didn’t expect him to actually agree. And yet here he is, agreeing.

Suddenly, you feel like you’ve never kissed anybody, either.

But you’re supposed to be guiding him here. So you sit up straight. Lift your chin. Azriel watches, eyeing you a little like you’re a creature he’s never seen before. The bewilderment on his face squeezes your heart a bit.

“Do you want to do it now?” You ask.

He swallows. And his eyes fall down to your lips before flicking back to meet yours. “I suppose there’s no time like the present.”

And there isn’t. The two of you are here alone, no background noise from Cassian or Rhysand to battle with. It’s just you and Azriel. Your eyes. Your mouths.

You realise you’re still holding his hand, and so you use it to pull him closer to you, slot him back between your legs. You’re certain he’s trembling, and you are, too.

“Just take your time.” You tell him. “Let your body lead. Do what feels natural.”

He gives a stiff nod. And pauses. “And you promise to be honest afterwards? About how it was?”

Your eyes soften. “Always, Az.”

He nods again, and then he’s sucking in a slow, steadying breath. You remain still, allowing him to make the first move, to do whatever he wants.

There’s a pause of heavy silence, and then he dips his head. Kisses you once.

It’s a quick, closed-mouth kiss. Sweet, if not a little stiff and awkward. But you know Azriel is testing the waters, deciding whether he truly wants to do this. If he surmises that he absolutely doesn’t, you’ll stop, say no more about it. You keep still and allow him to decide.

And when he pulls back to study you, you give him a reassuring smile. One that silently communicates, I’m fine, we’re fine, this is fine.

It seems to give him the little boost he needs.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Slowly, he slips his hand out of yours, and you allow him to. You watch as he inches even closer. Moves his hands up to rest at either side of your face.

When he’s cupping your cheeks, his eyes meet yours, and he whispers. “Is this okay?”

You squeeze his forearm once. “It’s fine, Az. Do whatever you feel you want to do. I’ll tell you if I don’t like anything.”

He nods, and his gaze drags down to your lips. You’re still, careful, not moving until he’s ready to. And maybe he’ll not feel ready. Maybe he’ll stop this and pull back and decide it’s a terrible idea—

No.

Azriel’s thumb sweeps over your cheek. And then he leans in and presses his mouth to yours a second time.

This time, it’s different — you can tell straight away.

It starts out slow, his lips exploring yours, moulding to the shape of them. The kiss is a caress on your mouth, and it’s a damn good start. You find yourself leaning into it. Kissing back.

For a split second, you feel Az pause. But then his hand is cupping your cheek firmer, the heat of his palm meeting the heat of your face and making you forget how cold you were only minutes ago. Az’s lips part, and so naturally, yours do the same. You kiss him gladly.

And he’s not bad at all. You’ve kissed far more experienced males with far worse technique. Azriel may be nervous and tentative, but there’s something there, lurking beneath the surface. Something that will grow with the right encouragement, the right amount of confidence.

You…you want to give him both.

But it’s important to remember why you’re doing this. For his sake. So he can comfortably kiss the female he’s interested in.

You part from him momentarily, his breath fanning your lips as you ask him, “Are you doing okay?”

“I am.” There’s a rasp to his voice. “Are you?”

“I’m doing great.”

And you are. The weight of Azriel’s hand on your cheek is surprisingly pleasant. This exploration is new, and it’s thrilling, and it’s nice. It feels…nice.

“Do you want to keep going?” You know what you want to do. “Or would you like to stop? Whatever you want, Az.”

He swallows again. “I want to keep going.”

You nod, and in gentle encouragement, you move your hands to rest at his waist. You must be imagining the slight tremor that wracks through Azriel’s body in that moment. Or perhaps it’s just a coincidence.

There’s no time to think, because he dips his head and catches your lips faster this time. He tilts your head up, applying a little bit of pressure to your mouth. Your lips part, and so do his.

Az’s tongue seems to tease the seam of your lips. And then he slides it into your mouth.

His taste invades you so suddenly, so thoroughly, that you gasp. It’s something rough and smoky. Rugged and pleasant. You can’t think of the exact words as his tongue meets yours, and nor do you care to. All you want to do is reciprocate. Kiss him.

You scoot forward on the table, lifting yourself up slightly to add a touch more fervour to the kiss. Your tongue rolls around Azriel’s, and it’s so damn good, so damn sinful, so damn unexpected.

You’re aware, somewhat, of Azriel’s hand slipping from your cheek and resting at the column of your neck. And he licks at the roof of your mouth, and at your tongue, and somehow at every part of you that has you wanting more. His lips work perfectly with yours, not faltering once.

In that moment, you might forget who you are and what your life story is, but you don’t think you’ll ever forget this — this kiss of pure, salacious, unguarded need. If this is what Azriel kisses like for the first time, you can’t imagine how he could possibly progress. How it could get better than this.

One of you makes a needy little noise — you think it might have come from him, but it lands in your mouth, anyway. And then you’re being yanked closer, and your hands are moving up to tangle within Azriel’s hair, and you’re tugging the strands and pulling him against you and kissing him so desperately that you’re sure you’re going to feel it days, weeks, months from now. Azriel’s fingers knead the back of your neck, and your legs snake around his waist, locking him in.

There’s movement. Natural, pleasant movement — you, him, both of you together, moving and shifting.

You don’t know at which point you’re lying back on the table, or which of you made it happen; but suddenly Azriel is hovering over you, his body flush to yours, too-hot parts of you meeting too-hot parts of him.

The kiss is burning, and needy, and you writhe beneath him, and he writhes on top of you, and he’s pressing against you, and you both groan.

And then Az breaks away.

He doesn’t move far — just rips his lips from yours.

You’re both panting, breathing so hard that your heaving chests touch with every breath. Azriel blinks down at you, and you blink up at him.

And in that moment, you become aware of just how far this has slipped. He’s basically lying on top of you, his body moving with yours. Your scents have changed and combined, and you both know what the earthier, deeper quality to them means.

That you got a little carried away. And this needs to stop — now.

Azriel stares down at you, panting against your mouth as your heart thunders in your ears.

“Fuck.” Is all he says.

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 7 months

Text

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 15 ] || [ Chapter 17 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.3K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: I'm all for vigilante justice.

Chapter 16: Teeth

“Address.” Simon demanded as he crouched in front of you, a hand cusping your cheek.

“Simon… please…” You tried arguing.

“Address.” He insisted a bit more forcefully.

It was bizarre to see him in full gear. Black on black on black… And it was even more bizarre to be looking into the eyes of the nice, honest, respectful man you’ve been seeing but having his features hidden behind a skull. An actual, real life skull sewn to a black balaclava…

You can see the fire burning in his eyes through the skull’s eye sockets… You were severely wrong when you made fun of him for wearing a skull mask in public. It’s not silly… it’s downright terrifying…

It strikes you then that the person looking at you right now is the ‘Ghost’ and not Simon.

“He’s not going to be home… He helps Fridays and Saturdays at a friend’s pub…” You explained. “It’s called The Railway.” You said sheepishly.

Ghost caressed your face one last time with his hand, the rough material of his glove scratching your cheek lightly, the same way Simon.

Then, he pushed up on his knees to stand back up and turned. “Kyle, you stay with them.”

“Roger that.” Gaz replied as he took a seat next to you on the couch.

“Johnny, on me.” Ghost said as he beelined for the front door of your apartment.

“Aye.” Soap bounced up from his eat on one of your kitchen chairs and gave you a friendly tap on the shoulder before he took off after Ghost.

You watched them go until the door closed and then turned to look at Gaz. “They’re not going to kill Ethan, right…?”

“No. But he might need dentures once they’re done.”

You’re awoken by Kyle stirring next to you. You’ve fallen asleep on the couch, basically draped across Kyle’s body, his arms wrapped around your body protectively, as you laid between his legs, your head against his shoulder.

“Sorry, lovie.” He told you as he ran his lips over your forehead in a wisp of a kiss.

“Wha-” You murmured as you rubbed your eyes before pulling back to look at him.

“Johnny just texted… They’re downstairs, lovie.” He told you, causing you to slowly slip out of his embrace.

You pulled back to the other side of the couch and yawned, feeling the blanket he draped over you both falling off you and exposing your back to the cold air.

Rising up to your feet, you approached the intercom and buzzed them in. Kyle followed after you, bringing the blanket along, making you giggle a bit when you felt him wrap the blanket and his arms, around you.

Johnny and Simon came jogging up the stairs as you and Kyle waited by the open door. “Hi…” You greeted them both.

“Hi, sweetheart. Wait a moment, we’re dirty.” Simon told you, his voice a lot more gentle than it had been as him and Johnny came up the steps.

They stepped inside and before either of them touched you, they took off their gear at the door and dumped them in a pile on the floor next to Kyle’s. Gaz and Ghost had rushed over upon getting Soap’s call… and good thing they came all kitted up. They needed it, as it turns out.

Only after removing their gear and washing their hands in the bathroom, did they come over to you and Kyle who were sitting on the couch again.

Simon came to sit across from you, atop the coffee table and gently held your hands. “How are you feeling?” He asked you, his voice kind, caring, soft… His brown eyes looking at you like he expected you to flinch away from him at any moment.

There was a deep-seated fear of being Simon (and only Simon) in him. It made him need some type of cover on his face… One he could justify to you under the guise of his scarring and deformities…

But there was also a need in him to keep ‘the ghost’ as far from you as possible… Having come into your flat as Ghost before departing to go find Ethan had ruined those chances… So he knew that he had no choice but to fully shed Ghost and his mask at the door to your flat and bear himself to be just Simon to you. And never risk bringing him in again. And so he did.

For the first time, Simon had no face covering at all, having tugged off his skull mask and balaclava and chucked it at the pile of gear by the front door.

And you were still looking at him like he was the most beautiful thing you’ve seen, your eyes softened and fond as you regarded him.

“I’m okay.” You assured him after a beat of silence.

Simon nodded and his left hand cupped your face again, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip.

“Oh, by the way.” Simon remarked and dug around in his pockets before handing you a keyring with a couple of keys and a singular metal heart keychain attached to it. “Believe this is yours.”

Taking the keys in your hand, you huffed, recognizing the keys to your flat and the keychain engraved with your anniversary date that you had gotten for you and Ethan once you had moved in together a year and a half into your relationship.

“I can’t believe he still had a copy… I could’ve sworn he gave it back…” You said as you looked down at the stupid heart. You had gotten rid of yours once the relationship ended, throwing it into the bin and having long since taken out the bag with it to the rubbish collection.

“He did.” Johnny said. “He fessed up he got a copy made.” He added bluntly.

“Piece of shit.” You insullted him and immediately set the key down next to Simon on the coffee table before shaking your head and leaning back on the couch, arms crossed.

“Now I wish I went with.” Kyle remarked next to you.

“Kyle!” You scolded him and he shrugged.

“What? He deserved what he got…” He said, causing the other men to nod in agreement.

“But I doubt he’s going to bother you again.” Simon added.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” You quipped, which caused him to chuckle, his lips morphing into a smirk.

His smile… God, is he beautiful.

“No… Just broke a couple bones.” He assured you, making you sigh and nod in relief.

“Thanks, by the way...” You told them. “I don’t- I don’t think I should be thanking you for beating up my ex but…” You trailed off.

The three men around you chuckled at your words and shook their heads.

“Aye… Don’t worry. We needed to get some boxing in either way… only turned him into a bit of a punching bag.” Johnny quipped from the side, making you look toward him for the first time since they came in.

“Thank you.” You told Johnny directly. “You didn’t need to help… in any of this really.” You explained.

Johnny clicked his tongue and gestured vaguely with his hand, as if deflecting your gratefulness.

“No need.” He said with a light smile and crouched by your side, rubbing your forearm with his hand. “I wouldn’t have let you deal with that mess at the shop by yourself… Especially not when you’re with my mates.” He added.

Smiling softly you nodded at him agreement. Johnny seemed like a good sort. No wonder Kyle had so many stories of times spent with him while on leave… He had regaled you with plenty of them while Simon and him were gone taking care of Ethan…

And as you sat surrounded by the three of them, you felt quite alright.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader

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twinksrepository · 3 months

Text

Wardrobe help

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Lucifer X F!Reader

CW: Half naked, swearing, talk of tops & bottoms, you're both idiots

Word count: Roughly 1K

A/N: You're panicking over clothes after being invited out by Diavolo for dinner. Good thing you have someone to help you with your clothes.

Images belong to Solmare.

You frown at the mirror, turning to the side and your frown grows a little deeper. “No.” Back to the closet it is, your fingers hooking the bottom hem of your shirt and tossing it into the reject pile. You shouldn’t feel this anxious, but you do.

All because Diavolo had asked you out to dinner.

Heck, you didn’t even know if it was a date! For all you know, Diavolo could have invited several people out to dinner with him, after all, it wasn’t unusual for Lucifer to join him. Flicking through the hangers of clothes you’ve come to accumulate since you arrived in the Devildom, largely because of Asmo and Mammon, to see if you can find anything that seems suitable. Even if it isn’t a date you certainly can’t wear your usual lounge clothes out to dinner.

You should have known better than to accept the offer to meet with him. Not when several days ago he had texted you about proverbial situations and your opinions on asking people to do things one on one.

You can feel the nausea starting to build in your stomach as it churns with your anxiety. Maybe you’ll get lucky and stress yourself out enough that you get sick and you have an excuse to cancel. Everything you keep coming across in your closet seems either far too formal or way too casual. Letting out a groan of frustration as you hear a knock at your bedroom door. You can’t answer it as you are now half dressed, not in this house anyway. “Just a minute!” Grabbing your hoodie from the bed as you walk by and pulling it on before opening the door to find the firstborn brother standing there. “Can I help you Lucifer?”

You had expected a greeting from him when you opened the door, not for him to stare at you like you were a curio on display. His crimson tinted eyes dart from your bare feet to what you can only assume is your messy hair atop your head. “Please tell me that is not what you’re wearing to dinner.”

Your shoulder slumps in relief hearing him make that comment with a deadpan voice. “Thank fuck, you’re going too.” Mumbling as you place a hand to your face, as much as you want to be insulted by his lack of tack you have come to expect it from him.

“Pardon?” At least the look of confusion on his face is helping the nerves you had been feeling fade away.

“I don’t know what to wear.” You admit, stepping aside to let him into the room before motioning at the pile of clothes thrown in a haphazard pile. “Every time I’ve seen Diavolo in public it’s been a random encounter. I didn’t want to just wear whatever to meet him.” You were wrong. Some of the nerves are still there as you rub at your arm almost as if ashamed to admit that you had been that nervous about how you were going to dress yourself.

“Diavolo wouldn’t care if you showed up in a sweater covered in ink stains.” You level the avatar of pride with a look of pure disappointment at his remark. Your favorite sweater that you tend to wear around the house is covered in ink stains from all the writing you do between school work and your hobbies.

“No, but you would. In this case, I do too.” Letting out a long exhale as you turn to face Lucifer while weighing your options. He’s not Asmo, but he has far more experience at this than you do. You want to make sure you don’t somehow make Diavolo look like a fool, not with the all opportunities you’ve had in the Devildom thanks to him picking you as an exchange student even if it had been a rough start. “Help me. Please.”

The please seems to do him in, stepping up beside you and moving the items with his gloved hand pausing on some items before he keeps going. “I wasn’t aware you had brought so many clothes with you to the Devildom.”

“I didn’t, most of them are from Asmo. A few things are from Mammon.” More than a few things, but you don’t want to get Mammon in trouble if him buying you things was adding to the bills being sent to Lucifer.

“Mammon’s taste is obvious no matter whose closet it's in.” Nodding to himself Lucifer goes back to an early item he had taken more than a second to look at. “This should do as a shirt, do you have a preference for bottoms?”

“Yeah, I like being one.” You freeze the second what you just said registers in your brain. Turning slowly to look at Lucifer you are terrified of the look you’re sure you’re about to receive.

Except.

He’s blushing.

“I meant regarding clothes.” He’s still red in the face when you answer him, but he does go back to digging through your closet for something to go with the shirt. Handing you the item before striding to the door as if he’s a man on a mission.

“Thank you, Lucifer.” Calling after him with a blush of your own.

“You’re welcome.” He pauses at the door, and you could swear when looking back on this moment, that you see his shoulders expand before he says something that makes you blink and your face burn.

“I’ll keep your preference in mind for the future. Every bottom deserves the right top.” He doesn’t say anything before leaving, and you’re left feeling your stomach churn for an entirely different reason.

A soft call of your name just as the door closes with him leaving. “Do hurry and change so we’re not late.” Oh. Shit. You are anything but prepared for a dinner with Diavolo knowing Lucifer just learned something about your preferences for partners. Intentionally or not.

“I am so fucked.”

#obey me fanfic #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me gender neutral mc #lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #lucifer obey me #lucifer om #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb

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angelcakestarlet · 8 months

Text

salvatore

richie jerimovich x reader - richie makes carmy regret hiring the cute young waitress

wrote dis quick, messy, nd did not look over it but enjoy! :>

"so um look, natalie is going to be training you this week alright" carmy informs you as he sifts through a pile of papers scattering his desk. "you ever serve before?", "for a few months yeah, it's been getting me through college so" you twiddle your thumbs nervously. the restaurant was certainly... intimidating? going to school in chicago you had stopped by a couple times for lunch or drunk off your ass after the club. even while slurring your words you could remember how fucking good that sandwich was. even if most of it was puked up in the bushes out front.

"yo, cousin!" an abrasive voice comes stumbling through carmy's office door without warning, "sugar is out here telling me some bullshit about you hiring servers? look we don't need that shit. a sandwich comes out i fucking hand it to them, boom. why are you gonna pay some dipshit to do it for me?". you turn around to face the loud voice, being met with a tall, tan, buzzcut typical line cook with a deep accent. "jesus fucking christ, one of these 'dipshits' is standing in front of you richie." carmy yells back, obviously pained to have you witness that. "ah shit-" richie steps back to get a full length view of you, taking you in. his gaze felt like an intrusion. "i'm sorry, doll, richie jerimovich." he envelopes your hand in his calloused and rough one, introducing himself. "you know what i'm sorry, cousin, anyone with a set of eyes would hire her too" he snickers, with his hand still atop yours he takes his eyes away from you to acknowledge carmen. "cousin, get the fuck out, you fucking creep!" signaling for the door. "oh my god" richie sighs dramatically, "i'm stating the fucking obvious alright, you need marcus to come in here to tell you the same thing? yo, marcus!" carmen rushes to shove richie out the door, "i'm sorry, i couldn't help myself! look, you're beautiful, sweetheart!" he lets out one last compliment. you giggle to yourself and the man making a spectacle of himself.

carmen shuts the office door and sighs, rubbing his forehead with his tired hand. "i'm sorry, he's... he's a fucking jagoff." you appreciate the apology, but having worked in a restaurant has you accustomed to the snickers and comments from line cooks and customers alike. most of the girls usually brush it off, leaving them disgusted and a distaste for the job for the next few hours. but, your guilty pleasure has become using it to your benefit. free food from cooks, more money from tips, etc. you're sure you could work richie to your benefit just the same. "don't worry about it, he seems... nice" your ease settles carmy and he snickers, "you could say that i guess".

you follow natalie around the restaurant for the next few hours as she takes you through the front of the house and back, introducing you to everyone and all the standards. when five o clock hits, she lets you go, handing you an apron, a t-shirt. and a name tag. thanking her and setting out to find the back alley for a quick ciggy. you find richie lighting a cigarette in the dimly lit alley, "can i bum a cigarette?" you sit down beside him, smelling the smoke clinging to his shirt. "its your first day and you're asking me for shit?" he looks over at you and you notice his evident wrinkles, veins in his neck, and tired eyes. "pretty please?" you look up at him, turning your whole body to face him with a sweet smile on your face. he rolls his eyes playfully, "you know what you're doing huh?" he says as he pulls one more cigarette from its box. "open." you scrunch your eyebrows, confused at his request. his eyes shift to your lips, taking two fingers and tapping your cheek signaling for you to open your mouth. "come on," you separate your lips and he places a cigarette between them, lighting it swiftly. you feel your cheeks get warm, from the cigarette or from his words you don't know (yes you do). "thank you" you say quietly, still stunned a bit. "you know you're gonna ruin that sweet face smoking" he coughs through the lit cigarette. "oh are you telling me what to do now, richie?" you lean back, eyes entranced by the way his hands make the cigarette almost look like a lollipop stick. "a girl like you is probably looking for someone to tell her what to do, sweetheart". as you're trying to figure out whether that just pissed you off or turned you on, carmy bursts through the back door. "cousin, what the fuck are you doing?! we need you in the kitchen, now please! and leave the new girl alone, jesus" carmy yells as richie stomps on what's left of his cigarette and puts his hands up in defense. "i'm coming, fuck off. it was a pleasure, babe" he shakes your hand and makes his way inside. you peer at the closed door, listening to the muffled argument carmy and richie have in front of it. great first day.

#richie jerimovich #the bear #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich x you #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #the bear hulu #the bear imagine #richie jerimovich imagine #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #natalie berzatto #sugar berzatto #the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction

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yanderenightmare · 1 year

Note

would love to hear any thoughts you have of what you think sukuna was like with a darling 1000 years ago, in the past before he became a curse

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: noncon, death of reader, fluff to angst

fem reader

Back when you were both little, Sukuna was just a village clown – a little rascal old farmers would shout at after he’d set their farm animals loose, skipping down the dirt roads with a sun-swallowing grin as they chased him away with their cane in the air.

He was the one with the unruly hair, bruised hands, and scuffed knees who’d steal bread from the baker and set the temple on fire. The one everyone knew to suspect but who managed to slip away somehow, always scot-free.

And you were his little cheerleader. Always hiding your giggle behind two hands, knowing it wasn’t ladylike of you to encourage him.

But he’d pull shenanigans just to make you smile. Often acting scary, playing in the shadows before popping out with a roar, scaring all the other children around the campfire, and getting scolded by the teachers. He’d pout when put in a timeout, running away and pulling you by the wrist to keep him company while the whole village searched for the two of you long into the night.

He'd found a spot for just the two of you. A cavern behind a veil of green, with a crack in the ceiling that allowed the moon to spill in, just bright enough to still let Spiderlillies bloom. He'd make a small fire, and you’d play shadow puppets on the rock. You’d make pine people and play the villagers while he’d put bird skulls on his fingers and act as the village monster.

Your father didn’t approve of him. Especially as the two of you got older with marriage arrangements fast approaching. Like always, it was unladylike of you to run around with the boy who never seemed to grow up.

You’d always loved the same person, but it wasn’t up to you. And soon you’d been promised to someone else.

Sometimes, you wished Sukuna was just a bit different – or, at the least, that he’d act somewhat differently. Maybe then he’d been good enough for you in the eyes of others. In your heart of hearts, you can't help but think that he’s a little selfish for never having tried for your sake, but when he surprises you in the night with those devious eyes and that childish smirk upon his lips, you can never will yourself to say no – let alone keep yourself from smiling and leaping into his arms.

Even on your wedding day, you wondered if he’d come – if only to say one last goodbye. You even selfishly wondered if he’d apologize and tell you he’d wished he’d tried harder, fought, and insisted on being a man who truly deserved you – that he regrets he isn’t the one taking your hand.

But you were a fool.

Maybe it was best he hadn’t, you thought after sitting awhile – a silent tear rolling down your cheek. In your wedding robes with your heart breaking. The maids gush and think it’s just wedding jitters, and you allow them that understanding even though your wedding is the furthest thing from your mind.

Your mother tells you that you’re beautiful, and it’s but a small salve to your aching – but enough to make the tears stop. She wishes you good luck and leaves you with the maids.

It’s only a short moment later that you hear screams. Blood-curdling, dying wails – worse than anything you’d heard in your life.

You follow quickly and find the ceremony in a bloodbath. So many lightless eyes stare blankly toward nothingness, their fine-dressed bodies piled on top of each other on the floor, blood-soaked and ripped limb from limb.

There’s only one thing left standing. Splattered in red blotches and black markings you don’t recognize. It breathes like a beast but stands atop the carnage as though the kills were all for sport.

But somehow… despite the second eyes, you knew that face.

“Sukuna…”

He turned, and you saw the other side of him, a deformed mockery of his once so pretty face. His eyes had gone red, glowing like a wolf in the wild – four of them, you counted now. They all blinked at the same time when looking at you.

You flinched, looking back at the slaughter of your village. Breath shivering. “What have you done?”

“I’ve ensured no one's left to stand between us- no one to take you away from me- no one to tell me I’m not good enough-”

That isn’t his voice. Those aren’t his words. This isn’t the man you know – not the one you love. Sukuna isn’t a murderer. This was… this was a demon.

You ran. Slipping in your drapes as you pushed yourself forward, heart in your throat with lungs bursting your ribcage. You make it out into the moonlight before he has you pinned in the dewy midnight grass.

He growls something, but you can’t hear it. There’s too much blood rushing past your ears, hot and deafening, as you shake your head – eyes squeezed tight while you claw and kick at the thing that has you pinned.

“Get away- don’t touch me-”

Two of his arms grab your wrists and push them down flat by your head. The other two grab your face – not entirely softly, but much softer than what you’d expect from a monster.

“Are you gonna tell me I’m not good enough for you too?” His words waft onto your face, warm with the breath that feels so familiar – a taste you’ve swallowed so many times before.

But it just can’t be him, you deny. “I don’t know you- I don’t know who you are-”

It angers him. His hands strengthen their hold, and you wince as he leans in closer with a sneer. “Sure you do. I’m that village pest you waste your precious time on. The one you can’t be caught with during the day.”

You shake your head again with a cry. “You lie. Sukuna wouldn’t do this. He’s not cruel- he’d never hurt me-”

“You hurt me!” He argues with a roar, cutting you off sharply.

There's a heavy pause.

His lips ghost yours with teeth, making you whimper caught beneath him before he continues kissing you with his words. “Whispering you love me during the night, with your hands and legs wrapped around me like a brazen little whore, before you go and marry someone else in the same fortnight. Who’s the cruel one?”

“It wasn’t my choice-” You deny then, finally acknowledging it’s him but still not daring to open your eyes.

“Tch-” He scoffs callously, bitterly disappointed and judging you just as viciously. “Is that how you console yourself?”

The hands he’d held your face with slipped down your neck, stroking your skin with streaks of wet blood and hot tears, traveling down the dip of your attire with fingers curling around the fabric before tearing it off you.

“Maybe you can seek refuge in that now, as well.”

You killed yourself that same night after he’d had his way with you.

You’ve been dead a thousand years now.

Every year, on the day of your death, he plants a Spiderlilly by his shrine to honor you. Sometimes, he gets the urge to rip them all up, but he just ends up shouting instead.

He can barely remember your smell, your warmth, your face, the size of your hand in his. But still, not remembering the exact feel of you just makes missing you all the more painful.

#yandere sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna ryomen #yandere sukuna #yandere ryomen sukuna

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oepionie · 2 years

Text

INTERRUPTED MAKE-OUT SESSION.octatrio

Synopsis: The octotrio don't really take kindly to having their alone time with you interrupted.

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech , Floyd Leech x GN! Reader

Tags: Suggestive because oh wow that's a lot of kissing, Azul forms a Crowley hate club, Crewel being an overprotective dad in Jade's part, Floyd annoys you (lovingly)

Word Count: 2k+ | 💌Masterlist

A.A | AZUL ASHENGROTTO:

Azul seldom had days off; he was usually dedicated to his office, checking work and finalizing deeds he'd made over the week. Like now, he's busier than ever, especially with the holiday season approaching. You usually would've helped him out if it weren't for Crowley…

The headmaster, ever so generous and kind, was making you run errands for him more than usual. Both of you were so swamped with work that you hadn't seen one other in weeks.

Deciding to take things into their own hands, Jade and Floyd approached you, trying to garner your pity by telling you how 'pathetic' and 'antsy' their boss had gotten during your absence. Floyd amped up the theatrical performance by throwing himself over your shoulder and sobbing crocodile tears over the 'inhumane work conditions' he's been put through. (Azul made him work 10 minutes longer).

To the eel's delight, their terrible acting actually worked and it convinced you to check up on your poor unfortunate little octopus.

You entered Azul's office, carrying a platter of pastries and tea. He was slouched against his chair, reading paperwork in a position that was bound to strain his neck and back.

"Oh, Angelfish?" As you set the tray on a coffee table, Azul stands to greet you. You don't miss how his face lights up when you walk towards him.

"How are you?" You ask, wrapping your arms around his waist while his hands reach up to cup your cheeks. The leather of gloves felt cool against your skin and you sighed happily, closing your eyes.

"Busy, as usual…" Azul muttered and let you guide him to one of the couches in his office. He plopped down onto the chair and groaned in exhaustion, sinking into the velvet plush cushions. "If I have to read another one of those pathetic deals from these Savanaclaw students, I think I'm gonna have a stroke."

Azul's eyes bore into yours, his lips curling into a bitter frown. "It's been nearly a month since we last saw each other…"

"I know. Crowley's been making me work my ass off these days." You smiled apologetically, moving in to press a fleeting kiss against his temple. Azul grumbled, his eyes briefly glancing over the pile of deals atop his desk. There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he looked up at you.

"Angelfish. You know I can easily fix that problem for you, no?" Azul spoke lowly, adjusting his gloves with a dark look on his face. Immediately, you shook your head. "No making deals with Crowley."

"Alright, no deals…but say the word and I'll gladly take care of it." Azul muttered, crossing his arms and pushing his glasses up. You chuckled and bent forward to peck his lips in thanks.

However, it seems that Azul missed you more than you thought. You should've known that someone as greedy as Azul wasn't going to be satiated by a small kiss like that. Before you could back away his hand clasped over your waist, pulling you back in. Gasping, you slid into his lap and he immediately fused his lips against yours.

"Stay." He mouths against your lips as both his hands move to grip your waist. Azul kisses you again and again, only giving you a few seconds to recover. Feeling lightheaded, you pulled away trying to catch your breath.

"Azu-" Before you could even get a word out, he kisses you again, this time with more passion. The ferocity of it all causes your head to spin as your hands become entangled in his white hair. It was almost as if he hadn't kissed you in ages, as if it was his first time seeing you in years. His tongue darts across your bottom lip, prompting you to part your lips.

"Knock Knock." Floyd's voice echoed through the closed door, and Azul jolted. He pulled away from you, his gaze moving to the tweels who were most likely standing behind the door.

"Oi Azul, there's some guy out there lookin' for ya. He's calling you 'Mr Ashengrotto'. What a weirdo."

"Floyd. Doesn't saying 'knock knock' defeat the purpose of knocking?" Jade's muffled voice spoke.

"Didn't ask. Don't care."

You watch Azul glare at the door, cursing under his breath, clearly irritated that his private time with you had been disturbed. He considered just directing the client to return another day. However, it seems that you've decided to make that decision for him.

"You heard them." Pulling him up, you fixed the collar to his uniform and combed his hair back into place. Teasingly, you ran your thumb over his lips.

"Don't keep them waiting, Mr Ashengrotto."

J.L | JADE LEECH:

Wiping the table down, you made sure to get every small spec of dust off of the metal surface. It was late at night and you were helping Jade close the lounge up for his shift.

You were concentrated and hard at work, determined to finish the job properly. Jade, on the other hand, found himself marvelling at the unusual sight of you in his dorm's uniform.

Azul had given you an Octavinelle dorm uniform that was tailored and custom-made specifically for you.But of course, nothing ever came for free when it involved the capitalist octopus.

It was intended to be used for promotional purposes. You were Ramshackle's prefect and the magicless human trapped in a mage school, it's no question that you had a lot of attention thrown your way. It was only natural that his boss would exploit such popularity.

Such a stark difference from your normal outfit. You were usually seen wearing the school uniform issued specially for your shabby dorm, paired with the expensive high-end designer fur coat Crewel gifted you.

To put it short, you appeared much more lovely than usual.

So, was it really his fault when he drew you behind the bar and began kissing you silly? Oh darling pearl, of course not.

"Jade-" You gasp against his lips when his weight starts to push on you. Your back collides with one of the stools, leaving you with little choice but to settle down atop the bar counter.

He swiftly hoists you up over the table, allowing you to sit snugly as you wrap your legs around his hips; he does all this without ever pulling his lips away.

“J-Jade we have a job to finish." You panted but Jade had no intention to stop. He steps back to assess your reaction, a sadistic grin spread across his face.

The eel was gentle when he manoeuvred you to lay down against the table, but the look and gleam in his eyes said otherwise.

"Oya, I fear something much more interesting has taken my attention." He nips at your lips, recapturing them with hardly a second to breathe between each one, his hands sliding up your hips to hold you in place.

"How could I not indulge myself when the most exquisite shining pearl is within my grasp?" Jade whispers.

The merman starts pulling his gloves off and loosening his tie. He returned for another open-mouthed kiss. It seemed as though he just couldn't get enough of you. Every breathy kiss he drew from you felt like waves pulling him under, luring him to continue and drown himself in your love again and again.

Sadly, all wonderful things must come to an end.

"Leech. Hands off my pup." You nearly slipped off the counter when you heard a familiar stern voice call out for you. You spun around, gasping, to discover Crewel standing by the door. His face distorted into an unsightly sneer as he peered at Jade.

"Pup. I believe you forgot but we have a shopping appointment today." Embarrassed, you quickly bowed your head and kept your head down. Why. Why on earth couldn't the ground just swallow you whole right now?

All suave and smooth, Jade took a step back and picked you up. Yelping, you held onto his biceps, head spinning from the sudden movement. Jade merely chuckled and lowered you back down onto the ground.

Crewel storms up to you, your fur coat in hand. He drapes the coat over your torso, fussing over your unkempt appearance. The man turns to throw Jade another scathing look, silently cursing the eel under his breath.

Despite your embarrassed and mortified state, Jade crouches down and whispers to you. "I'll get back to you later, my pearl."

F.L | FLOYD LEECH:

Huffing, you stormed out of the classroom with a towering eel hot on your trail. Before you could even round the corner, Floyd threw his arms over your shoulders and leaned his entire body against yours.

"Floyd! Get off! I'm still upset at you after that stunt you performed earlier!" You grumbled, your knees wobbling from trying to withstand his weight.

Floyd doesn't say anything and just slithers his arm around your waist, his teeth affectionately nibbling the exposed flesh of your neck. His annoyingly handsome face was plastered with a smug smile. He knew he was a menace, and he was proud of it.

Professor Trein's lectures were absurdly long, and you can imagine how bored the eel gets during his classes. The issue is that he's decided to turn you into his new source of entertainment. He kept poking you with a pencil, handing you tiny messages on crumpled notebook paper, and kicking you with his foot. The eel had even sneakily placed his hand on your thigh at one point, drawing patterns and words with his fingertips while pretending to listen to the lecture.

You squirmed and tried to shake your way out of his grasp. Your lover snorted at your pitiful escape attempts and tightened his grip on you.

"Neh~ Shrimpy, this hallway isn't my vibe at all. Let's go somewhere else!" Floyd pulls you into an empty classroom, kicking the door shut. He pushed you against a desk, slamming his hands on either side of you.

All of a sudden, his mood changes. The eel leans down to murmur into your ear, his breathy voice sending shivers up and down your spine.

“That class was so boringg. I can't help it that shrimpy's squirming is much more entertaining~” Floyd laughs, nudging his head against your cheek.

That little nudge was all that it took to get you to lower your guard, allowing him to strike and press his lips on yours.

Floyd's hands raked themselves up your back, his thumb rubbing circles onto the nape of your neck. He gave you one final kiss while grinning before stepping back to give you some room to breathe.

“Hm~? I thought you were still mad at me.” Floyd says as you lean in to chase his lips. You clicked your tongue and grabbed his collar, pulling him close to your face. This time, you take the lead and Floyd eagerly follows suit with a giddy smile on his face.

The loving moment between you two lasts for a few minutes before the door to the classroom slams open.

"Floyd! I've been calling your phone for the last hour!" Both Azul and Jade appeared. Azul looked as if he just ran a marathon, his flushed skin having a faint red tint to it. Jade was as composed as ever and stood behind the octoboss, sending you and his brother a knowing look.

“So what?” Floyd blinks, indifferent to Azul's anger. He just truly doesn’t find anything wrong about skipping his job and showering you with some love and affection.

"What do you mean 'so what'!? You promised me you would take the morning shift! We agreed on this!" Azul scolded, banging his fist against the door. But with his face twisted up like he'd just swallowed a lemon, it was hard to take him seriously.

"I don't want to gooo…" Floyd wailed as he sat down with you on the floor. He collapsed on the ground and drew you into his arms, ignoring Azul's shouts. You cuddled against him, sighing, for there was no way out.

This was your fate.

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #octavinelle x reader #twst azul ashengrotto #twst jade leech #twst floyd leech #jade leech #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #octatrio #octavinelle

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