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tonycries · 1 month

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Haunting You - G.S.

Synopsis. A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, king! Gojo, vampire AU, he’s actually ÍNSANE, royalty AU, arranged marriages, creampíes, breéding, fated mátes, FÉRAL down bad Gojo, mentions of bIood and kílling, bíting, óral (fem receiving), spítting, marks (a LOT), fíngering, pórn with plot tbh, overstím, ínnapropriate use of powers, jealous! Gojo, slight inspiration from Persephone and Hades, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 15.8k (HUH???)

A/N. Was listening to Haunted by Beyoncé, and my mind went “ooo vampires.” Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

In all your years being carefully primed to take over the throne, there have only been two rules you were raised under:

You live by the crown, and you will die by the crown. No matter what.

To stop the vampires - if your father, the king, fails to contain the bloody trail of killings before his own inevitable death, you have to. Or, more according to those tedious meetings with the table of elders, your husband will have to.

And it seems as if they were well and fully intent on enforcing that last rule as of late - with sharply increasing numbers of attacks on your local towns, the public was growing restless - and so was the royal court.

You weren’t doing any better either - but for a wholly different reason.

Maybe it was paranoia, but these days, you found yourself constantly catching a flash of crystal blue in the corner of your eye. Or hearing a sweet, sweet whisper in your ear deep at night. Maybe even a soft run of fingers down your spine as you were readied for yet another ball - hands much too large to be any of your ladies-in-waiting.

Like something was watching.

Waiting.

“And then I- your highness, are you listening?”

That familiar, grating voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you’re gasping in embarrassment as you turn back to the prattling man in front of you.

“My apologies, Lord Naoya.” you smile tightly, desperate to finish up yet another conversation about his latest cavalry expeditions. Nodding dismissively, “Just tired, please continue with your ah- wonderful tales.”

But of course, when he starts right back from the very beginning to “cover the key points you missed”, your stomach turns when you realize that you won’t be escaping any time soon. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.

God, future suitors your ass. You’d been taught that there’s no such company as “bad company” when you’re an heir to a kingdom, but this has been the fourth royal ball this month - and the biggest one yet. The fourth night you had to listen to another uptight lord show off his sparse battle medals, or another elder snide about how you’d be useless against the dangers of vampires.

You knew it was likely some coping mechanism with the grim deaths this week, but surely the nobles were tired of all this silly dancing? You sure were.

Gauzy dress just a bit too tight, sighs just a bit too loud than was permitted for the princess, you let your gaze wander across the brilliant ballroom. Those intricate gowns, the huge reflective wall, those little pastries you really wish you could walk away from this conversation and-

Blue.

Crystal blue.

“Wait! Did you see-” you startle, and it disappears as fast as it appeared. Your heavy skirts sway as you whirl around to uselessly track that odd burst of color, “Did you see that?”

“I know!” Naoya gasps, making you turn your head in excitement. “The light reflects off my medal so gorgeously! Oh, and this one-”

Dammit.

All through your life, it was this same color that’d been flitting occasionally through your vision, now haunting you almost every day.

You didn’t know where to look to find that familiar blue again - and you didn’t want to stand here waiting to find out. At the very least, your ears have definitely been assaulted with enough talk about horses and how “absolutely enormous” Lord Naoya’s weaponry at the Zenin Estate was.

Compensating, you muse.

The thought helps you plaster on a grin to your face, humming in a saccharine-sweet tone, “It pains me to cut through, my lord.” It really didn’t. “And I’d love to chat more later, but I think I hear my lady-in-waiting calling for me.”

He sputters, breathing out a few profanities under his breath that you catch. An arm raising as if to keep you in place, “Now, wait a minute-”

You’re angling your body expertly to make your dash. Batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, “Oh? What was that?” you cup your ear. “I hear her again- I really do apologize, but feel free to recount your valiant um- fairy tales in a letter.”

“But your father-”

Not waiting to hear the rest of his response, you barely even bother with a polite curtsy before determinedly weaving your way through the stuffy ballroom. Nodding by the nobles greeting you, waving past the throng of young lords that wanted to reel you into more conversation. Your satiny feet taking you anywhere but here - anywhere but where you could feel the still, heavy gaze of something burning into your back as you escaped.

You just prayed that it was only a miffed Naoya and nothing else.

It was around this time that the orchestra struck up another upbeat waltz, and with most people pairing off on the dance floor, barely anyone noticed you tip-toeing out of the ballroom.

“God-” you’re letting out a sigh of relief when you reach the long hallway, rubbing at your throbbing temples. “The next ball they host, m’gonna conveniently disappear, I swear.”

You didn’t care enough for what matchmaking would happen in the future anyway, no matter what the elders may tell you.

Your ballgown swishes with every urgent step through the quiet, dimly-lit corridors. Maybe a bit too quiet.

Strange. You knew that not many nobles would be wandering around the palace during a ball but, surely you can’t be the only one here? Where were the guards?

Just then, a soft winter breeze puffs against your left ear - and you inhale sharply. “Wha- hello?” you shudder, gaze darting around. “Anyone there?” But when only silence greets you, you’re struck with the sudden thought that the windows along the hallway were closed.

Where did the wind come from?

The realization has you taut with goosebumps pricking at your skin, your pace increasing ever-so-slightly. Gulping, you round the corner quickly, making a beeline for the closest haven you could find - the library.

Ducking past the towering stone archway, you hastily slam the door closed. It takes you a few seconds to get used to the darkness inside. With silvery moonlight ribbons filtering in through the curtained windows, you could just barely make out the rows upon rows of books you’d pestered your father into lining. Surrounded by heavyset tables, and your favorite, cushioned armchair. Luxurious, yet completely dwarfed when seating the lone silhouette-

“If this is an attack, then I surely don’t mind.”

“Fuck-” you scream, reflexively grabbing the nearest book spine you could reach to throw in the direction of the shadow. “Show yourself.”

Somehow, it’s as if the book bounces off an invisible forcefield, plopping down unceremoniously onto the velvety carpet right in front of the tall figure.

“And here I thought princesses usually curtseyed.” that deep, honeyed voice cuts right through your heavy breathing. He makes a move to get up - languid, and torturous, as if he enjoyed your agonizing suspense. “Well, maybe I do prefer being pelted by a- hey, that doesn’t mean pick up another book!”

In a split-second, you were brandishing a weighty encyclopedia this time - holding it firmly behind your head in a ready stance to throw once again.

“Show yourself.”

The man sighs, stepping into a channel of low light. It illuminated his stature - taller than you’d thought, towering well above most of the generals in the royal court. Muscled, yet lean - powerful, the thought strikes you. Magnetizing.

Someone from outside the kingdom, you observe, otherwise you’d have remembered that cloudy white hair, strands falling over a strange, black blindfold stretched across the upper half of his face. Leaving you only a set of high cheekbones, and a pert, pretty mouth to admire.

One that curls into such a mischievous smirk of neat pearly whites, and a tiny dimple digging into his cheek. “Now, I’ve never had anyone this eager to see me.” He drops into a courteous bow at the waist, expensive blue fabrics rippling. “From the North kingdom, Satoru, at your service, princess.”

Your hand falters - partially because of the heavy weight, partially because you recognised that gold “G” insignia in the middle of this stranger- Satoru’s uniform. The Gojo family.

That mysterious, estranged kingdom from the Northern part of the country that hadn’t been seen since you were young. You’d heard stories of them - everyone in this vast country had, it was impossible not to. Of their cruel winters and even crueler king, how blood stained every room in his palace. It was rumored he was a monster, and yet, no one ever saw his face - if they did, they never lived to tell the tale.

You knew your father had invited the king to every single ball out of diplomatic obligation, but he’d never attended. Never even bothered to respond.

So who was this?

“No one. Just a lowly attendant accompanying my king, your highness.” you’re jolting when he purrs, a brow quirking at just how he knew what you were thinking. “The question ah- showed on your face, my apologies.”

Finding your voice, “Um, I apologize, too, Satoru-” You note the lack of a last name, “-for the book. I can’t imagine being hit with Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet was a very warm welcome.” And like a little truce, you’re placing down the encyclopedia in your hand. Flashing him your most practiced smile, “I bet you’re hiding out here for the same reasons as me, then.”

That draws out a pretty laugh from him, bubbly and boyish. “Mhm, the ladies just refuse to leave you alone, too?”

“Well, more like the lords there.”

He hums, something that sends a chill down your spine. Words just a little strained, “Not much for bragging about horses?”

And suddenly, you get the urge to snark back, huffing in a way you know your preparational teacher would faint at. “Absolutely not. I’d rather face a vampire than listen to Naoya and the “absolutely enormous” weaponry he uses to-”

“-compensate!”

“-compensate.” the two of you finish at the same time. “I like this place a lot better, it’s quiet- though…” your voice trails off in wonder. “It’s strange, guests aren’t supposed to be allowed in the library unsupervised.” His jaw clenches when your eyes sweep him, “We are supposed to have a few guards here but I don’t know where-”

All of a sudden, it’s like you’re being splashed with cold water. And your words are dying on your tongue when the room drops a few degrees in temperature.

Satoru is unnervingly still, yet he catches onto your slight shiver. “This damned wind, am I right?” And he’s gesturing at the windows with his head. The closed windows. Words tumbling quickly from those pink lips now, “Anyways- why don’t you sit down-” He prowls towards you, slow, confident. Large hands rest at your arms, they’re pale, surprisingly cold - guiding you easily to sit on the unoccupied armchair. “-since m’being nice enough to let you hide out here.”

His words drip with tease, and you still couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they’d be twinkling. No one ever dared to speak to you this way - it was always either thinly-veiled condescension or fear towards royalty.

Surprisingly, you didn’t mind.

You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “Yeah? Well what do I owe you in return for that, Satoru?”

His lips part, as if not expecting this response. Before letting out another sharp cackle at your expense, “Well, why don’t you-” You can’t tear your eyes away from his magnetic figure when Satoru begins unbuttoning his flowing coat to reveal a snow-white shirt underneath. Wrapping it snug around your shoulders in one, fluid motion, a hand of his tilts your head towards him. “-give me your soul?”

The Gojo emblem burns into your back, and Satoru’s deep, almost raspy tone rings in your ears. It sounded like a joke - but looking into his ethereal features, there was no trace of a grin on what you could see of it. And once again, you’re struck by the pure power radiating off of him.

You hoped it was a joke.

“S-soul’s not for sale.” you manage to choke out, trying to make it look like you weren’t breathing in his metallic, peppermint scent. Heady. Pulling the soft fabric tighter around your cold body, “Steep price for a hideout, don’t you think?”

“S’a discount for you, flower.” his chilling breath fans your face. Letting out hushed, “Heh, you should see the prices I charge others.”

You’re reeling, face burning, “Flower?”

“Because you’re shaking like one, see?” The pads of his fingers move from under your chin to trace up, up, up the goosebumps on your exposed arms. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Hypnotic.

And his steps are soundless as he walks over behind you, the moonlight giving him an angelic halo. Haunting, almost. “And you’re just as gorgeous, like a wild rose. Way too gorgeous for the fuckin’ bastards out there, might I add, princess.”

The nerve!

Heart pounding, you turn around to- call him out for his disrespect? Snap back? Accept the compliment?

You don’t know - and you don’t get to find out, either. Because before your eyes can search for Satoru’s mysterious figure, the door to the library is slamming open with a deafening bang!

“Ah! There you are!” your lady-in-waiting’s relieved voice floods your ears. And she’s barging in with no comment about your sudden stiffness, or that foreign coat around your shoulders. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, your highness. His majesty is just about to make his speech of the night and needs you there.”

Shit, out of all the scandals.

“I- I can explain.” You’re desperately trying to catch Satoru’s eye to make up an excuse for why you’re alone with a strange man away from the ball, shooting from your seat to look around the library. “We’re just-”

The suddenly empty library.

“Yes yes, I understand that the balls aren’t exactly your favorite pastime.” The oblivious girl is pushing you towards the door, brown eyes narrowed. “But we’ve got to get going now.”

Despite her wrangling you outside, you manage to sneak a few glances backwards, straining to see if he was hiding in the shadows. Only to be met with a now-rumpled armchair and the still, dark bookshelves. As bare as if Satoru never existed - the only proof of his existence being a sad copy of Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet lying on the ground.

And yet, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you.

You feel it all through the short walk back to the ballroom, Nobara’s excited chatter about how finely your all-new coat was made filtering through one ear and out the next. Even when you reach the edge of the dance floor, even when you feel every single other eye in the room on you - you feel it.

“Um, Nobara.” you whisper, discreetly shuffling the coat off your shoulders. “Please take this to my chambers for me.”

The younger girl is positively bursting at the seams, murmuring conspiratorially to you, “So is this where you were? With who- The “G” what does that-”

“Ah! My daughter!” Saved by your father’s booming voice - though, you wouldn’t consider it too much of a salvation when you’re immediately being whisked away to the high platform your father’s throne was seated on. His arms spread wide to greet you in a hug despite stiff etiquette.

“You’re late.” he whispers in your ear.

It’s all you can do to manage out a quiet, “S-Sorry.”

Without another word, he’s addressing the congregation in the middle of the dance ballroom again. More ruler than father at this very moment. “My people, we are gathered here today to dance, to sing, to forget about the horrors happening in our beloved nation.” To large murmurs of agreement he continues, “And despite it all, it’s a reality we must all live with. Me, especially, as your king, have a duty to fulfill.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you wonder where this is all going - your father never brought up vampires during a time like this. Never.

Clearing his throat, “And as we all know, I’m not getting any younger here, unfortunately. Which is why-” He claps his hands once, and three figures - one of which being Naoya, amongst two other nobles you briefly recognized - step forward from the crowd. “Ah- there should be one more- Anyway, after thorough consideration with the table of elders, we have decided to go forward with the betrothal process for my dear daughter here. With the joining of hands will not only be the joining of kingdoms - but the joining of arms, and our people shall prevail as one over the vampires.”

You think you might stop breathing, eyes burning and trained firmly on the ground. This had been a topic of conversation - well, more the elders conversing while you skipped out on every meeting once this discussion was brought up.

You knew this would happen. You knew. But now? At this very moment? All you can do is stand there and listen while he rattles off.

“I know four of the- erm, three of the most eligible young suitors of the land will do their utmost to vie for her heart - and her hand. No easy task I tell you.” Your fists clench, head swimming. “And in a week’s time, we will hold the grand ball to announce my successor.”

Shit - a week. A week.

Somewhere in your line of vision you see - you feel that spark of blue. And you’re raising your head to cheers echoing from all around the room, and still no sign of where those eyes are.

“The next time we meet, will be with the future king and queen!”

Fuck.

---

That night was spent with a few too many tears, and a consoling Nobara at your side all until daybreak. And if you held onto that comforting, peppermint-scented coat through it all, well, you were only glad that you seemed too pitiful for her to question it.

Feeling much more composed and only slightly less bitter about the prospect of being married off to a stuck-up noble you didn’t know, you made your way to breakfast the next morning. An affair usually spent with your father, or in the palace gardens - but this time, surrounded by four suitors under the guise of getting to know you. Sizing each other up, maybe.

“Ah, your highness, good morning!” you sweetly reciprocate the greetings once you’re escorted into the dining room, taking your seat at the very end of the long, mahogany table.

Sighing you take in the scene - on your left was Lord Naoya from last night, the same sharp grins and shifty eyes as you remembered. Seated beside him was the young duke of the Kashimo clan - hair striking, his battle staff laid out next to him on the table. Intimidating.

But nothing in comparison to the hulking man on your right, it seemed as if his uniform was on the verge of bursting. Face sullen, letting his pink locks fall into place - Sukuna, you think you remember.

“Your highness.” Ichiji bows, taking his place supervising the breakfast. “I am afraid our guests from the Northern kingdom will not be able to attend this breakfast today. He sends his deepest apologies. B-but-” His face-paled, looking scarred for life. “-he did have his um- attendant send this note-”

You’re gratefully taking the creamy scrap of paper before the words have even left Ichiji’s mouth, flipping it over to reveal slanted, beautiful calligraphy - Apologies for the sudden departure last night, flower. And I hope you forgive my king for not being here to deter the talk of horses - duty holds both man and beast from freedom. Worry not, we will be seeing your sweet smile again soon. But, for now, give those three bastards a rude gesture from me.

You giggle, tucking away the note. A tiny pang of disappointment hitting you out of nowhere at the lack of that gold “G” emblem anywhere along the table - and more importantly, the white-haired enigma that would follow.

All three men were glowering, yet begrudgingly plowing on with their conversation from before as you settled. Not having the energy to contribute, you listened in.

“-this would never have happened in my estate.”

“Oh buzz off-” Kashimo interrupts Naoya, before throwing a guilty look your way at his crass words. As if you didn’t say worse. “Apologies, your highness. As I was saying-” he turns back to the man. “Don’t think we haven’t heard of those vampire killings in your court that you tried to cover up, your defense isn’t as impenetrable as you want it to seem, Naoya.”

That causes you to raise your brow - and evidently, Sukuna’s as well. “That so? Little fraud, aren’t ya, Zenin?”

The shorter man sputters indignantly, “You- you little- you call me a fraud and yet you’re the only one who didn’t bother to help investigate last night? Got something to hide, oh king-of-curses?”

“Tch, shut up.” That little nickname ticked something off in Sukuna, and his grip on his delicate fork tightens. Smirk intentionally bared to piss off, “It’s just because when the princess marries me, she won’t have to worry about vampires attacking guards in the middle of a ball.”

Wait, what?

“Yeah right, you and what army because I have an absolutely enormous-”

“What do you mean?” Your smooth voice cuts through their bickering, and all three men freeze, gazes snapping to you as if they’d already forgotten you were there. “I didn’t hear about any killings last night.”

If you thought they were tense before then you weren’t prepared for right now - shoulders raising in surrender, for all their blabbering, not a word was uttered after your accusatory question. After a few beats of silence, you scoff in frustration, turning towards your escort, squirming and avoiding your pointed stare at the very corner of the room.

“Ichiji.” The man looked like he could positively give anything to blend into the meticulously hand-painted flowers on the wall. “Ichiji, tell me what happened.”

“P-princess!” he yelps, adjusting his glasses. “I- I’m afraid the king said- please I can’t-”

“Ichiji…”

“P-please don’t banish me-”

You’re on your feet now, cornering the poor man. Mentally, you make a note to give him a raise. Eyes narrowing, “I won’t banish you, but as the future queen I have a right to know, don’t I?”

“...”

“...please?”

And the remaining men had been watching with morbid fascination as you worked your magic. They were already aware that the frail attendant was the weakest link out of them all, but what they certainly did not expect was exactly how weak.

It only took a single bat of your lashes before his pale cheeks colored an almost-concerning pink. Eyes scrunching shut in embarrassment, as the words spilled from his lips. Neverending and slurring with haste as he speaks in one breath, “Th-three of the guards stationed near the outer corridor and library wing were found killed by a vampire last night before you retired for the night, your highness. Their b-bodies were disposed of, and this in combination with all the recent killings was why the king hurried the announcement for your engagement. B-but, his majesty decreed that this never be relayed to you in order to keep you in high spirits after the betrothal eep-!”

“Is- is that so?” you breathe, eyes wide. Taking one last look at the four speechless men, before walking out of the tall doorway. “I seem to have lost my appetite, I will be heading for my chambers now. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay, my lords.”

Shit shit shit - how did you not notice?

Maybe you walked right past the killer last night and didn’t even realize - who knows what could’ve been hiding in the shadows. How did you not realize? How did you not see?

Just then, a thought strikes you - did Satoru see?

---

It’s one of the whirlwind of questions ringing around in your mind even by the time you hear a steady knock on your door. Jolting you upright from where you splayed out on your plush, silken bed, rows upon rows of books on vampires haphazardly surrounding you.

Peering out of your large window, you notice the hues of pink and red painting the sky, a big red sun just dipping below the horizon - shit, when did you even fall asleep?

“Come in.” you answer, voice scratchy. Rubbing away the sleep in your eyes, you could barely make out the hazy outline of Ichiji standing in your doorway.

“Ah- your highness, I apologize for waking you up.” he bows. “But master Kashimo will be headed out for a late-night hunt at this very moment, and requested your presence shall you wish it. He noticed that you seemed upset at breakfast, and wanted to make it up to you.”

You take a moment to mull over the question - it certainly was rude for you to just ignore your guests all day. And considering you might just be marrying one of them, it wouldn’t kill anyone to actually get to know them.

“Alright.” you reply, voice even. And your answer seems to surprise the other man, “Tell Tsukumo to get my gear ready, I will be down as soon as I change.”

“Y-yes, princess! I will call for Nobara to help you get dressed.”

As the door shut once more behind him, you threw off your heavy blanket- and your coat? Satoru’s coat, which had evidently been draped around your upper half. Heart stuttering, you didn’t remember putting that on before…

Hm, you had to thank Nobara for that later.

---

Hunting with Kashimo was, unexpectedly, dull.

“So…” you drag your words, trying to fill the tense silence. “What is it that we’re actually hunting for-”

“Shhh-” you hear for about the third time this past hour. A brow of yours quirking at the way it seemed like the two of you had been wandering the woods belonging to your kingdom’s estate for hours, and you still didn’t know what it was you were supposed to be looking for.

Alright, perhaps hunting wasn’t the best opportunity to get to know your potential future husband.

“My lord…” you call out warily, already aware of the duke’s affinity for hunting. “Maybe we should rest for a bit, after all, the stars are out already and the moon is so bright.”

He barely even turns to look back at you, “No time. The woods belonging to your kingdom have some of the rarest species of cursed animals in this country. I must make the most of this week in that case, your highness.”

You brighten at the closest shred of conversation in so long. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard! I also hear they-”

“Shh!”

So close.

Letting out a resigned sigh, your eyes glaze over as you watch Kashimo trace his thick fingers over animal tracks on the dirt. Suddenly, gesturing for you to follow him as he sped off in another direction.

It doesn’t take too long for him to stray out of sight. Meanwhile, your legs lag behind in protest - and pettiness, you realize. Grumbling to yourself about how you’d rather have watched paint dry as you’re sure the elders often did. Well, you look at the now-barren pathway, at least now you didn’t have to worry about someone shushing you all the ti-

“AHH!”

And then, all of a sudden - it felt like you were the hunted.

It’s like every bit of blood drains from your body at the blood-curdling scream. Grip tightening on your bow, you’re jolting at the direction it came from - where did Kashimo disappear off to again?

Yet, for how much you knew your kingdom like the back of your hand, it’s so dark. The moon barely peeking through gloomy gray wisps of clouds that you don’t know where exactly you’re running to - just that something was tugging. Reeling you in. No destination in sight until you’re crashing face-first into- a wall?

“Hey, flower, where are ya running off to this late?”

Your hairs raise, something visceral in your body jolting.

Satoru - blindfold and all.

“Wh- Satoru thank God you’re here.” you gasp, looking nervously over his broad shoulders. “I heard a scream, and I’m worried about Kashimo because he went somewhere over there and-” You’re pointing aimlessly in his direction, before clasping a hand around Satoru’s defined bicep. Tugging, “You have to help me, that idiot even insisted on no guards because of disturbing the wildlife and I’m so worried and-”

Before you can react, big strong arms are enveloping you. And you’re suddenly hit with the smell of peppermint and Satoru - something so sickly sweet tinging the air, it makes you droop limply into his firm hold. Your skin burns when he breathes in, deep.

“Shhh shhh, I know I know, princess.” he hums, pulling you deeper against his chest. Until you could feel every dip and curve of his pectorals. “You must’ve been scared, right?” At your hesitant nod, “You did good. You did perfect- in fact. Especially putting up with that pretentious bastard.”

The shocked laugh that drags from your throat has Satoru sighing contentedly, an almost-pained grunt leaving him as he pulls away ever-so-slightly. You felt much the same.

“S’alright, I’m pretty sure it was some animal.” he soothes. He clasps your hands with his, running a damp thumb over your knuckles. “I saw him trudging about disturbing more wildlife over there.”

You breath catches in your chest at just how close Satoru was now, his breath mingling with yours. Pretty plump lips so close - too close. Yet you’re leaning in closer, like you’re drawn by a thread. “Are you sure? Maybe we should-” You gasp, eyes widening when you look down at where your hands were intertwined - red. Or, what you assumed to be red, a saturated, patchy stain on your hands where Satoru’s met yours. He stiffens when he follows your gaze, trying to pull away, but you only hold your grip harder. “Satoru, are you bleeding? Or is this-”

“Not mine.” his voice is hard - and for a second you have to wonder whether this is really the same Satoru. And you swear there’s a little tremor in his words as he explains, “You see, I went out on a little hunt myself, flower.”

Even if Satoru didn’t have his blindfold on, you’re sure his face would’ve been unreadable. That almost-familiar grin of his is strained. Too strained. Yet, his movements are unwavering as he tries to wipe away the blood. “Must’ve forgotten to wipe down, I apologize for sullying your hands, princess.”

“Let me-” you mutter, taking a hold of the coat around your shoulders to wipe away the blood. Uncaring for what you were dirtying at the moment. “I swear you need to take better care of yourself, Satoru. Seriously.”

And you didn’t see them - but somehow you could just feel the amusement dancing in Satoru’s eyes. Raising your confused gaze up to meet his, “What?”

He only flashes you a knowing grin, “S’jus’, you’re wearing my coat, your highness.”

Your movements pause, mouth gaping open while you try to pathetically spout out an excuse. “I- I didn’t mean to get this coat dirty, oh my god. I didn’t think-”

“S’alright.” he inches in even closer. A smirk grazing those sinful lips of his, “I actually prefer it like that, you look like mine.” Taking a deep breath, “You smell like mine.”

And before you can ask about his cryptic message, he’s placing a hand at the back of your waist. A very improper hand that would definitely make the elders gasp in scandal. “We should head back to the palace, it’s getting late. I will escort you, m’sure that born hunter of yours is already halfway back too.”

“Carry me.” you blurt out, your body aching to feel more of him. And before you can retract your words - probably sputter a few apologies, you’re being cradled by a smug Satoru. One hand under your knees, the other supporting you like you’re weightless.

“Heh, a princess carry for a princess.”

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble with embarrassment when he walks forward slowly, your legs swaying in midair. “Want my soul for this as well?”

And you can feel Satoru’s muscles ripple, you can feel the way his breath hitches in his chest ever-so-slightly. Rumbling as he drawls, “More than you’d know.”

“S’that a discount, too? You still didn’t tell me what you charge others.” you quip, remembering the conversation from the night before.

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, your highness.”

You’re quirking a brow, something hot churning at the pit of your stomach at that ragged tone to his words. “I’m onto you, y’know.” You stare up at his clenched jaw, highlighted in the dim moonlight. His long, pale neck, the crevices of his blindfold. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you could peek under. “Onto you and your absurdly high prices, Satoru.”

He breathes out a shuddering, overly-dramatic shudder. “Mhm, flower, I should be worried.” Before looking up at the sky - and you wondered just how well he could see through his blindfold. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

That night, you dreamt of long-winded star-gazing and blue, blue eyes.

---

“What do you mean Lord Kashimo has left for his kingdom?” you hiss, feeling a faint stab of offense. Seriously, were you that awful at hunting? “He didn’t make any indication of it last night.”

And if your careless words made Nobara beam with slight embarrassment, you didn’t take note of it - too caught up in what you’d just heard. Enough so that it takes her next words to bring you out of your stupor, “Exactly what I said, your highness. The lordship and his court have all vacated their wing, leaving behind only a letter of forgiveness for ending the festivities early.”

“Still.” you murmur petulantly. Setting aside another one of your books on Vampire: Mates, Murder, and More. “It’s strange, I thought he was here for the hunting sprees, if not for me.” Your tiara weighs heavy on your head as you turn to your young lady-in-waiting. “I would like for Ichiji to catch up to Kashimo’s traveling party, make sure they’re safe, and send them my well wishes.”

Ha! Take that elders - you’d show them you’re fully capable of holding diplomatic relations as a ruler.

“As you wish, princess. Additionally, this-” She’s holding out a small pouch of blue fabric that you’d never seen before. “-was found by your bedside when cleaning and I wished to give it back safely.” Before her polite smile drops into a much more devious smirk, “A gift from one of the suitors, perhaps~?”

You gesture for her to hand it over, the silk casing soft under your touch. Detailed. One-of-a-kind, from what your tedious lessons in the history of fabrics had taught you. You didn’t recognize the patterns sewn onto it as something typical for your kingdom - or any other you’d learned about, really.

“M’not sure.” you whisper. Opening the little purse to reveal a flash of gold - a necklace. Thin and intricate, holding a sapphire pendant in the shape of an eye.

Blue.

A blue you knew too well - the same one that peeked out from every dark corner, that you saw before you slept at night. The one that’s been by your side for years.

Constant. Now coming to haunt you.

Chills run down your spine, and your fingers tremble at how life-like it looked. Burning into your very soul.

“Would you like for me to help you put it on?” Nobara asks, mistaking your shock for difficulty. And yet, you don’t correct her - body moving before your mind to simply nod.

There was only one clasp on the chain - leaving you to worry about the fit. But when it was hooked around your neck, you found that it fit you so perfectly. Like it was tailored to you - and only you. Why was it so perfect?

Why did it capture the exact color you’d been chasing after your whole life - since before you’d even formed memories? Since you were nothing but a surly, teary-eyed little girl that was crying about the dark, babbling about that “blue flash” that no one else ever seemed to see.

“If that will be all, your highness. I will take my leave.” With a nod and a low bow, you’re left all by yourself in your sprawling chambers. Wondering, somewhat in amusement, whether you’d be let off this marriage pact if all the other suitors suddenly left as well. Hell, maybe you could marry whoever got you this necklace since they apparently know you so well.

And you swear - maybe it was the fatigue from trekking last night, maybe it was the stress from the past month - but you swear the wind picks up in its chilly bite. Howling just low enough that it sounds like a deep, taunting cackle.

The necklace doesn’t leave its palace around your neck for the next few days. You still didn’t know who’d gifted it to you - right inside your chambers for god’s sake - and if either of the two suitors remaining knew, they didn’t make any indication of it either.

Three, technically, but it seemed that the more the days passed, the less you saw of the mysterious king of the Northern kingdom.

While Sukuna and Naoya had taken it upon themselves to woo you by joining you in your daily activities, he hadn’t even shown his face to you yet. You were sure your father would’ve had him humiliated and thrown out of the palace already if he wasn’t afraid for his life.

But you didn’t mind, because you saw enough of Satoru to make up for King Gojo and Kashimo. The man seemed well and fully intent to stick by your side, talking yourselves well into the night.

It was on a night like this - sprawled out along the plush armchairs in the very library you’d met, only a few days after Kashimo’s departure - you asked, “Satoru, what color are your eyes?”

That makes him pause in the middle of his extremely animated story about how he’d caught Earl Yaga in the middle of an artistic dance routine. The baritone of his voice cracking so uncharacteristically as he responds with, “Wh-why do you ask, princess?”

“Because.” you roll your eyes. “In four days m’gonna be marrying, and it might just be your king. Yet, I don’t even know his attendant’s eye color - what type of good queen would I be then?”

You knew it was a flimsy excuse, truthfully you just wanted to see Satoru. All of Satoru.

“Not many have wanted to look into my eyes”

You tilt your head, “How come?”

“Well, I can assure you that they aren’t half as alluring as yours.” Satoru pushes back your tiara ever-so-slightly to reveal your face to him better, fingers dancing down to fiddle with your pendant. “You’re a strange one, aren’t ya, flower?” he chuckles, face inching closer to yours - and for a moment, you think he might do something else. “Tell me, how are the wedding preparations going?”

Ah, right - the wedding preparations. Your wedding preparations, to someone else.

Did you want him to do something else?

“W-well-” you pull back from his hypnotic presence. Heart lurching, necklace burning cold into your skin. “Sukuna keeps trying to teach me his very particular diet, I swear I’ve spent much more time with Uraume learning it than with him- they’re a sweetheart though, I can’t complain.” Eyes trying to avoid the intensity of his gaze, “Oh- and Naoya still talks about his weaponry, however, I think his Zenin elders had a word with him because he asked to meet me in the gardens tomorrow evening to actually get to know me for once.”

You brave to take a look at Satoru at the end of his spiel - only to be met with a face you never thought you’d see. His mouth a tight gash, jaw ticking, and you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

Terrifying. Magnetic.

Powerful.

The library was always cold - but you fail to suppress a shiver at the sudden grip in the air. “S-Satoru?”

And suddenly, at the mere sound of your voice, everything clicks back to normalcy. You’re staring that familiar grin painted onto his face again, musing slyly, “How much d’you wanna bet he’ll ask about your weaponry instead?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It’s only much, much later at night when you’re forced to retire early - Satoru slipping past the library earlier than usual with groans of his “attendant duties” that you realize - he didn’t answer your question.

---

“P-princess, will you be alright going alone? I don’t think-”

“It’ll be alright, Ichiji, I’m just meeting Lord Naoya.” you wave off the stammering man. Tugging your velvety coat snugly around your body, “Honestly, you act like I haven’t been out in the gardens alone before.”

And it was true, since returning from his little meeting with the Kashimo court, your jumpy attendant seemed even more so - and you didn’t even know that was even impossible. Always peeking cautiously behind corners of the winding hallways, always hovering close by you even when his duty didn’t require it.

He’d told you - in that quiet, shaky voice of his - that Kashimo was well, and headed straight for his kingdom to fulfill emergency duties. To which you’d accepted - you understood the gravity of responsibility, after all.

“But- but, your highness!” he gasps, pulling you out of your little reverie. “I don’t think- with the way he-”

A spine-chilling breeze rustles the nearby tree, sending shivers down your spine. Howling in your ears. You squint your eyes against the cold, “Sorry, what was that, Ichiji?”

But the man in front doesn’t speak - fuck, you didn’t even know if he was breathing. Face a sickly pallor, mouth gaping open and shut like he wanted to say something - he needed to say something. Yet, he wasn’t even looking at you, wide eyes locked on something over your shoulder.

“Are you-” Your body holds you back, feeling two burning eyes on you - and you have to force yourself to look over your shoulder. Only to see- nothing? “-are you alright?”

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you’re turning back to face your attendant - only to see him sprinting back down the entrance as fast as his knobbly legs could carry him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” you call, hoping it echoed far enough to be heard.

Strange.

It’s all you can think about for the next half an hour you’re seated on that dainty, painted bench in the middle of the palace gardens, waiting for your potential future husband. And for the next hour. And the next.

It’s by the time the sun has fully set, when twinkling stars are dotting the night sky that you settle with the conclusion that yes, it seems that Naoya has already made his decision about the marriage. And no it doesn’t end with a wedding.

“Dammit.” you spit, running a hand through the hair you had Nobara fuss about with. “S’not like I wanted to marry you anyway, bastard.”

And you didn’t - you really didn’t. Whenever you dared to imagine walking down that decorated aisle, Naoya was the last person you saw.

But seated alone and abandoned, trying to cover yourself from the biting chill of the night, you never felt more like an unworthy heir. Fuck, if no one wanted to marry you how would you even dare to think of taking over the throne?

Maybe you should just-

“We have got to stop meeting like this, flower. S’like you’re haunting me.”

“Satoru!” you gasp, throwing yourself into his embrace. You’re reaching up to loop two arms around his neck, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. That asshole had the audacity to stand me up.” Pulling back so your face ghosts his, “I got all dolled up just for him to leave me like this. As if I wanted to be with him, I was just trying to be a good- a good h-host and-”

Suddenly, you’re struck with the realization of how close you two actually are. You could count every crease on his blindfold, pinpoint exactly where every dimple at the corner of his grin was.

Your hands slide their way down to his sculpted chest, pushing slightly. “-I apologize, this was forward of me.”

But his arms only tighten around your waist - when did they even get there? Large and steady, pulling you back to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, your racing pulse. “Stay.” he groans, and he sounds slightly out-of-breath, heavy exhales tickling your ear.

“We can’t be caught like this, Satoru.” you breathe, but that familiar little tug has you shuffling closer. Breathing in that familiar metallic sweet scent you’ve grown to love, “I- I’m getting-” Bile creeps up at the back of your throat, and you laugh bitterly. “I think I’m getting married in three days, y’know? To Lord Sukuna, I assume, since two of my suitors ah- ran away and the other refuses to even see my face.”

His thick fingers dig deeper into the extravagant corset at your waist, “I know. Fuck- don’t I know.”

It’s a steady beat of silence, so still. So tense you could hear every stuttering heartbeat of yours, and strangely enough, you had the nagging feeling that he could, too.

“You could just marry me.” Satoru’s abrupt confession breaks the silence, and you find yourself sinking deeper into his soft coat. Wrapping yourself up in his heady presence. “Be my queen. You wouldn’t have to worry about duties or elders or- or vampires.”

And the night was still. So still.

Despite the way your heart races, eyes blinking up in disbelief, you find it in yourself to deadpan, “F-funny. Do I have to give you my soul for that as well?” Oh, some stupid little part of you think you might just have.

And you’d expected Satoru to crack a laugh, to give you a teasing smile while he carried on that little inside joke between the two of you. You’d expected him to no sooner shove you off and talk about it being late. Hell, a part of you even expected this to be some elaborate set-up from the elders to get you caught in such a compromising position with the no-longer stranger from the Northern kingdom.

But, no. It’s anything but that - everything but that.

Because the taller man only rasps, nose-to-nose now, “No.” Sounding like his sanity was slipping away from him with every breath, fingers making their dance down to twirl your sapphire pendant between them. “I’d give you mine.”

You can feel his breath fanning your cheeks, head dipping slowly - so torturously slowly. As if he was giving you ample opportunity to run away if you wanted to. But you don’t think you could move for the life of you.

Instead, you’re dipping closer, gliding the tip of your thumb over his defined cheekbone. Mere millimeters away - just one push. Another hand of yours steadies at the back of his neck, feeling those snowing locks under your fingers.

One.

Your thumb dips just under the seam of his blindfold - unwillingly.

“Your highness.” Satoru’s voice is cold, his fingers lacing with your own even colder. Something eerie. And even with the delicate touch you could feel the power thrumming through Satoru’s body. “This is for you.”

You can only stand there in shocked silence as the moment shatters, and he produces a wild rose as if out of thin air. “Consider it from King Gojo.” Touch searing against yours when he hands it to you, you feel drunk off of him “Perhaps the night is late now.”

Right. The king.

When you’re walking back in the directions of the palace’s warm lights, you don’t think you’ve ever felt safer. Strangely enough.

“Satoru.”

“Yes?”

“I’m onto you.”

“You’re onto me.” he’s tucking the bloom over your ear. Before stepping back into the inky pool of shadows beside the entrance you came from. “Sweet dreams, flower.”

That night, when you tuck yourself into bed, you swear you hear a faint whisper of those same three words lulling you to sleep. Over and over.

Sweet.

Dreams.

Flower.

---

Floral preservation was one of the lessons you’d been forced to attend growing up in the palace, but even you didn’t know how that wild rose Satoru gifted you hadn’t wilted yet.

It remained as fresh and prim as the night it was picked, bluish pink petals never fading. You didn’t keep it safely in a bowl of water amongst the other plants and flowers in your bedroom. Somehow, never out of place, always tucked safely behind your ear in the days that followed. Perhaps it was improper to keep it on you even when you were being fitted into an engagement gown to be promised off to another man. But Satoru didn’t complain, and you didn’t either.

With Kashimo departing for his kingdom early, and Naoya apparently following in his footsteps due to “irrevocable differences”, it was now almost confirmed that the future king was to be Lord Sukuna. Not like King Gojo had made any effort to reach out - and Satoru hadn’t mentioned it either.

Satoru.

Things were…the same after that night, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

It must be done, you sigh, wincing at the pinch of the flowing white dress being suited onto you by the bustling tailor. At least it could be worse, even if you’d rather…

“Honestly, young people these days.” Yaga speaks up from where he was fussing with the silken hem of your gown for tomorrow. “I heard of that Naoya brat leaving out of nowhere, princess. My condolences.”

“Ah-” you startle, not expecting to be addressed. “It’s not your fault, we likely didn’t mesh all that well. I just wish he left a note- Honestly, I’m lucky to even have a suitor left after these six days.”

Another grimace leaves you when you feel another tweak of pins pricking at your skin. The other man hums lowly, “Don’t say that, anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyway-” He gets up from his position kneeling, towering over you to admire his own work. “How do you like it, your highness?”

You let out a gasp when you face the floor-length mirror, “Oh my god, it’s perfect.” The dress was regal, decadent. With flowing tresses resembling a petals, and gilded gold and blue weaved into the fabric.

Blue.

“I fashioned it after that necklace and flower of yours.” You unwittingly reach for that familiar pendant, “I ah- forgive the assumption, but I assumed you would be wearing them both at the betrothal ceremony tomorrow, princess?”

Taking another long look in the mirror, you nod, “Yeah. I will.”

---

“I knew it.” he laughs shrilly. “I fuckin’ knew there was something wrong with you. As soon as I saw you butterin’ the princess up in the library, I knew you were a fuckin’ freak.”

The other man only responds with ominous silence, letting labored breathing cut through the bone-chilling air. Clearly unsatisfied, “What? Not gonna talk now? Aren’t ya just in it for the crown like me? Have the bitch, just give me the crown.” Goading now, “I bet you’re not even an attendant are ya- I know what you are-”

His words are cut off with another choked-up gasp, followed shortly by a strained growl. “I know- what you are-”

Red stains the marble floor - a problem for later.

“I know, King Gojo.” And it’s the last thing he sees. “And you’ll reap what you sow, she’ll never love you.”

Blue.

“You’ve haunted me too long, flower.”

“Satoru–!” you scream, throwing your soft bed sheets off your body.

It was burning - you were burning, gasping for the cold lungfuls of air that filled your empty bedroom. Mind bleary, distantly, you register that it’s around daybreak - tiny fingers of golden sunlight just barely dipping through your window - your open window.

Hastily, you’re tumbling out of bed to slam it shut. Heart still pounding when you take in the mess of flower petals from those congratulatory bouquets you’d gotten. Ruined. Only the stems left in the vases after that sudden, chilling wind.

“What-” Your eyes dart around to look over your dresser, where you always kept Satoru’s wild rose. And a shiver creeps down your spine when you realize it lay snug tucked behind your ear, safe and sound. Exactly where you didn’t keep it. “-happened?”

You couldn’t settle back into bed after that - couldn’t even think about it. So you find yourself reaching for your wardrobe of dresses, running your fingers along the intricate gown made for your engagement ball tonight. Your engagement to Sukuna.

If this was the nightmare, and tonight was to be the dream - why did your stomach turn so?

---

It was difficult convincing Nobara to let you keep the wild rose on after getting ready.

“But that’s so last season.” she bemoans. “No offense, your highness, but even old lady Ogami wouldn’t be caught dead wearing flowers in her hair these days.”

You’re giving her your best puppy dog eyes, “Please, Nobara?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you raid my exclusive wardrobe the next time you want to play dress-up?”

“...”

Which was how you found yourself shoved into a dress that was way too gorgeously palatial, barely even having the time to admire the lush gold and blue decorations around the sparkling ballroom before you were being ushered next to your father on his throne.

You fiddle with your ringed fingers, feeling more and more like a lamb sent to slaughter - a very opulent slaughter - with each step.

“I am so proud of you for this week, and you look absolutely divine, my love.” your father whispers into your ear once you’re up on the crushed velvet platform. “I hear from Ichiji that you know, I apologize we couldn’t go through with this marriage under better circumstances.”

You shake your head, giving him a calm smile - you’d already forgiven him, sometimes there was duty far greater than any man.

“My people, as promised, we are gathered once more to celebrate the joining of two hands - and two kingdoms.” The king projects his voice out to the eager crowd, “Together, these two young loves will face their duty. They will face the dangers. They will face our future.”

The thought had you clenching your fist into the soft fabric of your gown, looking down at your feet in a bow.

“As I did with my father before me - God rest his soul - the future king and queen will oversee their responsibilities to protect our people from those treacherous vampires. The elders-” he stops short, eyes widening at the empty seats on the balcony - where the table of elders always sat. Abandoned. Chilling. “...have decreed, in accordance with our princess, to introduce my daughter to you all as our future queen-”

Your father gestures a hand your way, and you step forwards to cheers, still not daring to look up. And all you could see were two, gold-toed boots stepping into your field of vision.

“-and our future king!”

“Look up, flower, this is the best part.”

Gasping, you raise your head - Satoru.

“Y-you?”

He smiles that pearly smile at you, one that makes your knees weaken, “Me.” Before leaning down conspiratorially, “Better get moving now, the king just declared that the big bad Northern king and the precious princess will have their first dance as a couple.”

It felt like you were moving through a dream as you slip your hand into his, flinching at the feeling of his cold lips meeting the back of your hand.

The crowd of whispering nobles part to make a path for the two of you, and Satoru is so gentle when he leads you into the middle of the dance floor. Weightless on his feet, swiftly placing a burning hand on your waist - just below where the elders would consider proper.

The other intertwining with yours, you barely even register the slow, romantic tune playing from the orchestra.

“I bet you have questions.” he whispers, breath fanning your cheeks.

You take in his tall figure, the rows of medals, gleaming only half as bright as the smile that makes its way onto your face. Hissing, “That doesn’t cover the half of it, King Gojo.”

“I-I apologize. I can’t apologize enough but-”

“Though, I did have a nagging feeling about the fifth time you talked yourself up.” you smirk.

Satoru throws his head back in a loud cackle, echoing through the hushed crowds - no doubt gossiping about this being the Northern king, that fearful beast that ruled over the Gojo family. “I know.” His hand comes up momentarily to brush over your sapphire necklace, “And I’ll spend our entire lives making it up to you, flower.”

Goosebumps dance down your arm, your spine, right down to where Satoru held a firm grip on your hip. You two waltz around the edge of the dance floor, perfectly in time. Through the crowd of grumbling lords, the orchestra, past the table of foods.

“And exactly how long would the rest of our lives be, Satoru?”

Slowing right in front of that huge, reflective wall.

You couldn’t see his eyes, but his biting gaze was all you could feel.

Lingering on the blue pendant nestled at your chest, the everlasting wild rose tucked behind your ear, the mirror to your right - where the twin image of you shone. Powerful, gorgeous, everything that a monster like him could never have because he wasn’t standing there right next to you. His kind never could.

In the back of your mind, you registered collective gasps sounding all around you - the rest of the ball attendees that’d also taken note of the lack of Satoru’s reflection. But your eyes stay locked on him.

A thumb hooks under his blindfold, and he grimaces. “You really were onto me, huh, flower?”

Tugging.

Your fingers tighten around his, unable to let the most fearsome of creatures escape from your grasp. “You must’ve been onto me, too, Satoru.”

Pulling.

All you see is a flash of a regal nose bridge, and the flutter of thick white lashes - before every single chandelier in the ballroom snuffs out at once. Cloaking the room in unnatural darkness, it sends every single knight and noble into a frenzy.

And then, he opens his eyes.

“IT’S HIM-”

“A body! A BODY FOUND IN THE ROYAL GUEST SUITE–

“VAMPIRE! STAY BACK-“

Oh, it’s blue.

That crystal blue.

And then it’s black.

---

SLAM!

“If you must kill me.” Satoru’s voice sounds from somewhere above you. You blink away the darkness, feeling your bleary gaze try and adjust to that unfamiliar high ceiling, the outlines of hauntingly beautiful paintings on it. His ragged breaths cut through your thoughts once more, hastily folding your hand to grip your pendant. “If you must kill me, then I prefer you do it with your own hands, princess.”

You can’t tell whose hand is trembling more - yours or his. Distantly, you realize you’re being pushed up against a luxuriously padded wall, one you’d never seen before in your life.

Where were you?

“The Gojo palace- Please-” he reads your mind, voice breaking at the end of his plea. Gasping - and you can discern two elongated teeth at his canines. Fangs, you realize with a shiver. “You may leave if you want to, you may kill me for what I’ve done. My life is in your hands.”

“Satoru.” you soothe in a hushed voice, despite the way your head was reeling. The Gojo palace? “I won’t kill you.”

“But-”

“Satoru, what does this necklace mean?” You beg, and at this point, you’re not surprised that the necklace is from him - because it was an exact replica of the two burning eyes staring back at you. The only source of light right now, glowing a blue you’d finally found after a lifetime. “Why did you-” you gulp, heart lurching. “Why did you hand me your…life?”

Soft lips play right over your rapid pulse, murmuring into your skin, “S’my soul.” A long, pale index of his plays with the pendant. “The only part of my soul that’s living, gilded into a necklace to be kept in the safest place I know. You.”

“But-” you cry out, trying to get another look at his eyes - but your fiancé only kisses deeper at your neck. Nibbling at the thundering beat just below. “But why did you give it to me?”

“Who else would I give it to, if not for my mate?”

Mates - there were a thousand and one books and official documents detailing everything from a vampire’s killing pattern to the aphrodisiac toxins found in their blood. But the research on a vampire’s mate was far and few between.

Perhaps owing to the lack of willing mates that can come out without persecution, or perhaps due to the vampires’ intense rumored mating rituals. But it didn’t go without its own gossip, you were no stranger to the ladies of the court tittering about how morbidly “romantic” it was that mates were akin to soulmates - how it was an invisible string connecting two people to share a life, a soul.

A vampire’s one and only mate.

Satoru was pinning you harder to the wall now, his pink tongue darting out to lick over your pulse. The fingers holding onto the necklace were now tilting your chin up at him, “Speak to me, flower.”

“I’m your mate?” you whimper, your lips ghosting over his. Already knowing the answer, but fuck you needed to hear it from him. “What does that mean exactly?”

He lets out a pained grunt, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It means you’re the other half of my soul. My only one, I was born for you.” Pressing a chaste peck on there - and you swear you could feel the nip of two sharp canines against your skin. “The one I’ll fight heaven and hell for, until the very last beat of my cold, dead heart.” Your fingers curl at his shoulders when his mouth moves to the shell of your ear. “The one I’ll kill for, take out every measly scum that thinks they can get with my mate.”

He huffs out a burst of cold laughter when your breath hitches, probably reading over the thoughts running through your mind - Satoru killed them. The guards, Kashimo, Naoya- fuck, maybe even Sukuna. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them.

You shiver, “A-and all the wind? The whispers? I thought it was just you these past week b-but- All my life, that was you?”

You know. You knew.

Another kiss - this time to the corner of your eye, and Satoru licks a long, content stripe up the big fat tears unwillingly welling up behind your eyes. He groans at the salty taste of you, taking in a long, drawn-out breath. “Yes.”

All it takes is that single word for your entire body to collapse, thankfully onto an awaiting Satoru. He holds your entire body weight with one hand around your waist, the other coming up to swipe his thumb under those tears rolling down your cheeks now.

He kisses your cheek, “All your life.” The corner of your lips, “And all of mine.”

Run away run away run away run away-

But you can’t - you don’t want to.

Your lips wobble when he nuzzles down your face, leaving a trail of hot kisses with his cold, cold mouth. “As soon as I learned to use my powers - was just a brat you see - I just had to see my mate. To smell her scent.” He’s inhaling deeply again, hands groping over your engagement gown. “Lo and behold, there was you. A cute lil’ princess around my age, tuckered out and fast asleep.” Lingering at your jaw, the hand tight around your waist pulls you painfully closer. Satoru’s knee wedging itself between your trembling thighs, “Imagine my surprise when she took one look at me and cried. Scared me enough to teleport outta there as soon as you opened that smart mouth, flower.”

And the thought of Satoru - tiny and determined - teleporting halfway across the land only to be yelled at by you has you huffing out a shock of laughter.

“So when I heard through the grapevine about your potential engagement, fuck- I couldn’t have ran out of this palace faster. Was so excited I fuckin’ forgot to teleport, too. Even if you were afraid of the ‘cruel Northern king.’”

Fuck - that’s right. He must’ve heard your thoughts that time you met him in the library.

Satoru’s tone drops to a low simper, so close now that you could feel every slight curve of his grin. Every twitch of his fingers sweeping up and down your exposed skin, feeling the delicious thrum of your veins. He could bite you right now - easily. “And luckily, as I grew up, so did my ability to blend in with the darkness.” Eyes boring into yours, something so vulnerable in them now. “But you found me, you always did.”

“Satoru.” you angle your head upwards. “Kiss me.”

And how could he ever deny you?

You wince at the slight pinch of Satoru’s teeth - his fangs - as he crashes his lips into yours in a greedy kiss. Sliding his tongue over to taste those candied lips he’s been dreaming of for years.

“Fuck-” he breathes out through his nose, jaw sagging open further to kiss you deeper. “Fuck, princess.”

Strong arms pin you harder against the wall, and you’re blindly reaching out to reciprocate even a fraction of Satoru’s neediness. Just dragging your hips up and down his muscled thighs. Sinful.

Shit, it was so endearing to him seeing you struggle to touch him this way. And with a flick of a wrist, the candle chandeliers hung high above your heads are lighting up at once. “S’that better, flower?”

It takes every bit of will in you to manage to pull away, yet the thought of seeing Satoru - of really seeing Satoru is what spurs you to break the kiss. Delicate strings of saturated spit snapping in the non-existent air between you two, you take a long look at your new husband.

Fuck, he was so pretty.

You always knew he was.

But even with his face tilted downwards, within the soft light tinting those snowy strands a sunset yellow - you could make out the pretty pink flush all the way from his glossy, ravaged lips, up, up, up to his delicate cheeks - he looked like the last thing from a monster.

“No you’re pretty.” he hums, and you’re still not used to him reading your mind. Head nodding downwards, “Just look, grinding on my thigh like such a slut.”

What met you was a dark pool of slick saturating his trousers, just peeking out over the hem of your dress. It makes you give another lingering, experimental grind.

“Satoru—” you’re letting out a honeyed drag of his name, reveling in the way it makes him swallow heavily. “You can hear my thoughts, right?” Look at me.

Slowly - but surely - familiar blue meets yours. Half-lidded, pupils blown, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said there were tiny sparks of lightning at the corners of his long white lashes.

You’ve been haunting me my whole life, Toru.

And it was an accident - it really was, your freshly kissed brain too hazy to slur out Satoru’s full name. But the impromptu little nickname has him dragging forwards like he was magnetized.

A low growl escaping when he’s kissing you again. And again. And again and again and-

“Say it-” Two hands are tugging at those tedious ribbons tying your decadent gown together. Pulling. “Say it again f’me.” Ripping.

The more his lips are assaulting yours, the more the dress slips further and further down your shoulders. Tattered. The soft satin leaving goosebumps down your spine as it reveals your neckline - all that skin for him to ruin. To mark.

“Oh-” you’re squealing when one of Satoru’s fangs prick a bit too hard at your lip. Feeling a hot flow of crimson bleed out, the feeling has you so weak. So drunk. “Quite eager, aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.” he groans again. Soft tongue moving from swirling around your own to lazily pool your blood on it. And you can’t imagine what about the metallic taste would be so euphoric, but he’s letting out his loudest drag of your name yet. Eyes rolling to the back of his head like he’s just tasted a personal slice of heaven. “Fuck- fuck you have no idea.”

You moan into the kiss when he bites down again on your already-bruised lower lip, “I’ve always wanted to do this-” Slow, slow hands kneading up your waist, at a dizzying tempo matching his mouth down your jaw, your neck. Hips bucking, you feel the outline of something so hard between his legs. “-to kiss you. To-” Tethering on the sensitive area of your pulse, “-bite.”

In a split-second, you’re sinking down into plush silk sheets, swallowing you whole in a king-sized bed you didn’t even realize was in the room before.

“S-Satoru, did you teleport us again?” you gasp, eyes adjusting to the intricate paintings on the ceiling that you hadn’t gotten to admire before. Of white-haired youths and roses, of cold, dark palaces and- and you.

You - when you were younger, sleeping peacefully while a little boy watches intrigued from the corner. You - passed out in the library after a long night of reading, two pale hands wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You - your brows furrowed, head cocked while you pushed past nobles to search for that flash of his blue. You, you, you.

You.

“I can hear the gears in that pretty head turning.” Satoru grins, still kissing you in a languid graze of lips. “And as much as I love it when you hah- admire my lonely paintings, I’d rather you pay attention to-” A low groan curdles at the back of his throat when he’s grinding his massive clothed erection against the syrupy spot at your core. “-me.”

There’s a dark little huff of laughter and with one last bite at the side of your neck, Satoru’s unapologetically tearing right through the middle of your gown.

And you know it’s made with the finest fabrics the country has to offer, you know that no normal man should be able to even rip a tiny shred through your dress - but Satoru is no ordinary man.

Your spike of disappointment is quickly overshadowed by cold breath hovering over your exposed tits. “Oh, so perfect f’me.” he’s groaning, deep and primal. Biting down on your hardened nipple, “Ya think those uptight elders your court has- ah, had would appreciate me desecrating their precious princess before marriage?”

Through gasps, you peek down at his wicked tongue, swirling around the sensitive spots of your areola. “Who- who gives a shit.”

“So feisty.” The peaks of your tits are left coated in him as Satoru pulls away. “So addictive.” Pinching your soft flesh between his teeth - just hard enough that you worry he’s out to draw blood again. “So- so-”

Words are failing Satoru’s sharp mouth as he kisses his way down your body. The valley of your chest, your stomach, your hips.

Down, down, down-

“Fuck, Satoru-” you’re hissing when he easily pulls the pathetic remains of your dress off and onto the floor. The rest of your inner skirts easily following afterwards. “Are you gonna…”

“M’afraid not.” he licks sloppy circles at the skin of your thighs. Tasting, nipping, leaving little marks with his fangs for later. Sloppily soothing his tongue over the tiny droplets of blood beading from the bites, he murmurs stubbornly, “Not until you address me correctly.”

Hesitantly, you reach out a limp hand to thread through his dampening white tresses. Tugging softly to lock those devouring blue eyes with yours, “Please, Toru?”

You get absolutely no warning when he kisses right through that flimsy excuse of your drenched panties to slide his tongue up and down your sopping wet slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you moan when he’s just dipping the very tip barely past your puffy folds. The fabric of your underwear still sticking to you, “Stop being such a tease, goddammit ngh-”

“Why?” Of course, he toys with your patience even now, addicted to those needy whines falling from your lips. “I jus’ wanna play with my princess’s pretty pussy. What am I getting out of it?”

You smirk, not even having to move your pretty mouth to know you had him in the palm of your hand already. I’d be your mate for life.

It’s all you can do to watch with satisfaction as the great Gojo Satoru gasps - gasps. Slick-glossed lips falling into a soft oh! Hazy eyes widening almost-comically, and at full heady attention while he takes a few seconds to mull over your words.

RIP!

In an instant, your soaked underwear is ripped clean off to bare your dripping cunt for him, wrapped tightly around Satoru’s fingers and disappearing down below to where your imagination couldn’t handle.

“Oh, such a pretty pussy.” he coos, thumbing apart your puffy folds to admire your lewdly winking cunt. Glistening and so so needy, you jolt when he bullies two long fingers past your sloppy entrance. With your greedy hole swallowing every slender inch of Satoru’s fingers easily, “So needy too. This all f’me?”

As if to prove his point, his pink lips wrap around your throbbing clit, grinding his tongue over the ravaged tip. The harsh texture of his tastebuds rolling over every inch of you he could reach.

“Y-yes-” you squeal, hips bucking down mindlessly to try and match his relentless tempo. “S’only for you.”

“Tha’s what I love to hear-” Satoru’s cheeks hollow when he sucks on your sensitive little nub - hard. “Sweeter than I even imagined, shit-”

Every pump of his merciless fingers in and out of your cunt drags along your gummy walls. Deftly curling to prey at those hidden sweet spots of yours he just knew would wrench out such throaty moans from you - and fuck, Satoru thinks- no, he knows that the sound is is favorite song.

“You’re makin’ me- hah making me fall in love all over again.” he gruffs out into your cunt. The pads of his fingers pressing into the cushiony ends of your pussy. “Because look how messy you are- how loud.”

You didn’t know if he had mind-control powers on top of mind-reading, because it’s as if you’re on auto-pilot when your lolling head is whirling down to look at the absolute sin made of you below. Satoru - running his mouth a mile a minute to send white-hot vibrations along your clit. His milky fingers buried knuckle-deep to stretch out your poor cunt. Your sweet sweet juices drooling all over them in such an obscene sheen down his palm, his wrist.

He whines, “Makin’ me wanna-” You jolt when he’s biting down so dangerously around your clit. “Wanna-”

Satoru doesn’t end up finishing his sentence - and he doesn’t have to.

Because he’s pausing his make-out with your clit to spit once. Twice. A thick thumb swiping at the intentional splatter of saliva marking your skin, before surging forwards even deeper - you didn’t even think that was possible. But Satoru has the tip of his nose rubbing methodical circles against your clit, jaw grinding at the base of your pussy, tongue flattening out your pussy lips.

Messy. Harsh.

“Oh- oh my god, Toru-” you’re keening at the feeling of his wet muscle trying to squeeze in past the fingers still continuing their assault on your entrance. “It- it won’t fit–”

“Shhh shhh, s’okay, princess.” he hushes, letting another round glob of spit wet your clingy pussy. “You can take it. You will - otherwise how are you gonna take your husband, hm?”

That little comment has connotations that make your plushy walls clamp down vice-like around his fingers - his tongue. And you’re angling your head just right, blinking away the lustful haze in your eyes to spy down at the rapid, jerky movements of his other hand. Devouring gaze dropping down to-

Oh.

Oh fuck.

It was difficult to even look at the sight below - your panties, soaked and completely see-through with slick and precum, wrapped prettily around what you could make out to be Satoru’s aching cock. Standing proud, twitching wildly with every drag of his fist up and down his glistening length.

“Fuck-” he groans, taking the opportunity to devilishly slip his tongue past your feeble entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- y’like this, huh?” Drawled out little praises now muffled as he fucks you on his tongue the way he wished he could with his cock. In and out in and out in and out. Pulling back to eye your gaping hole, “I can feel y’getting wetter for me is it because-” Before surging back forwards, as if he’s addicted. “Because-” Again.“Fuck don’t clench around me that way. Was hard enough trying not to fuck you stupid right there in the middle of the ballroom.”

You whine, tears flowing down freely at the sheer pleasure at this point. “Y-you-” you gasp, your five fingers splaying out over Satoru’s head. Pushing even harsher, “You hngh- talk too much- m’so close-”

Partially because you really needed those pretty lips back at your heated core, partially because every word tumbling from his mouth had you throbbing embarrassingly, your slick spreading a glossy sheen on the sheets underneath you.

“Oh yeah? Heh, anything for you, flower.” Satoru grins such a sly, sultry grin and you feel it against one set of your swollen lips. “Absolutely anything.”

In and out in and out. He has his brows furrowed now, concentrated on having every flick and divot of movement pushing you closer and closer towards the edge. Faster. Sloppier. You have half the mind to wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether Satoru’s tongue wasn’t cramping up from how fast he was going, whether his fingers weren’t tired already.

Out of the corner of your spotty vision, you can see those stuttering squeezes of Satoru’s hand speed up. Trying desperately to match each bullying push of his tongue and his fingers into your overstuffed pussy.

The thought makes you whine, “Oh my god- Toru, m’gonna cum.” And shit, at this point it’s too much. You couldn’t think - you couldn’t even breathe. “M’so close please.” Barely able to even register anything but Satoru Satoru Satoru-

It’s why you don’t even realize at first when you’re finally cumming - Satoru does, though. He feels it in the way your heavenly walls are closing down on his fingers, clenching around him so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your orgasm. Waves of electric pleasure crashing into you and you think you’re drowning.

“Tha’s it.” he rasps. “Cum f’me like that, tha’s it- thaaat’s it, such a good lil’ wife- a perfect mate.”

The fingers stuffed deep inside your pussy are being pulled out in a flash - not letting you waste a moment of your heady high before he’s toying ravenously with your swollen clit. Pinching, and rolling between two soft fingers.

“O-oh fuck, m’-cumming? M’cumming m’cumming-” you moan deliriously, mind just now catching up. Your hips drag your sloppy pussy all over Satoru’s pretty face. Just drenching his noble features with your gushing mess. “Feels too ah- good, Toru.”

And he takes it like it’s everything he needs - everything he’s ever wanted.

Jaw falling slack to let your juices slide down his throat, tongue lolling out flick your spasming cunt through your high. Unstopping. Unwavering.

Even when your vision stops tingeing with black at the edges, even when you think you’re sane enough to form a coherent thought. Even when your climax is bating enough that every flick of Satoru’s tongue only sends almost painful thrums of pleasure down your spine.

“W-wait m’done-” you sob, tasting the salty stream of tears splashing down your face now. “S’too sensitive- ngh-”

When he doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon, you try again - this time thinking the embarrassing thought out loud. I…I really want you inside me now, Toru. Please?

And he pauses - jolting, as if some dark, primal part of him had just been called back to life. Tongue still hot on your cunt, fist still greedy around his rock-hard shaft.

“F-fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, flower.”

And before, you couldn’t get enough of those striking blue eyes, but now you couldn’t escape them.

With inhuman speed, he’s shuffling up the soaked sheets. “An absolute fuckin-” Slick-glossed lips meet yours, smearing along the combination of juices till the lower half of your face was as dripping wet as Satoru’s. “-minx, y’know that?”

“Wh-what can I say?” you tilt your head with a smirk, lips a bit too loose than you’d like - but it didn’t matter anyway, he was in your thoughts. Your mind. “I’m your mate, after all.”

He falls back onto his knees at that sinful little sentence of yours, throwing his head back in a guttural groan. “Fuck- you’re mine alright. See what you hah- do to me? See how this is all your fault?”

If Satoru expected an answer, then he doesn’t receive it. Because every snippy little retort on the tip of your tongue melts when you get a long, hard look at the angry shaft in his hand. So red and angry. Thick enough that you felt your cunt quiver already.

Delicate with prominent veins that glistened and throbbed down his long, long length with each slew of his vigorous fist. And his tip- fuck, blushed your favorite shade of weepy pink, slobbering a sheen of precum all down his wrist, his tufts of cloudy white.

And you realize with a jolt that he still had your panties wrapped around him - looking so tiny around Satoru’s massive cock.

Wordlessly, your hand replaces his.

“W-woah- fuck-” His toned waist flexes with the effort to fuck up into the soft cushion of your palm. “How the- ngh how the fuck does your fuckin’ hand feel this good?”

“You’re so big- fuck, don’t know how I’d- Wait you never imagined this?” you bat your eyes up with faux innocence. A thumb gliding over that deep divot on the very tip of his fat head. “Because I sure have, Toru.”

Satoru’s heavy balls smack against your arm when he shuffles down his pants even further, now fully letting you go ahead with your agonizing torture. “Shit-” he yelps, eyes screwing shut at the image. “Don’t- don’t say that, holy shit.”

You toy with your scrap of panties, massaging every ridge and curve with it. Just dragging your hand up and down. “Would you rather I think it instead?”

Within milliseconds, two sharp fangs are poised right above your rapid pulse, a hand around your throat. “No- no no no no-” Satoru gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his rope. And it takes him a few blinks to realize his position, immediately moving his lips up to nip at your jaw. “Fuckin’ no.” Hard enough that another red pearl of blood drips out, instantly being sucked up greedily by your fiancé. “Gonna make me lose it before I-I ngh-”

With a pained growl, he suddenly has you sitting so prettily on his muscular lap. Your legs splayed out like such a slut, needy cunt slobbering all over where you were sat right on his demanding erection.

By the time you’re realizing your helpless position, it’s too late - and Satoru’s already shrugging off the rest of his pants. Buttons hitting the floor when he just tears his flowing dress shirt off.

“Sh-show off.” you breathe, hands mapping out every dip and curve of the plane of defined muscles displayed before you. So mouthwatering.

“Can tell that you- ngh think m’mouthwatering, flower.” he grins. One hand kneading and groping the flesh of your ass to steady your drooling cunt to kiss at his thick tip. The other keeping one of your palms stuck to his washboard abs, up, up, up to press at his sculpted left pec. “N’ I know m’heart’s not beating, but I’m much the same. Very- much the- same.”

And Satoru’s spent years waiting, yearning - so he doesn’t waste even a second more when stuffing his cock inside your snug cunt.

“O-oh. Satoru- Satoru please oh-”

The stretch - fuck, the stretch. The stretch is so much that it feels like you’re being split apart. Just the bare tip of his fat cock being bullied in short, determined half-thrusts.

And it takes only one, lucky collision into the bullseye of your g-spot and you’re already falling apart.

“Wait- wait wait wait m’gonna-” you gasp, your nails running down his broad, milky back in jagged red lines when you’re cumming once more. Toes curling, hips convulsing wildly on top of a smug Satoru. “Oh my god, ngh- what’ve you done to me, Toru?”

“Now, let me ngh- let me tell you a little secret, hah- princess.” His hand comes up to cup your jaw, gifting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. “The best thing about mates?” Sharp fangs catch onto your delicate skin, “They feel sex on a whole other level.”

And then he’s bringing down both hands to spread apart the globes of your ass. Your puffy folds are stretched to their limits when he thrusts up once. Muscled thighs flexing underneath yours. Harsh.

Ignoring your pleading keens and the slight resistance at the intrusion of his intimidating size, “Hold on, princess- hold- fuuuuck.” Lips latch onto yours, drinking up every heady whine when your poor cunt is being fed every inch by fucking inch. “You’re taking me so well.”

And that you were - your pussy lips bulging and struggling to accommodate Satoru’s monstrous size, but still taking him in so greedily.

“There we go.” he grunts out, punctuated with heavy rams of hips. Up, up, up until you could feel Satoru’s sobbing tip graze against your cervix - your lungs. “Theeere we fuckin’-” Pushing and pushing until there was no more, until your neglected clit was scratching against his snowy pubic hair. Ass coming to rest at his twitching balls. “-go.”

“You’re in so deep-” you’re blabbering, cockdrunk already. The last few dredges of your high still not wearing off, it takes you a few seconds of Satoru still trying to squeeze his cock even deeper to manage to raise a hand about midway up your stomach. Feeling for that vertical bulge that was him, “-can feel you right here.”

“Oh yeah?”

And like he was testing your theory, Satoru fucks up into your gummy hole in another bullying slam. Watching in wonder at the way that little divot in your stomach crashes around the same spongy cervix he was.

“Fuck- you’re right.” he hisses. Addicted now. Immediately rocking into you with reeling, long rolls of his hips. “You’re so- fuckin’ right.”

You can’t find the energy in yourself to even yelp in surprise when Satoru immediately changes your positions so that you’re now laying fucked-out on the mattress. His domineering hips pinning you down to use you like some little cocksleeve.

“God-” he pants into your open mouth, tongue swirling with your weighty one. “God- fuck fuck fuck if heaven is real then this is it.” Each little profanity is decorated with a smoldering crash of his tip into your sweet spot. “You’re the heaven I don’t ngh- deserve, flower.”

That neat bitemark on your thigh is being jostled with the amount of ragged movement, and you wince with pain when it starts flowing again.

“Oh- oh.”

Satoru’s like a predator that has cornered his prey, and is spending hours tediously unraveling every single bit of you.

Sliding two smooth palms underneath your legs, they’re urgently thrown over his large shoulders to fold you down, down, down into the meanest mating press you think you could handle - handle without fucking breaking, that is.

“So good t’me.” he breathes, long tongue easily licking up that sweet nectar of your blood. “Y’know your cute lil’ brain s’too scrambled to even read right now.”

“H-how can I think when you’re ah! Like- like this, Toru?”

The sudden change in angle makes you scream. It makes you clamor for the headboard, the sheets, your husband when that obscenely perfect upwards curve of his dick is massaging every nook and cranny of your cunt.

“Yeah? Feels good? Now now- don’t run- away” he’s dragging you down those drenched sheets by the legs like some ragdoll, stuffing you more and more with his painful cock. Fucking you so relentless, like he was trying to worship every little hidden sweet spot inside your dripping cunt. “Say it- no no no, not in your head. Say it.”

And you do - a little over fifteen times when his thick hilt pecks your pussy lips over and over with each thrust when Satoru bottoms out, hitting all the way into the back of your cunt - your cervix, your g-spot - like he couldn’t decide which one to bruise more.

“S’too good-” you’re gasping. Your overstimulated pussy being molded like clay to the girthy shaft kissing down your cunt. Stretching out your elastic walls until you could almost feel them take shape to his swollen cock. Feel every sensitive spot inside you being overstimulated at once with every burning massage against them. “You’re fuckin’ me way too- too good- ngh- can’t even think.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

Dipping a thumb down to circle around your clit, white-hot pleasure shoots up your spine when he lets out a deep rumble, “Think I fell in love with you when I- fuck, right then and there when I first- hah saw you all those years back.” speeding up with the sloppy staccato of his rude cock. Satoru’s words slurring now, messed up and half-prepared like the accelerating half-thrusts being bestowed upon your ravaged cunt. Like he couldn’t bear to pull out completely. “The first time you saw me, you were so afraid. Look at you- fuck, jus’ look at you now, princess.”

Each word is like a brand onto your sticky skin, accompanied by harsh smacks of Satoru’s balls against your ass, his sharp hip bones digging into your thighs. Him.

“Toru–” is all you can manage to whine out, a limp hand pulling his face closer to yours. You’re jumping with each swipe at your poor clit. “Toru m’here.”

“And- and yet-” he’s still blabbering, still pussydrunk while he fucks you so menacingly. Fingers sopping wet with their assault on your sensitive nub, “And yet I just- fuck-” He cuts himself off to give your messy hole another thick stream of spit. Coating his long, raw shaft - rubbed red with the way your gripping walls were massaging him so right - making it easier to slide in and out. “And yet, I just had to see you, to see the gorgeous mate I don’t deserve. I couldn’t live without you.”

A single overstimulated tear glistens a track down Satoru’s pretty face - one you kiss away as quickly as it appeared. Nudging open those teary, blue gaze to bore down on you.

Oh, he looked an absolute wreck - white hair mussed up, stray strands sticking to his forehead. Glossy lips parted, drool pooling at the corner, broken grunts leaving him with each smash of his tip back into your cunt. So blissed out.

Jolting at your eyes on him, Satoru feels his balls tighten so painfully. Abs burning when his pace stutters with need.

“You’re haunting me, just as much as I was haunting you, Toru.”

The candles go out. Instantly.

And shit you’re feeling it first when when hé’s cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Flashes of white startling behind his closed, glassy eyes. “Shit- shit shit shit shit-” Hairs on your body raising as Satoru’s fingers draw circles on your clit so aggressively. Dragging out your high. Forcing it. “Take it- take it all, my flower. Let me paint this pretty pussy all white.” Violent, almost.

So, really, it makes sense that your third orgasm of the night was the same.

Just shivering, sinful tingles running from your overstimulated mind right down to where Satoru was stuffing thick white ropes of potent seed deeper and deeper down your tight channel.

Overspilling with each calculated ram, his cum is oozing out of the corners of your puffy lips with each furious clench of his balls. Too much.

And it’s all you can do to sit there and take it, feeling the sloppy dredges of cum make a mess slobbering down your thighs and his. Starting up blearily at the blurry paintings on the ceilings. The paintings of you - of a still Satoru that looked down at you with only half as much intensity and pure swirling emotion as he was right now.

Something that couldn’t be painted - but would make such a pretty picture, when his fangs bite into that racing junction at your neck.

You scream a soundless scream of his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head as something warm fills your entire body.

Leaving your words unheard, your ravaged hole loose to let out slobbering squelches of Satoru’s cum. Blood racing and flowing right into Satoru’s greedy mouth.

“Princess-” he gulps. Tongue licking up every crimson bead his crazed eyes could spot, body aching when he dares pull away from that heavenly taste. More. “Princess princess princess- you- hngh you’re mine. All mine now.”

And he’s letting out more thick globs of cum straight into your waiting cunt. Body bowing even harder to let it seep into your elastic walls, your womb. So much more than you can take and he just keeps giving.

It seems like forever when Satoru finally pulls away - and within the glowing blue of his eyes, you can see the red staining his lips, dripping down those fangs, his chin. Staining the silk sheets below - staining you with so much more.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to catch his lips in a bloodied kiss. Your own elongated canines catching amateurishly on his lips.

Satoru hisses - but he likes it. And you can tell.

You can read every single hypnotizing thought whirling behind those crystal blue eyes - how he wants to ravish you again, how he wants to worship you. To make you his all over, to have you make him yours. The thought makes you smile as you whisper, “I’m onto you, Toru.”

“You’re onto me, flower.” Catching your lips in a sweet, sweet red kiss. “Forever.”

A/N. This was SOOO fun to write omg y’all have no idea. If you made it this far then you get a sloppy smooch from me mwahhhh.

Plagiarism of work not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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iceunhie · 3 months

Text

— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact

premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)

...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.

act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.

↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)

warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing

a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!

MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)

YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator

you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.

yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)

villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.

which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.

....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.

you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.

you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!

[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]

[ no ] [ yes ]

( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant

“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”

when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.

however...

who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!

eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.

oh, you are so screwed.

essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.

not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!

frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.

plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.

weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!

(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)

so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.

admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)

it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.

speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!

(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.

his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.

no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”

kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”

“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)

to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.

ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.

(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”

“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!

“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”

“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.

“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)

(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)

—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.

(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”

you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)

unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....

(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)

(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”

“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)

(you don't need to know.)

but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.

....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?

(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)

afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.

years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.

although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.

eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.

indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.

by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.

(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)

....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?

“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”

“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”

“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”

what's more, why was it still going because of you?!

( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master

to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.

but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.

eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?

???????

you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.

you're an extra.

you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?

“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”

“....what?”

“...?”

the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.

he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.

“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”

right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.

you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!

(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”

al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.

...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )

in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.

he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....

(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?

the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)

...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)

(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)

by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.

(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.

“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”

“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)

however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.

and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.

(“wake up, al-haitham!”

with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)

your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.

(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”

there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)

you thought that was the end of it.

defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?

for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.

in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.

(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)

and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.

“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”

“...we are merely friends.”

“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”

(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.

.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.

kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)

( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north

“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”

the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.

(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )

so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.

“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”

how did it end up like this?

so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.

seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.

.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.

a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.

(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)

“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”

in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.

aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...

(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”

“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”

what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”

“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”

“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”

“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”

“stop twisting my words!”)

in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.

you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?

not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.

so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.

your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.

(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”

“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”

“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”

“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”

“...elaborate.”

“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”

wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)

he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.

(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.

“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.

“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...

sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)

well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.

besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....

a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

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phsychobanana · 10 months

Text

In your eyes

Pairing: Zuko x Firebender!reader

Summary: When Zuko falls for a member of the gaang, he fears that his mistakes may ruin his chances with them.

Word count: 2.3k

A/n~ I think this is gender neutral? I don't remember putting any specific pronouns, but correct me if i'm wrong. Enjoy!

Funnily enough, the first time you met Zuko was at the northern water tribe. Two fire benders surrounded by waterbenders during a full moon. Not exactly an ideal situation for any firebender, but you were welcome, whereas Zuko was not.

You were running as fast as you could, your legs carrying you in a speed you didn't know was even possible. Katara was in trouble and the moon was slowly disappearing from the sky, fire nation soldiers were everywhere, the water benders were struggling with the loss of the moon and you were terrified.

"Katara!" You yell to her as you get closer to the girl. She was fighting a boy you had never seen before.

You jump on the boy's back and hold your hand to his throat, heating your palm up slowly.

"I would choose my next move carefully if I were you." You say as Katara puts her own hands to her neck and moves them around trying to mimic an explosion.

Suddenly, the boy moves his hands to your face and you feel a burning swipe across your eyebrow. You let go of him and move your hands to your face, a searing pain on your eyebrow almost making you drop to your knees. Katara rushes to your side in a panic,

You see the boy grab Aang and run off before you could do anything.

"Who was that?" You ask Katara angrily.

"Zuko."

***

Zuko followed you and the gaang around for weeks, those weeks turning into months. And the more he saw you, the more he wanted to see you again.

Unfortunately for him, the more you saw him, the more you wanted to smash his head through a window. But every couple has their problems.

You held a very strong grudge towards him, seeing as your eyebrow had scarred and you now had a line going through your eyebrow and over your eye. It made you angry every time you looked in the mirror.

Unbeknownst to you, Zuko felt absolutely terrible for what he had done. He didn't mean to scar you, he would never wish his fate on anyone. Not even his greatest enemy, which lamentably, happened to be you at the moment.

***

The next memorable time that you saw Zuko was in the crystal cave. You had both been thrown in there as a punishment and you were freaking out. Aang, Katara, and Sokka needed you.

You started hitting the walls, throwing as much fire power at it as possible, you even broke a crystal into one big sharp shard and slammed it against the door repeatedly, but it was no use.

"There's no point in doing that." Zuko says, looking at you with his blazing golden eyes. "We aren't getting out until they want us out."

You just scoff in response, unsure of why he was even talking to you in the first place.

He looks at you when he hears your scoff, "You don't have to be rude."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt your feelings by being mean?" You mock him in a baby voice, causing him to roll his eyes.

"What's your problem?" Zuko asks, looking you up and down with pinched eyebrows.

"What is my problem? You're my problem, Zuko. You've been hunting my friends and I for months, you've hurt us -or attempted to- more times than I can count, you gave me this," You point to your scar, making him flinch, "And you have the nerve to ask me what my problem is?" You let out another scoff and turn around, giving him your back.

Zuko looks down at his hands, not knowing what to say. He watches as you light each one of your fingers up like a candle to keep yourself distracted.

He walks over and sits next to you, doing the same with his fingers.

You look at him and roll your eyes.

He smiles softly to himself. You haven't moved away from him, yet.

***

If there had ever been even a sliver of you that had liked him in that cave, it was completely gone now. He had betrayed you that night in the cave and it hurt you.

It was the day of the eclipse and you were running through the underground tunnels, looking for Sokka. As you were running you bumped into something, falling hard to the ground.

"Ow!" A familiar voice huffed as the other person made contact with the ground.

"Zuko?"

He looks up, his hair falling into his eyes. You notice his eyes widen and light up, but just as he goes to say something you lunge at him.

With your hands around his neck, you yell at him through gritted teeth. "I trusted you!"

"I know, I'm sorry." He barely gets the words out, gasping and clawing at your hands.

You let go of him and slam him into the ground hard.

"I swear to the spirits, if you ever try to hurt my friends again I will kill you with my own two hands. No bending, no help, just me and you." You say and walk away to go find Sokka.

Zuko sits there for a moment replaying what you said in his head over again. A small smile spreads across his face and he jumps up, running after you.

***

"You have got to be kidding me!" You yell at your friends. They were letting Zuko, the guy that had tried to kill you and capture Aang on more occasions than you could count, into the group.

"Everyone deserves a second.....or 100th chance, Y/n." Aang says, placing a hand on your shoulder as Zuko takes a step towards you.

You clench your fist defensively, making him put his hands up in defense as he takes another step forward.

"I get why you wouldn't trust me, but I've changed." He says, taking one of your hands in his. You pull away with a hollow laugh and walk away.

"Fine, let this psycho join us. I don't care." You say as you disappear behind a wall.

Zuko looks down with a sigh. "Challenge accepted..." He says under his breath as he thinks of ways to win you over.

***

Two days after Zuko joined the gaang, you were attacked. A pack of firebenders found you, attacking the group. You all paired together, Sokka with Toph, Katara with Aang, and you with Zuko. You had begged Toph to pair with you but Sokka stole her, leaving you with the one person you did not want.

You were back to back, fighting off the soldiers when another fleet arrived. The gaang chose to run, not wanting to be captured. You stayed behind to fight off the rest of the soldiers so the others could get away.

"Y/n come on! Hurry!" Sokka yelled for you as you were running after Appa. A soldier dived at you and their hand grabbed at your ankle, making you tumble to the ground.

"Go!" You yell and Aang pulls Appa out of there. You kick your foot back at the soldier, successfully kicking them in the face. You run off into the forest, You can hear the soldiers running after you as you twist through the trees.

You feel something grab your arm and pull you toward them. Looking up, you see Zuko. He's not looking at you, instead looking at the soldiers running around looking for you. You notice that he pulled you into a clearing hidden by trees and bushes. He places his hand over you mouth as you go to say something.

His adams apple bobs as he swallows harshly, listening and watching for any signs that the soldiers might be headed towards the two of you. After no signs, he looks down at you, finally making eye contact.

His golden eyes shine as he looks at you and he smiles softly.

"Thank you." You say quietly, not wanting to be too loud.

He nods.

"Do you still hate me?" He asks with a barely there smirk.

You shake your head. "I don't think I ever really hated you." He smiles at you. "I just strongly disliked you. It was a very strong dislike. Very strong."

"Okay, I get it."

You laugh softly at his dismissiveness of the subject.

"Do you think I'm still a bad guy?" His voice is quiet. Barely a whisper, but you hear it.

You look at him, he's looking down at the grass, his fingers are playing with each other out of habit, his hair is fallen over his face and covering his eyes. You never quite realized how pretty he was.

"Of course not-" You begin to tell him your answer, but your words are interrupted by yelling.

The two of you turn your heads in the direction of the noises and see your friends running to you.

"There they are!" Katara calls to the others as she makes eye contact with you.

Zuko lets out a frustrated breath at the interruption, but he gets up and dusts off his clothes, offering you his hand.

***

The days after that moment in the woods would replay in your mind every night before you would sleep, every morning when you'd awake, every meal, every training session with Aang and Zuko, every group meeting, every day all day.

You had started watching Zuko more than you would care to admit. The way he tried to make up for all of his past mistakes always seemed to put a smile on your face. He helped Katara in the kitchen when he could, he always made time to talk about weapons with Sokka, he always played games with Toph and Aang, and he was especially trying to make it up to you. Though you didn't notice that part.

He always pulled your chairs out for you, he helped teach you how to control the lightning within you, he even got you flowers one time. Unfortunately the flowers backfired and Appa ended up eating them, sneezing petals for a week.

You were currently training Aang on the beach with Zuko. The sun was blazing down on your back and your cotton shirt was absorbing all of the heat, making you sweat more than you would normally.

You walk over to where Katara, Toph, Sokka, and Suki are sitting, sipping their little coconut drinks as they watch you and Zuko beat the arrows off of Aang.

You take both ends of your shirt and pull it over your head, leaving you in your shorts and bathing suit top. When you walk back over to the boys you notice how red Zuko's face is.

"You alright over there, Z?" You ask, worried that he might be overworking himself in the heat.

His head snaps to look you in the eyes, his face going an even deeper red.

"Y-yeah, heh. Why wouldn't I be?" He looks around, avoiding looking at you with everything in him.

You decide to ignore his weird reaction to your words and go back to teaching Aang.

"This one is a partner move. So, I'll demonstrate with Zuko and then when you understand how to do it, you can try with him." You explain as you walk over to the spluttering and red as a beet, boy.

You move his hand to your waist and his other in yours, your own face heating up a bit at this position. You then kick his own foot out from underneath him and flip him over your shoulder. You light your hand ablaze and put it near Zuko's neck like one would a sword.

"I thought you said this was a partner move," Zuko groans out.

"Yeah, good guy and bad guy. Partners." You say with a smirk.

"You can do that, right Aang?"

Aang nods his head excitedly.

After another hour or two of flipping Zuko over your shoulders, you all sit down around a camp fire on the beach for dinner. You and Zuko offer to collect the plates and take them back up to the house.

"You did good in training today." He says as he takes the plates from your hands and places them on the counter.

You let out a small laugh.

"Well I would assume I did considering the amount of times I was able to flip you."

He rolls his eyes and you take this moment to admire him.

His hair falls in perfect strands across his forehead, his golden eyes reflect the light of the setting sun peeping through the window, his skin is soft as you place your hand on his.

He looks at you confused when he feels your touch.

"You did good, too." You say softly.

He smiles at this, looking down at your hand that was still on his.

"How do you see me?" He asks, breaking the peaceful silence.

"What do you mean?"

"What am I in your eyes?"

You think for a moment, pondering how your answer.

"You're a person who has made many mistakes." You begin, making his shoulders droop a little bit. "But you are also a person trying to make up for all of those mistakes. You're a kid, a kid who has been through a lot. Yet, you're still sweet and funny and kind and loyal. You try to hide how you feel, but I can still see every emotion you have in your actions. You're trying. And for that, I think you are amazing. That is who you are in my eyes."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, making you feel nervous about how he would react.

With a million thoughts racing through his mind, he decides not to say anything. You said that his actions meant more, so he spoke with an action.

He gently placed his hand on your cheek and leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away at any second. But you don't.

His lips meet yours in a soft kiss, his hair tickling your cheek. You smile into his kiss making him smile as well. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him closer as he pulls away from the kiss. You rest you foreheads against each other, catching your breath.

"I think I like you." He says, making you laugh.

"Oh shut up." You say and lean in for another kiss.

#prince zuko #zuko #avatar the last airbender #zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #x reader #atla #zuko atla #fire lord zuko #aang #avatar aang #katara #sokka #toph #suki

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ariaste · 4 months

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Apparently there was some lil drama in Good Omens fandom again about people being deeply nervous and scared of the end of Season 3, and I wrote this in the replies of one of the asks that Neil Gaiman answered, but I feel like it is deserving of being crossposted into its own post (in a slightly expanded form) so folks actually see it.

cmere, good omens fandom, we're having an intervention. a Come To Jesus talk, if you will.

First of all, I'm literally begging the fandom to:

learn what personal boundaries are, especially around parasocial relationships with strangers. (Suggestion: When sending asks to authors you like, use "polite work email" etiquette, not "joking with a friend" etiquette. The latter comes off REAL weird sometimes, and sometimes outright mean/rude/bullying).

take a couple deep fucking breaths

embrace the philosophy of The Author's Intent Only HAS To Matter To The Author, It Does Not Have To Matter To YOU. If you do not like the author's intent, you can say "hmmmm no thanks" and write some fanfic. That's what it's for.

Friends, Romans, countrymen..... Stop trying to make Neil Gaiman responsible for your happiness. For one thing, that is an absolutely unfair and cruel burden to put on a stranger who doesn't know you. Neil is only responsible for Neil's happiness. You're responsible for your own happiness. In fact, do not rely on ANY external source to guarantee your happiness, not even very nice people like Neil, not even your significant other, not even your family members. Yes, those people might be able to help you with your happiness, but they cannot guarantee it. Expecting a third party to guarantee your happiness is how corporations exploit you, and it is the source of all media trauma. Take agency over your own joy! Don't give away your power! Plan to DIY your personal ideal ending!

Neil is not telepathic, Neil cannot know all your hopes and dreams and wishes, nor SHOULD he be expected to know them, nor does he have space to know them. He is busy with things like his own and Terry's hopes and dreams and wishes. Their hopes/dreams/wishes are just as valid and important as yours, aren't they? Yes, they are. So calm down. caaaaaaaallllllm dowwwwwn.

Yes, I love the show very much too, but at the end of the day it is just a story. And the great thing about stories is that you are empowered to retell them in a different way. It is not real, so if you end up unsatisfied by S3, then blithely impose your own reality and build your own joy. It's not like it's the End Of The World or anything (lil fandom joke there for you)

And look, if you read this and you're feeling Mad and Upset or Frustrated about it, that is a symptom that you are maybe feeling a little stung in your Media Trauma parts. I am sorry that other stories have let you down in the past, and I really sympathize that you are feeling scared about the fate of this story that really matters to you. You've invested a lot of love into it! I really understand the fear! You don't want to be hurt again, and that's super understandable and normal.

But bestie, literally the only way for you to find a story that's exactly perfect for you and that won't hurt you at all is for you to write it yourself. I know that sucks to hear, but it is the truth. If you keep pinning a hope of perfection on other people's stories, you will keep getting traumatized by the media you consume. Love other people's stories for what they ARE, not for the stories that you WANTED them to be -- the same way that we love people, you know? You have to let a person be their own person; you can't force them to be someone else. That's fucked up, so if you notice that you keep trying to do that, maybe go to therapy so you can be that Someone-Else person for yourself (or, if you can't afford therapy, read some self-help books from the library or find some good channels on Youtube who make content that might help with that (I really like JulienHimself)).

If you need a story to be something big and important for you, if you are seeking catharsis and healing from a story that matters to you and you're really scared that you won't get it, then open a Word document and start typing. You can do it. You're a human being, and you evolved to tell stories. Literally it's a species specialization. You got this. It's gonna be okay, because you're going to seize the means of production and MAKE it okay. Yes? Yes.

Good Omens S3 will be what it will be. It will be what Neil wants it to be and what Terry would have wanted it to be. Period. That IS actually the highest achievement and the most noble and admirable accomplishment that we can hope for. And hey, maybe what they want overlaps with what you want, and that will be wonderful! But that will be merely a happy coincidence. The only person who can TRULY center your wants is YOU. So stop trying to trap Neil into doing it, please, because he's busy and it's not his job, AND because your wants do matter and you deserve to have someone who can give your wants their 100% full attention (aka you. that's you. only you can do that. Not even your best friends in the world can do it. Not even your mom can do it, at least not if you're old enough to know how to read.)

It's gonna be okay. Really. Really, it is. No, stop typing the snarky melodramatic reply. This is not the time for jokes; I'm being serious. It's going to be okay. Neil Gaiman can only break your heart exactly as much as you allow him to do so. That's how art works. You have to consent in order to be affected by it, and you can withdraw your consent at any time. You're going to be okay. I promise. As long as you choose to claim your own agency and your own empowerment as an individual, then all will be well and all manner of things will be well.

#good omens #good omens s3 #media trauma #neil gaiman #fandom

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novaursa · 1 month

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The Flames We Share

- Summary: You tell your son the truth. He has more than the blood of dragons in his veins.

- Paring: Gwayne Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's younger sister and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Blood We Choose. If you want to read all parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 5 198

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The dungeons beneath Dragonstone were a cold, damp place, lit only by flickering torches that cast shadows that seemed to dance mockingly on the rough-hewn walls. The stench of rot and mildew clung to the air, seeping into the very stones of the fortress. Gwayne Hightower sat chained to the wall, bruised and dirty from his days of captivity, but his eyes were clear and resolute, fixed forward as he awaited what was surely his fate. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere—focused only on you, the woman he had risked everything for.

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the stone corridors, and he looked up as the iron door creaked open. Daemon Targaryen stepped inside, a predator’s smirk twisting his lips. He tossed a crumpled message onto the filthy floor in front of Gwayne’s feet. The black wax seal was unmistakable—bearing the sigil of House Hightower.

“Your father sends his regards,” Daemon drawled, a cruel edge in his voice. “He offers to trade his traitorous son for some stronghold I care little about. Imagine that—a worthless fortress in exchange for his even more worthless offspring.” Daemon’s eyes gleamed as he studied Gwayne’s reaction, searching for any sign of weakness.

But Gwayne’s expression remained stony. “You can say what you wish, Targaryen. My fate was sealed the moment I brought her to you.” His voice was hoarse but steady. “As long as Y/N is safe, I care not what becomes of me.”

Daemon’s lip curled in disdain. “Is that so?” He took a step closer, as if to loom over Gwayne. “Safe? You think she’s safe, having fallen from the sky, bleeding and broken? You think I would allow the woman who bore my son—my heir—to suffer any harm under my roof?” There was a dark gleam of possessiveness in Daemon’s eyes, as if the very notion of another man daring to care for you was an affront to his pride.

Gwayne’s gaze sharpened at that. “I want to see Vaeron,” he demanded suddenly. There was a tremor in his voice, a desperation that Daemon did not miss. “I want to speak with my son.”

Daemon’s anger flared at the insolence of the request. “Your son?” he hissed, voice low and dangerous. “That boy is a Targaryen—a dragon, not the product of some dishonorable tryst! Do you think I would allow him to be tainted by the shame of what you nearly brought upon my niece, siring a child on her without even the dignity of wedlock?”

Gwayne’s eyes darkened, yet there was a hint of mocking amusement in them as he stared up at the Rogue Prince. “And you believe yourself to be the righteous one? The man who slew his first wife in pursuit of power? Who consorts with whores while claiming the love of dragons? Tell me, Daemon, what makes you any different from me?”

Daemon’s smirk faltered, his face tightening with barely controlled rage. But Gwayne continued, his voice laced with bitterness. “She was denied to me—Y/N, I mean. If your brother had seen sense, had given her to me rather than feeding your ambitions, we could have avoided all this bloodshed. The boy would have been raised in Oldtown, under the guidance of both our Houses, and this war might never have happened.”

“Nothing could have prevented this war,” Daemon snarled, eyes flashing. “It was written in fire and blood long before you or I even took breath. But do not delude yourself into thinking you have anything resembling love, Hightower. What you claim as love is mere possession—an attempt to bind what you could never truly have.”

Gwayne’s jaw clenched at the words, but he did not respond. The two men stared at each other, the tension between them crackling like a drawn sword. Daemon took a breath, his composure returning as he straightened.

“I’ll have the boy brought to you,” Daemon said at last, his tone laced with scorn. “You may look upon him and see the life you were never destined to have. But do not forget—he is mine, and Y/N belongs to me now. She is a Targaryen, and you are nothing more than a failed traitor.”

With that, Daemon turned and strode toward the door. Before he left, he paused, throwing one last taunt over his shoulder. “Do not hope for mercy when your father trades you away like the pawn you are, Gwayne. Your life is worth little, even to those who should care most.”

The door slammed shut, leaving Gwayne alone in the darkness once more. But he did not feel defeated. Even with the chains biting into his wrists, he had no regrets for what he had done, for saving you and ensuring you were delivered safely to Dragonstone. In the end, it was not his fate that mattered—it was yours. Even in the heart of this cold, bitter place, the thought of you kept the warmth alive in his heart.

Because in the quiet shadows, despite all the titles and power Daemon clung to, Gwayne knew one truth that Daemon would never fully grasp—he loved you, wholly and without condition. And in his mind, that was a victory far greater than any throne or dragon could ever grant.

The soft crackle of the hearthfire filled the chamber, mingling with the scent of herbs and ointments from where Maesters had tended to your wounds. You sat by the window, Silverwing’s scales still etched into your memory, the pain a constant reminder of the battle you had narrowly survived. The healing was slow, but the bruises and cuts were nothing compared to the deeper ache in your chest. You weren’t sure what stung more—the death of your dragon or the desperate, foolish bravery of the man who had risked everything to save you.

A knock at the door broke your thoughts. “Come in,” you called, and the door creaked open to reveal Vaeron. The boy’s silver hair glinted in the evening light, and his blue eyes—so much like his father’s—fixed on you with concern.

“Mother,” he said quietly, stepping inside. “How are you feeling today?”

You smiled softly at him, though your heart ached as you looked upon him. “I am mending, sweetling. Stronger with each day.”

Vaeron nodded, yet his expression was troubled. He came closer, sitting on the edge of your bed, the worry in his eyes clear. “I heard… I heard Daemon talking about him,” he murmured. “The man in the dungeons—the one who saved you. Is it true he defied Ser Criston Cole and fled with you from Rook’s Rest? They say he’s a Hightower. An enemy.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. The boy was no longer the child you had once cradled; he was growing, his curiosity sharp and his mind keen. He deserved the truth.

“Yes, it’s true,” you replied, voice gentle. “The man who saved me is Gwayne Hightower. He… he betrayed his own kin, risked his life, and rode through the chaos to bring me here, to safety.”

Vaeron’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But why would he do that? Daemon says he’s just trying to make amends for his family’s treachery. That he’s nothing more than a desperate fool.”

You shook your head slowly. “It’s more complicated than that, my dear. Gwayne… he did it out of love, out of loyalty to someone who meant the world to him once.” You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue. The truth was a blade you’d kept sheathed for too long, and it was time to draw it, no matter how much it might wound.

Vaeron looked at you expectantly, sensing the weight of what you were about to say. You reached out, taking his hand in yours, needing the touch to anchor yourself.

“Vaeron… the man in the dungeons, Gwayne Hightower… he is your father.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Vaeron’s eyes widened, the shock raw and unfiltered in his young face. He pulled his hand away, as if trying to distance himself from the revelation. “What?” he breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. “My father? But… Daemon… I always thought…”

You nodded, pain lancing through your heart as you watched him grapple with the truth. “Daemon has raised you as his own, and in many ways, he is your father. But you have another father, by blood, and that is Gwayne Hightower. You were conceived out of a moment we both knew would never be more than a fleeting dream. He wanted to marry me, to build a life, but—”

Vaeron shook his head, backing away as he struggled to process it all. “No,” he muttered, as if denying the words could somehow make them untrue. “Daemon’s always told me I’m a Targaryen, that my blood is pure, that I am his son, a prince of the realm. How could—why didn’t you tell me? Why now, when he’s chained beneath us like some criminal?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I didn’t want you to bear the burden of that knowledge before you were ready. You were always meant to be strong, to carry the legacy of the dragons. But Gwayne… he isn’t just a Hightower, he’s the man who saved my life when no one else dared. Whatever his blood, he does care for you in his own way, even from afar now.”

Vaeron’s lips trembled as he stared at you, his confusion and hurt palpable. “I need… I need to think,” he stammered, turning abruptly and nearly stumbling over himself in his haste to leave the room.

“Vaeron, wait—” you called after him, but he was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed in the emptiness of the chamber, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Your chest tightened with regret. You had known this moment would come eventually, but you had hoped it would be under different circumstances. There was so much more you wanted to tell him, so much more to explain. But for now, all you could do was hope that he would find a way to understand, to see beyond the conflict of bloodlines and names.

In that fleeting moment before he vanished, you had seen the storm raging behind his eyes—a storm you knew would not settle easily. And in that storm, you glimpsed the boy he had always been and the man he was becoming, torn between the truths that defined him.

But you could only wait, knowing that the choice between dragons and towers was his to make, even if it broke your heart in the process.

Vaeron’s footsteps echoed through the winding corridors of Dragonstone as he fought to steady his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a heavy drum drowning out the world around him. The truth his mother had just revealed rang in his ears like a cruel jest—Gwayne Hightower is your father. The words were a blade lodged deep in his chest, twisting with every thought, every doubt that now swirled within him.

He turned a corner, the air cool against his flushed face, and found himself in the dimly lit dining hall. The large table at its center was set for the evening meal, though the room was mostly empty save for one figure seated at the end, absently twirling a goblet in his hand.

Jacaerys Velaryon looked up, catching sight of Vaeron. His dark curls fell loosely over his forehead, and his brown eyes narrowed in concern as he took in his cousin’s strained expression. “Vaeron?” he called out, his voice low but filled with the warmth of kinship. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

Vaeron stiffened, his gaze flickering away as he hesitated at the threshold of the hall. The weight of the revelation clung to him like a shroud, and for a moment, he wondered if it would be easier to bury it, to pretend that nothing had changed. But Jacaerys’ patient eyes, filled with genuine care, drew him in like a tether.

With a resigned sigh, Vaeron walked over and slumped into the chair opposite Jace, the firelight casting shadows on his troubled face. He didn’t speak for a moment, merely stared at the table as he tried to gather the words that had lodged like stones in his throat.

Jace leaned forward, the lines of worry deepening on his brow. “Vaeron, you’re scaring me. What’s happened?”

“I…” Vaeron’s voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing, “I just learned something that changes everything.” He finally looked up, his eyes rimmed with uncertainty. “The man in the dungeons—the Hightower who brought Mother back from Rook’s Rest… He’s my father. My real father.”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in shock, his goblet nearly slipping from his grasp. “What? But—Daemon’s always—”

“I know,” Vaeron cut in, voice strained. “I thought Daemon was my father, too. I grew up believing I was his son, a true Targaryen. But Mother told me just now that Gwayne Hightower is my sire. I’m… I’m a bastard.”

The word hung heavy in the air between them, laden with shame and confusion. Vaeron felt his chest tighten again, the sting of doubt gnawing at him. What did that make him now? Was he even truly a part of this family? A dragon in name only, born of a union that should never have been?

Jacaerys’ expression softened as he saw the pain in Vaeron’s eyes. He set down his goblet and leaned closer, trying to find the right words. “Listen to me, Vaeron,” he began, voice steady and laced with a touch of empathy. “We’ve both been raised with more lies and expectations than most people could handle. But if anyone understands how it feels to question who you are, it’s me.”

Vaeron blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jacaerys gave a rueful smile, leaning back in his chair as he stared into the flames. “I’ve heard the whispers, the taunts—people saying I’m no true Targaryen because of my questionable blood. They mock the fact that I don’t have silver hair or violet eyes, that I look more like a commoner than a prince. And sometimes… sometimes, I wonder if they’re right.”

The honesty in Jace’s voice caught Vaeron off guard, pulling him out of his own turmoil. He had always admired Jacaerys—his confidence, his sense of duty. He had never imagined that his cousin carried doubts of his own.

“But you’re still recognized as one of us,” Vaeron murmured, brow furrowed. “You’re still heir to the Iron Throne, still a dragon. No one would ever dare deny that.”

Jace nodded, but his gaze remained distant. “True, but that doesn’t erase the whispers. Even with the dragon blood flowing through my veins, I’ve always felt like I had to prove I’m worthy of the name Targaryen. But you…” He looked back at Vaeron, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You look like a Targaryen. No one would ever question your blood—silver hair—you were born a dragon, even if your father wasn’t one.”

Vaeron’s breath hitched at the kindness in Jace’s words. But it didn’t soothe the ache gnawing at his heart. “Does it even matter, Jace? If I’m truly a bastard, what does any of this mean? My whole life, I’ve been told I’m meant for something great, but now… now I don’t even know who I really am.”

Jacaerys’ expression grew firm, his voice taking on a rare edge of command. “It means you choose who you are, Vaeron. Blood alone doesn’t decide it. You were raised in this family, loved by your mother and Daemon alike. That is what makes you one of us. Not some Hightower who’s rotting in a cell.”

Vaeron’s throat tightened at the thought of Gwayne, the man who had defied his own House, who had thrown everything away to save the woman he loved. Did that make him worthy of being called a father? Could that kind of loyalty outweigh his bloodline, or was it too little too late?

“I need time to think,” Vaeron murmured, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just… a lot.”

Jacaerys reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand on Vaeron’s shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, cousin. You’re not alone in this, alright? Whatever you decide, you’ll always have me and the rest of your family behind you.”

Vaeron nodded numbly, grateful for Jace’s support but still lost in the sea of confusion and emotions swirling within him. The questions gnawed at him relentlessly, leaving him torn between the man he had always believed himself to be and the truth that now threatened to shatter that identity.

The tension clung to the air in the dining hall like smoke, heavy and suffocating. Vaeron sat in silence after Jacaerys left, lost in the maze of his thoughts, unable to untangle the twisted knots of his emotions. His whole life had been built on one truth: that he was a Targaryen, son of Daemon, a prince destined for greatness. But now that truth had shattered, and he felt like a child cast adrift on a stormy sea, unsure of where to turn.

The sound of footsteps approached, measured and deliberate, and Vaeron looked up to see Daemon entering the hall. His expression was unreadable, though his sharp eyes missed nothing as they swept over Vaeron’s troubled face. For a moment, the prince said nothing, merely studying his son—his real son in all but blood—with a calculating gaze.

“You’re brooding,” Daemon finally said, his voice low and tinged with an edge of dry amusement. “A trait you didn’t inherit from your mother, I’d wager.”

Vaeron clenched his fists on the table, unable to meet Daemon’s eyes. “Everything I’ve ever known about myself is a lie,” he muttered, his voice thick with anger and confusion. “How am I supposed to believe anything now?”

Daemon’s gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. “You think this changes who you are?” he asked, stepping closer. “You think some whispered secret about your parentage wipes away the blood that runs through your veins? You are still a Targaryen, still my son in every way that matters.”

Vaeron’s eyes snapped up, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “But I’m not,” he insisted, his voice cracking. “I’m not truly your son, not by blood. I’m just… a bastard. A mistake.”

Daemon’s expression darkened, and he took a seat across from Vaeron, his presence commanding and unyielding. “Is that what you truly believe?” he asked, his tone both gentle and sharp. “That blood alone defines who you are? You were raised in the shadow of dragons, with the legacy of kings and conquerors shaping your every step. That is no lie. I’ve taught you, guided you, prepared you for the world because I chose you as my heir, not because of whose seed sired you.”

Vaeron looked away, struggling with the conflicting emotions swirling within him. “But… why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a whisper now, tinged with the pain of betrayal. “All this time, you let me believe…”

Daemon sighed, his gaze growing distant as if recalling a memory long buried. “Because you needed to grow up without that burden,” he said quietly. “What good would it have done to burden you with a truth that might have only confused you, made you question everything? You were born a Targaryen in all the ways that matter. I’ve treated you as such, and so has your mother. That will never change, no matter who your true father is.”

Vaeron’s chest tightened at the mention of his mother, and he shook his head. “But now I know, and I can’t just pretend it doesn’t matter. That man in the dungeons… he’s the reason I exist, and yet he’s a stranger to me. How can I make sense of that?”

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the wood. “Gwayne Hightower might be your blood father, but that doesn’t mean he has any claim over you,” he said with a hint of disdain in his voice. “He made a choice back at Rook’s Rest—one that I don’t entirely understand myself. He risked everything to bring your mother back here. Perhaps he thought it would redeem him somehow, or maybe he truly cared for her in his own way. Either way, he’s asked to speak with you.”

Vaeron stiffened at the words, his heart lurching in his chest. “He wants to see me?”

Daemon nodded slowly. “He does. He requested it, though he knows the choice is yours to make. I told him I’d send you, but the decision is yours. You can go to him, or you can ignore it and leave him to rot where he belongs.”

Vaeron’s mind reeled, torn between the curiosity gnawing at him and the fear of facing the man who had upended his world with his very existence. He shook his head, his voice trembling as he spoke. “I can’t. Not today. I don’t even know what I’d say to him… what I’d ask.”

Daemon studied him for a moment before nodding in understanding. “That’s your right. You don’t have to face him until you’re ready—if you ever are.” He reached out, placing a hand on Vaeron’s shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “But know this, boy: whoever sired you, you are still my son. You bear the Targaryen name because I have claimed you as my own, because you were raised with fire in your blood. No man, be he Hightower or otherwise, can take that from you.”

Vaeron looked up at him, searching Daemon’s face for some trace of deception, but all he saw was the fierce loyalty and pride that Daemon had always shown him. For all his faults and ruthlessness, Daemon had been the only father Vaeron had ever known. And in that moment, the boy clung to that truth like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” Vaeron murmured, his voice small but filled with genuine gratitude. “I just… need time. To sort through it all.”

Daemon’s lips curved into a rare, almost affectionate smile, one reserved for the few he held dear. “Take all the time you need,” he said quietly. “But remember, you are a Targaryen, and no truth will ever change that. Not in the eyes of those who matter.”

With that, Daemon rose from the table, giving Vaeron a final nod before turning to leave the hall. Vaeron watched him go, the conflicting emotions still swirling in his chest, but there was a newfound clarity in his heart. The path ahead was clouded, and the shadow of Gwayne Hightower’s existence hanged over him like a specter. But for now, he knew where he stood—with the family that had shaped him, that had loved him despite the secrets and lies.

But deep down, in the quiet recesses of his mind, he knew that one day he would have to face the man who had saved his mother and who claimed the title of his father. Just… not today. Today, he would hold on to the identity he’d always known and trust that, in time, he would find his way through the tangled web of blood and loyalty.

For now, he was still Vaeron Targaryen, son of Daemon—trueborn or not, dragon or not, he was still a part of the legacy that burned brightly in the heart of House Targaryen. And that was enough to anchor him, at least for tonight.

The corridors beneath Dragonstone were dark and damp, the oppressive chill seeping into Vaeron’s bones as he made his way toward the dungeons. It had been a week since his world had been upended, a week of wrestling with the truth of his parentage. He had tried to push it aside, to focus on the training sessions with his cousins, the books his mother insisted he study, the words of comfort from Daemon. But every night, when the candles burned low and the castle quieted, the thought gnawed at him: if he didn’t face the man in the dungeons, he would never truly understand where he came from—or who he was.

So here he was, descending deeper into the belly of the fortress, the iron doors looming ahead. A guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing him entry. The door creaked open, revealing the shadowed cell where Gwayne Hightower sat slumped against the cold stone wall, chains rattling faintly with his every breath.

Gwayne’s face was bruised and gaunt, the days of imprisonment leaving their mark on him. But his eyes, so strikingly similar to Vaeron’s own, flicked up the moment the boy entered. Surprise and something softer—something like hope—flashed in his gaze.

“Vaeron,” he murmured, as if testing the name on his lips. “You came.”

Vaeron stood just inside the threshold, tension thrumming through his body. He wasn’t sure what he had expected—anger, indifference, desperation? But all he felt was a tangled mix of emotions that refused to settle.

After a long silence, Vaeron finally took a few steps closer, his voice tentative as he asked, “How could I not? I had to face you… or I couldn’t live with myself.”

Gwayne’s expression softened, a flicker of pride and sorrow crossing his face. “You’re braver than most would be in your position,” he said quietly. He shifted slightly, wincing at the pull of his wounds and restraints. “How… how is your mother? Is she recovering?”

Vaeron’s heart tightened at the genuine concern in Gwayne’s voice. Despite everything, despite the shame and anger swirling within him, he could not deny the sincerity of the man’s question. “She’s getting better,” Vaeron replied, a hint of guardedness still in his tone. “But her injuries are still bad. The fall from Silverwing was…” His voice trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Gwayne nodded, his jaw clenched as if in shared pain. “She’s strong. She always has been. I knew if I could just get her here, she’d fight her way back.” His voice grew hoarse with emotion, and he averted his gaze for a moment before looking back at Vaeron. “Thank you for telling me.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint drip of water echoing through the dungeons. Vaeron swallowed the lump in his throat and finally spoke the question that had been burning in him since he decided to come here. “Daemon says you’re a traitor,” he said, his voice low but unwavering. “That you can’t be trusted, that you’ve betrayed your family and your House. But… you saved my mother. You risked your life, your honor, everything.”

Gwayne’s expression didn’t change, but something deep and resolute flickered in his eyes. “Daemon’s right—I am a traitor to my own kin, to my House. I turned my back on everything I was raised to uphold. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

The simple conviction in his words struck Vaeron like a blow. He could see the truth of it written in every line of Gwayne’s face, in the quiet determination that had driven him to this point. Vaeron wanted to challenge him, to demand answers, but instead, he found himself asking, “Why?”

Gwayne’s lips curled into a faint, sad smile. “Because she was worth it. Your mother was worth more than any loyalty to my House, more than any honor I might have clung to. You see, I loved her long before any of this war came to pass. I wanted to marry her, to build a life with her, but your uncle, King Viserys, had other plans. When she was given to Daemon, I knew my place would only ever be on the outside, looking in.” He paused, eyes darkening with the weight of old wounds. “But that didn’t change how I felt. When I saw her falling in battle, when I saw Silverwing plummet… I didn’t think about anything else. I just acted. I’d rather be a traitor and live knowing I saved her than be a loyal man and watch her die.”

Vaeron’s chest tightened, torn between resentment and reluctant understanding. “You say that like it was noble, like it justifies everything. But it’s still treason. You abandoned your family. You betrayed your own.”

Gwayne’s expression grew more serious, his voice a low rumble in the dim light. “Yes, and I will face the consequences of that. I know what I’ve done, and I’ve made my peace with it. But you must understand, Vaeron—whatever Daemon tells you, whatever anyone says—you are my son. I know I have no right to claim you, not after all these years, but it doesn’t change what you are to me.”

Vaeron felt the words hanging in the air like a challenge, daring him to acknowledge the bond that existed between them, even if he wished it didn’t. He looked down, his fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t know what I am,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I was raised to believe I’m a Targaryen, that I’m Daemon’s son. Now everything feels like a lie. How can I be both?”

Gwayne’s gaze softened, the hardness of his demeanor giving way to something almost tender. “You are both,” he said quietly. “You were raised as a Targaryen, with all the fire and pride that comes with it. That is a part of you. But you’re also my blood, whether you like it or not. And you get to decide what that means for you.”

Vaeron’s mind spun with conflicting emotions—anger, guilt, a flicker of something like pity. He wasn’t sure if he could ever see Gwayne as his father, not in the way Daemon had been. But he couldn’t deny that the man who sat before him had risked everything for his mother, for the chance to protect her even when all seemed lost. And for that alone, he couldn’t simply dismiss him.

After a long silence, Vaeron finally shook his head. “I can’t face you—not today. There’s too much I don’t understand, too much I still need to figure out.”

Gwayne nodded, accepting the decision without protest. “I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give,” he said softly. “But know that I’m here, for as long as they allow me to draw breath. And whatever choice you make, whatever path you choose—I will always be proud of you.”

The words stung, leaving Vaeron with a raw ache in his chest. He wanted to respond, to say something more, but the weight of everything—his own confusion, the war, the fractured loyalties—was too much. He turned abruptly, leaving the cell without another word, his thoughts swirling in a tempest of conflicting emotions.

As he walked away, the echo of Gwayne’s voice lingered in his mind, a reminder that some truths, no matter how painful, couldn’t be ignored forever. But for now, he needed time to reconcile the man he had always believed himself to be with the truths he couldn’t yet fully accept.

And so, Vaeron returned to the world above, leaving the man who called himself his father to the shadows, knowing that one day—perhaps too soon—he would have to confront the reality of who he truly was.

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #gwayne hightower #ser gwayne #gwayne x reader #gwayne x you #gwayne x y/n #silverwing #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x y/n #daemon x you #hotd daemon #daemon x reader #hotd gwayne #hotd x reader #hotd

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risuola · 7 months

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III — GAMBARE, GAMBARE // In the world of crime and blood, Sukuna knows what's off limits. You certainly are one of those things and yet, he's unable to stop thinking of you.

contents: smut, little angst-ish in some places, mafia!au, unprotected sex, a hint of body worshipping, violence, mentions of death, subtle threats, reader discretion is advised — 3,2k words

a/n: third part, thank you so much for support guys! it means the world to me to see how INSANELY big is the tag list now. i literally love y'all~ ❤️ also, just as the first part got inspired by the absolutely menacing quote from our king, it only felt natural to include the famous gambare, gambare (do your best) into this one.

ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist

Sukuna prefers to think of himself as one of significant intelligence. Over the years, during which he ruled over the entire criminal milieu, he proved himself to stand atop of anyone who dared to even think of overturning his jurisdiction. All the exceptionally dumb bold ones that once wished to take the position of a boss from his hands had learned the hard way why troubles with Sukuna Ryomen are the least desirable fate of anyone who bears any volume of oil inside their brains.

It’s not only tactical or business intelligence that he’s priding himself with. It’s also the excessive knowledge about general rules of life that allowed him to comfortably push and pull the edges of what’s right and wrong, bending his own reality to his liking. Now it’s intuitive – he just knows where he can put more pressure and where it’s not worth his time. He knows what to bet his money on and what won’t realistically pay back. And most importantly, up until that point, Sukuna thought he can tell with his eyes closed which people he should consider crossing paths with, what men can be useful whilst he aims to reach his targets and which crowds he shouldn’t mess around with – for various reasons, most of which being just business and inconvenience. Same thing concerns women. Ryomen’s position works like a magnet and not a day passes by without girls, often way too young to even think of him, throwing themselves at him, led by fantasies of money and power veiled in the shades of love. If he wished, he could have a different toy every time the night falls and if he’d be just slightly less trained, he might have fallen for the temptation. But he didn’t.

Sukuna learned it from experience, not exactly his own, but of his pawns, that allowing random women in the proximity of their profession usually leads to catastrophes. Girls get persistent, they grow attached, they fall in love sooner than it’s even logical and then they threat, they blackmail; all of which eventually leads to their deaths because dealing with just barely adults that weaponize tears and screams is something he doesn’t allow in his circle. There were no exceptions, any man bearing similar power to Ryomen knows that there’s no place for romance in the world of death and bones, the one that’s stained in red and sorrow. If there happens to be love, it’s always of people from inside the criminal circle, sharing the same set of broken morals. Mafia should never tie itself romantically with civilians. Especially him, the leader, the menace that he is in the world of misdeed, murder and corruption, knew all too well why he should never, ever, even think of someone from outside of his tale as of anything more than one time plaything. That would be irresponsible, straight up naïve. It would be foolish. He knew all of that and not even once he felt any need to engage into any kind of relationship with someone that he deemed non-profitable to his general targets.

Then why the fuck he kept thinking of you? Why he kept seeing you after what was supposed to be a fun one-time fuck? Why did the taste of your lips and the sweet scent of your skin made him so completely addicted that he couldn’t focus on his own business without his mind wandering to the memory of you at least once an hour? He just liked your body, he told himself every time he thought of sending you a message. You were a good lay, it was purely physical. You did, after all, take his dick like you were born solely for this very purpose. He was meeting you only for sex and it was an accident that some of these meetings began with a dinner. All of the gifts he showered you with were just a form of payment for the service. Sukuna knew much better than to let his emotions take control of him.

“What’s on your mind?” Your quiet voice tore Ryomen out of the realm of his self-criticism. The tone that you spoked with was raspy, the testimony of the rough, throat-fucking he had used you for just few hours prior, and yet, it still somehow flowed with cottony softness, so characteristic to you.

“Nothing important,” he replied bluntly, lowering his gaze to where your face was buried into the broad muscle of his chest; your frame completely hidden in his own, much larger and stronger. It was another night you spent in his house, one of those that began with the reservation in one of Tokyo’s best restaurants that served traditional Japanese cuisine. You showed up in a dress made of dark olive silk, long enough to reach your high-heeled sandals and clinging to your shapes as if it was made to be worn over the divinity that was your body. The long, scandalous slit exposed one of your legs and the thin straps accentuated your shoulders and cleavage just perfectly. It was a dress that he himself bought and ordered to be delivered to you in an expensive box before that day. Now that very same gown was laying somewhere, discarded on the floor in the living room of his mansion.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re plotting my death,” you chuckled against his skin, the vibration of the act made him scoff because both him and you knew that the scenario you offered wasn’t exactly falling into the realm of fiction.

“If I were to kill you, I wouldn’t need to plot it. One bullet is all it would take,” he retorted with calm and despite any logic, instead of creating some distance, instead of running away you hummed at his statement and pressed your lips to the center of his chest.

You were way over fearing Sukuna and his world. The few months that you spend seeing him, you came to terms with the heavy weight of tragic fate that was now resting on your shoulders. It couldn’t end well, you shouldn’t tangle yourself with a man such as him, the path of your normal life should never come even close to the blood tainted one he was walking through. You should have never left the club with him and once you did, you should have run out his house the moment he gave you a chance. Instead of that, you stayed. That night, after the time of Ryomen’s pursue and the unfortunate event with Naoya and his gang, soon turned into two. Then just few more and then many more. The one-night stand evolved into continuous romance and though it was strewn with roses and intimacy, it came also with the realization that the more you see him, the less days you have left. There was no way for someone like you, an outsider, the mere civilian with no mafia bonds whatsoever, to be living a long life. Sukuna has enemies, there are people that want the power he holds and will eventually target you. That is, of course, if he doesn’t kill you himself over time – out of boredom or prevention. You knew a lot, he had told you more than he should.

But you loved him. You had seen him do some pretty dark things that would make most people’s eyes water, and in all honesty, it did the same thing to yours, but then, with you, Sukuna was always protective. You loved the way he always seemed to know just what you needed, the way he read you like an open book and knew just what to say or do to put you at ease. You loved the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world, how he made you feel beautiful, even on the days you felt like a total mess. He was a danger, a threat so deadly you shouldn’t play with it, he was a flame that you were bound to burn yourself on, but he was also the only person in the world you felt so safe around. Ever since you met, he had protected you. Even if his words were harsh and his own deeds rough, he never failed to envelop you in a bubble inside of which nothing and no one could hurt you.

“Oh, how much you’d miss me,” a certain sense of amusement hinted in the tone you used as the sheepish smile stretched your lips. Ryomen acted suddenly, grabbing the tiny thing that was your body and pressing your back to the mattress. His fingers wrapped around the frail of your neck; it wouldn’t take much of his strength to snap it and yet, you seemed rather comfortable with his grip secured around your airways. Over the time you managed to grow enough trust to know he won’t hurt you for no reason. Your lover was a man powerful enough, there was no need for seeding fear in you. You were also smart enough to differentiate the real danger from the playful acts. If Sukuna truly wanted you to be scared, you most definitely would be scared shitless.

“You think so?” His tone dropped an octave as he crawled above you; your bare figure now trapped underneath the weight of his presence. He got your legs between his initially, the heavy shaft of his dick rested over your lower belly as he shifted his hand from your throat down to cup your breasts. Your body seemed to never stop attract him, no matter how many times he touched and tasted it. You looked almost angelic in the dim light of that morning; the remnants of sleep still painted over your features and the only things that disturbed the innocence of your picture were the marks he had left on your plush, velvety skin. Red and angry spots that he sucked onto your flesh adorned the beauty of your frame, ultimately making you his own. “Aren’t you a little too confident?”

“I think I’m confident just enough,” you grinned playfully, smoothing over his hands, one staying on top of his palm on your breast and the other reaching up his arm to touch more of him. There was always a hunger lingering inside of you, you were never completely satiated and even if your body was utterly exhausted, you were always happy to take more. Sukuna made you feel ecstatic, like you were really his only one and though it was an illusion that you chose to believe in, it felt good to imagine yourself as his only care.

“And why would I miss you, huh? Aren’t you only a plaything for me?” The question he asked was meant to sound venomous but the sound of his voice betrayed the lighthearted intention. “Do you think I’ll blink twice when discarding you when I get bored of what you can give me?”

“I don’t think you’ll hesitate,” a chuckle once again shook your chest gently as you watched how Sukuna gently pulled your legs up from underneath him and brought one of your ankles to his face. The kisses he smeared along your shin were delicate, completely contrasting with the threatful impression that he was trying to make. He was worshipping you so openly, it made you blush every time. “But even though I know you wouldn’t think twice before killing me, I also think you’d miss me afterwards.”

Once the tender caresses finished, your calves landed on top of his shoulders as he leaned forward, squeezing a breathy moan out of you as he pushed his length into you to the very base of it, sliding on enough spit that it made the entrance easy. Ryomen learned your body through and through, he knew you can take it, he knew you’re always ready and eager to take him. Even if it’s early, even if it hurts. No matter when and where, if he told you to sit on his dick in the middle of a grocery store, you’d probably do just that and ask no questions. And yet, he knew where the boundaries are. Not once he pushed you when you were feeling bad. Not once he used you when you were not ready. The knowledge he now had about you came from observation.

“I think I would miss you,” he purred, his lips so close that they brushed against yours as he spoke. He’s got you in a mating press, filled to the brim with his bricked-up manhood and completely at his mercy. “You are addicting.”

“So keep me safe,” you whispered, cupping his face and chasing the kiss he was yet to give you. The request caught him slightly off guard. The pleading undertone made his heart clench; a feeling that he’s gone without for a decade at least and though he hated the odd sensation in his chest, he also couldn’t deny the warmth that spread throughout his body.

“You are safe with me,” the reassuring lie he followed with a heavy press onto your lips, sealing his words with his own tongue and silently promising you his protection. A vow that he wished to keep and yet, feared he won’t be able to. But now, it wasn’t important. Now you were here, in his bed, on his dick. Now there was just you and him.

Your dainty fingers found their place in his hair as he began thrusting into you. The new slick that combined with the remnants of the night made his movements easy as he dragged his hips back almost all the way out and then pushed back to the point of his pelvis clashing with the back of your thighs and your ass. The pace he set wasn’t fast. It wasn’t anything of what he’d most often pick, there was no violence intertwined into the melody of his hips. That morning it was sensual, it was deep and just rapid enough to stimulate every sweet spot inside of you. Stroke after stroke he was driving you crazy, he just barely started and already you felt yourself dripping. The filthy, wet sounds filled in the early aura and the muffled moans and whimpers accompanied them.

Sukuna allowed your legs to fall lower from where they were pressed against your chest and you hooked them around his hips. The newly earned access to his neck and shoulders you immediately used by allowing your hands to wander in the area, scratching his skin just to force a low purr from his throat. Every sound he made, you swallowed greedily as the kiss continued. Your tongues were dancing to the fiery rhythm of intimacy.

The coil in your stomach tightened all too quickly, you wished it to give you more time to enjoy what he was willing to give you but no matter how much you wanted your body to calm down, he made it absolutely impossible to achieve. Your veins were running with pure ecstasy and lust, the heated flurry that now was your brain was focused only on him, on the rhythm of his hips, on every sweet little lie that he whispered to you. Ryomen knew how to make you weak, he knew just how to angle his body to hit that one spot, the most sensitive one and you could feel him grinning against your lips. He knew you were close. The delicious squeezes that your cunt did on his girth were enough of a hint to notice and it gave him a sense of pride to be able to make you come undone so easily.

“Just few moments more,” he murmured and you nodded eagerly. Tears prickled in your eyes, gathering along your lash lines like crystals that he wished to kiss away, but was now too engulfed in the taste of your lips to part. His movements got quicker, just a little heavier as he began slamming into you with more force than at the beginning. Mornings tend to rid Sukuna from the ability to last – the ones that he spends with you in his arms, with your naked body pressed against his, unknowingly shifting against his dick for hours. That makes him unable to keep his composure for too long. Sometimes he feels like you strip him of all qualities that he once prided himself in, leaving him bare only to your eyes, with only the most primal needs exposed and he felt good with that kind of freedom.

“…don’t stop, oh god, ‘kuna~”, you were whimpering, arching your back underneath him and squeezing your little hands over his shoulders. “I can’t, I—”

“Oh, you can. Do your best,” Sukuna chuckled, teasing you with such impossible tasks. Your head fell back, your thighs were trembling against his sides and he could tell he’s losing you. You were far too deep in the realm of desire to hear his words; all of your world now came down to what you felt, to how you felt him and Sukuna loved your blissed out state. He loved the way he was the one to push you so far over the edge that you wouldn’t notice if the world was ending. But what he loved above that, was how you were gripping onto him; holding him tightly, pulling him closer as if you never wanted him to move away, as if he was everything you needed. And he was.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered against your throat, painting the skin over there with wet trails of kisses and new, red marks – the ones gentle enough to fade in a matter of hours. You moaned something incoherent. “Cum for me,” he allowed, not even sure if you’re registering his words. It had to be unconscious; the way your brain caught his voice between the blurry lines of everything else.

Your climax hit you like a rock; his name was slipping over your tongue continuously, so sweet and breathless that Sukuna was once again reassured that he never wants to hear anyone else calling him. Your walls were squeezing his throbbing length, he twitched and flexed inside you, groaning with satisfaction and before he allowed himself to come, he pushed himself up. As he sat on his heels, he pulled you with him; your body now on top of him and he used his hands to guide your hips up and down his dick. You wrapped yourself around him, finding a safe space for your face right where his neck connects with his muscular shoulder and all he needed to feel the bliss was the sensation of your teeth sinking into his skin.

White seed painted your insides as he shot it as deeply as he could reach with you on top of him. Few more moves, few more groans and you could feel him relax. His strong arms snaked around your waist as he shifted slightly to lean against the headboard, straightening his legs in front of him. You stayed pressed against his chest, catching your breath and feeling the tension leaving your body as the morning went by. And as Sukuna held you so close to his heart, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that it felt so right and that made the question bloom inside his brain. Was it still strictly physical? Was it ever only about sex?

taglist: @yihona-san06 @tiredscavengerskeleton @son4aras @vixorell @cecesharktales @isleqt @thickmacandcheese @captainchrisstan @bbylime @sad-darksoul @shartnart1 @kiki17483 @grimreaqueer @phoenix-eclipses @fan-of-encouragement @valleydoll @aleeeeeeees-stuff @marifujioka @going-to-californiaxx @just-pure-trash @edenofeve @impulsivethoughtsat2am @thigh-o-saur @heyohalie @matchat3a @bubblearts @littlemisspropaganda @aconstructofamind @lawislife18 @rzcnlb @sunukissed

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kayewrite · 4 days

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At the same time, I wanna hug you

(...I wanna wrap my hands around your neck)

seungmin x reader!! enemies to lovers troupe!! genre; fluff. word count: 10.7k (long but still not enough)

summary; if you have teleportation powers you would bring seungmin in the middle of ocean and dump him there. that's how much you hated him. but wait.. why he was suddenly cool?

an: you dont know how much i went crazy seeing seungmin in uniform! like babe! why are my classmate not like him? and.. this was a birthday present cause this man just turn half 50 minus 1!! anyways enjoy reading

Kim Seungmin.

You hated that very name.

You hated his existence.

You hated his smirk.

You hated that he breathes.

You hated how he never failed to make your blood boil.

Like now.

You were practically crawling into the classroom, late again, knowing full well the teacher wasn’t going to let it slide this time. Slowly and quietly, you slipped through the back door, hoping to go unnoticed, but your hopes were dashed when Kim Seungmin turned in his seat and caught your eye. His face slowly morphed into that all-too-familiar smirk.

You already knew your fate.

"Ma'am, someone’s late again."

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to punch him as the teacher ordered you to stand and endure a scolding. You stood there, bowing your head like a guilty child while Seungmin chuckled at your misery.

You hated him. You hated him so much you wished for teleportation powers—just so you could dump him in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and teleport back home.

The worst part? You were seatmates. In the one subject that made you contemplate dropping the class every week just to escape him. But no, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You’d endure, just so he wouldn’t win.

"Why were you late again?" he leaned over, asking in the most casual, condescending way possible.

“None of your business,” you rolled your eyes and shifted your chair further away from him.

“Actually, it is my business.” He smirked again, lifting the attendance sheet. “I’m in charge of marking who’s here today, and guess what? I don’t see your name yet. Got a good excuse for me?”

Damn.

You glared at him, wishing your stare could send him straight to the hospital. “I hate you.”

“Oh, I love you too,” he teased, laughing at your frustration.

You were minding your own business, erasing the board, when out of nowhere, a crumpled piece of paper hit you square on the head. Annoyed, you turned sharply, searching for the culprit. Your eyes quickly landed on Kim Seungmin, who very obviously averted his gaze and started whistling—like that wasn’t the biggest giveaway ever.

Glaring at him, you felt your temper rise. Without thinking twice, you grabbed the nearest weapon of choice—the chalkboard eraser—and hurled it with full force.

"Hey—!" Seungmin barely had time to react, his hands flying up to shield himself. The eraser still hit him, sending a cloud of chalk dust everywhere.

Minutes later, there he was, sitting in the clinic, sulking like he’d been gravely injured. You stood over him, arms crossed, rolling your eyes at the ridiculous situation.

“You’re such a kid,” you teased, watching as he winced dramatically. “Crying over a tiny little scratch.”

He glared at you, clutching his arm like he’d survived a battle. “Tiny? You nearly broke my arm!”

You smirked, “If I wanted to break your arm, Seungmin, I wouldn’t have used an eraser.”

You and Seungmin fought like kids, constantly bickering and annoying each other to the point where even your classmates didn’t bother stepping in anymore. They’d seen you two nearly throw punches at each other too many times to care.

One day in the cafeteria, you were finally enjoying a moment of peace, savoring your lunch, when Seungmin suddenly plopped down in front of you. He smiled, but there was something odd about it. Well, Seungmin was always odd, but this felt extra weird. He wasn’t even touching his food; he just sat there, staring at you.

"What are you looking at, ugly?" you asked, scowling.

He leaned back casually. "My friends are coming, and we're sitting at this table. It’s up to you if you wanna leave or not."

You blinked, taken aback. "What?! I got here first!"

"Yeah, well," he shrugged nonchalantly, "I don’t care."

Before you could argue further, the cafeteria exploded with noise. His friends had arrived—there was no mistaking it. They were loud, famous, and had an almost cult-like following at school. You could practically hear the high-pitched squeals from the “fandom” as they entered. Without even turning around, you knew it was them.

Your frustration mounted as they surrounded the table, chattering loudly. You weren’t exactly fond of crowds, for that matter. Sitting there, sandwiched between Seungmin and his friends, you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

Hyunjin—yes, that Hyunjin—suddenly leaned over, flashing a bright smile. "Hey, what’s your name?"

You nearly choked on your food. Of course, the universe had to pick this moment to be cruel. Before you could respond, Seungmin cut in with a smug grin.

"She’s no one. Don’t mind her," he said, not even sparing you a glance.

Your face flushed with embarrassment and annoyance. You stood up abruptly, knocking over your chair. "I’ve suddenly lost my appetite," you muttered awkwardly before storming off, desperately trying to escape the humiliation.

Why does this always happen to me? you groaned internally. I hate Seungmin. And I hate myself for embarrassing myself in front of my crush… Hyunjin.

If I see that KIM SEUNGMIN later, I’m going to kill him.

Later in class, your chance for revenge came. Seungmin was called on for an oral recitation, and—poetic justice—he stood there, stuttering and completely clueless. You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath as he floundered, finally getting a taste of the embarrassment he loved dishing out.

Justice had never tasted so sweet.

---

"I hope lightning strikes him," you muttered, glaring at Seungmin from a distance as you hugged yourself, shivering from the cold. You were stuck in a waiting shed, the afternoon bringing with it a torrential downpour that looked like the start of a typhoon. The weather had been perfect this morning—sunny, with not a cloud in sight. You'd made the mistake of leaving your umbrella at home, thinking it would only weigh down your bag. Now, you regretted every bit of that decision.

Across the street, Seungmin stood dry under his big, obnoxiously bright umbrella, almost laughing as he caught sight of you. His smug grin was practically glowing, and as if to rub salt in the wound, he waved at you.

You flipped him the finger.

‘When will his time come?’ you wondered bitterly. Why am I always the one who ends up miserable?

The shed's roof was doing a terrible job of keeping the rain out. Water dripped from all angles, splashing around you and soaking your clothes. You glanced up at the leaky ceiling and groaned. When will this stop? you thought—both about the rain and Seungmin.

If the two of you were friends, and if he weren’t the spawn of Lucifer himself, you might’ve swallowed your pride and asked to share his umbrella. Your house was literally just a block away. But no! You would not—under any circumstances—lower yourself to envy his dry, smug self.

You would never give him the satisfaction. Even if it meant sitting here the whole night, soaked and miserable.

Seungmin started walking toward you, his big umbrella swaying with each step. He stopped in front of you with the most annoyingly sarcastic smile.

"You wanna share?" he asked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

You rolled your eyes. "No thanks."

"You sure? The news said the rain’s stopping… tomorrow."

"Even if it never stops for a whole week, Kim Seungmin, I would never!" you snapped, glaring at him.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your misery. "You sure? Last chance."

"Yes!" you practically shouted, arms crossed in defiance.

"Okay." He shrugged, stepping back. "One word is enough for me."

And with that, he turned on his heel and continued on his way, leaving you alone in the rain.

"I won’t regret it!" you yelled after him, though your voice sounded far less confident than before.

Ten minutes later, you were drenched and shivering, cursing under your breath. Regret started to creep in. You glanced down the road—completely empty. Not a single taxi in sight.

"Where are all the taxis when I need them?" you groaned, looking up at the dark, stormy sky.

And so, your day ended just as it began: with Seungmin somehow managing to ruin it.

It was Friday, and your first class of the day happened to be the one where your seatmate was none other than him.

Determined not to be late, you arrived twenty minutes early. The classroom was nearly empty, with only a handful of students scattered around. Feeling groggy, you slumped over your desk, letting the quiet atmosphere lull you into a light nap.

Of course, peace never lasted long when Seungmin was involved.

A sharp knock on your desk pulled you from the brink of sleep. You cracked one eye open to see Seungmin settling into the seat beside you, a smug grin already plastered on his face.

"Oh, you’re early today. Were you looking forward to sitting next to me?" he teased, leaning back comfortably as if he hadn't just ruined your peaceful moment.

"It’s still early, Kim Seungmin," you muttered, closing your eyes again. Not today, you thought. You weren’t going to let him ruin your morning. Not this early.

He glanced at his watch with a chuckle. "Well, it’s 10 a.m., and that’s not exactly early, is it?"

"Seungmin, if you’re bored and looking to annoy someone, talk to my hand." Without even opening your eyes, you lazily raised your hand in his direction, palm out.

Just then, Yuna, who sat in front of you, arrived. She took one look at the two of you, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Why are you guys always fighting the moment you see each other?"

You opened one eye, giving her a pleading look. "Can you please let him annoy you instead?"

Yuna just laughed. "Oh, Seungmin wouldn’t annoy anyone else but you." She gave you a knowing smile. "He likes you."

Your eyes shot open at her words, and you squinted at Seungmin, who was now smirking as if he knew exactly how to get under your skin. "Yeah, likes to annoy me," you huffed, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

Seungmin shrugged, leaning in a little closer just to provoke you. "Well, yeah, I like it sooo much," he laughed, clearly amused by your reaction.

Yuna, now used to your bickering, just shrugged and turned her attention to the front of the classroom, leaving you to deal with him.

You let out a sigh, hoping that Seungmin would leave you alone for at least a minute. "Is there any chance you’ll be quiet today?"

He pretended to think for a moment. "Hmm, nope."

You groaned, dropping your head back onto your desk. "Why do you even sit next to me?"

"Fate," he said casually, glancing over as if he hadn’t just said the most ridiculous thing ever.

You shot him a disbelieving look. "What?"

"It’s fate," he repeated with a smirk. "Out of all the seats in this entire classroom, I ended up next to you. Don’t you think that means something?"

"Yeah, it means I’m cursed."

He laughed, the sound annoyingly cheerful, and leaned in closer. "Maybe, or maybe you’re just lucky to have me next to you."

"Lucky isn’t the word I’d use."

Before he could respond, the classroom started filling up, and the teacher finally arrived. You sent a silent prayer of thanks, hoping class would be a break from Seungmin’s endless teasing.

“…you will do this assignment by pairs. To speed things up, partner with your seatmate.”

It was nothing new to be stuck with your enemy, but when you realized that the activity involved a short roleplay drama, you felt a surge of panic. Acting alongside him was nowhere on your bucket list of things to do—if you even had a bucket list.

“Maam, can I exchange my partner?” you raised your hand, desperation evident in your voice.

“Ouch, you hurt my feelings!” Seungmin clutched his chest dramatically, feigning offense.

“What’s wrong with your partner?” the teacher asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sometimes you wondered why everyone seemed to love this annoying dog sitting next to you.

With no choice left, you begrudgingly held the script with a scowl. When would you ever have a peaceful day in class? Why did you have to pretend to be in love with this guy?

“Come on, read your line!” Seungmin demanded, his annoyance bubbling over.

Of all the choices in your teacher's fishbowl, you’d drawn the romantic scene everyone praying not to get. You would have preferred a horror script over this.

“I don’t want to!” you protested, crossing your arms defiantly.

“Well, you have to! It’s your fault for picking it!” he shot back, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“I told you to pick it!” you replied, frustration mounting.

“And then I’d be the one to blame? We don’t have a choice but to do well.” He leaned back, crossing his arms smugly.

“Ugh! I hate you so much!” you exclaimed, slumping back in your seat.

“Well, you have to love me now.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying your misery.

“What did I do in my past life to deserve this?” You groaned, reading the lines again.

“Probably killed someone,” he quipped, shooting you a knowing look.

You glared at him, and he immediately raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing.

“Oh, apologies. Let’s practice! You don’t have a choice; it’s either fail or just accept it.”

“I hate you.”

“I accept it, Juliet.” He grinned, clearly relishing your frustration.

Thankfully, the teacher had given you a week to prepare, which meant you never took practicing seriously after that.

“We’ll practice tomorrow,” Seungmin stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I have something to do tomorrow,” you said nonchalantly, hoping to deter him.

“I have things too, but I want good grades, so you have to come.” He started packing his things away.

“Hey, Seungmin!” You both turned at the sound of his friend’s voice. It was Hyunjin, accompanied by Felix and Jisung. You straightened up, suddenly conscious of your appearance.

“Let’s go somewhere!” Jisung draped an arm around Seungmin’s shoulders.

“I have important things to do,” Seungmin replied, and Jisung pouted in response.

“Oh, it was you in the cafeteria the other day,” Hyunjin said, looking right at you. It took you a moment to process that he was talking to you.

“Um…” Your voice faltered. “Yes?”

Hyunjin smiled at you, and you felt your heart race.

“Guys, wait for me outside. You just sneaked into my classroom,” Seungmin laughed, and his friends complied, heading for the door.

You were still catching your breath from the interaction when Seungmin turned back, grinning at you. “So, Hyunjin is your crush?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Oh no! Seungmin had caught on!

“Of course, I’m not!” you blurted out, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Why are you saying ‘I’m not’ in such an awkward way?” He laughed, clearly enjoying this new revelation. “Then it is true!”

“Please don’t tell him!” You pleaded, realizing you were losing this battle.

“Of course I won’t…” He smiled coyly, “…I won’t do what you ask.” Then, with a laugh, he tossed his bag over his shoulder and dashed out the door.

“Oh, damn…” You froze in your seat, panic setting in.

“See you at practice tomorrow!” Seungmin waved annoyingly from the doorway, clearly aware that you had no choice but to comply.

As the door swung shut behind him, you sank back into your chair, contemplating your fate. Tomorrow was going to be a nightmare.

You arrived at his house and rang the doorbell repeatedly, knowing he would probably just hear it and take his sweet time.

“You’re late,” he said with a smug smile when he finally opened the gate.

“I’m not,” you insisted, holding your wrist up to show him your watch, the sleek silver face gleaming in the sunlight.

“You’re late by 58 seconds,” he replied, crossing his arms as if he were judging your punctuality.

“What?! It’s not my fault you opened your gate late!” You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

He chuckled at your annoyed expression, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Come in.”

“Not like I have a choice,” you muttered, stepping inside.

It was your first time in his house, and you weren’t surprised by how nice it was. The exterior was already immaculate, and the inside was just as polished—walls adorned with family photos and art that hinted at a cozy atmosphere. But you would never admit that to him.

“My parents aren’t home; they have work,” he said, glancing around the living room as if to check for any potential chaos.

“No one asked,” you shot back, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement.

“Just wanted to let you know in case you try to kill me; there’s a CCTV camera around,” he said, half-serious.

“Oh, great. Just what I need,” you replied dryly, shaking your head.

He headed to the kitchen, presumably to get something to drink, giving you a moment to explore. You took the chance to glance at the pictures displayed throughout the room. One photo caught your eye—him as a child, beaming with joy as he played in a park.

When he returned, you pointed to the picture near the TV. “Is that you?”

“Obviously,” he said, rolling his eyes, his tone laced with playful sarcasm.

You squinted at the picture, then turned to him, suddenly serious. “I mean… will there ever be a time for us to stop bickering, even just for a bit? I'm trying to start a normal conversation here”

“Will there be?” he countered, sitting beside you with a teasing grin, his body relaxed as he leaned back.

“Yeah, right. Never,” you replied, smirking despite yourself.

He handed you the printed script he’d prepared, the edges slightly crinkled. “Why are we putting so much effort into this? It’s just reading the script, not really acting it out.”

“Because I have a goal grade, unlike you,” he said matter-of-factly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Have you forgotten I’m an achiever too?” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly.

When would this bickering ever end?

“Hyunjin is coming,” he announced suddenly, the air in the room shifting.

“No one asked--” You paused, then asked, “Wait what?!”

“So you should behave if you don’t want to scare him off,” he added, the grin still plastered on his face.

“Seungmin, why would you do that?!” You lightly slapped him on the shoulder, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“Because… I can?” He laughed, shielding himself playfully. “I mean, what’s wrong with inviting a friend? He's good at acting he can help”

“I hate you so much,” you groaned, exasperation creeping into your tone.

Hyunjin had been your crush for as long as you could remember, and the thought of him being in the same space as you made your stomach flutter with nerves. He was perfect in every way—charismatic, charming, and completely out of your league.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Seungmin teased, leaning closer with that infuriating grin. “Oh, I forgot—you like him, right?”

You responded by giving him another light shove, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. It was always like this between you two—endless banter, lighthearted teasing, but the presence of Hyunjin added a layer of awkwardness you couldn’t quite shake.

You both settled onto the couch, the printed script between you. Seungmin glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Okay, let’s get this over with. You read Juliet’s lines, and I’ll read Romeo’s,” he said, smirking.

“Fine, but don’t mess it up,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure.

You started reading through the script, your voice steady but laced with a hint of nervousness. “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes dramatically. “Wow, so poetic. Just make sure you don’t faint from all that romance.”

You shot him a glare. “Shut up, Romeo.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. Your heart raced. Hyunjin was here.

“See? You should behave,” Seungmin teased, nudging your shoulder.

You threw him a playful glare, then he rushed to open the door. There stood Hyunjin, looking effortlessly cool, his smile warm as he greeted you both. “Hey! Ready to practice?”

“Uh, yeah! Come in!” you said, trying to keep your cool but feeling the heat creep into your cheeks.

Seungmin sauntered over, clearly relishing the moment. “Hyunjin! Glad you could join us! We were just getting to the juicy parts.”

You shot him a warning look, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass you. Hyunjin, however, seemed unfazed. “Nice! I can help you both with the romantic scenes if you want.”

You nodded eagerly. “That would be great! I need help with… you know, acting like I’m in love.” You winced at how obvious that sounded.

Hyunjin grinned, moving to sit across from you. “Alright, let’s try a scene. Here’s the famous balcony part. Juliet says, ‘O, for a falconer’s voice to lure this tassel-gentle back again.’”

You felt your heart flutter. “I’ll try,” you said, taking a deep breath. “O, for a falconer’s voice to lure this tassel-gentle back again!”

Hyunjin smiled, then gestured for you to continue. “And then Romeo responds with, ‘I would not for the world they saw thee here.’”

Seungmin picked up the line, and you both began to read, the atmosphere shifting as you focused on the scene. You felt a playful energy in the air, the tension of performing lifting your spirits.

“‘I would not for the world they saw thee here,’” Seungmin said, his voice low and earnest.

You replied, “Then there’s no need to be ashamed,” trying to put as much emotion into it as possible.

Hyunjin clapped after your line. “That was great! You both looked really good together!”

You and Seungmin exchanged a quick look. “No!” you both said in unison.

Hyunjin chuckled, clearly entertained by your synchronized denial. “Really, it’s just acting! But seriously, you guys have good chemistry.”

“Thanks!” you said, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pride.

“Alright, let’s keep practicing!” Hyunjin suggested, eager to dive back into the script.

You focused on the lines, the playful banter keeping the atmosphere light. As you practiced, you couldn’t help but enjoy the moment, the camaraderie making the task feel less like a chore and more like fun.

With Hyunjin guiding you, you felt more confident as you delivered your lines, ready to tackle the performance together.

The days passed in a blur as you and Seungmin practiced again at his house. You settled into a routine, the playful banter punctuating your rehearsals, and surprisingly, you started to enjoy the time spent together.

Finally, the day of the presentation arrived. As you stood in front of the class, you felt a mix of nerves and excitement. When it was your turn to deliver your lines, you poured your heart into the performance, channeling every emotion.

To your surprise, Yuna leaned over after the presentation and whispered, “It wasn’t like you were entering each other’s nerves at all!” Her compliment made you beam with pride.

Seungmin, too, impressed you with his serious demeanor. For once, he seemed genuinely focused, and seeing him so dedicated made you realize how much he cared about doing well. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for both of you.

After the applause died down, your teacher announced, “I’m pleased to inform you all that I have chosen actors for the upcoming school play, and I choose…” She paused dramatically, glancing between you and Seungmin, “…you two!”

A wave of excitement surged through you, quickly followed by a burst of playful competitiveness. “See? You should thank me for picking a role that suits us both,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I’m grateful, alright. I forgot for a moment how you despise your pick. In fact, I’m so happy I’m going to treat you to cake and coffee.”

“Yes!” you replied enthusiastically, unable to hide your grin. “I deserve a treat after all that hard work!”

“Sure, but only because I can’t let my scene partner go hungry,” he said, winking.

As you both headed out, the bickering continued, light-hearted and familiar, but beneath it was a shared joy that made the moment all the more special. You couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this experience was bringing you closer, even if you would never admit it.

At the café, the atmosphere buzzed with chatter and the rich aroma of coffee. You and Seungmin settled into a cozy corner, the tension from earlier melted away as you both began to chat more easily.

“So, do you actually love acting?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Absolutely!” you replied, a grin spreading across your face. “I’ve always idolized Emma Watson. I mean, come on, I look just like her!” You struck a dramatic pose, fluttering your eyelashes.

Seungmin looked at you, clearly unconvinced, with a “Are you kidding me?” expression. You burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the café.

“Okay, maybe not exactly like her,” you admitted, trying to catch your breath. “But a girl can dream, right?”

“Sure, if dreaming means torturing the rest of us,” he shot back with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “Anyway, I’m planning to major in acting when I get to college. It’s my dream!”

“Nice! I like acting too, but I’m thinking about majoring in music,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Wait, you? You know how to sing?” You raised an eyebrow, unable to hide your skepticism.

“Wanna hear?” he challenged, a playful glint in his eye.

“Please no!” you teased, dramatically placing your hand on your heart. “I’d rather sleep forever than listen to your singing.”

Seungmin laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so mean! I think it would be the opposite”

“Mean? I’m just saving you from embarrassment,” you shot back with a grin. “You should thank me!”

"you'll regret what you're saying when I become famous."

As you exchanged playful banter, you realized that this was your way of connecting. The teasing and light insults had become second nature, and somehow, the hurtful words didn’t sting anymore. Instead, they felt like an essential part of your friendship, a comfortable rhythm that made you both laugh.

“Seriously though,” you said, softening a bit, “I think it’s awesome that you’re into music. We’ll be the dynamic duo of arts!”

“Absolutely! Just don’t expect me to duet with you anytime soon,” he joked, raising his cup in a mock toast.

“Deal!” you laughed, feeling lighter than you had in a long time.

As the practice for the play approached, your schedule became packed, leaving little time for anything else. Excitement bubbled inside you, especially since Hyunjin, a year ahead of you, was also in the cast. You could hardly wait for the next rehearsal.

One day, while waiting for practice to start, you found yourself lost in thought, staring at Hyunjin as he chatted with some friends. Seungmin, ever the observant one, caught you in the act.

“You look like a lovesick puppy,” he teased, a playful grin stretching across his face.

You quickly snapped out of your daydream, narrowing your eyes at him. “Shut up! I’m not!” You playfully punched his arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your point.

“Uh-huh, sure,” he laughed, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“You’re just jealous that I’m not staring at you like that!”

As partners playing lovers in the play, you often imagined being paired with Hyunjin. But the teacher had chosen Seungmin, and surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as you expected. You’d gotten used to the banter, and the awkwardness faded as practice continued.

Days passed, filled with rehearsals that drew you closer to Seungmin. The bickering remained, a constant source of amusement.

During one practice, while the two of you were warming up, Seungmin leaned over to Hyunjin, a mischievous smile on his face. “Hyunjin, have you already eaten? This monkey here asks,” he said, pointing at you as if you were some sort of pet.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “I am! Thank you for asking!” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, and she also said you were handsome,” Seungmin added, clearly enjoying the moment.

You felt your cheeks flush, and in a mock fit of outrage, you dashed toward him. “Seungmin!” you yelled, but he was quicker. He took off running, his laughter echoing through the practice room.

When you finally caught up to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck in a playful hug, making him squirm. “You’re such a tormentor!” you laughed, shaking him lightly.

From across the room, Hyunjin watched the whole scene unfold, a smile playing on his lips. “Are you sure they hate each other?” asked the director, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

Hyunjin just nodded, clearly entertained. “Definitely yes!” he replied, chuckling at your playful dynamic.

As you and Seungmin continued to tease each other, you realized that despite the playful bickering, there was an undeniable comfort between you—something that made every rehearsal just a little bit brighter.

---

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, and there you were, standing under a shed, glaring at the gray sky as if it were personally responsible for your soaked shoes. You had forgotten your umbrella—again.

As you waited, shivering slightly from the cold, you spotted Seungmin in the distance, standing confidently under a bright yellow umbrella. He was teasingly waving it over his head, a smirk plastered on his face as he called out, “Looks like someone forgot their umbrella again!”

You rolled your eyes and shot him a finger. “Very funny, Seungmin!”

He sauntered over, his grin widening with each step. "You wanna share?"

You rolled your eyes. "No thanks." you replied, crossing your arms defiantly.

“Okay, then. One word is enough for me.” He turned to leave, an exaggerated pout on his lips.

You hesitated for a moment, watching him walk away. “Wait!” you called out, and he turned back, an annoying smile in his lips. “Fine! We can share!”

Seungmin’s face broke into a triumphant grin as he rushed back to your side, positioning the umbrella over both of you. As you walked together, the atmosphere shifted from frustration to lightheartedness, laughter spilling out between the two of you.

“My shoulder is now wet,” Seungmin complained, feigning annoyance as he brushed water off his shirt.

“Is it my fault that you work out so much? Your shoulders are just too broad!” you shot back, unable to suppress a grin.

“Did you just compliment me?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Ugh, it wasn’t a compliment!” you retorted, trying to keep a straight face.

“Then I’ll just have to embrace this wetness!” he said cheerfully, adjusting the umbrella with exaggerated flair. Before you knew it, he leaned closer, and water dripped off his shoulder, splashing onto you.

You burst into laughter, shoving him playfully. “You idiot!”

Seungmin laughed too, chasing after you as you dashed away, your heart racing with excitement. The rain seemed to fade into the background, the only sound being your giggles and the splatter of water against the pavement.

“You’re going to pay for that!” he yelled, laughter echoing through the downpour.

Just as you turned to look back, he splashed a wave of water right at you, soaking you completely. You retaliated, grabbing a handful of rainwater and splashing it back at him.

The playful battle raged on, and soon both of you were drenched, shivering yet exhilarated.

---

It was two weeks before the big play, and you were laser-focused on perfecting every detail. The pressure was on, and you found yourself spending more time practicing than ever. You wanted everything to be perfect, especially with the role you were playing. Seungmin, of course, was your partner in most scenes, so you had to rehearse together.

But as you delivered your lines, standing face-to-face with Seungmin, it became harder and harder to stay serious. Seungmin kept pulling funny faces behind his lines, causing you to break character and burst into laughter.

“Direct, please, punch him or something!” you whined dramatically, throwing your hands up. “He won’t stop!”

The director, seeing your exaggerated reaction, just chuckled. Meanwhile, the rest of the cast erupted in laughter.

"I’m serious now! I promise!" Seungmin said, shrugging off his antics.

You tried to continue, but the minute you looked at his serious face, you couldn’t hold back your laughter again. His deadpan expression was just too much.

“Okay, okay,” you said, wiping away a tear from laughing too hard. “Let’s take five. I need to compose myself.”

You sat down in the corner, still laughing. Seungmin joined you, shaking his head with a grin.

“Why are you always like this?” you asked, playfully slapping his arm. “We’re supposed to be professional!”

“Hey! I’m doing great! You’re the one laughing!” he protested with a smirk.

You couldn't deny it—something had shifted between you and Seungmin lately. There was this playful, easygoing dynamic now, and to your surprise, you liked it. You weren’t exactly sure when it happened, but the tension between the two of you had somehow dissolved, leaving behind a strange sort of camaraderie. And it felt... right.

---

Late again. You were quietly crawling your way toward your seat, praying that Seungmin wouldn’t notice. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be too preoccupied to see you sneaking in. But no such luck. Just as you thought you were in the clear, you saw Seungmin glancing in your direction, that infamous smirk already forming on his face. You knew that look all too well—he was up to something.

Desperate, you shot him a pleading look, mouthing a dramatic “Nooo,” and shaking your head in an exaggerated fashion. But the smirk only widened as he raised his hand.

“Ma'am!”

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the inevitable scolding. This is it, you thought. I’m done.

But instead, Seungmin’s voice rang out casually, “I forgot to give you the assignments I collected from the class.”

Your eyes flew open in shock. What?

“Oh right! Thank you, Seungmin, for the reminder.” The teacher smiled at him, clearly appreciating the help.

Seungmin stood up, cool as ever, handing over the pile of papers. He sat back down, a faint smirk still on his lips as if nothing unusual had happened.

You slid into your seat cautiously, your heart still racing. You glanced over at Seungmin, who met your gaze with a quick wink before turning back to his notebook. That was... new, you thought, utterly confused.

Practice resumed as usual, and you started to get into the flow of things. You liked rehearsing for the play more than you thought you would, especially with the creative freedom you were given. The only downside? Seungmin never missed an opportunity to get under your skin.

As you entered the practice room, sporting your freshly cut hair, Seungmin immediately took notice.

He eyed you up and down, a teasing grin already forming on his lips. “You know,” he began, casually leaning back in his chair, “short hair doesn’t really suit you.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where this was headed. “What are you talking about? I look pretty in it,” you shot back confidently, placing your hands on your hips.

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, the playful grin still firmly in place. “Pretty? More like you look like a monkey who tried to give itself a haircut.”

“Excuse me?” You gasped, pretending to be scandalized. “I do not look like a monkey.”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,” Seungmin shrugged, clearly enjoying how flustered you were getting. He leaned closer, dropping his voice dramatically. “But just so you know, if we ever put you in a zoo, you’d fit right in.”

You gasped again, this time more dramatically, then pointed at him with a mock serious expression. “You’re just jealous because I’m out here looking cute and you can’t handle it.”

“Cute?” Seungmin laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Whatever, I know the truth. You’re just afraid to admit that I’m rocking this look,” you teased back, refusing to back down.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming, monkey,” he said, chuckling softly as you narrowed your eyes at him.

Another day in class, you were erasing the board when something hit the back of your head. Startled, you spun around, spotting Seungmin sitting there, whistling innocently. It was the most obvious thing ever—he didn’t even try to hide it.

You glared at him, trying to keep your cool. ‘Let it go’, you thought. ‘Don’t give him the satisfaction’. But then, another paper ball hit you.

"Seriously?" you muttered under your breath, turning to give him a sharp look.

This time, Seungmin didn’t bother pretending. He smiled and pointed to the paper ball on the floor. “Read it,” he said, nodding toward the crumpled note.

You raised your hand, ready to throw the eraser at him with full force.

“Wait!” Seungmin said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. “Just read it, will you?”

With a dramatic sigh, you picked up the paper, unfolding it. Written in his messy handwriting were the words: “Let’s eat. My treat.”

Before you could react, Jisung, who had been quietly observing the whole scene, burst into laughter. “What kind of lame drama am I witnessing?” he cackled.

You whipped around and threw the eraser at him instead, hitting him square in the shoulder. “Mind your own business, Jisung!”

“Hey! I’m just saying!” Jisung grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos.

Later that afternoon, you and Seungmin found yourselves at a seafood restaurant. Well, it was supposed to be Seungmin’s treat, but somehow the two of you ended up bickering over who would pay. Cause you wanna pay too.

“Let’s settle this the mature way—rock, paper, scissors,” Seungmin proposed, holding out his fist.

“Fine,” you agreed, thinking you had a good chance.

You both threw out your hands, and you won.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, triumph coursing through you for about five seconds. But then Seungmin began to order.

He grinned, shaking his head. “You’re gonna regret that.”

You frowned, confusion creeping in as the waiter approached. Seungmin rattled off an absurd number of dishes—enough to feed an entire village.

“Seungmin,” you hissed, eyes wide in disbelief, “do you really need to order enough food for 30 people?”

Seungmin leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed. “You said it was your treat. I’m just taking full advantage.”

You pouted, crossing your arms defiantly. “This isn’t fair. You’re evil.”

“Evil? No way,” he laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I prefer the term ‘strategically gifted.’”

As the waiter left with the long list of orders, you grumbled, “You should’ve thought about that before challenging me.”

In the end, Seungmin ended up paying for most of it, but you insisted on contributing, stubbornly pushing a few bills his way. He didn’t argue too much, shaking his head with an amused smile. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“Of course! If I’m going to be broke, I might as well be happy about it,” you retorted, a grin spreading across your face.

Seungmin laughed, clearly entertained by your determination. “Fair enough. Next time, I’ll just let you win without a fight.”

“Deal! But only if you promise not to order enough food for a small army,” you teased, raising your glass in a mock toast.

“Challenge accepted,” he replied, clinking his glass against yours, both of you laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Another rehearsal, and you were sitting on the sidelines, legs crossed as you watched your classmates perform. You had just finished your scene and were still buzzing from the energy of it all. The lights cast a warm glow on the stage, and you found yourself quietly admiring the atmosphere, the stars of the production shining brightly in your eyes.

Suddenly, the director's voice broke through your thoughts. “Seungmin, can you step in as the main character for a bit? Our lead’s absent today.”

“Sure,” Seungmin replied, standing up with an easy confidence. He made his way to the center of the stage, and you prepared for him to be awkward or hesitant. Instead, he surprised you.

As he took his place, he transformed. His movements were smooth and assured, his voice resonating with sincerity. You couldn’t help but lean forward, captivated. He moved across the stage effortlessly, delivering his lines with an authenticity that made you forget you were watching your friend.

Wow, he was really talented.

You shook your head slightly, trying to push the thought away. No way could you think Seungmin was handsome. That was just absurd.

Then came a scene where he had to hug the female lead. As he pulled her into a gentle embrace, your heart gave a small, inexplicable flutter. The warmth of his presence seemed to radiate even from where you sat, and you felt an unfamiliar tightening in your stomach.

You tried to shrug it off, focusing on the performance, but the feeling lingered, swirling with an odd mix of admiration and something else entirely. Watching him, you realized you were seeing a different side of Seungmin—one that was undeniably charismatic and captivating.

The rehearsal continued, but you found it harder to concentrate, your thoughts drifting back to the way he had held her, how effortlessly he embodied the character. What was happening to you? You glanced away, trying to regain your composure, but the strange flutter remained, echoing in your mind long after the scene ended.

You were still lost in thought about the rehearsal when Hyunjin sat down beside you. ��You look really pretty with your hair like that,” he commented with a smile.

You blushed at the compliment, glancing down. “Thanks! Seungmin said it doesn’t suit me.”

Hyunjin chuckled softly. “Seungmin? He’s just teasing you. That’s his way of telling you he likes it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Definitely,” Hyunjin replied with a smirk. “He wouldn’t bother teasing you if he didn’t like it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “He always tease me.”

Hyunjin leaned back, still smiling. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

“We’re neighbors,” you explained. “Since elementary school. We were always competing—who could get the best grades, who could finish their homework first. It’s been like that forever.”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Do you hate him?”

You laughed, thinking for a moment. “If I could push him off a cliff, I probably would.”

Hyunjin grinned. “Would you really, though?”

You hesitated, suddenly unsure. “...yes,” you admitted, half-joking.

Hyunjin chuckled, clearly sensing something. “Well, I hope I don’t hear about you two pushing each other off cliffs anytime soon.”

You shrugged with a playful smile. “No promises.”

Later, you were eating peacefully in the cafeteria, minding your own business, when Seungmin plopped his tray down across from you. He sat down without a word, digging into his food.

You raised an eyebrow, already knowing what was coming. “Let me guess... your friends are coming?”

Seungmin glanced at you lazily, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. “No, they don’t wanna see you.”

You pouted, pretending to be offended. “I miss Hyunjin.”

“Then ask him out,” Seungmin replied lazily, taking a bite of his bread.

You paused mid-bite, your eyes narrowing as you stared at him. “You think I have a chance with him?”

Seungmin smirked, shaking his head. “No, he hates monkeys like you who throw erasers at people.”

You gasped, glaring at him. “I do not look like a monkey!”

“Sure, whatever helps you,” Seungmin teased, his grin widening. “And for the record, Hyunjin’s probably just being nice.”

You frowned, “He said I was pretty with my new haircut.”

Seungmin scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know how much he lies? He probably tells that to everyone.”

You didn’t bother arguing. Instead, you decided to change tactics. “Help me get him to go out with me, then.”

Seungmin snorted. “Do it on your own. You’re big enough for that.”

You groaned dramatically, leaning across the table toward him. “If you help me, I’ll buy you something. Anything you want.”

Seungmin looked at you, considering it for a moment before shrugging. “Buy me a house."

You rolled your eyes, giving him a deadpan stare. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying how easily you gave up. “Good luck, Juliet.”

It was Friday again, and somehow, you found yourself seated next to Seungmin—again. This time, however, you arrived early, a full thirty minutes ahead of your usual time. Feeling tired, you laid your head on the desk, hoping to catch a quick nap.

Just as you were dozing off, you felt a sharp knock on the desk, startling you awake. You looked up to see Seungmin grinning down at you, clearly enjoying your misery.

“Missing me that much, huh?” he teased. “You’re thirty minutes earlier than usual.”

You groaned, rubbing your eyes. “We basically see each other every day. I’m already sick of it,” you replied with a shrug.

Seungmin chuckled, settling into his seat beside you. “You’ll survive. Anyway, I need to copy your assignment.”

You blinked, sitting up straight. “We had an assignment?”

“Seriously?” Seungmin raised an eyebrow, holding back a laugh. He reached into his bag and pulled out his own paper, handing it to you. “Here, just copy mine before Ma’am shows up.”

You took the paper from him, still confused. “Wait, I thought you said you didn’t do the assignment either?”

“I forgot that I had,” Seungmin said casually, smirking. “Now hurry up before it’s too late.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your pen and started copying the assignment, scribbling quickly while glancing at the door every few seconds to make sure the teacher wasn’t close. As you worked, you couldn’t help but notice the shift between you and Seungmin. There was a time when you would’ve refused to help him—or worse, argued with him endlessly. But now? It felt... different. There was a weird sense of comfort in these small moments.

"What now? does our fighting over who finish assignments first done?" you laugh,

"Then give me back my paper. I've changed my mind."

You didn’t hate it. In fact, you kind of liked it.

Seungmin was sipping on his water bottle backstage when Hyunjin approached him, all casual as ever.

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin started, leaning against the wall beside him. “Do you like her?”

Seungmin paused mid-sip, glancing sideways at Hyunjin with a raised brow. “What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin gave him a knowing look. “I’ve known you for years, dude. I know when you like someone.”

Seungmin snorted, trying to brush it off. “Why would that matter to you?”

“Well,” Hyunjin said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “if I asked her out, would you get mad?”

Seungmin’s eyes widened slightly before he quickly masked it, his expression turning nonchalant. “Why would I care?”

Hyunjin tilted his head, smirking as if testing Seungmin’s reaction. “Really?”

Seungmin waved his hand dismissively, though his jaw tightened slightly. “What am I, a matchmaker for you two? Why are you even asking for my opinion? I don’t care.”

Hyunjin chuckled and slung an arm around Seungmin’s shoulders. “Thanks, bro. That’s all I needed to know.”

As Hyunjin walked away, Seungmin clenched his water bottle a little too tightly. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more—the fact that Hyunjin seemed interested in you, or the fact that you two were making him feel like some kind of third wheel. Whatever it was, it was starting to get under his skin.

Seungmin was making his way back to the classroom, balancing a small box of milk he’d grabbed for you from the cafeteria. He'd overheard you mention wanting one earlier, so without a second thought, he picked one up, hoping to surprise you.

As he neared the classroom door, he paused when he heard your voice. You were deep in conversation with one of your friends, and for some reason, curiosity got the better of him. He stood just outside, hidden by the doorframe, listening.

"Why do you hate Seungmin so much, anyway?" your friend asked.

Seungmin’s ears perked up at the question, his grip tightening around the milk carton. He wasn’t sure why he was still standing there, but he couldn’t move. He just waited.

You sighed before answering, "He's so annoying. Always teasing me, always acting like he’s better than me. He’s infuriating."

Each word hit him harder than he expected, like tiny jabs that made his heart sink deeper and deeper. He already knows this what you felt for him but he doesn't know why it still hurts. He could feel his chest tighten, his breath coming out a little shallower as he stayed rooted to the spot.

But then you added something else, something he missed. A quieter tone followed the harshness of your earlier words. It was softer, almost like you were reflecting on something.

"Lately though... I don’t know. I guess I’ve started to see that maybe he’s not that bad."

But Seungmin didn’t hear those words. He had already turned away, stepping back before he could catch the change in your tone. His heart, now heavier, urged him to walk in the opposite direction, so that’s exactly what he did. The milk, once meant to be a small gesture of kindness, now felt pointless in his hand.

PE class rolled around, and with no rehearsal scheduled, you entered the gym, spotting Seungmin as usual. You both ended up being partners again—something that had become routine at this point. There were no protests, no over-the-top objections. Just quiet acceptance.

The first activity was jogging, but you immediately noticed something was off. Normally, Seungmin would be teasing you the whole time, making snarky comments about how slow you were. But today, he was silent.

"One minute," you said, reading his time on the stopwatch. Normally, this would prompt a laugh from him, followed by some sarcastic remark about how you'd be the first one caught in a zombie apocalypse.

But today, he just nodded and moved on to the next activity without a word. Weird.

The next exercise was push-ups. You barely managed four before collapsing, groaning in exhaustion. Seungmin, on the other hand, breezed through twenty without breaking a sweat. You tried to compliment him in a lowkey way, but he didn’t react—just kept going like a machine.

What is up with him?

Then came the sit-ups. You held down Seungmin’s toes, though it didn’t seem like he needed any help. His form was perfect, and he didn’t even look your way. The proximity of the exercise made you search for his eyes, but every time you tried to make eye contact, he avoided looking at you.

When it was your turn, you felt exhausted by your fifth sit-up, and Seungmin held your toes firmly in place. This time, he watched you more intently, though you couldn’t see him since you were focusing on the exercise. Only when you glanced up did he quickly avert his gaze.

After class, you caught him trying to leave and stopped him in his tracks.

“Seungmin, what’s going on with you?” you asked, planting yourself in front of him.

He gave you a blank look. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re acting... weirdly weird today. Did something happen?”

Seungmin sighed, clearly not in the mood for a conversation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly, brushing past you.

You caught his arm before he could fully walk away. “Hey, you can talk to me. If something’s wrong, just tell me.”

He paused, looking at you for a moment with an unreadable expression before saying coldly, “Why would I? We’re not friends.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You froze, watching as he walked away, feeling a strange pang in your chest.

Later, you sat next to Hyunjin, watching Seungmin perform his scenes on stage. He still ignored you, going through the motions of his role flawlessly, but there was no denying the distance between you now. The way he looked past you, as if you weren’t there, made you feel... sad.

“What’s up with him?” you muttered to Hyunjin. “He’s been acting strange all day.”

Hyunjin smirked. “He’s probably mad about what I told him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What did you tell him?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, leaning closer. “I told him I like you. And that I was going to ask you out.”

You blinked in surprise, staring at him. “Wait... what?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why else would he be jealous?”

“Jealous?” you repeated, confused. “Why would he be jealous?”

Hyunjin let out a soft laugh. “I don’t know if you and Seungmin are both idiots, or if you’re just blind.”

“Ouch,” you said, feigning offense, though your mind was spinning. Jealous? Seungmin?

Hyunjin’s laugh faded into a small smile, and after a moment of silence, he sighed. “Wow, my confession really flew under the radar, huh?”

You looked at him, feeling a little guilty. Oh... right. His confession.

You smiled awkwardly. “Wait, was it serious? Or were you just joking?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “You think I’m a joker like that puppy?” He nodded toward Seungmin, who was still on stage.

Normally, this would be the moment where you’d blush, stammer, and lose your mind. But something didn’t feel right. There was something nagging at you, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I...”

Before you could respond, Hyunjin raised a hand, cutting you off. “Actually, you know what? Don’t answer me yet. I’ll wait until after the play presentation.”

He smiled, and you smiled back, though it felt forced.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m just getting my water bottle,” Seungmin’s voice broke the moment as he stepped between you two, grabbing his bottle.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he was gone before you could. You stared after him, feeling more confused than ever.

In the past, this type of bickering was normal between you two. You had always gotten on each other's nerves, and usually, you'd be happy to ignore him, savoring the peace and quiet. But this time felt different. Why were you so affected by his silence? Why did it feel like a hollow pit had formed in your chest, waiting for him to fill it? You hated him, didn’t you? You used to hate him—right? But now, all you felt was a growing sense of confusion and frustration, like you were waiting for something that never came.

Seungmin had been avoiding you for three days now, and at first, you brushed it off, assuming he had something on his mind. But as time went on, the weight of his silence pressed harder. It wasn’t just affecting the play—it was affecting you. His avoidance felt more personal than it ever had before, and it gnawed at you until you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

"Seungmin, let's talk." You caught up to him backstage, your voice firmer than usual, trying to mask the vulnerability you were starting to feel.

"Why?" he responded coldly, not even looking in your direction.

You blinked, taken aback by the sharpness of his tone. "What do you mean, 'why'? We obviously need to talk about something."

"I don't want to," he replied like a stubborn child, folding his arms defensively.

You groaned, frustration bubbling inside you. "Stop giving me that bratty attitude, Seungmin. Let's just talk, okay?" Without thinking, you grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the exit door for privacy.

Once you were both outside, you turned to face him, still gripping his wrist. "Are you angry at me?" you asked softly, though the edge of desperation in your voice betrayed you.

Seungmin pulled his hand away from your grasp, shrugging. "We're normally angry at each other," he muttered, staring at the ground as if avoiding your gaze would shield him from the conversation.

You furrowed your brows, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "Seungmin, we both know something has changed between us. We’re… sort of friends now, right? Why are you acting like this?"

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Why? This is normal. We’ve always been like this. Why are you suddenly acting like something's different?"

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard. "So I’m still just an enemy to you?" The words slipped out, raw and vulnerable, and you hated yourself for how much it hurt. You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back quickly. "Because for me—" Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to continue. "For me, things changed. I’ll be honest with you. I hated you so much before, Seungmin. I mean, if I could’ve thrown you into the fire pit, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat." You laughed bitterly, trying to lighten the mood, but your heart ached as you realized the truth. "But now, I see you as a friend."

Seungmin's breath hitched at your confession, and for a moment, his walls seemed to crack. But then his jaw clenched, and he shook his head. "No."

You stared at him, bewildered. "No? What do you mean 'no'?"

His voice was strained, like he was forcing the words out. "Why are you doing this to me? Why can’t you just focus on Hyunjin and pretend like I’m not even here?"

"Why would I do that?" you asked, confusion lacing your words.

Seungmin's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "Because you like him," he bit out. "You like Hyunjin, and you’ve hated me since the day we met."

You stepped closer, lowering your voice, "Seungmin… I told you. We're past that stage of hating each other."

His laugh was hollow, bitter. "You’ve hated me since we were kids. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? But you know what? I preferred it that way. I’d rather you keep hating me than whatever this is."

You were silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. It hit you hard—the realization that Seungmin had always been more affected by your feelings than you’d thought. And now, he was clinging to the past because it was easier to accept your hatred than deal with the uncertainty of whatever you were becoming now.

"But I don't hate you anymore," you said softly, your voice gentle but firm.

His gaze flickered up to meet yours for the briefest second before he looked away again, a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, but instead, he shook his head, taking a deep breath.

"Then what do you feel now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

It was a question you hadn’t fully answered yourself. What did you feel? What had changed between you two? The hate had faded long ago, replaced by something warmer, something deeper. But how could you put it into words when you weren’t sure what those feelings even were?

"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice trembling. "But I know I don’t want to keep ignoring it. I don’t want to keep pretending like we’re still stuck in the past. I care about you, Seungmin, and I—"

He cut you off, his voice sharp but shaky, "Stop. Don’t say it. Please."

His plea was laced with fear, and you could see it now—the fear of getting hurt, of being vulnerable. Seungmin had always hidden behind his teasing and sharp words, but now, as he stood before you, walls crumbling, you realized just how much he had been protecting himself all along.

"Seungmin..." You took a step closer, your hand hesitating before reaching out to touch his arm. "You don’t have to push me away."

He closed his eyes, his shoulders tense, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away again. But then, he sighed, the weight of his emotions too heavy to bear alone anymore. "You don’t get it," he whispered, his voice raw. "I’m scared. Scared that if you don’t hate me, you’ll realize… I’ve liked you for so long, and I don’t know how to handle that."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. The tension, the unspoken words, all of it finally made sense. You felt your chest tighten as you processed his words, the vulnerability behind them cutting deep.

Seungmin liked you.

And somehow, deep down, you’d known.

The day of the play had arrived, and for the first time, a tight knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. You'd performed in front of people before, but this time felt different. This time, you weren’t just performing in front of a crowd—you were performing in front of him.

As you paced backstage, waiting for the curtain to rise, you couldn’t help but glance around anxiously, searching for Seungmin. The others were already in place, getting ready for the opening act. But Seungmin… he was nowhere to be seen.

Your heart raced as minutes ticked by. What if he didn’t show up? What if his feelings, the tension between you, had driven him away? You shook your head, trying to focus, but the anxiety clung to you like a second skin.

The stage manager called for the cast to take their places, and you stepped toward the stage, dread settling deep in your chest. The lights dimmed, the curtains rustled, and the play was about to begin. But Seungmin—where was he?

Just as the opening music started and your heart sank, you heard footsteps behind you. You turned and saw him. Seungmin, slightly out of breath, his eyes locking with yours as he walked into place. He gave you a small, reassuring nod, and you felt a rush of relief. He had made it.

You took a deep breath, letting his presence calm you, and when the curtains finally rose, you stepped into your role. The lights blinded you for a second, and the sound of the audience rustled in the background, but none of that mattered. Your focus was on one person.

Seungmin.

You went through your lines, heart pounding in your chest. The audience faded away, and it was just the two of you on stage. But when you looked into Seungmin’s eyes, delivering your lines, it felt too real—like every word you spoke wasn’t part of the play but something deeper.

And then came the moment. The pivotal line.

As you reached the climax of your scene, Seungmin stepped closer, his gaze steady and intense. “I love you,” he said, his voice clear and sincere.

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words, delivered in that moment, felt electric. It wasn’t just a line; it was a declaration that cut through the scripted lines and went straight to your heart.

Tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. You weren’t supposed to cry here—not in this scene—but it was impossible to hold back the emotion. The intensity of the moment, standing before him as he revealed his feelings, overwhelmed you.

Seungmin’s gaze softened, and for a second, the audience faded away. It was just you and him, wrapped in a moment that felt like the truth finally breaking through.

You tried to respond, but the weight of his confession hung in the air, filling the space between you. You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

The play continued, but all you could think about was Seungmin’s words. He had spoken them as part of the script, but they felt so real, so genuine. Something shifted in the atmosphere between you two—something undeniable.

As the final act came to a close, and you took your bow, the audience erupted in applause. But even then, your eyes were only on Seungmin, wondering if he felt the same shift in the air between you two. Something had changed. Something profound. And while you weren’t sure where it would lead, for now, you were content just to hold on to the moment, letting it linger as the lights dimmed and the curtains closed.

For now, the stage had played its part, but what came next was something only time would tell.

a reblog, like, and comment is very much appreciated to keep me going. thanks for reading, love!

sorry for being inactive lately and not responding to any of your messages i appreciate you all love you sm!!

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rockingbytheseaside · 20 days

Note

Hey I really love your writings and drawings, could I request a capitano one shot, where he meets the embodiment of death on a battlefield and after some time they fall in love, please. I hope you have a great day/night.

(anon, you are literally speaking my language rn, because I had that same idea. Hope I did it justice ❣ slight enemies to lovers, fluff, reader hinted to have abyss powers)

✦ A dance between the unyielding & the unconquerable

✧ The current Pyro Archon, Mavuika, harbored a profound distaste for dealing with You and Il Capitano.

Not because of the obvious concerns such as the 1st Harbinger jeopardizing the safety of the gnosis, or you being an entity of abyssal nature. But because currently, the two of you stood in the grand arena exchanging too many… pleasantries.

“To see you grace this battle arena with your might is truly an honor no man can ever hope to achieve. I'm looking forward to witnessing your grandeur once more.”

The Captain held your hand in his armored one, his helmeted head leaned for a reverence kiss, knowing well these same hands could end him if you so desired. You mirrored his polite gentleness and smiled with a soft bow - “Nonsense, the honor is all mine to see you in action.”

Mavuika was already removing her red optics and sighing dejectedly. They will never get this over with. She saw a fair share of competitive banter between opponents in her time: tense bickering, respectful encouragement, or excited chatter. But witnessing the stoic, stern Harbinger exchanging smitten words with his immortal enemy? You two looked more like a couple ready to slow dance.

Perhaps your and Capitano's everlasting rivalry always resembled a dance.

✧ Centuries ago, when the enigmatic faceless Fatuus first acquired the title of “The Captain”, he was employed by The Jester for one simple task – Find you and eliminate you. You resembled a simple mortal, yet one gaze at your eyes, and the vision of abyssal hell could be reflected. The personification of oblivion, strolling the surface of Teyvat innocently, leaving no trace behind yet appearing soundlessly.

Your first exchange with him proved uneventful, as well. “A Fatui… Harbinger? What's that?” - was all you said back then. Nonetheless, Capitano knew he shouldn't underestimate your anomalous powers, he is a powerful man himself, and his blade knows no deception.

He almost died that day.

Years passed, and the scars or toils of your battles with him remained. With constant expedition to the abyss, The Harbinger ventured between realms seeking you out for revenge. Each time you crossed paths, the outcome remained the same - a polite exchange, followed by earth-shattering battles where both of your weapons clash and bodies are exerted. However, was the Harbinger seeking you out of his obligation for the Fatui, or because you were the only one who witnessed his full might? Perhaps, because you were the one to draw scars along his skin, a fair result of the duels he ignited. Or because only you knew of the thrill the two of you provided when battling?

When bodies are taught with swift agility, blood surges hot with each evade. He feels your movement, swift and soundless, yet each murderous blow carries elegance as you fight him. This wasn't a gentle dance where he'll hold your delicate hand, and guide you on the ballroom floor by the waist. No, even if he secretly wished to. Alas, this was a dance where you would crush him to his knees, feel his sword pinning back against your weapon, holding his knuckles to block his direct attack.

And he loved every second of it. The way you moved effortlessly, mirrored his excitement and triumphantly knocked him to the floor, or used your abilities to loom over him. The Captain makes sure that all his attacks are up close and personal against yours.

✧ At times, when fate mockingly sends him back following your shadow, he’d encounter you in less hostile places. You sat at some ledge of a cliff, not far away from the People of the Springs tribe, your head raised to look at the fake stars of Teyvat. The Harbinger knew there were civilians nearby, initiating the usual duels would be unwise. Instead, he would sit next to you and raise his helmeted face at the taunting stars that brought you together. It was a rare moment of solitude, to see your figure next to him, so human-like and simple. Even he feels so human in your presence.

And on such quiet, gentle nights – you two would just talk. Legs inching closer to sit close by. A hand gently placed on top of another. Silhouettes of two faces leaning tenderly into one, unseen by the dark sky as they exchange silent kisses.

It was a foolish fate, for the immovable to fall in love with the indestructible. Thus, this was your life with the 1st Fatui Harbinger.

✧ Going back to the present with Mavuika; the Pyro Archon received reports that not only did the Fatui send their strongest Harbinger, but the Abyss also sent their most formidable entity. For Natlan, this would be grave news, but as she delves deeper into understanding the two of you, the pieces of the puzzle start to fit together. How come the Captain is always conveniently there when you are sighted? How come when you two are supposedly meant to clash, no actual devastations happen?

Instead, Il Capitano stays close to you. His armored hand is often clasped around yours to kiss the skin that can shower the world with annihilation. He'd drape his coat over your figure protectively, shielding you from stranger's fearful stares. You never liked unwanted attention, only he had the right to bask you in his. And most importantly, he'd kneel beside you so you may cup his helmeted face and bestow upon him tender kisses on his pitch-black visage.

Perhaps Mavuika has nothing to worry about. If the immovable cancels out the indestructible, then you two are not here to wreck chaos onto Natlan. Maybe you two are using it as a honeymoon destination.

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #il capitano x reader #capitano x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #genshin impact fatui #capitano #il capitano #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #enemies to lovers #gender neutral reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact headcanons

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system-to-the-madness · 8 months

Text

お米 Okome - Inumaki Toge x Reader

Pairing: Inumaki Toge x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff Word Count: 4 532 Warnings: mentions of blood and injury Summary: Inumaki hates that he can’t use his voice to express his feelings towards you

Masterlist

Inumaki Toge doesn’t usually struggle with his fate. If there’s a situation he doesn’t like, he prefers action over lament and puts his mind to work to find a way to change it. Sure, there are situations he can’t change, his cursed speech for example, then he works around those things, finds a way to deal with it somehow. He talks in onigiri ingredients, occasionally uses a notebook or his phone’s note app to communicate more difficult matters. Inumaki Toge doesn’t usually struggle with his fate.

Except now he does. His eyes fall on Yuuta and you, sitting on a bench underneath the Momiji, red leaves sparkling in the autumn sun. Even from the distance where Toge just stepped out of the building across the yard, he can tell how hard you’re laughing, can tell that Yuuta has the biggest grin on his face. He stops, several different thoughts shooting through his head all at once. He loves your laugh. He wants to make you laugh too. He can’t, because of his cursed speech. He envies Yuuta for being able to tell you joke and making you laugh like that. And suddenly he remembers this thing he read in a magazine, that said that girls like boys who can make them laugh, and his stomach sinks.

Toge already knows you like Yuuta. Its’s obvious. Do you like him because he can make you laugh? Toge stops in his steps where he was about to walk over to join the two of you, his heart suddenly thrumming almost painfully in his chest. Do you like Yuuta? He watches his black-haired friend, watches as he lifts his hand and leans a little closer to you. You stop laughing and lean in too. For a terrifying moment Toge thinks he’s about to witness you, the classmate he may or may not have had the biggest crush on since your first one-on-one training session, kiss his friend. But you don’t. Instead, you listen to something Yuuta says that Toge can’t make out over the distance and burst into another fit of laughter.

Suddenly Toge feels like crying. He could never make you laugh like that. Not by whispering a few words into the narrow space between you, not by letting words roll over his tongue. He can write them down, or pantomime them, or fool around to make you laugh, but he can never whisper them.

He wants to talk to you about normal things too, about the stupid weather, or how pretty you look with that new hoodie, or how clever your answers in class were, or how annoying Gojo and this new homework is. He doesn’t want to have to use his notebook for every slightly more complicated conversation, but he can’t be sure you would understand him if he didn’t. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could use his voice to talk to you. Ever since he really, truly understood his cursed technique, he’s realized just how powerful and yet intimate voice is.

It’s something he’ll never be able to use to communicate his feelings.

Once, not long after Yuuta had joined the school, they, together with Panda, had talked about it. Or rather Yuuta and Panda had talked about his cursed technique, and he had listened. Panda had joked that if he ever wanted someone to kiss him, he could just use his cursed technique, which Yuuta had disagreed on, saying he’d need the other person’s permission to use his technique on them, otherwise it’d be harassment. Panda, who hadn’t thought about that, had quickly agreed, and the two had joked around a bit longer about the possibilities this offered. Toge thought about their words a lot. But there was something inside him, that wholly refused to use his technique for these purposes. It just wouldn’t feel right. Even if the other person agreed, or even asked him to do it, it would be like he’d take their will from them. He’d never do that for his own pleasure.

Toge gets pulled back into the moment by your voice calling for him. He blinks and looks up, finding you and Yuuta had turned to face him, waving him over. As much as he appreciates Yuuta, and as much as he likes you, he doesn’t feel like going over. He doesn’t want to hear the way your voice probably rises in pitch when talking to the special grade sorcerer, doesn’t want to watch Yuuta subtly touch you, doesn’t want to feel like he’s intruding on this moment between you, doesn’t want to burden himself with more heartbreak than he already signed up for.

He swallows thickly before he crosses his arm like an X in front of his chest.

“Okaka,” he denies, continuing his way as if he had planned on moving towards the dojo, instead of towards his friends.

He doesn’t dare to glance over to see your reaction. Are you disappointed? If you were, he’d feel guilty. If you weren’t, he’d be disappointed. If he’s being honest, he can understand that you like Yuuta. The guy is sensitive, and quiet, a good listener, great at giving advice. He’s funny and overall great company. And he’s crazy powerful. Otherwise he wouldn’t be a special grade sorcerer. And he saved your life when Toge himself was of absolutely no help whatsoever, instead almost throwing up from the taste of his own blood.

Toge is nothing in comparison to Yuuta. Sure, he has a strong technique. A strong technique he can use two to three times before his throat is bleeding. And he can be funny, or at least he’s good at making a fool of himself. And he can listen, but he never knows what to answer, worried that whichever advice he gives, it might not actually be helpful, or only make everything worse. So, if you like Yuuta, he gets it. If he were in your place, he’d also prefer Yuuta over himself. Not that you have to choose between the two of them, you could also be interested in neither of them. But the point stands: Yuuta is the better fit for you, and as much as Toge wants you to be happy, it breaks his heart.

“What was that,” asks Yuuta, tearing his eyes away from his retreating friend and looking at you instead.

You’re still watching Inumaki leave, his posture somewhat sunken in, hands buried in his pockets. He looks defeated and somehow you want to run after him, ask him what’s wrong. But that would be too pushy, too clingy, wouldn’t it? So instead, you swallow and turn back to Yuuta.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “He’s been… weird lately.”

Yuuta nodded. “I know, right? And ever since that last mission…”

That last mission, on which Gojo sent the three of you. That last mission where Inumaki’s voice gave out before he could finish the command, which lead to the curse injuring you. That last mission where Yuuta had been the one who had finished the short fight in just a single blow. You knew better than to assume that Inumaki was jealous of Yuuta’s power. You knew he wasn’t. But still something seemed to have dimmed his formerly good relationship with Yuuta. And with you too. He avoided you, texted you less throughout the day, reduced his already limited vocabulary to the equivalents of agreement and disagreement. You feel like you’ve made a mistake somehow, said or done something that hurt him.

“Do you think he’d talk to me about it,” you wonder, your voice small, nothing left of the breathless laughter from a moment ago.

Yuuta chews on his lip as he considers your question, and you know he’s considering a few things he officially doesn’t even know about. For example that you like Inumaki, that you make an active effort to spend time with him, have conversations with him. You’re the one who understands him the best, understands his language the best, even without the notebook.

What you don’t know, is that Yuuta also knows the other side of the story. He knows that Inumaki uses his notebook with you the most, because he wants you to understand his mind. He knows that Inumaki spends a lot of time considering each and every conversation he’s had with you. Sometimes, it’s late at night, and Yuuta gets a text from Inumaki, telling him about a conversation he’s had with you and if he should have replied something else. It’s not hard to tell that Inumaki is absolutely enamoured with you, and you with him. At least it’s not hard to tell from Yuuta’s perspective. But the way Inumaki and you never seem to understand the affection the other is harbouring, Yuuta begins to think that it’s actually very hard to tell from either of your perspectives. Or you’re both just idiots. Which, honestly, as much as he likes the two of you, is more likely.

“I’m not sure,” Yuuta eventually answers your question. There’s a lot Inumaki is bottling up, a lot he doesn’t even tell Yuuta about, stuff Yuuta can only assume. “But I think he’d probably appreciate it if you asked. Maybe he won’t tell you what’s going on, but I think he’d be glad to know you care.” This is as much as he can do to be honest without giving his friend’s secret away to you. A secret, Yuuta doesn’t even know officially.

“Don’t you think he’d get annoyed? He looked pretty upset just now,” you ask. You’re torn between wanting to show Inumaki that you cared, and scared of getting sent away or even worse, him getting angry at you.

“I mean, if you’re worried about it, you can always give him an hour or two. But I don’t think he’d mind if it were you, checking up on him.”

You don’t question Yuuta’s phrasing. Everyone knows you and Inumaki understand each other on a different level, the speed at which you sometimes communicate in single words thrown back and forth leaving the others out of their wits and completely clueless what the conversation was about.

“I’ll give him five,” you decide, leaning your back against the wooden table and glancing up at the red leaves overhead. “If he gets mad at me, it’s on you.”

Yuuta laughs, knowing you’re not serious. You’re not the kind of person who blames others for the outcome of your actions.

“He’d never get mad at you.”

“He looked pretty mad at me for getting injured on that last mission,” you disagree with Yuuta.

“He wasn’t mad at you. He was mad at himself. He blamed your injury on himself, when he couldn’t stop that curse because his voice gave out.”

You winced at the memory of blood trickling down from the corner of Inumaki’s mouth. He had once told you that he sometimes got sick from the taste, and after the curse was taken care of by Yuuta, it had been easier to focus on Inumaki than your own state. You remembered how awful the bright red blood had looked against his unusually pale skin.

“It wasn’t his fault, and he knows that.”

“Rationally yes,” Yuuta agreed. “But he still blames himself.”

“I’m surprised he talked to you about that,” you admit, closing your eyes in the sun. Behind your eyelids the picture of Inumaki’s bloody and scared face haunts your memory. You open your eyes again. “He never mentioned anything like that to me.”

“He didn’t, but it’s obvious,” Yuuta said.

“Is it?”

He just hummed in agreement.

“What else is obvious?”

“A lot. But that’s not mine to talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you and Inumaki really should talk about some stuff,” Yuuta answers, “Like for example that you like him.” He almost feels bad at the way you freeze up beside him.

“I don’t,” you deny, but there is no force in your voice.

“Just saying,” Yuuta shrugs. “A lot of stuff is obvious. Just not to you and him.”

There’s a moment of silence and you have a feeling Yuuta knows what you’re about to ask, your cheeks burning with shame, but you ask anyway.

“Does he like me too?”

Yuuta turns to you then, his big eyes studying you for a moment intensely. “You don’t have to ask me that. You have to ask him.”

You exhale with a sigh a glance at your wristwatch: “Fine… maybe not today, tho.”

Yuuta chuckles, knowing that that’s going to be your response for every day to come, but he doesn’t call you out for it. He doesn’t know if he’d have the courage to confess his feelings if he were in your position either.

“Welp, his five minutes are up. I’m gonna see if he’s okay,” you declare, and stand up from the bench you had been lounging on. “Just-” you glance down at your classmate. “Just don’t tell him about this conversation, will you?”

Yuuta nods. “I can keep a secret,” he smiles, and you’re satisfied, before you head into the same direction Inumaki ran off to a few minutes prior.

He wasn’t in the dojo where you expected him to be after he had wandered off there, so left a little helpless, you began searching for him. After checking all the usual places, you finally spied him sitting hunched over on a bench next to the koi pond in one of the small, traditional gardens squeezed between the buildings. He looked lost in thought, so you made an effort to not walk too quietly as not to startle him. But when you reached the bench and he still hadn’t turned to look up you, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Was he mad at you?

“Inumaki-san,” you asked quietly, sitting down next to him with a safe distance. He wasn’t wearing his full uniform, instead of the black jacket he had pulled a warm, green vest over the white shirt sleeved shirt with the high collar that hid his curse marks. “Toge?”

At the use of his given name, he finally looked up at you.

Your breath stopped when you saw the sadness in his purple eyes. He quickly blinked it away, but you knew what you had seen, your heart hurting at the way he had seemed so lost. Maybe even worse was that he didn’t want to show his feelings to you, instead masking them up.

“What’s wrong.”

“Okaka.” Nothing. Why?

“Don’t,” you warned him, “Don’t lie to me. Please don’t.”

“Okaka, okaka!” I’m not lying! He said it with amusement in his voice, but when you failed to smile, his eyes grew serious again. “Okaka.” Nothing’s wrong.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Shake, shake.” Yeah, yeah, I know.

“Do you want to talk to me?”

This time his answer took longer, and it was only quietly spoke when he answered with another “Shake.”

Instead of saying anything else, he began reaching for the notebook he always carried with him, but before his fingertips had even grazed the cover, you caught his hand.

“You can talk to me. I’ll understand you. No notebook needed.”

Toge looked up at you then, his eyes widened. What did you mean, you didn’t need the notebook? Would you really understand him?

“Tuna,” he mumbled, averting his gaze from yours, but from the corner of his eyes he saw you tilt your head. How the hell was he supposed to communicate his feelings with onigiri ingredients? He had words to agree and disagree, words to catch attention and swear, but how was he supposed to tell you his greatest wish was to talk to you without having to use this damn notebook, that he wanted to just use normal language, like everyone else? How was he supposed to tell you how much it hurt to see you liking Yuuta? “Okaka.” It won’t work.

“You can try. And if it doesn’t work, you can still write it down, okay?”

“Shake.” Okay. He reached his hand up, absentmindedly running his fingers over his curse marks peeking out from under his high collar. “Ikura.” I hate them.

He had more mumbled that to himself, but you nodded. “They don’t make life very easy, do they?”

“Shake.” No, they don’t. Toge focused on what he wanted you to know, that he wished he could talk to you without risking cursing you. “Furikake… saamon.”

Okay, this was new. Not just one, but two new ingredients. Rice spice and the other word for salmon. You furrowed your brows. “Can you say that again?”

“Furikake saamon,” Toge repeated, slowly, trying to convey his feelings through just these two words. This was never gonna work.

“You want to talk about your thoughts?”

His eyes widened at your correct interpretation of his words.

“Shake, shake!” Enthusiastically he nodded his head. “Furikake saamon! Nori nai!”

“Nori nai, nori na- you don’t want to use…”

“Nori!” He motioned to his mouth, then to the notebook in his pocket.

“Onigiri ingredients and the notebook? You don’t want to use them?”

“Shake, shake!”

He nodded again, and you could see how excited he was, his eyes shining with disbelief that he had managed to communicate something so out of context to you. Quickly he reached up and pulled the zipper of his collar down, so he could additionally use his mimic to tell you what he was thinking.

“Tarago Furikake.” His lilac eyes were widened expectantly, as he waited for you to decipher his words.

“You want to talk?”

He nodded, then pointed at you. “Tarago furikake,” he repeated, underlining his words with stabbing his finger into your direction.

“You want to talk to me?”

“Shake. Nori nai furikake tamago. Okaka.”

“I know. I know it’s difficult without the notebook,” you sighed. “But we’re managing. Right? It might take me a while to get used to it, but I we’re having a normal conversation right now, right? A bit like talking with someone in a foreign language, but not much different than that.”

Toge smiled, the sight making your breath hitch. You were used to seeing his eyes squeeze together when he smiled, but his mouth usually was covered by his collar. You couldn’t help but think that he was one of the most beautiful people you knew.

“Furikake nai, tamago, maguro, nori” he continued.

“Maguro,” you repeated the second last word, thinking what he might have meant. Quietly you mumbled the phrase he had just uttered, your eyes skipping away from his face and over the koi pond instead, as if the translation were written in the ripples on the water surface. Without talking, having to write everything down, he felt bad… like an outsider. Your eyes widened. Was this really what he had wanted to say? That he felt like an outsider? You looked back at him, seeing the shock on his face as he took in your expression.

“We’re making you feel like an outsider because you can’t talk to us? Toge-“

“Okaka, Okaka!” He quickly waved his hands around, signalling you had misunderstood. “Tamago. Maguro.” He pointed to himself.

“You feel like an outsider?”

“Shake!”

“Because you can’t talk to us?”

“Shake.” This time his voice was quieter, and he averted his gaze.

You exhaled quietly. You knew there was not much you could do to change the way he felt, nothing you weren’t doing already anyway. But to deny his feelings wouldn’t be right, even if you wanted to convince him that he wasn’t an outsider.

“I’m sorry,” you started. “I promise you, to us, you’re an integral part of the group, even if you don’t feel like you always are. Do you… do you have any ideas how we could help you feel more included?”

Toge shook his head. “Okaka,” he denied, and then pointing at himself: “Tamago.” It’s my negative feeling. “Tanaka-zuku mentaiko.” You’re doing everything right. There’s nothing you can do to change that. He hesitated for a moment before he added: “Furikake.”HHe hesitated for a moment before he added.

“Of course, we’ll keep talking to you. And you see that you can talk to us too. If I can learn to understand you, so can the others.”

Toge seriously doubted that, but he didn’t voice his thought, instead focusing back on what you had been talking about. “Tarago furikake mayo. Tuna-mayo furikake, saamon tamago, shiisamu. Takana-zuke tarago tuna-mayo shiisamu.”

You stared at him intensely, making his heart race. There was no way you had understood what he had just said. Was there? He was using words he had never used with you, or anyone at jujutsu high, before. He had sometimes used them when he had been younger, when he had talked to his toys as a little kid, finding ingredients for almost anything he could think of. That he still remembered them was a surprise. But there was no way you’d understand him like this, not even when he tried to embed the sentimental meaning of each word into his voice. Your eyes skipped over his face, as you were thinking hard, and Toge waited for the “Sorry, I don’t know what you mean, please write it down.” But it didn’t come. Instead, you answered him.

“I want you to be able to talk openly too. And I’d love to hear about the bad things you think and feel as much as about the good things. Because they’re part of you. Even when they’re hard, even when they’re painful and difficult to admit. But that’s why we have each other, right? So we’re not alone, so the difficult times aren’t quite as difficult. And you already make me laugh, you already make me feel happy. I’m always the happiest when I’m with you.”

You hadn’t used the word friend. The thought rang in Toge’s mind, and together with your last sentence it accumulated to the next words that spilled over his lips, words he had been certain he’d never actually say out loud. Words, which’s meaning he had thought he’d never communicate to you in any form or way.

“Tarago tuna-mayo furikake okome. Tarago tanaka-zuke okome.”I want to use my voice to tell you that I’m in love with you. I want you to be in love with me too.

The moment the words had left his lips, he wanted to make it all undone. What if you had understood him and didn’t feel the same way? All this time he wished you’d understand him, and now he hoped you hadn’t understood a word of what he had just uttered. The way you stared at him wide eyed was a good sign that you really hadn’t.

“Okome,” you asked, your heart beating in your throat. If you had thought rationally about the way he was listing food, you wouldn’t have had the faintest idea of what he had wanted to express, but somehow his emotions were swinging in his words, like the sounds accumulated to a meaning that wasn’t transported by words.

“Mentaiko,” he began, wanting to lift his hands to wave it off, to tell you that it wasn’t important.

But before he had completed the gesture, you caught his wrist with your dominant hand, raising the other between you, pointing at him.

“Okome,” you asked before pointing to yourself. Your voice was shaky, and you could see the moment Toge realized you had understood him.

His eyes widened and he paled a little, swallowing hard. You could see the fear in his eyes. He was afraid you’d turn him down, you realized, and your heart broke a little.

So, what did you do, when your best friend, who you had liked for far too long without acting on it, accidentally confessed his love to you? Using the word for “rice” nonetheless, the base ingredient for onigiri. Because just like one couldn’t make rice balls without rice, humans couldn’t live without love.

You repeated the gesture towards yourself, pointing at you again. “Okome,” you said, voice just as shaky as before, before pointing at Toge.

His eyes followed your finger, the way it was pointing right at his chest, where his heart was stuttering in excitement, and then doing cartwheels, as the realization began settling in.

“Okome,” he asked in disbelieve.

But you just nodded. “Okome.”

He acted quicker than you could really perceive. Your one hand was still holding onto his wrist, to stop him from gesticulating, his skin warm underneath yours, but with the other he grabbed the hand with which you had pointed between you and him. His fingers wrapped around yours tightly, pulling you towards him, pressing your hand right over his heart, while he leant in at the same time, connecting his lips to yours.

A shiver went through you, at the feeling of his warm body underneath his clothes, at his soft lips pressed to yours, at the strange tingling of cursed energy that radiated from his cursed mark. And then you abandoned all thoughts, and just acted on instinct, moving closer to him, wrapping your hand into the fabric of his vest, and kissing him like you had wanted to kiss him for such a long time already.

A sound of appreciative surprise erupted from Toge’s throat and you could feel him smile as he met your kiss with equal fervour, running the tip of his tongue over the seam of your lips. When you parted them just the smallest fraction, he didn’t hesitate to slip his tongue past them, exploring your mouth until both of you had to pull away for breath. You were breathing heavily, your mind foggy, fingers wrapped into his vest, holding on to something, otherwise it felt like the world would just slip away.

When you opened your eyes, you found he was already looking at you. His beautiful eyes were scanning over your face as if searching for any sign of discomfort, as if he expected you to scold him for kissing you. Honestly, at this point the only scolding he’d get was that he had stopped kissing you.

Unwrapping one of your hands from where you had clung to him, you brushed a strand of his bright hair out of his forehead, the curl soft against your fingertips. With a smile you leant forward, and pressed your lips to his left cheek, then the curse mark there, feeling the cursed energy sizzle through them. You moved on to his right cheek, then his forehead, the tip of his nose, his chin, peppering small kisses all over his face until he was full on laughing and took hold of your face with both of his hands, pulling you only far enough away from him to be able to look into your eyes. His were still crinkled in joy, but his voice was serious and heavy with how much he meant this single word phrase that left his lips without hesitation.

“Okome.” And then he kissed you again, slower this time, just to make sure you understood each little detail of what he felt for you. Inumaki Toge sometimes struggled with his fate, but as long as he had you to understand him, what else could he really ask for?

Tags: @nnasv @ashy-akuma @delzinrowe

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