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freyito · 6 days

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ꜰʀᴇʏᴀ ꜝ ⨟ ʜᴏᴡ ʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ

✭ pairing(s): aventurine, dr ratio, boothill, gallagher, sunday, argenti sampo, jing yuan, blade, luocha, dan heng, gepard, caelus, welt (seperate) x reader

✩ inspo: this is fun to think about

✧ a/n: for those who don't know exactly what this means (also shoutout to freya the god of love), there are 3-5 'types' of (romantic) love. eros, romantic love, ludus, playful love, pragma, enduring love, and then there's mania which is obsessive love and agape which is universal love. The last two can sorta bend in a familiar or platonic way as well as romantic.

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, proofread

✎ wc: 3.3k

⎯ Aventurine

LUDUS ; PLAYFUL LOVE. Aventurine prefers to flirt, to have fun, be a little silly with his love. After all, life’s too short to not enjoy it. He wants a partner who will not only put up with his games but also join in and enjoy it, someone to tease who will tease back. He would love a deeper connection as well, but before that comes fun.

“Honey, I’m hooome~!” Aventurine calls from the apartment door, making his way to the kitchen. You weren’t cooking anything, simply sifting through the fridge for a snack. His arms wrap around your waist as the scent of his near overbearing cologne washes over you. He presses his lips to your neck and peppers it with a bunch of fleeting kisses, mumbling about his day into your skin even though you didn’t ask. When you dared to try and pull away, he only pulls you closer, pinching at your waist and grinning. “Awhhh, are you not happy to see me?”

He doesn’t give you time to reply, hauling you up and turning on his heels. You don’t get to complain, not before he practically throws you on the bed and throws himself onto you. He wastes no time finding your most ticklish spots, waiting for you to ask for mercy. “I want a proper welcome home!” He exclaims, like you hadn't given him enough attention. Not like you can do what he wants while you do your best not to laugh, squirming underneath him, trying to break free from his tickle attack.

⎯ Dr. Ratio

EROS ; ROMANTIC LOVE. While Ratio isn’t necessarily the best at showing his affection, he is head over heels for you. Absolutely and irrevocably in love, and it only grows with each passing day. He’s quite the gentleman when you get past his cold demeanor, and is quite by-the-book.

You had met him in his classroom after his classes, to give him the lunch you had made him. He regards you with a brisk ‘mh’, You are used to this reaction, and you don’t take it to heart. He tells you he’ll be home a little later, and apologizes. Silence stretches between you two before you tell him it’s alright and start to leave the room.

“I am sorry, my love,” He grabs your wrist before you can fully turn around. He presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, eyes locked on yours as he apologizes. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Dinner tomorrow.” He’s so blunt with it, like you have no choice. But he says it with such sincerity, an emotion that is hard to get from him. His eyes linger with yours as you nod, before letting you go and returning to grading his student’s papers.

⎯ Boothill

LUDUS ; PLAYFUL LOVE. Boothill loves with his whole heart, but he just can’t take it seriously. He’s always teasing you, whether it be sultry words, little touches, anything. He loves making you blush.

Tonight, you two are at some bar he had dragged you to, and it’s quite lively. Which gives Boothill ample time to show you off, his arm around your shoulders or your waist whenever someone comes up to talk to you or him. He leans in ever so closer with that toothy grin, eyes half-lidded as he whispers something about how cute you look tonight. When he sees even the tiniest blush begin to bloom, he amps up his flirting tenfold.

Over the entire night, he makes little comments that turn into big flourishes of his love for you, small, teasing touches that trail from your shoulder down to your hands, interlocking your fingers. He leans in close and whispers against your ear, not necessarily just flirts, literally anything he can think of, like that you guys need to put soda on the grocery list or something. It’s the way his breath fans over your ear that causes goosebumps to riddle skin. You try and hide your blushing face, but he grabs your chin and tilts your head to meet his gaze, using his hat to shield your faces from the rest of the patrons and pressing a kiss to your lips.

⎯ Gallagher

PRAGMA ; ENDURING LOVE. While Gallagher may not sound like it, he’s romantic by heart and looks for a partner he can spend his life with. He wants to settle down, enjoy something that lasts. And he prefers a partner that does the same.

He was lounging on the couch at home, a rare sight normally. When you walked into the living room, he greeted you with a lazy smile, reaching for you like he wasn’t a 30 something year old man. He grabbed your wrist and guided you into his arms with a yawn, nuzzling into your neck and breathing in your scent. He lets out a deep, rumbling ‘mmm’ as he does so, sharing no other words.

Any time you try to break free from his hold, whether you wanna eat or need to go to the bathroom, he groans. He doesn’t say much, whispering quiet ‘love yous’ here and there, and if you really do have to get up, he practically follows you around. He’s rarely ever clingy, he’s probably one of the most independent people you know. He’s only like this when he has something on his mind, and marriage isn’t exactly a far off thought…

⎯ Sunday

EROS ; ROMANTIC LOVE. Sunday is a textbook romantic. A dinner and a movie, roses, have you home by ten, he’s the whole package. Anything you could want, you will have. There’s always a fresh bouquet of flowers in the vase in your living room, and perhaps a new poem for/about you every month.

Whatever he gave you in reality, he gave you tenfold in the Dreamscape (especially since he can). This includes his affection, where you two are hidden away… somewhere in Dewlight Pavillion. Somewhere where Sunday promises no one will find you two. It’s not as if you two are doing something lewd, he’s nestled up against your chest, that’s about it. But, he’s been yearning for some time alone with you since forever. With how busy he has been, he hadn’t got a moment alone with you.

“I missed you.” He states. His work is secondary to this moment, as he grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your palm, before nuzzling his cheek into it, all the while his eyes stay on yours. He has you flustered by the way he does it so desperately, yet so… carefully. He needed this, but he didn’t want to allow himself to lose his composure. So, the best he could do was steal you away when you were bringing him his mail, leave you breathless with a few tender kisses and gentle touches, and lead you back to your way out of the Pavillion.

⎯ Argenti

AGAPE ; UNIVERSAL LOVE. Love, devotion, and worship go hand in hand in hand for Argenti. He loves with his heart, body, mind, and soul. He loves unconditionally, every little bit of you, even the ground you walk on. Where the water wet your skin, where the dirt kissed your hands, he loves and loves and loves.

You two are dancing in your kitchen, to a soundless beat. The only rhythm coming from your barely-heard footsteps and the clank of Argenti’s armor as he shares such a moment with you. It is rare that he is home, always out on some adventure across star systems, but it is always a celebration when he is. Atleast, he makes it a celebration. Laughter fills the room as you try your best to keep up with his steps, the man elegant and flawless, as usual, while you stumble just a tick behind.

“You’ve got it, I know you do.” Argenti coos as you do your best to fall into his steps, still stumbling every so often. He dips you down, eyes searching yours with that content smile plastered on his face, before he pulls you up and chest-to-chest with him. His eyes sparkle with mirth, spinning you two around as if your kitchen was a real and proper ballroom, swaying gently. His eyes closed then, humming some tune, a song lost to time that only he remembered. He had hummed it on your longest days and on your darkness nights, the days you weeped and sobbed in his arms, and the days you had turned to him with such a bright smile. A tune that resembled something homely.

⎯Sampo Koski

LUDUS ; PLAYFUL LOVE. While Sampo can be quite the romantic, he prefers to tease and play with you instead. Sure, he could dance with you all night long, bring you fresh roses everyday, but where’s the fun in that? He finds it much more fitting to flirt with you on end, brag a little about his ‘sales’, splurge a little for you every now and then.

You walk into your bedroom to find Sampo laying on his side, his head propped up with his hand, a rose in his mouth. He gives you a mock-sultry glare while you stand there, dumbfounded, halfway between disgust and laughter. Rose petals decorate the bed, and the room, and you tell yourself that you’ll have to remind him later that he’ll be cleaning it up.

For now, though, he beckons you closer, and when you do, he pulls you onto the bed quickly, spitting out the rose, and peppering your face with kisses. The room fills with laughter as you do your best to break away, but he continues this torrent of kisses, rarely taking a breath. When you complain that ‘it’s too much!’ he only ups the ante, kissing your neck, your shoulder, any exposed skin he can find. You simply just have to accept your fate, now…

⎯ Jing Yuan

PRAGMA ; ENDURING LOVE. He who has waited for an eternity yearns for an eternity spent in one’s arms. Jing Yuan has lost most of those dear to him, if not all. While he knows life will reach its end, he cannot help but wish he had someone to spend the rest of it with.

It is very rare for Jing Yuan to be free for even an hour, and yet here he was, a whole day to himself. He’s lounging in his room, basking in the sun while you lay in his arms, reading a book. You two barely share any words, yet the silence between says it all. It’s a comfortable feeling, something that feels like home, something he cherishes every second of. It’s one thing to find home within the Xianzhou, but it’s another to find home in someone’s arms.

He tilts his head as he looks down at the book your reading, contemplating if he wanted to pull your attention away from the book, or not. With a soft ‘hmph’, he makes his decision to leave you alone, choosing to nuzzle into your hair instead. You don’t react, which he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer as he closes his eyes. Perhaps an afternoon nap would do him some good…

⎯ Blade

PRAGMA ; ENDURING LOVE. Not even death could keep Blade away from you. His own suicidal tendencies, his never-ending want to die, his need to die, his own voice begging for a means to an end, it all washes away when he sees your smile, as if the sun is greeting him once more after such a wretched eclipse.

He knows he has loved in the past, and yet when he recalls that feeling, Blade is only met with a burning feeling akin to rage clawing its way through his chest. He prefers to not think about it much, focusing on Elio’s script and whatever mission he’s been dispatched on. Yet, when he’s met with you laying in his bed, messing with his phone, waiting for him, a different kind of feeling weaves its way into his heart. Something warm, a kindling, of sorts.

His own voice quiets when he allows himself to feel that feeling, peace, perhaps? He’s quick to brush it off, shove it down along with any other emotion that was daring to well up, and takes a seat next to you. When you look up and beckon him closer, he doesn’t accept. But, he does lean in, and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. It’s a rare display, you can’t remember the last time he even dared to hold your hand. And before you can question him, he’s gone, out of the room, leaving his phone behind, like always.

⎯ Luocha

EROS ; ROMANTIC LOVE. Luocha is quite the romantic when he wants to be. Since he spends most of his time wandering, he doesn’t get to see you very often. But when he returns home, he loves nothing more than to share stories of his travels and hold you in his arms. You are his anchor, what brings him back to reality when his thoughts drift to the distant churches and candle wicks that give way to angry flames…

He finds you sleeping on the couch, phone in hand, twitching every now and then, but making no real reaction to any sound. It was clear that you were waiting for Luocha to come home, and had succumbed to sleep. Luocha had texted you 4 days ago that he would be home, and you yourself had no idea how long you had been up, the past couple of days had skewed your perception of time. By now, it was around 3:00 am.

With a soft huff and an even softer gaze, Luocha scoops you up into his arms and carries you to your shared bed. He’s careful, doing his best to be as quiet as possible as he carries you, but you still wake up. You mutter a slurred ‘Luocha?’, and all he does is shush you, shaking his head and greeting you with a warm smile. You don’t get time to protest as he lays you down on the bed, giving you a soft kiss on your forehead, before turning on his heel and exiting the room. He will join you later, as much as he wants to lay beside you now, he’d like to get settled back in, first.

⎯ Dan Heng

PRAGMA ; ENDURING LOVE. Dan Heng tends to retreat into himself, a lot. Ever since he revisited the Xianzhou, this has become a habit of his. He doesn’t exactly push you away, but his ‘time to think’ seems to overtake your guys’ alone time. Regardless of it all, he always comes back to you, finding home safe in your arms.

He wakes in the dead of night, his past life’s memories catching up to him once more. He doesn’t cry or scream, his breath is shallow, as he listens to the silence of the hotel you two were staying at. He stills for a moment, the scars of the past fading into a blissful nothingness, before he looks down at you. Sleeping peacefully, completely unbothered by Dan Heng’s sudden awakening.

His body relaxes as his mind quiets finally, the simple sight of you reminding him that the past is the past, and nothing more matters right now. He settles back into bed, taking a moment to admire your face, hesitantly reaching out. His fingers brush against your cheek, trailing to your hairline, tucking a strand behind your ear. You don’t even flinch, but you instinctively curl up closer to him. Dan Heng graces your sleeping form with a rare smile and a huff, before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer.

⎯ Gepard

EROS ; ROMANTIC LOVE. While Gepard may be shy about certain things, that doesn’t mean he is lacking in the romance department. His job may keep him away from you for quite a while, but he always finds his way back to you.

It had been quite a while since you and Gepard had a proper date, or even night out. Oftentimes, he’d come home late into the night, too exhausted to even eat, and all he would want to do is cuddle up next to you in bed. He loves his job, he truly does, even if it means coming home at near 2 am and waking up at 5 am. Of course he wants to spend as much time with you, but some days are harder than others, and he wants to stay as healthy as he can.

Tonight, however, he’s come home early. At 6 pm to be exact. A completely normal time to get off work… if he wasn’t the captain of the Silvermane Guards. Before you can even ask why he’s home so early, he hurriedly asks you out on a date. His face is only slightly flushed, and the minute you say yes, he lights up like the sun peeking through the clouds on a rainy day. He takes you out to one of the nicest, fanciest restaurants in Belobog, and he just cannot contain the giddy smile all throughout the night. He stares at you as if you are straight out of a movie, eyes practically shining everytime you laugh.

⎯ Caelus

LUDUS ; PLAYFUL LOVE. Caelus doesn’t take himself too seriously, even if there’s a stellaron housed inside of him. So why take love too seriously…? Not that he doesn’t love you, no, he adores you. But between all this trailblazing and saving planets and researching stellarons and what not, he doesn’t get much of a chance to be a little silly. And you, luckily, are his escape from that.

He barges into your room with the brightest smile known to man, his hair a little messy, and what you can only hope is soot dusting his cheeks and hands. Caelus looks so proud. Too proud. In his hands he holds what looks to be a worn out raccoon plushie, also blessed with a heavy dusting of soot. You stare at him blankly as he does not explain himself, simply waltzing over to your bed.

“Our son.” He states, so proudly, as if he had brought the thing into the world on his own. Desperately in need of some fun today, you play along, telling him ‘our son needs a bath.’ And Caelus looks at you as if you have offended his entire lineage (which, apparently, is two people now.) He jokingly chastises you for calling your son ‘dirty’, and “How could you say that to him!?” “He’s just a baby!”. Though, eventually after hours and hours of him threatening to put his sooty hands all over you, he washes the stuffed raccoon. And himself.

⎯ Welt

PRAGMA ; ENDURING LOVE. Welt has seen lifetimes pass, and lifetimes more come into the universe. He’s vowed to himself to love whoever comes into his life as long as he loves, to love hard and never back down. He dreams of church bells ringing while the scent of roses fill the air, rather than the mournful gong of those ringing bells, signaling someone's end, or the bittersweet smell of lilies.

He holds you closely tonight, practically bathing in your cologne, eyes closed as he hums a tune from some far off timeline. It is a quiet, tender moment, one that is very rare between the two of you. Welt could spend all his time on the Astral Express and still never have enough time for you. He is greedy in that way, seeking any time he can with you, even if it is only for 5 minutes.

He himself doesn’t know why he’s feel especially wanting tonight, but he doesn’t busy his mind asking himself why. Time and space is infinite even as constricting as it feels, and he knows better than to keep himself occupied with such silly questions. The day he catches himself not missing you, yearning for you, is the day that he will wither into stardust.

#⁺◟freyito #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #dr ratio x reader #boothill x reader #gallagher x reader #sunday x reader #argenti x reader #sampo x reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #luocha x reader #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #caelus x reader #welt x reader #welt yang x reader #veritas ratio x reader

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sluttywoozi · 1 month

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April Shower | jww x f!reader

Wonwoo meets a lot of people through his career as a travel photographer. Not one of them has ever made him want to stay in one place, until he met you.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~12.0k Pairing: jww x f!reader | Genre: romance, meet cute, smut, love at first sight

Story Warnings: alcohol and food mention

Smut Warnings: masturbation mention, dirty talk, dom!wonwoo, bigdick!wonwoo, wonwoo’s cold hands, size kink, light thigh slapping, fingering, oral reader rec., overstimulation, slight dumbification, squirting, sexual health/safety talk, unprotected sex (don’t do it), cumming on tits

Reader Notes: has breasts and a vagina, like half a foot shorter than wonwoo, wap, has a cycle to track

AN: written for my bestie @sluttywonwoo’s birthday! kaili, the light you bring to my life is immeasurable and i’m so lucky i’ve gotten to grow with you over the past 7 years 💖

Wonwoo draws in a deep, tremulous breath as he raises the camera to his bespectacled eye, wishing not for the first time that he was anywhere but the city of love.

This is the second proposal he’s photographed today, the fifth this week, and while he’s always thought himself to be someone who doesn’t mind love, he’s starting to grow a bit… weary.

His hotel room is obviously meant for two, as were many of the pastas and desserts he’s ordered so far. Everywhere he looks, there are people kissing or hugging or holding hands, their ages ranging from teens in puppy love to folks in their golden years shuffling down the street arm in arm, supporting each other as they have for decades.

He’s been working as a travel writer for five years, been single just as long, but this is the first time he’s ever found himself feeling lonely. He’s usually restless, never wanting to settle in one place, and he’s almost always solo, reluctant to give himself to someone who might want to keep him.

Lately, he’s felt a bit differently. Perhaps he’s getting old, outgrowing his bachelor lifestyle. He finds himself wanting to plant roots where before he was nearly offended by the notion of digging any deeper than surface level.

There’s just something about Verona that begs to be shared, to be experienced with someone else. Maybe it’s the romantic music flowing from the restaurants he passes, maybe it’s the fact that he seems to be the sole single person in this city. Regardless of the cause, he actually feels alone, for the first time in years.

It’s not a feeling he enjoys, or one he’s familiar with, and as he traverses the cobblestone streets, he almost wishes he was holding someone’s hand instead of the camera he’s carried for most of his life.

Wonwoo swears out loud when he feels the first drop of rain. He checked the forecast twice this morning, knowing he would be exploring an area a few miles from his hotel and that he wouldn’t be able to return to grab or drop anything off.

With the weather appearing to be clear and sunny all day, he left his umbrella in his room and headed out to catch his taxi.

He more than regrets that now, the rain starting to pour and his white button down beginning to soak through. He at least brought his water resistant backpack so for now, his camera is safe, but spending the rest of the day in sodden clothes sounds like actual hell.

He looks up and down the street frantically, finding only personal residences, not a single shop in sight.

Until he looks closer and realizes the building at the end of the row has a sign. He can’t read it from this far away, even with his glasses, but the hope is enough to propel him forward.

He darts down the street, splashing through puddles and swearing again as he feels water permeate his socks. The store comes into view, the sign becoming clearer and clearer the closer he gets.

Storie d’Amore, it reads. Love stories, of course. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the city of love.

“It’s open, thank fuck,” Wonwoo murmurs as he wrenches the door open and steps inside, his clothes dripping all over the hardwood floors.

He feels terrible tracking rainwater into this store, but he had no other choice. His water resistant bag is only resistant for so long, and his camera is far too valuable to risk.

He glances around the small room, looking for the owner so he can apologize and instead finding shelves upon shelves of books. He walks slowly, squelches following each step, and reads over the spines.

He’s shocked to find novels in all kinds of languages, some he recognizes and speaks and some he doesn’t. He’s relatively fluent in five thanks to his years of language classes and traveling, and he has to resist picking up a book in each of the ones he knows.

He reaches the end of the first shelf, gasping at the large paned window he finds and gasping even louder at the black, tailless cat lounging on the ledge.

The cat pays him little to no mind, lazily peering at him over their shoulder before curling into a small ball. They blink their big peridot eyes a few times and let out a heavy sigh, settling into sleep faster than Wonwoo could ever hope to.

Enchanted, he swings his bag around to his front, digging through and pulling out his camera as quietly as possible.

Even with the mid-April shower, the light coming in through the window illuminates the subtle white notes in the cat’s fur, giving them a glow he begs his camera to capture.

He crouches until he’s eye level with the cat, holding his breath as he brings the viewfinder up to his eye and presses down the shutter button.

The cat doesn’t stir, too deep in slumber to register the quiet click. He takes a few more pictures, trying different angles and light settings until he feels he’s gotten every possible combination.

Maybe it’s stupid, but Wonwoo is more excited to share these photos than nearly any others he’s ever taken.

Which is why he balks and falls flat on his ass when he hears, “Anubis is a model, you’ll owe us royalties for those.”

Eyes wide, he looks around wildly to find the source of the words. There’s no one in sight, the store seemingly empty except for him and Anubis.

“Up here,” the voice calls out, drawing his eye and making his mouth drop open when he finally notices a spiral staircase leading up to a small loft.

He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before. He must have been too busy staring at the cat to really take in the rest of the store, and as you slowly step down, he can’t tell if you’re amused or annoyed. What he can tell is that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, and that he suddenly wants to ask if you believe in love at first sight.

“I can give you royalties! Please don’t make me delete them,” he pleads, far less embarrassed than he should be by the fact that he’s practically on his knees begging a pretty stranger to let him keep photos he took.

You reach the landing and make your way toward him, your face unreadable. He’s surprised when you break into a sweet smile and hold your hand out to him. He hugs the camera close to his chest in response, making you roll your eyes and grab his free hand.

The warmth of your touch is a shock to his system, but he holds back the shiver that wants to roll down his spine as you lean back and tug. Still confused, he lets you help him up, feeling self conscious in his damp clothes.

He stands a little straighter when he realizes he’s over half a foot taller than you, the height difference giving him back some of his confidence. He’s not sure it should, especially with the unimpressed look you level at him when you set eyes on the trail he tracked through your store.

“I’m so sorry, I can clean it up if you give me supplies,” he offers, fully serious and almost hoping you’ll say yes just so he can assuage his guilt.

“These floors have seen worse,” you shrug, leaning down to pet Anubis, and Wonwoo has no idea what that means but he’s not about to ask. He introduces himself instead, shaking the hand still held by yours and repeating your name when you offer it.

He’s only slightly jealous when you pull away and hook your hands under the cat’s body to draw him into your arms, though whom he’s jealous of, he doesn’t know.

He would love to be holding the cat, but he has a sneaking suspicion he’d also love to be held by you.

Your hand was so warm, and so soft, and the rest of you looks just as warm and soft, if not more.

Anubis snuggles into your arms, his legs stretching and his toes spreading before he tucks them up against your forearm. His eyes go heavy lidded when you start to scratch his head, and now Wonwoo knows who he’s jealous of.

He hates to admit it but it’s been years since he let someone touch him, and after just a minute or two of knowing you, he’s already hoping you’ll touch him more. He doesn’t know if it’s because you hold Anubis so lovingly, so gently, or if it’s because you have this aura about you that soothes him, or if it’s even because he feels this attraction, this draw to you. Maybe it’s all three.

All he knows is that something about you makes him want to stay until his clothes are dry and the sun is setting, and then stay a little longer after that. Like for months, or even years, perhaps.

He’s relieved when you ask if he’d like some tea, directing him over to the small fireplace in the back of the store and nodding to one of the chairs. When he sits, you lean down and plop Anubis in his lap, surprise painting your face when he doesn’t immediately jump down.

“He’s usually wary of new people,” you hum thoughtfully, watching as the cat gets comfortable on his thighs. He brings his hand up and runs it over his soft fur, beaming up at you when he feels Anubis’s little body start vibrating beneath his palm.

“I love him,” Wonwoo admits, his voice grave and his eyes open and true behind his glasses.

You just laugh and say, “Me too,” before disappearing behind a door, leaving him alone with your cat.

Rain is still barraging the building, the steady sound lulling him into a trance as he pets the sweet being in his lap. The fire warms him quickly, making him realize just how cold he was before, a small shiver attempting to wrack his body again. He keeps it contained to his shoulders, wanting to avoid disturbing Anubis if possible.

He tells himself it’s just because he wants him to stay, but if he’s being honest, he also hopes that if you see that your cat likes him, then you will too.

Before long, you return with a tray of steaming mugs, one for him and one for you. You set it carefully on the side table between the chairs, telling him, “I would let it steep for two more minutes. There’s also biscotti, and some crostini if you’re allergic to nuts.”

“Wow, thank you so much,” he breathes, his eyes wide. He’s run into some very nice people on his travels, but it’s been a while since he was met with such hospitality. Here he is, sitting in front of a blazing fire with tea and snacks waiting for him, after dirtying your shop and taking unapproved pictures of your model cat. Cat model?

“So, how much do you expect in royalties?” He asks with trepidation, knowing the magazine he works for is pretty big but maybe not big enough to pay residuals for pictures of a cat.

You stare at him for a few seconds, squinting your eyes and quirking your head before chuckling, “That was a joke. Bubby isn’t a model, I just think he’s handsome enough to be one.”

“Ohhhh.”

Wonwoo feels himself blush, his cheeks and ears flaring red before he forces out a laugh to try to cover his embarrassment. He’s not used to jokes, usually relying on sarcasm, puns, and situational humor, and he’s a bit ashamed he didn’t realize you weren’t being serious. He stares down at Anubis, petting him softly so he doesn’t have to meet your eyes.

“Tea should be ready,” you say brightly, picking up your mug with careful hands and kindly allowing him to recover without your gaze on him.

He follows suit, cupping his hands around the hot mug and bringing it to his lips so he can blow gently, huffing when steam fogs up his glasses. He pushes them up into his hair, thinking absentmindedly that he should get it cut soon as he takes his first sip.

The flavors bloom on his tongue, mint, orange, cinnamon, honey, and something else he can’t put his finger on. It’s the most comforting tea he’s ever had, and he blinks over at you with misty, blurry eyes, sighing, “What is this? I need to buy four tons of it.”

“It’s called Evening Sorrento, it’s one of my favorites,” you smile indulgently, bringing your mug to your lips and drinking slowly before setting it down and reaching for the biscotti.

He follows your lead, taking a biscuit and dipping it in his tea like you do. The first bite has him groaning in appreciation, dark chocolate, citrus, and almond blending together flawlessly, the taste only enhanced by the tea.

“What’s the spiciness from?” He asks curiously, taking another sip to try to figure it out himself.

“Ginger,” you whisper like it’s a secret. “I candied some and put it in the biscotti, too.”

“You made these?” He sounds astonished, he knows, but he almost can’t wrap his head around someone being able to create something so delicious when all he can do is fry an egg. He still burns it half the time, more scared of undercooking than he is of overcooking.

“Yeah, my best friend taught me how, she loves to bake,” you smile sweetly, seemingly pleased to see him enjoying the food you made.

Anubis stirs, stretching out on Wonwoo’s lap before leaping onto the floor and up into your chair. You murmur, “Hi, baby,” and Wonwoo can’t help but grin as he watches your cat use your arm to pet himself.

He asks how long you’ve had him, then for pictures when he learns you rescued him as a kitten, gasping softly at the tiny version of the cat as you swipe through photos. The conversation shifts to Wonwoo’s desire to adopt a cat before he explains why he can’t, and the way you look genuinely sad for him makes his heart swell.

You ask more about his job, about the places he’s been and the things he’s seen, and in turn, he asks how you acquired all of the books in this store. It turns out you have contacts all over the world, friends who send you romance books when they come across them in exchange for a free one when they next come to visit. It seems like the perfect system, allowing you to collect novels in different languages and share them with the people you love.

Talking to you is so easy that he doesn’t even notice how late it’s grown until you check your phone, a startled expression on your face as you say, “I should have closed half an hour ago.”

He glances at his watch, blanching at the clock staring back at him. It’s been four hours since he burst into your shop looking for refuge from the downpour, and he doesn’t even know if it’s still raining. The sun has long since set, going down around six PM this time of year, which was over two and a half hours ago.

He rises swiftly, nervously smoothing out the wrinkles in his slacks and thanking you for your generosity. You stand with him, hugging Anubis to your chest before offering the cat for one last snuggle. Wonwoo takes him carefully, bundling him up against his now dry shirt and smoothing a hand from his head all the way down to the nub at the end of his body.

He starts purring immediately, the sound audible even over the crackling of the embers, making you smile softly and tell him, “Bubby likes you.”

“I like him,” Wonwoo beams, reluctantly handing the cat over when you stretch your arms out.

“You love him,” you correct with mirth dancing in your eyes as you walk him to the door.

He peeks out, sighing in relief when he finds that the rain has stopped before turning to you. He almost doesn’t know what to say, goodbye feeling too final, too formal. He thanks you again instead, dragging his feet now that it’s time to leave.

But he doesn’t want to be rude, or keep you any longer than he already has, so with one last wave and a scritch under Anubis’s chin, he leaves.

You call out, “Come back soon!” and while he’s sure you say that to all your customers, he can’t help but feel like you mean it.

Wonwoo has a plan for the day: take the train to Venice, splurge on a gondola ride, and capture as many of the historical buildings as he can while the boat is guided through the canals.

So why he finds himself standing outside of Storie d’Amore again, he doesn’t know.

He managed to stay away for two days, hiking all over Verona and taking enough pictures to fill an SD card. He would have made it three if he asked the cab driver to take him to the train station instead of your place of business, but here he is.

Some part of him wants to rationalize it. He didn’t get any photos of the area because of the rain, just of your (not) model cat, so he’s simply making up for lost time. That still doesn’t explain why he’s staring through the paned glass window at the end of your shop, hoping for a glimpse of you or Anubis.

Obviously, you’re both here, but he doesn’t see either of you, and he also wants to buy a few books to take home, so it only makes sense that he goes into your store.

He’s dry this time, thankfully, though he wonders if that means you won’t offer him tea and biscotti again. He can see a few people milling about, pulling books off the shelves to read the summaries and either placing them into mismatched baskets or putting them back.

He does the same, searching for novels in the languages he knows with the intent of buying one of each. He’s gathered Italian, French, and English when he feels something rub against his leg, looking down to find a black cat staring up at him.

“Anubis!” Wonwoo grins, leaning down to set the basket to the side so he can pick up his little friend. Holding him to his chest, he feels his heart warm as the purring starts, not even a little mad about the black fur accumulating on his shirt.

“Oh!”

He hears you gasp and glances up, smiling shyly at you and shifting to hold Anubis with one arm so he can send you a wave that only feels a little awkward.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” you say, stepping closer to him and taking in the basket at his feet and backpack slung over his shoulder.

“You told me to,” he shrugs sheepishly, suddenly fearing that, “Come back soon,” is something you just say to everyone.

“I didn’t think you actually would. I thought you’d be gone by now, on to the next destination.”

He can’t tell if you’re happy to see him or not, but you haven’t kicked him out yet so he doesn’t plan on going anywhere.

“The next destination can wait. I needed something to read on the plane anyway.”

“Looks like you found more than just something,” you chuckle, peering closer to check out the titles he’s gathered so far. “All good choices,” you smile up at him, and he feels something unlock in his chest to make space for you.

“Can I take you out on a date?” He blurts out, his eyes widening and his free hand flying up to cover his mouth. The words escaped without his permission, but he can’t say he wants to take them back.

You tilt your head and look at him for a little while, like you’re searching for something, and you must find it because your smile grows before you nod and say, “I can close early tonight. Does seven work for you?”

“It works perfectly,” he breathes after lowering his hand, his heart racing and his body feeling warm for once.

A customer calls out your name, making you glance over before you turn back and say, “Leave your books at the register and meet me here later?”

He can only nod, grinning too wide to manage any words.

“Don’t take my cat, I love that little guy,” you warn him playfully (he thinks) and spin to find the source of the voice. He can hear you speaking in rapid French, easily translating it in his head without even meaning to. They’re asking for your help in choosing between two books, one a tragedy and one a comedy.

You go over the pros and cons of each genre and offer your own personal opinions on the specific books, making Wonwoo wonder if you’ve read every novel in here. You seemed to recognize the books in his basket and you apparently know the ones this customer is talking about; maybe you read them as you receive them?

But there are so many, there’s just no way, he thinks, letting Anubis wriggle out of his arms to follow you. He supposes that’s something he can ask you at dinner, the thought bringing a pleased little smile to his face.

He selects his last two books and wanders over to the checkout counter, stashing his basket on the stool behind it before heading out to get pictures of the neighborhood while he can.

He’ll be busy tonight, after all.

Wonwoo returns to your shop five minutes before the clock strikes seven.

He slips in without your notice, making his way to his favorite window and sitting down on the ledge next to Anubis to scroll through the pictures he took while he was out. The cat just sprawls a bit more so his feet are touching Wonwoo’s thigh, the tiny points of connection warming him from the inside out.

He captured another proposal today, but this one didn’t leave a hollow feeling in his chest like the others. Now that he’s thinking about it, neither did any of the couples he passed. He was able to truly appreciate all of them without that sense of bitter loneliness, and he can only attribute that to meeting you.

An unbidden smile stretches his lips as he thinks about the time he spent sitting by that fire with you, talking about anything that came to mind. It’s been months since he spent four straight hours with someone, just talking. It’s been years since he wanted to.

A tiny part of him fears he only feels this way because he’s been so lonely, but the rest of him knows he’d be enamored with you no matter what state he was in.

This is only confirmed when you round the bookshelf and come to a stop in front of him, an emerald green dress swishing over your thighs and a smile brightening your face. You cleared the store in the time he spent reminiscing, leaving the room empty but for you, Wonwoo, and Anubis.

The air feels tense, heavy with something Wonwoo can’t quite identify. It’s only when he rises to his feet and finds himself closer to you than he meant to be that he realizes that something is potential.

It’s the same rush of anticipation that fills his chest when he lines up a shot he knows will be incredible, when he finishes climbing a hill and sees the perfect sunset waiting for him, when he finally finds the words to describe the indescribably beautiful. The fact that he’s feeling it now, with you, tells him everything he needs to know.

His previous fear of meeting someone who would want to keep him has become a dream, a wish that he can only hope will come true, because now Wonwoo knows he wants you to take hold of him and never let go.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice so full of longing, it’s almost embarrassing.

“Before the first date? The scandal!” You say dramatically, feigning offense and lightly tapping him on the chest. He gasps at the contact and covers your hand with his, pressing it flat to his pec so you can feel his speeding heart.

You must realize how serious he is, how desperate, because the playful smile falls from your face, your gaze darting between his eyes and his lips. He feels himself flush under your attention, his ears and the back of his neck hot as you stare up at him.

“Yes, Wonwoo. You can kiss me,” you breathe softly, your face tilting up and your eyelashes fluttering as he begins to lean down. This moment feels monumental for some reason, like something he’ll remember for the rest of his life, and as he cups your face and carefully presses his lips to yours, he figures out why.

Everything about kissing you feels right, as if all of his jagged pieces have fallen into place, as if this is what he was destined for, as if the fates connected him to you with an invisible, unbreakable string.

He wasn’t restless, he wasn’t a bachelor, he was just waiting for you.

Suddenly his smile is too broad for him to keep kissing you, giddiness flowing through his veins as he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. He leaves his hands on your face, brushing his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone before biting back his grin and kissing you one, two, three more times.

He feels shy when he takes a step back, letting one hand fall to catch yours and squeezing like it’s a lifeline.

“Was that… life-changing for you too?” Wonwoo asks quietly, scared to pop the bubble he’s found himself in with you.

“Maybe,” you whisper, vulnerability evident in your voice though your face gives nothing away. “We should get going.”

“Yeah, yes, we should,” he lets you pull away even though it physically pains him, following when you tug him to the door with the hand he’s still holding.

He doesn’t know what just happened, why you closed yourself off, but he’ll give you the space you seem to need, sure that if he pushes it will only make you freeze up more. For now, he’ll take you to that romantic riverfront restaurant he passed earlier and encourage you to order any and everything you like.

You ease up a bit after a glass of wine and some shared appetizers, the smile on your face genuine again though your light still seems dimmer than it was before. You ask him a lot of questions but don’t offer up much information in return, keeping your responses short and to the point.

It doesn’t disrupt the flow of conversation at all, thankfully; Wonwoo and you are compatible enough that it’s easy to bounce from one topic to another. There’s never a pause, never a moment where he doesn’t know what to say, and even with you being more withdrawn than expected, he still laughs himself to tears more than once.

It’s late by the time he pays the bill and walks you home, which he’s learned is the building right above your shop. There aren’t many people out, and though he startled you when he took your hand in his, he continues to hold it the whole way back. You’ve gone quiet again, pensive, making him wonder if he’s done something wrong, or, worse, if you regret kissing him.

You only started acting like this after he pressed his lips to yours, after he asked if it was life-changing for you like it was for him.

He doesn’t know what else it could be, unless you figured out you just don’t feel the same way about him as he does about you. His heart drops into his stomach at the thought, his fingers subconsciously clenching around yours, making you glance up at him in concern.

He stares forward resolutely, not ready to see confirmation of his fears in your gaze.

By the time that big window and Anubis’s sleeping body come into view, Wonwoo has convinced himself that you feel nothing but friendship for him and simply don’t know how to say it.

Still, he can’t help but try, one last time.

“Do you think I could see you again before I go? I’ve got plenty of pictures and I fly out tomorrow night, so my day is clear.”

You take a second to think about it, your eyes shuttering as if you don’t want him to see the thoughts behind them, before you answer solemnly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, feeling like all the air has been pulled out of his lungs. “You don’t… think it’s a good idea. Okay, I’ll, um, I’ll just go, then.”

He can’t even make himself look at you, knowing that his mouth is pinched in the way it does when he’s trying not to cry. He squeezes your hand once more before disentangling his fingers from yours, taking a step back, and turning to walk away so you can’t see him lift up his glasses and rub at his burning eyes.

He doesn’t get far before you call out his name.

“Wonwoo! I… It’s because you’re leaving,” you sound as close to tears as he feels, your voice plaintive and fragile.

He stops short and chews on his lip, swiping at his face with rough hands as your footsteps sound on the cobblestones. You let him stay where he is but he feels your fingers clench in the back of his shirt, like you’re afraid he’ll still walk away.

That touch is enough for him to turn around, his hand catching yours as it falls and his heart stuttering at the sheen of tear tracks on your face. He brings his other hand up to brush his thumb under your eye, sweeping away a freshly fallen drop.

“Is that why you said maybe, after I kissed you?” He asks in a gentle, low tone, less fearful of the answer now.

“Yes. This has an expiration date, I don’t get to keep you. I couldn’t admit that just one kiss had me ready to sell my shop, buy a new cat carrier, and join you on the road,” you laugh softly in a self-deprecating way, avoiding his gaze again like you’re embarrassed.

“Y/n, when I said it was life-changing for me, I meant it. As in, I would change my life for you. I can transfer to the Italian branch, go on shorter assignments, find a place here. You can keep me.”

“Wonwoo, I can’t ask you to do all that for me. I mean, we only met a few days ago, how do you know you won’t regret this?” You sound reluctant to accept his offer, but it seems to be coming from a place of worry for him instead of a lack of feeling, and he can work with that.

“I’ve been thinking about settling down anyway, I just needed a sign. Meeting you was that sign, and getting to know you like this has only made me more and more sure. Please, all you have to do is believe in me.”

Finally, you meet his eyes, searching them like you did when he asked you out, and once again, you find what you’re looking for. A watery smile stretches your lips as you step closer to him and up onto your tiptoes, wrapping your free arm around his neck and pulling him into a hug.

His eyelids flutter shut, his arm vining around your waist and hauling you up against his body so you can feel his galloping heart. He presses his lips to the top of your head and breathes you in, finding your scent absolutely intoxicating.

It’s fruity like pomegranate but sweet and floral too, reminding him of the lotus flowers he stumbled across in the southern Himalayas. There’s an underlying warmth, a natural musk that makes him wonder if you’re wearing perfume or if you just smell like this on your own.

He doesn’t really care either way, not now that he has you so close, your joined hands coming up to rest against his shoulder and your body relaxing into his. You stay like that until his heart returns to a somewhat normal pace, before he pulls away just far enough to look down at you. He tugs his hand free so he can cup your face, whispering, “I’m gonna kiss you again, okay?”

“Please do,” you whisper back, taking in a shuddering breath just before he locks his lips with yours. You sigh it out into his mouth and he swallows it like it’s a benediction, your tongue dragging against his as he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you.

He’s about to let out a groan when a wooden shutter bangs against the stone building above, a loud voice shouting, “Prendi una stanza!”

“É la città dell'amore, Stefano, dacci una pausa!” You break away to shout back, grinning at Wonwoo’s flaming cheeks.

“Y/n? Vai avanti, caro!” The shutter snaps closed again and Wonwoo bends over in a full body laugh, clutching his stomach as his abs flex with mirth. You’re not laughing like he is, but you are watching with affection and only the slightest bit of embarrassment.

When he’s finally regained his composure, he straightens and wipes at his cheeks again, crying for a completely different reason than before. You smile up at him fondly, reaching out to fix his hair and asking, “Since you’re free tomorrow, do you want to come up for some coffee?”

Wonwoo doesn’t know if you’re really offering refreshments or if the coffee is a euphemism for something else, but either way, it’s an easy answer.

“Of course I do.”

Anubis starts meowing as soon as you unlock the door to your shop, loping over on graceful paws and weaving between your feet.

“You had your dinner, why are you shouting at me?” You ask as you crouch to pick him up, holding him like a baby and scratching at his stomach gently.

“Maybe he missed you?”

You mull it over for a little bit, nodding your head in acceptance and admitting, “I don’t usually go out at night, so maybe he did.”

“Is that why your neighbor was fine with us making out as soon as he figured out it was you?”

You lightly jab him in the stomach with your elbow and he pretends to be mortally wounded, stumbling and groaning dramatically as if he’d been hit with an arrow instead.

He supposes he has been, but it was one of Cupid’s, not one of yours.

Anubis twists out of your arms and you let him, locking the entrance to your store and leading Wonwoo to the back. You unlock one of the doors with a huff of exertion and a jiggle of the handle, turning to say, “Old building,” before pushing the door open and letting Anubis dart up the staircase in front of you. Wonwoo jerks the door closed and locks it with the key you hand him, following you up the stairs in near darkness.

The room you lead him into is a bit smaller than your store, containing a compact kitchen and warm living room flanked by a wall with two doors. “Bathroom is on the right, if you need it.”

He slips off his shoes and excuses himself to freshen up, taking care of his business and washing his hands quickly. Chancing a look in the mirror, Wonwoo finds that he’s flushed, aglow with infatuation, his smile irrepressible and wider than ever. He almost can’t look himself in the eye, knowing that all he’d find is adoration for you, and perhaps a bit of nervousness.

He doesn’t know what to expect now, doesn’t know if this is leading where he thinks it is or how to act in whatever case. But, not wanting to keep you waiting, he opens the door and shuts off the light, finding you sitting at your dining table with a full french press and two mugs in front of you.

He wants to speed over but he strolls instead, trying to appear at least a little unaffected. That facade is broken when he stops a few feet from the table, suddenly unsure of whether he should sit next to you or opposite from you.

Blessedly, you make the choice for him, sliding one mug across the table before smoothly depressing the plunger of the french press.

The rich smell of coffee permeates the air as you gracefully pour, filling his cup with the steaming, dark liquid before filling yours. “Is black okay? I have sugar and oat milk, if you need them.”

“Black is great, thank you.”

He’s acclimated to the bitterness enough to appreciate the deeper notes, though it’s only because he was once too shy to ask for sugar. He sips carefully, wondering with a satisfied hum if this really is the best coffee he’s ever had or if he just thinks that because you made it for him.

You fall into an easy chat, discussing pictures he took and customers you had while he was out and about, before you bite your lip and stare down into your coffee like it’ll give you strength.

“Wonwoo, can I ask you something… personal?”

Your eyes slowly return to his, and the heat in your gaze makes him want to pop open a few buttons on his shirt and fan himself.

“Sure,” he says, with only a little trepidation.

“What are you like in bed?”

Oh.

Oh. You want to know what he’s like in bed.

Have you thought about what he’s like in bed? Have you thought about being in bed with him? Have you thought about him and touched yours-

He should answer you before he lets himself get carried away.

“Um, I’m a little different, I suppose. I like to be more… dominant. Maybe a bit rougher than I may seem,” his voice is hushed, and he wants to look away from the intensity of your stare, but he finds he can’t. It’s like you’ve hypnotized him, entranced him with a single question.

“Is there anything specific that you like?”

This conversation, he likes this conversation. A lot. He can feel his slacks tightening with it, his heart thumping far too hard to be healthy and his mind starting to offer up ideas so fast he can barely make sense of them.

They’re mostly images, sensations, feelings, all modeled after you.

“I like,” he begins slowly. “I like being in control. I think I’d like holding you down, making you take what I’m giving you. I like talking,” he chuckles wryly, before continuing.

“I like listening too. I wouldn’t want you to hold back, I’d want to hear every little noise I could pull out of you. And I think I’d really like using my hands first, making you cum until you cry. Or until you beg for my cock.”

You suck in a ragged breath and glance away before looking back at him. Finally, he can read you, desire obvious on your face and in the tight knuckled grip you have on your mug.

You set it down cautiously, aware of the still scalding coffee inside, and push away from the table to stand. Wonwoo watches you walk around to his side, his gaze fighting to stay on your face and not on the way your dress moves over your thighs as you get closer and closer to him.

You stop just a foot away, holding your hand out and waiting for him to take it with a slight air of impassioned impatience. He places his hand in yours and rises to his feet, valiantly ignoring the view of your breasts from this angle and following you when you turn and begin tugging him to the door on the left.

“Are we done talking?” Wonwoo asks, exhilarated and aroused, his dick hardening so quickly it leaves him feeling dizzy.

“Not even a little bit,” you breathe, pushing the door open and facing him again as you walk backwards towards your bed.

He crosses the few steps between you, crowds you up to the edge of the bed and pushes you to lay down with a gentle hand on your shoulder. His hands won’t stay gentle for long, and he hopes you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“If you don’t like something I do, tell me,” he whispers before leaning down and taking hold of your legs, pulling them apart and filling the space in between with his hips.

“I will,” you gasp as he grinds against you, your dress pooled at the top of your thighs, just barely exposing your black panties. “But I don’t think I’ll need to.”

I like everything you do.

You don’t say it but he hears it anyway, the corner of his mouth lifting in a soft smirk before he braces his hands on either side of your head and moves in close. He doesn’t kiss you yet, just watches the way your eyelids flutter shut and your lips pout in preparation. You peek an eye open when he continues to hold himself away from you, your hand rising to cup his neck and attempt to tug him down to you.

The second your fingers come into contact with him, he shifts his weight to one hand and grips your wrist with the other, pushing it down to the bed and holding it there. You bite back a smile, wriggle beneath him to get more comfortable, and drape your other hand above your head.

That, he likes, and he rewards you by releasing your wrist and dragging his fingers up your inner thigh instead, digging them into the warm, soft flesh and groaning when he comes into contact with your panties. They’re soaking, so much wetter than he expected, and when he cups his big, cold hand over the seat of them, you shiver and buck up into his touch.

“How long has it been for you?” Wonwoo asks, as if it hasn’t been literal years for him.

“Um, a while, it’s been… a while,” you admit, seemingly shy for the first time. He should reassure you, but he likes the way you shrink beneath him, likes even more the thought of being your first in however long. He plans on being your last for the foreseeable future, so it’s only right he’s the one to break your dry spell.

“Good,” he grins wickedly down at you, pulling your panties to the side and letting his fingers glide through your arousal. You’re soft, and sopping wet, and hot, so fucking hot, just for him, and already he’s wondering if he’ll be able to make good on his words.

If he’ll be able to hold himself back from you long enough to make you beg for it.

He’ll do his best though, for you, and that starts with not grinding himself into your thigh. He needs to forget about his own pleasure, focus solely on yours, or he’ll be balls deep inside you before he’s even made you cum once.

That won’t do, not when he wants you writhing on his fingers and pleading for his cock.

So he pulls his hips away from you and tucks the tip of one digit into your entrance, sliding it in slowly enough that your face crumples in impatience, a low whine escaping you when he just leaves it there and drags his thumb over your clit.

He wants to take his time, wants to learn you with his hands and his teeth and his tongue, wants to catalog your reactions and be able to take you apart diligently, passionately, like you deserve.

This teaches him that you don’t like to be teased, and he decides to shelve the idea of edging for another day. He’ll go with overstimulation instead, he thinks, working another finger inside and rubbing more firmly with his thumb. Your face relaxes, your mouth opening on a sigh, and Wonwoo can’t resist leaning down to suck at your plump bottom lip as he curls his fingers inside of you, not yet searching for the spot that will make you gush for him.

He’ll find it when he’s ready, when he feels like he’s built you up enough, and then he’ll use it to push you over the edge as many times as you can take. For now, he’ll savor the taste of your noises and start stretching out your perfect cunt.

He pulls away from your mouth, fully aware that he could get lost in your kiss and intent on talking to you more before he lets that happen.

“You feel so fucking good wrapped around my fingers like this. You know that, don’t you? You know how your cunt hugs them, sucks them in deeper and deeper, because you touch yourself, right?”

You nod and Wonwoo allows it, won’t make you follow all of his rules until next time, until he’s sure you can handle it.

“Did you touch yourself for me that night? After we met?” He asks softly, rewarding you with a tap right into your sweet spot when you cry out, “Yes!”

“Did you say my name when you came?” His fingers pick up speed inside of you, fucking in and out to the beat of his own pounding heart.

“Yes, Wonwoo,” you whimper, your hands twisting in the sheets above your head and your eyes squeezing shut before he pulls his fingers out and lands a wet smack on your inner thigh. You gasp and try to close your legs but Wonwoo is stronger than you, holds them open with both hands before leaning in close to kiss the stinging skin and say, “Keep your eyes on me.”

You nod tearily, holding his gaze as he sinks his fingers back inside of you and hovers close enough to your pussy that he’s sure you can feel his breath. He quirks his fingers up just as his tongue makes contact with your clit, and the way your lashes flutter but don’t fall brings a proud smirk to his face.

“You’re a good listener, aren’t you?” He murmurs into your cunt. You start to answer but then he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and you shudder out a moan instead. The sound sends electricity zipping down his spine and straight into his cock, making it throb for you in his slacks.

He ignores it, shifting to rest on his knees and sucking harder, grinding his fingertips up into your front wall so he can draw that same sound out of you again. He told you before that he wanted to hear every little noise he could pull from you, and he meant it, including noises that don’t come from your mouth.

You’re getting so wet, he can hear it, his fingers squelching inside of you with every thrust, every curl. He doesn’t remember his past partners being so aroused, and he’s already obsessed, already dead set on making you fucking drench him.

He knows all he needs to do is make you cum and you’ll give him exactly what he wants, so he taps into your g-spot with more force, fucking his fingers into you hard and fast until your cries reach a fever pitch and your back arches. He doesn’t stop, dragging you through your orgasm and pushing you further even as your cunt ripples and squeezes around his fingers, the sensation so intense he almost feels the phantom pulse of you around his dick, too.

It makes him groan, a deep, dark sound muffled by your pussy, and that seems to be what sends you careening over the edge again, your thighs attempting to clamp shut around him. He lightly smacks one with his free hand, gripping the soft fat and pushing it up and out so he has enough room to work. The other settles on his shoulder but he doesn’t mind that, likes the weight of it, wants you to feel stable and secure as he takes you apart piece by piece.

You’re writhing on his hand, just like he wanted, your gaze teary and nearly empty, like your beautiful brain is focused on him and him alone, and ohhhh, he likes that, he likes that a lot. He wants to wreck you, wants to leave you with nothing in your head but thoughts of him and when he’ll make you break again.

He doesn’t know if you can, but he’s desperate to see you flood him, to make you squirt all over him, regardless of the fact that this shirt is dry clean only. He’ll scrub it out in the sink if he has to, doesn’t care what happens to the fibers if it means he can make you cum hard enough to ruin them.

You’re getting close again, he thinks with lurid satisfaction, his hand a blur between your thighs. He pulls away to murmur, “Hold your leg for me,” waiting for understanding to spark in your eyes. You wrap your hand beneath your knee and manage a wobbly smile, and Wonwoo feels affection burst in his chest like a firework, his lips curving in response as he brings his now free hand to your cunt.

His fingers push at the crest of your pussy, exposing your swollen clit for his thumb to cover, the pad of it pressing down and rubbing harsh circles. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes water, your mouth stuck open on a needy moan that grows louder with every tap of your g-spot. It’s a whine soon enough, one that hitches in your throat as he fucks you with his fingers, and when he grinds his fingertips deep into you, he sees alarm grow in your eyes.

You try to warn him but you can’t seem to speak, only blubbers of his name gracing his ears, making him grin ferally and say, “Don’t worry, baby, I want it to happen. I want you to fucking soak me, now.”

He honestly didn’t expect that to work but apparently, you can cum on command, or, as he tells himself, on his command, because you suck in a deep breath and keen for him. Your cunt flutters wildly around his fingers, clenching down on them and sucking them in before tightening to the point that he can’t move them, his fingertips locked into your sweet spot as you fucking gush.

He can feel it spraying out onto his face and dampening his button down, arousal flowing out of you like a rushing river, making him groan out, “Fuck yes, just like that.”

His voice is gravelly and low, desire deepening its pitch, and you shiver above him, though that may have more to do with the thumb still strumming your clit and the fingers still plugging you up.

He could go again but he doesn’t want to push you too far this first night, doesn’t know where your limits lay or if you’re ready for him to find out for himself, so when your walls finally release his fingers, he slowly pulls them out and gently cups your pussy to help you calm down.

He’s surprised when you speak, and even more shocked that it’s enough to make him laugh out loud.

“All that and you didn’t even take my dress off,” you mumble, letting go of your thigh and reaching down to drift a hand over his hair, petting him like he’s an animal you’ve domesticated.

Maybe he is, and maybe you have. You’re the only one that’s ever made him want to stay, to plant roots, to be domestic.

Fondly, he says, “I did that on purpose. Now whenever you wear it, you’ll think about me.”

“I don’t need the dress to think about you, Wonwoo, I promise you that,” you hum, letting your eyes slip closed and missing the way his gaze fills with infatuation as he rests his cheek on your thigh and wraps his hands around your ankles.

His glasses are splattered with you and so is the rest of him, his cock is hard and aching and leaky, and his knees are all but decimated from kneeling on your wood floor for so long, but Wonwoo has never been happier in his life.

“Will you fuck me now?”

His brows raise in disbelief, his fingers twitching on your legs, and he stands as quickly as he can manage, bracing one hand beside your head and taking hold of your chin with the other. You blink open your eyes to look at him, the haze in them just a bit clearer, though he’s sure your thoughts are still clouded with pleasure.

“You still want me?” He asks in full seriousness, his dick pulsing at the thought of feeling your flawless cunt wrapped around it.

“Yeah, you gonna make me beg?” You murmur, your gaze just a touch defiant.

He wants to fuck that rebelliousness out of you.

“I said I’d like to, didn’t I?” He responds slowly, greed simmering in his veins and surely obvious on his face.

Your eyes narrow before you visibly collect yourself, finding that submissive side you seemed to lean into before. He watches as you let it take over, shrinking beneath him somehow, the expression on your face needy and compliant.

“Please Wonwoo, please give me your cock. I’ve thought about it since we met, since I noticed how built you were under that soaking white shirt. Your shoulders are so broad and your hands are so big and you’re so much taller than me. All I wanted was for you to pin me down and fuck me however you liked, and that’s still all I want.”

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, carefully concealing how fucking wild your words make him feel. He needs to maintain this illusion of control or you’ll gain the upper hand, and he can’t let that happen. He’s already going to give you exactly what you want, he’ll die before he lets you be smug about it too.

It takes everything in him but he manages to pull away, releasing your chin and standing at his full height, a smirk rising at the way your hands leave their place above your head to cling to him.

“Get up. Take your dress off,” he commands stoically, backing up and giving you space to push off the bed onto your feet. Your hands tremble as you reach for the hem, and in a brief moment of tenderness, he covers them with his and lifts it with you, laughing and helping you wrench it off when it gets stuck at the elbows.

He stops laughing when you fling the dress onto the chair in the corner of your room and stare up at him, clad in just your skewed panties and a little bitten off grin. His eyes fall to your breasts, the shape and weight of them immaculate, just begging for his mouth. He fully plans on worshiping them at the next possible opportunity, but he’s got a different goal in mind now. His hands gravitate to your hips, fingertips tucking in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down before returning to push you gently toward the bed.

“Lay down for me.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know why he’s being soft on you now. He’s still hard enough to cut glass but something in him just can’t be harsh when he feels like he does about you, especially after you already took what he gave you so well. Maybe it’s the vulnerable look in your eyes, maybe it’s the way his heart feels three sizes too big for his chest.

But maybe it’s because when he looks back on your first time together, he doesn’t want it to look like his previous encounters. He wants it to look like a couple that loves each other, that knows they want to be together, that will make sacrifices for each other.

Obviously, dominating you can still look like that, but right now his soul aches to be gentle with you. Emotionally, at least.

He’s still going to fuck you into your mattress, he’ll just be kinder about it.

You can tell that something has shifted in him and somehow it makes you even more pliant, your face open as you patiently wait for his next instruction. He doesn’t give one yet, reaching up to take his glasses off and wipe away the drying release with the edge of his button down before setting them on your night stand.

He works on getting naked, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off, carelessly letting it float down to the floor as he undoes his pants. He removes his socks next, pairing them up and dropping them to the side before pushing down his boxer briefs.

It occurs to him that you haven’t talked about safety at all, and as he climbs over you, his thick, leaking dick dragging against your skin, he asks, “Do we need a condom?”

You swear under your breath and look down, biting your lip before whispering, “I’m not on birth control, and I have condoms but I honestly don’t think they’ll fit you. Do you have any?”

He swears too, remembering the expired one in his wallet and sighing, “Not one that we could use. I get tested regularly and I’m negative for everything, but what do you wanna do?”

“Um, well… I haven’t had sex since I last got tested and everything was clear, so what if you pull out? I track my cycle and I’m not ovulating right now.”

It’s risky, and sex without a condom isn’t something Wonwoo’s ever had, but he wants you more than anything, and he believes in his ability to honor your wishes and pull out when he needs to.

“Let’s do that this one time, and I’ll get condoms for the future,” he agrees, smiling at the way your eyes get brighter when he says ‘future’.

He settles back into his role seamlessly, though this time, he’s less domineering and more caring, to be sure. Your legs are already spread for him, but he slips his hands under your knees and tucks them up to your chest, resting your calves on his shoulders and setting one hand on the bed to hold himself up.

The other reaches for his dick, and he fights back a shiver at the chill of his own touch, his perpetually cold hands freezing compared to his searing hot cock. He can’t help but lay it over your pussy, feeling his ears and the back of his neck tingle with a blush when he estimates where he’ll end inside of you.

You squirm beneath him and he brings his hands back to your thighs, pulling his hips back enough to notch the head of his dick in your entrance before starting to push inside. You’re tight like this, all folded up, but your walls part to welcome him like he’s a missing piece of you, like he’s always been meant to fill you up when you’re empty.

He moves slowly, not to tease you but to savor you, luxuriating in the feeling of your velvet heat, your perfect cunt as it forms around him. It could be minutes or hours before he bottoms out, but when he does, he almost can’t think, he’s so consumed by sensation.

He closed his eyes without realizing it, and now he forces them open, only to find you already staring up at him, your gaze unwavering and your hands coming up to hold his where they push at your thighs.

You seem breathless, and it’s probably partly due to the position but Wonwoo prefers to think it’s because you’re as overwhelmed as he is, so wrought with pleasure that it toes the line of pain.

You’re still shorter than him, even like this, so he has to curve down to kiss you but it’s worth it because you bloom for him, moaning into his mouth and clenching around his cock when he glides his tongue against yours. With your lips still pressed to his, he draws his hips back a few inches, enough to feel air cling to the wetness on his cock, before thrusting inside sharply. His hips meet your ass with a loud smack, the only other noise in the room being your muffled whimpers and the wet sound of his lips moving against yours.

Again, he pulls out, almost to the tip this time, and sends his hips forward, grunting at the feeling of your cunt embracing him. It’s perfection, you’re perfection, and he resolves to be nothing but perfect for you too.

He swallows your sounds and categorizes them; you whimper when he pulls out far and thrusts in deep, moan when he just grinds himself into you, yelp when he fucks you with sharp, fast bucks of his hips. He follows their lead like he’s untying a knot or working through a maze, methodically dismantling you down to your nuts and bolts.

You’re barely kissing him back when he finally derives the best combination of pace and depth, your lips quivering against his as you whine continuously, the pitch rising every time he reaches the end of you. Your eyes are open but they’re glazed over, and he can’t tell if he’s fucked you dumb or fucked you to tears but either way, it makes his lips stretch in a vicious grin.

He loves kissing you but that’s not what’s happening anymore, so he pulls away and puts more of his weight on your thighs, using the leverage to fuck into you harder. He doesn’t go faster, knowing that if he does, this will end far sooner than he wants it to.

He’d like to draw at least one more orgasm from you before he cums, and he can’t do that if he’s got even more friction on his cock. He’s a little surprised there is any with how wet you are, but you’re perfectly matched to his size so your walls grasp him tight every time he pulls back, the drag of them flawless on his sensitive skin.

Your sounds are louder now that he’s not muffling them with his mouth, melodic in his ears and something he knows he’ll reproduce in his mind again and again, whenever he’s away from you and feeling particularly lonely.

He’ll have to cut down on his traveling now that he’s got you, but that doesn’t scare him like it used to. Instead, he’s excited to have someone who makes him want to stay and build a home, build a life. He kind of feels like this is the first step, making you his and giving himself to you in return, and it’s enough to make his cock twitch and leak just a little bit of precum inside of you.

He takes that for the warning it is, consciously veering away from thoughts of domesticity and belonging before dedicating the whole of his body to making you cum. He pushes away from you to sit up on his knees and haul your ass into his lap, your calves still resting on his shoulders and his dick just barely inside of you.

He angles his hips and thrusts back in shallowly, no longer hitting as deep but aiming the head of his cock at that innervated patch inside of you. Your eyes grow wide and you suck in a deep gasp, your fingers clenching around his where they hold your legs, your reaction letting him know he’s got you.

He fucks into that spot relentlessly, wondering if he can make you cum with just his cock. He stimulated your clit before too but you feel like you’re getting close, and he doesn’t want to change something trying to help only to hinder you instead.

He doesn’t have much time to think before you’re crying out his name urgently, your tone plaintive and your voice thin. It sounds like you’re right on the edge, looks like it too, your brows screwed up in pleasure and your eyes bright with bliss. He’s almost as close as you are, his orgasm spooled up at the base of his spine and ticking like a time bomb, just waiting for him to let himself go.

“Cum, baby,” he pants, hoping beyond hope that you’ll listen and obey just one more time. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on, prays that he’ll be able to endure the euphoria your climax will bring, that he won’t have to ruin it by pulling out while you’re deep in its thrall.

But you do listen, thank fuck, you do, your eyes rolling back and your cunt clamping down on him in a vise grip, the sheer heat and wetness of you enough to pull a strangled groan from deep in his throat. It takes everything in him not to cum with you, the feeling incredible and the sight just as glorious, the impact of both beyond the realm of imagination.

He lasts just long enough to get you through your aftershocks, his chest heaving for air as he makes himself pull out of the eden of your cunt. Blood rushes in his ears and fluffy cotton candy fills his head, his thoughts no more than paper airplanes gliding on a warm breeze. He watches his cum cover your perfect tits in white stripes, feeling as if he’s out of his body and out of his mind.

Your hands squeeze his and you breathe his name, slowly pulling him back to you, like he’s a balloon that’s floated away and you’ve miraculously caught his string. You’re blurry in his vision and he can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t have his glasses on or if he’s just crying, but either way he releases your legs and leans in close to see you better.

You cup his cheeks and pull him into a soft kiss, the soothing, reassuring pressure bringing him back down to earth, back to you. He should be the one taking care of you right now, but he feels like he’s been cracked open, his soul and his heart bare, unprotected.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, petting his cheekbones with your thumbs, and that’s what restarts him.

He presses his lips to yours ardently, gathering up all of his feelings and pouring them into you, the intensity drawing a gentle sigh that travels from your mouth to his. He breathes it in before pulling away and focusing on you.

Lying down next to you, he pulls you into his arms, uncaring of the sticky cum that smears on his chest when your breasts press against him. He holds you for a while, until his heartbeat feels close to normal and his head feels close to clear. He’s about to drift off when he remembers how dirty you both still are.

“Do you want to shower?” He asks in a low voice, grinning at the way your face scrunches in displeasure at the thought before you look up at him and respond, “Are we going to fuck again tonight?”

He thinks on it for a moment, weighing options and offering his opinion, “I don’t want to tempt fate too many times, so I think we should just go to sleep for now and go out for condoms and Plan B tomorrow morning. Then I’ll fuck you all day, if you want.”

You smile serenely and nod, your eyes already half lidded with exhaustion.

“Does that mean you do want to shower, then?” He confirms, his fingers drumming on your bare back.

“Yeah,” you pout, obviously reluctant to get up and get clean.

“I’ll go start it and come get you when it’s warm. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll do all the work,” he promises you, grinning when your pout stretches into a pleased little smile.

He climbs out from under you and off the bed, walking on shaky knees to the bathroom, his soft cock hanging between his legs. He wonders if you have a washer, his shirt and boxers are not usable in their current state, but he can just use the sink if he needs to. He’ll have to go back to his hotel sometime tomorrow, to change and gather his things for his flight back home, and he’s already dreading the idea of it.

It would be nice if he could get his film camera, maybe take a few pictures of you to tide him over until his transfer is finalized and he can find an apartment here. He feels like you’d be up for that, imagines photographing you in all kinds of positions and varying states of undress, safe in the knowledge that he can rent a darkroom and develop them himself.

He struggles for a minute but figures out your shower eventually, turning it on and standing by until steam gathers on the mirror. He catches a glance at himself just before it fogs over, blushing at the image staring back at him.

His lips are swollen and red, his cheeks flushed with exertion and joy, his eyes luminous for what feels like the first time in years. You’ve made your mark on him, tattooed him in gold, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be the same.

That’s not something he minds. He even finds himself smiling at the idea of rearranging his pieces to fit with yours, of making space in his life for you and Anubis to fill.

When he leaves the bathroom to get you, the cat is laying on the dining table, sprawled out with his eyes closed, and Wonwoo breathes a sigh of relief. If he’s being honest, he forgot entirely that there was another being in this apartment, and he’s glad your activities didn’t seem to disturb him.

He wants to smooth a hand down Anubis’s side but doesn’t want to wake him, so he stares at the cat for just a second longer before turning to your bedroom and poking his head through the door frame.

You’re starfishing on the bed, his cum mostly dry on your tits and your eyes gently shut, and he can’t contain the laugh that bubbles out of his chest.

Like mother, like son.

Wonwoo draws in a deep, centering breath as he raises the camera to his bespectacled eye, grateful not for the first time that he’s in the city of love.

This will be the first proposal he’s photographed today, the third this week, and for someone who’s always thought he didn’t mind love, he finds himself unbelievably excited.

He calls your name, watches dust motes float through a shining sunbeam as you stir in the bed you share, your tired gaze finding him before it lands on the book beside you. Or, more accurately, on the ring sitting on the book beside you.

You draw in a sharp gasp, your eyes flying to his, and he depresses the shutter button just as your face breaks into a beam bright enough to rival a supernova.

He thinks this will be his favorite photograph yet.

AN: And the book was titled April Shower and it contains your love story as written by your best friend, the end 💖

“Prendi una stanza!” - "Get a room!"

“É la città dell'amore, Stefano, dacci una pausa!” - "It's the city of love, Stefano, give us a break!"

“Y/n? Vai avanti, caro!” - "Y/n? Carry on, dear!"

My Masterlist

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dadsbongos · 8 months

Text

then, and again, and once more

6.9k words

Summary - Yuuji tries to impress you and win your heart, with the help of Sukuna… who seems weirdly knowledgeable about and interested in you.

Warnings - p in v sex, FULL NELSON BABY!!!, yuuji eats pussy :), oh yeah fem reader btw, sukuna is here too (and his cannibalism is mentioned), idiot friends pining for each other, very vague timeline idk but yuuji is aged up

sukuna-centric part 2

There it is again.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

That unbearable thick bass in his chest, banging so tirelessly against his ribs that it threatens to make him nauseous. A quick inhale and yep - scratch that - he’s definitely already nauseous.

Yuuji sinks his sweaty palms deeper into his pants pockets, eyes darting sharply down to his beaten sneakers. The once vibrant ruby shade is now marred by dirt and aging threads - and if he turns his right foot just so, then he can see an old, blackened stain from pizza sauce he spilled while eating out with you. The memory, or more specifically how you’re giggling in his memory, makes him smile.

And in the real world, Megumi is watching his friend grin ear to ear while looking at a black, crusty splotch on the inside curve of his right shoe. After having just wide-eyed stared at you from across the room while you and Nobara heatedly debate where to go for dinner.

He glares at Yuuji, lashes narrowing, “You look insane. Knock it off.”

That snaps the boy from his reminiscing, and it takes him three long seconds before he registers the insult, “I was thinking!”

“Obviously,” Megumi scratches the side of his nose, more to just have something to do with his hands than anything else, “What were you thinking about?”

Humming quietly to himself, Yuuji shrugs, “Oh, the usual.”

“You’re hopeless,” Megumi maintains his efforts to keep his hands busy by scratching the back of his head, “Just tell her already. What’s the worst that happens?”

“She rejects me and avoids me,” Yuuji pouts, “Honestly, ‘gumi, I would’ve thought you’d be more sympathetic - being a standoffish and awkward guy yourself.”

Swatting at his friend’s shoulder, Megumi shakes his head, “The hell is wrong with you? Was that just sitting in your mind?” he shakes his head again, glare growing stronger, “And don’t call me that.”

“I thought you had anxiety or something,” Yuuji shrugs, “Why else would you be so weird in public?”

Any previous concern regarding Yuuji’s well-being immediately flies from Megumi at that. He folds his arms across his chest with murmurs of hatred floating out from his lips. All as he waltzes over to where you and Nobara are seated around your laptop at the chipping hardwood table.

Yuuji has no problem shrugging off Megumi's irritation, but when it comes to the mere idea of your face stretching in disgust at him - God, isn’t that the worst?

“You’re the worst, brat,” comes that rumbling, terrible voice in the back of his head. The nagging used to sound more like him - and when he’s really stressed, it still sometimes does - but now his own voice has faded into the King of Curses’. Now his own voice is sweeter, more prone to praise and positives - in a weird way, Sukuna has made Yuuji better.

But in a lot more ways -

“Oi, don’t ignore me.”

He’s made Yuuji’s life so much worse.

“You like that one, right? I can help.”

You’re sitting back, allowing Megumi to take the reins on shooting down Nobara’s suggestion for sushi. Normally, that demand isn’t a problem, but this would be the fifth night in a row she’s tried roping you all into ordering sushi for her. You lean into Megumi a little, and Yuuji hates the way his chest tightens at the display.

It isn’t even affection. It’s just…

“You want to be the one she’s on, right?”

Yuuji sighs to himself and sneaks out of the kitchen, though it’s hardly a challenge when Nobara raises her voice to defend her long-lasting cravings.

With tense shoulders and a red face, Yuuji glances down each side of the hall to ensure nobody is nearby, “How could you help with this?”

Sukuna’s eye on Yuuji’s cheek has flitted up to stare into Yuuji’s, and that sickly crawl of his skin stretching to accommodate Sukuna’s wide grin makes his stomach turn, “You’re just a child, you don’t know anything about women.”

Yuuji could double over, hands on his knees and breathless in sputters of laughter, but he refrains - unwilling to let anyone hear his schizophrenic ramblings, “And you do?”

Sukuna’s eye rolls and Yuuji hates the way it feels under his cheekbone, nearly retching in response, “Of course.”

And that strings up some different terrible question in Yuuji, “But why would you help me?”

Sukuna has been so unwilling to do anything useful for Yuuji despite the fact he’s allowed to reside in this body - so what could possibly possess him to do this now?

“Do you want my help or not, worm?”

Yuuji sighs through his nose, eyes fluttering shut, thinking hard about the offer. He’d come to the conclusion not too long after swallowing his first finger to simply not question many of Sukuna’s motives, mostly since his goals are: chaos, women, and chaos.

“This better not be some gross pass at my friend,” Yuuji sneers, body electrified on the ready to smack down his own cheek should he hear an answer he doesn’t like.

Sukuna is too quiet for too long, and Yuuji is fully prepared to swipe at the parasite on his face when finally, that deep voice rattles again. It buzzes in his flesh, uncomfortable and itchy and so quiet he barely hears what the curse mumbles into him.

The boy pauses and lets the words melt on his tongue, he turns them between his molars and laves the roof of his mouth with the remaining implications. He wasn’t expecting Sukuna to be honest, not to that degree at least.

And Yuuji smacks Sukuna’s bulbous eye down anyway.

“Fine then,” Yuuji pulls his hand down and curls his fingers into a fist, another great big awful ragged sigh roughing over his tongue like barbed wire, “I’ll listen to you, but if you ruin this for me- “

“Calm down, brat,” the mouth pops back up stubbornly, bitterly spitting out his version of a promise, “I don’t plan on failing.”

Yuuji pushes himself off the wall and spins back into the kitchen unnoticed, hands locking behind his head as he saddles up beside you at the table, “So, what’s for dinner?”

He snorts at how you groan, looking up at him from your seat with tired, low-lidded eyes and gesturing across the table to where Megumi and Nobara are still arguing, “You tell me.”

“Why don’t we just go out?” Yuuji shrugs, grinning broadly despite the way his two friends both twitch their necks over to glare at him, “Come on, it’s not even dark! We can walk around and do a little looking; get some air!”

Nobara’s pitched shoulders drop, pinched expression falling into her usual lax, she looks over at Megumi again with a raised brow. Megumi shrugs, his own eyebrows still scrunched together, “If it’s fine with you two, I don’t care.”

You snicker, standing up against the stiff wood supports of the chair legs, one elbow digging into the table to further help hold you up while your spare fingers dance up to smooth out the crinkled space, “I think it’ll be fun.”

Megumi snatches you by the wrist and tosses your hand to the side while Nobara hops down from her own chair, stretching out her back until it pops obnoxiously. She’s already bouncing out of the kitchen to snag her shoes before shouting back, “Well, come on! We’re on a timer now, people!”

“Jeez,” you slip off the chair pegs, bumping slightly into Yuuji’s side - entirely oblivious to the sparkly fireworks you sweep across your poor friend’s body at the contact, “Should’ve just suggested that from the start, huh?”

Shrugging, Yuuji waits for you to begin walking out of the kitchen before following, “Sometimes you just need fresh eyes on a situation, you know?”

“I guess,” you fold your arms, evidently frustrated, “Just feel like that was something I should’ve seen.”

Yuuji feels that disgusting, familiar thumping in his chest just by looking at you now. Heat radiating from his cheeks to the expanse of his chest, throat swelling with the uncomfortable need to spill his guts - dump every little thought and feeling he’s ever had for you into your ears until you force him to shut up. Like how he can’t even look at Jennifer Lawrence the way he used to simply because she isn’t you.

Maybe then he’d tell you that this hasn’t happened in the six years since he first saw Silver Linings Playbook. Maybe you’d tell him to stop talking, and that you two would never happen.

Maybe then he can move on, when you crush his hope. But he doesn’t really want that.

And he doesn’t really know why he agreed to let Sukuna lend him any advice.

Oh well.

It’s when you’re rushing out the door to keep up with Megumi and Nobara that Sukuna opens his mouth for the first time.

His voice stabs into Yuuji’s ears, but it isn’t exceptionally as cruel as he usually finds it, this, instead, is purely instructional, “When you two are out tonight, tell her about that cat you saw around the garden today.”

Yuuji scratches through his messily filed memories, “I saw a cat?”

“Yes, twit, a black one. Tell her about how its fur changed color in the sun.”

“Okay…?” Yuuji huffs in his daze, finally putting effort into walking alongside you and the others, “Hey! So, I just remembered something.”

“Oh yeah?” you smile at Yuuji, purely encouraging, and he’s disgusted at the way he almost trips over his own feet.

Nobara and Megumi pay the both of you little mind, instead pointing out different potential favorite hotspots they could creep into for the night. Well, Nobara points out, they could even stop at two places if they’re feeling adventurous. And Megumi says they can do whatever the rest of you think is best.

But Yuuji isn’t listening, and you’re hardly lending an ear, he swallows down the rock in his throat and nods, “I saw a cat this morning - a black one! - and it made me think of you,” the gentle warmth spreading through him could either be the way you’re lighting up at him, or Sukuna silently congratulating his good line, “Its fur was all brownish red in the sun, it was…” your eyes are so starry and sweet, solely on him - it makes his tongue tie up in knots, “It was beautiful.”

“Bummer I wasn’t there, then,” you pout a little, “You need to get me for things like that!” he laughs at the way your face has morphed, all stern and strict business, “Seriously!”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, both hands up in playful defense, “I promise to call you if I see another cat.”

“Could’ve at least taken a picture for me,” you histrionically sigh, “And I thought we were friends.”

A sudden thought invades the back of Yuuji’s mind. Some hidden, more primal part of his mind that he doesn’t usually listen to flashes back to a time he doesn’t remember.

We used to be more.

You and him are sitting out in the sun with a fluffy little Bombay cat tucked into your lap. It paws at the buttery dandelions that bloom between you both, his own legs are sprawled out impolitely and your own are crossed to wall around the feline in your hold. His knee knocks against yours whenever he shifts his leg. You lean in, shoulder digging into the meat of his muscled arm and temple resting on his shoulder.

Your body is entirely at ease. His is, too.

Yuuji knows exactly where the thought comes from. And if that dark, creepy place weren’t so infested by evil then maybe he’d feel a little pity for it. But you’re in front of him now, and you’re excited to be here, and your pinky keeps knocking into his as you two walk side-by-side - so there’s no room for pity in his heart.

Your quartet winds up squished into a teal leather booth towards a back corner of Nobara’s selected diner. You and Nobara sit on the interior seats, pressed into the windows, with Yuuji and Megumi caging the both of you in. Megumi having shoved Yuuji down next to you before the boy could even see who was where.

“What were you thinking?” Nobara sits up, jabbing your arm with a manicured finger just to annoy you.

Flicking at her hand, you shrug, focusing on the boards plastered behind the front bar counter for any eye-catching special offers.

Yuuji can feel the tightening of his cheek skin as the eyeball threatens to pop out, it stings when his cheek is forced to split for Sukuna’s eye. His cheek below that parts as well for his lips.

And Sukuna is kind enough this once to be quiet, “Tell her to get the wildfowl bowl,” as if sensing his arising questions, Sukuna continues, “And tell the kitchen worms to make sure the vegetables are soft. Not well, not sturdy,” he sounds disgusted as he says it, “Soft.”

“Hey,” and against everything he’s been told by Gojo, Yuuji puts his entire trust into the curse inside him, “that wildfowl bowl looks good, right?”

You lean closer to Yuuji, arm brushing his as you try to see where he spotted that, “What’s in it? Duck?”

He gives a conformational hum even though he has no idea, “Probably good with soft vegetables.”

Megumi shakes his head, “What does that even mean?”

“When they steam the veggies for longer than usual,” you pat Yuuji’s shoulder while defending him, “I get what you mean, Itadori. Sorry Fushiguro is so judgemental.”

“I was just saying…” Megumi’s voice flutters out of Yuuji’s focus.

Instead, another memory he never made begins to flourish from that black, mushy, rotted back of his brain.

You’re sat in his lap, large thighs perfectly bracketing around your own. A neglected bowl of slim slivers of perfectly browned duck meat sits atop cooling rice, carrots, and green beans. No doubt soft and easy to chew. In your hands is a steaming bowl, larger than the one in your lap, weighed down by thick cuts of juicy meat slabs. Almost like steak, but there’s no outer hide tanned by flame. It’s red, almost raw, and even after trimming the fat - it’s still bathed in pink, fleshy trails.

Grinning so lovingly, you pinch the slabs with your bare fingers and merely giggle when Sukuna’s sharp teeth prick at your skin. His long tongue works to clean your fingers of the excess meat juices as he eats. Two of his hands are on your hips, holding you steady, a third is steadied beside him against the cold bone of his throne, and a fourth resides at the back of your head. Almost big enough to palm the whole of your skull like a children’s ball - he pats and pets and smooths his fingers over the slope of the back of your neck.

Preening under gentle attention, you’re sure to empty Sukuna’s bowl before picking your own back up.

People watch with blood at their feet, none dare to move. Fearful to become the next hot meal in your hand should they disobey Sukuna’s silent command.

As your hands wrap around your cold bowl, a deep grunt reverberates behind you in Sukuna’s broad chest. He tugs the dish from your grasp; plucks the duck meat between his forefinger and thumb and holds it above your nose, forcing you to look up.

He waves it in front of your face, “Open,” and you follow his order, lips parting yet still pitched up in the impression of a pleased smile. And when he flattens the meat to your tongue and you begin chewing - you’re still smiling. That earns another fond stroke down the back of your head, pausing at your shoulder and digging his thumb into the muscle just to hear you sigh, “Good girl.”

Yuuji doesn’t see all of that. He can grasp some vague sense that you two have shared meals he’ll never get to taste, but he never sees the gristle left behind on your fingers or the saliva webbed between your fingers after feeding Sukuna.

That - Sukuna ‘hmph's proudly as he watches you beam at Yuuji over your modern interpretation of your favorite meal - the King of Curses keeps to himself. Selfishly, just as he always has.

That next morning, you sheepishly prattle into the dusty, creaky classroom with only four rusty, barely used desks and slip into the one by Yuuji. You’re toying with the tips of your hair, eyes bouncing from where Yuuji sits on the desktop beside you and the classroom door.

Nobara sits backward at the desk directly in front of you, arms coiled around the back support of her chair as she speaks and Megumi sits normally beside her - attention solely on his book. Yuuji watches you fiddle with the ends of your hair while pretending to listen to Nobara.

And then he sees it. The new cherry shade decorating your lips, and before Sukuna can sprout and tell him to - Yuuji’s leaning down with his best smile, “New lipstick?”

Jumping at the sudden voice, your rigid posture melts under the boy’s gaze, “Yes, actually. You like?”

It could be puke green and Yuuji would still want it smeared across his face from your kisses.

But despite housing Sukuna Ryomen and battling dreadful curses, Yuuji fails to muster the courage to say that to your face, “Yeah! It’s really pretty.”

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

There goes your annoying heart, hammering just from the sound of Yuuji’s overtly positive lilt. It makes your cheeks burn and fingers skittishly tip-tap against the pencil-scratched desk, “You think so?”

But he’d never lie, you know that.

So even though it shouldn’t be a surprise when he doubles down, your annoying heart won’t stop dramatically tossing itself around when Yuuji nods with a determined, boyish grin, “Definitely.”

It’s all so saccharine and perfect, it makes Sukuna nauseous. Which, in turn, makes Yuuji nauseous.

Face paling, Yuuji jumps onto his feet and excuses himself, rushing out of the room (with no Gojo even in sight, by the way) towards the bathroom.

“Is he okay?” Nobara murmurs, stretching her neck to see outside the door frame, “What a weirdo.”

“Yeah,” you sigh dreamily, “He is sometimes, huh?”

Megumi gags at your tone, “Seriously…?”

“What was that?” Yuuji’s question is spikey and venomous while he stares into the cracked, water-spotted mirror - straight at the little eyeball on his cheek.

“You two are disgusting,” Sukuna stares back into the glass, low-lidded and unimpressed, “Get this over with and ask her out, brat.”

“But what if she says no?” Yuuji reaches up and toys with the little pink hairs at the back of his head, eyes suddenly unable to meet Sukuna at all, “It’ll totally ruin everything.”

“Enough whining. She won’t say no.”

He doesn’t know how it took so long to recognize, or maybe he just needed an excuse to display his old, unbroken knowledge of you before your fleshly little weakling friends even knew it. But he’s seen the little bursts of color and stars and sparkles and all that cute mess before.

He’s seen it many times. It was the only way you used to look at Sukuna.

That puppyish, lovesick wonder as you fluttered your pretty eyelashes at him.

Even when he would return to you in blood and sweat and muck and smelling of the death and despair he expertly wrought.

You were always at least five paces ahead of Uraume, hands bunching up in the pretty flowing silks that decorated your body. Excitedly, you’d pounce and he would hold you. Sapping up your energy and feeding off the way you’d press cherry-tasting kisses all along his hardened face. You served yourself up to him on a silver platter, all your heart and soul and mind devoted entirely and without ulterior motives. That’s why you were always his favorite.

Nothing before or after you was ever up to par. And he felt disgruntled at every turn into different worshippers and concubines and lovers - somehow wronged simply by the fact they were not as you were. It was all so disappointing.

And every now and again he’d flash back to you while with others. He imagines it’s how children feel when they remember a lost or broken or tossed-out favorite toy. That ache of times lost and never feeling quite fulfilled again.

Which is why when he saw you again through this brat’s eyes, he could instantly remember those nights with you. Full-bellied and raw-lipped and your pulse between his teeth.

But Yuuji knows nothing of that, and so when he returns to the classroom - neither of you says anything.

It’s only the two of you. Everyone else was cast out in the violent, unwilling acceptance that they had done all they could. With no open wound, there was a horrific list rattled off in Sukuna’s ears. Illnesses and infections that attacked the lungs and nervous system and skin and heart - things that would eat you alive from the inside. And when all could be done about that, you remained in bed.

In and out of consciousness and delusional, proclaiming twisted lights and shadowy creatures trying to rip you from yourself.

Perhaps, one of the women called to care for you shyly spoke up, perhaps she’s just too old.

And that was something he avoided admitting to himself.

But it was time now.

With dew still moist on the blades of grass and morning sunlight streaming through the window beside your bed - the bell tolls. Your fingers are stiff in the sheets, limbs cold and stiff when you’re found. Wide, puppylike eyes gaze up at the ceiling and Sukuna has you buried beneath the tallest, most twisted tree he could find in the surrounding forest. And when Sukuna returns from your grave that night - alone - he crosses into a dark tunnel.

It’s cold and solid beneath his feet, paces echoing back for his ears. He keeps his eyes down to avoid maddening himself over the plainness - the displeasure of even glimpsing this tunnel’s repetitive nature.

Until there’s light, golden, with the shrouded, clumsy shape of twisted branches and lanky trunks coming into view at the far open end.

And faintly, like the sweet singing of a beloved music box, he hears the tune of your voice. A high scoop towards the end.

“Itadori, right?”

Sukuna’s feet move faster before he even fully knows he’s moving.

On the other side is you, a hand jammed out in front of you in a polite wave - as if the both of you are strangers. Then that name creeps back up his spine.

Well, it’s not truly his spine, is it? It’s this new brat’s.

But then there’s your honeyed voice again, “Huh, third eye.”

Right. You wouldn’t remember it, would you?

You wouldn’t remember any of it.

Yuuji shoots up, dark sheets tangled around his ankles and cold sweat beading down his forehead - strings of pink hair matted down to his skin uncomfortably. His wide eyes scramble across the shadows of his room, slowly refamiliarizing himself with the expanse and soothing his pounding heart.

He smoothes back his hair, running through the small kinks and knots, “What the hell was that?”

That slicing pain along his cheek shocks him awake further, but no sore, deep voice follows. The eye sits there, downcast. Sitting inside this body is one of the last things he saw for himself, but to exist beside you again is liquid gold just flowing in a river. A river his new body refuses to swim in.

“She’s still awake.”

Yuuji looks over to the red numbers lighting up from his bedside alarm clock, “It’s midnight.”

Sukuna inhales sharply, irritation scorching a hole in his tongue, but he withholds the many sudden hateful thoughts he has towards Yuuji and simply repeats himself, “She’s still awake.”

“It’s weird how obsessed you are with this,” Yuuji swings his legs over the edge of his bed and slips his feet into the slippers you’d gifted him. They’re cheesy and themed after fire engines and just barely fit, but he wears them at any given opportunity.

The eye sinks back into his skin, lips sealing shut, and a thick sludge boils in Yuuji’s stomach. Quiet King of Curses is an unsettling King of Curses, and Yuuji barely finds himself able to tune out the exhaustive wave of Sukuna’s criticisms. That is much preferred to this buzzing silence.

Creeping down the moaning wooden panels to your room, Yuuji raps his knuckles against your door before immediately shuffling his fists into his gray sweatpants.

Something clatters against hardwood, sheets ruffle, and your footsteps thump, thump, thump up to your bedroom door. Your face peeks out from the sliver of cracked doorway, and there’s no hint of sleep in your gaze. You seem alert, if a little lazily slouched against your doorframe.

“Itadori?”

Oh, right. He was here to say something, wasn’t he?

But he can’t possibly find the strength in his tongue, not when you look at him like that.

With some impossible adoration, like you simply can’t wait to hear whatever stupid bullshit he’s about to spout. He feels so unworthy of it all, and he can’t wait to find out more about you and mold himself to it. To become someone you can’t imagine waking up without. To study and be studied, he’s ready to throw himself into the horrors of being known - if it’s you he’s known by.

The air is punched out of him as he speaks, “Can…” you nod him along, opening your door wider, “Can I kiss you?”

Now that he’s so close to the sugary river, he can’t wait to dive in.

“Seriously?” you laugh in shock at the outburst, but when his face persists, you fling the door open entirely, “Seriously?”

Yuuji winds his hands tighter, to stop himself from desperately clawing his way down your throat, “I like you. I’ve liked you…” he’s unnatural like this, red in the face and dodging your stare, “I don’t even know.”

But you do, you felt it when you first saw him. However, you’re not plagued by the chains of past lives, so the implications are lost. Winding your arms behind your back and grinning at Yuuji with toothy glee, “Me too.”

His eyes nail you with that doughy, desperate plea for attention - the need to be seen as himself. And you’ve always been glad to lend it over in plentiful bounties.

That buzz of silence stabs the both of you.

Until Yuuji can no longer tether himself to his pockets, his big hands gentle as he cups both your cheeks. He molds himself to you, hoping that those troublesome flashes of times he never lived will at least serve his muscle memory now.

Your hands twist into the front of Yuuji’s shirt, nails biting into the black, soft, loose fabric and tugging him closer. Yuuji’s lips are slightly chapped, and you can feel the imprints from where he’s bitten them raw. He hisses when you peek your tongue at the smooth spots.

Wrenching your hands back, you quickly run them under and up his sleep shirt - his skin is warm and he gasps against your lips when your fingertips skim along his sides.

Yuuji pulls back, cheeks flaming, and shoulders his way past your bedroom door, kicking it shut behind him and placing his hands over his shirt - finding yours through the material. He grins, chuckling at how you grope his muscle, squeezing around your hands, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Whatever,” you huff, embarrassed, then ripping your hands out from under his shirt and twisting your fingers between his before - just to prove a point - planting his palms below your own shirt, “You try being normal like this.”

Yuuji’s broad palms are still only burning into the soft flesh of your stomach, but his heart is terribly out of whack.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

“You can go higher,” your voice lilts higher, a mere soft whisper as if anything louder could entirely break the poor boy’s brain, “If you want…”

Of course, he does. He’d trade a thousand years with that Sisyphus guy Megumi mentioned to him just for twelve seconds of his hands sizzling up your body. Maybe even just for the chance.

His hands scope higher, palms glued to the planes of your body like he’s trying to scar himself along your skin. The sudden need to leave some lasting impression that he was there - here with you.

Yuuji does his best not to jump when Sukuna’s voice slithers into his ear, polite enough to whisper so he doesn’t alarm you, “Get her on her back. Tongue her cunt.”

You look at him all sweet and concerned when Yuuji’s nose scrunches, “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

But he has no idea how to tell you that Sukuna’s words make his stomach churn, and by the time he even tries to form the words he’s thinking about it. Imagining himself on his stomach with his head between your thighs, your hands tangled in his hair, and eagerly trying to annoy your friends as much as possible with how loud he can make you. And he feels so, so lightheaded at that.

Yuuji’s eyes are wide, staring into yours with such fire that it almost makes you shy away, “Can I eat you out?”

But you brave his dissecting gaze, heart pounding in your ears.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

And, oh, Yuuji could just about die happy right now.

On his stomach with his head between your thighs, your hands screwed into the twirls of his tousled hair and (hopefully) annoying at least a nosy Nobara should she be listening to your soft moans next door.

Yuuji wiggles his tongue into your weeping hole, nestling his nose against your clit with a wheezy little whine. His eyes flutter up at you through the gaps between your shaking arms.

“Get your hands in there,” Sukuna’s voice is muffled against the thickness of your thigh, “Thumb her clit, don’t rely on your nose.”

Crinkling his brows, Yuuji has to bite back his remarks about how Sukuna could’ve told him that sooner. Snaking his right hand over your leg, Yuuji flattens his large hand against your lower stomach and pins your bucking hips. His thumb taking residence on your swollen clit, the bridge of his nose still saddled beneath it.

Your back arches, hips grinding down into Yuuji’s thumb and tongue. He’s messy with it - head shaking just to tease and feel the wetness of your pussy slip and slather across his chin. He tongue-fucks you in earnest, practically moaning into you as he grinds against the mattress. Swishing his thumb against your clit faster when he can feel you tighten around him, chasing the feeling of you cumming all over his face.

He can hear it despite his desperation - the way your breath hitches and throat cinches out a squeal. Your thighs squish around his head and Yuuji has to force his hips still lest he be submitted to the horrors of cumming in his pants.

And it isn’t even the fear of your reaction - no, he knows better than to think you’re capable of making him feel shame. It’s just-

“Yes,” Sukuna’s voice is husky, tongue lolling out along Yuuji’s cheek to lather up your juice, “Yes!”

Yuuji knows exactly who will be making fun of him instead. He smacks at the unwanted presence and takes it as pure luck when Sukuna actually stays down.

He works his tongue out of you slowly, letting you whine and huff the way off your high naturally before peeking up at you. He’s grinning, eyes wide and hands retreating to dig hungrily into the meat of your thighs.

“Hey, I wanna try something,” Yuuji’s shamelessness in licking at his soaked lips makes heat flush all the way to your forehead, “Just let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

You nod sheepishly, body jittery with the little bugs crawling beneath your sweltering skin. Yuuji bends to the sudden thought he’s sure has something to do with the curse inside him with a mysterious catalog on all things you.

Yuuji slips onto his back beside you, curled against the cold wall corning your bed with his feet flat against the mattress and legs bent. He uses the unnatural well of strength he’s harbored since birth to squeeze at the fat of your sides and lift you atop of him. He can feel the warmth of your cunt on his pelvis and it wracks him with a shiver, you whine helplessly when his right hand immediately welds to your slit. His index and ring fingers part your lips so his middle can swipe coyly over your clit.

“Hah,” you watch his ring finger abandon its post to join the rude teasing, “Yuuji…”

“I know,” Yuuji sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes glued to where your wetness drips onto his skin, his hard cock peeking up between your legs, “I know, I’m sorry,” but he doesn’t sound very sorry. Especially when he’s continuing to tease you while pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Okay, serious now,” but he dips his fingers lower and prods at your hole, “Serious.”

You giggle, hot-faced, at his focused gaze, “Yuuji!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he spreads your lips again just to stare from over your shoulder, voice hoars when he finally speaks up, “Alright. Serious now.”

Reaching between your legs, Yuuji grabs hold of his cock - hissing at the contact - and is internally grateful when you raise your hips to meet his head. He presses his forehead against your shoulder when his tip pushes inside you. You feel the hot puffs of air he sends against your back as you continue lowering yourself. He whimpers, the hand at his base flying across your abdomen and gripping your breast. He squeezes and pinches and tries suffocating the embarrassing little noises escaping his lips when you rock your hips down on his pelvis.

“Okay down there?” you twist your head to look back at Yuuji and you’re so glad you did.

He’s flushed down to his chest and his lashes are kissing his cheeks to keep himself together, when he finally opens his eyes fully and looks up at you. His bottom lip is red and puffy from how hard he’d been biting it, “Now I’m gonna do something new.”

This wasn’t new?

Yuuji’s arms stretch under the backs of your knees and come over your shoulders before winding behind your neck, pressing his palms flat against the back of your head. Your arms dangle uselessly at your sides, hands stretching out to graze his ribs and legs bouncing limply as he manhandles you.

His cock bullies itself in your cunt, hips jerking up into the fat of your ass.

Yuuji tries to suffocate down his groans in favor of your sweet moans being punched up from your gut every time he sweeps deep inside you. His lips press tightly just as your own pop open for adorable “ah, ah ah!”s - fighting to maintain his pace despite how badly he wants to pin you to his body and wallow through the wetness sucking him back in for every thrust. Feel your sweaty skin slide and stick against his and whine at the pulling sensation when you peel apart.

Another sudden idea pops into his brain and it’s almost instinctual how he follows it. Besides, it isn’t like he’s going to complain about being brain-blasted with memories that aren’t his if it means not having to hear Sukuna’s voice while fucking you.

Hips never falter in their snaps up into you, Yuuji cranes his neck to teeth at the meat of your nape. He bites possessively and grunts in response to your immediate pitchy moan. Then licking over the marks apologetically.

You try to smother down your breathless moans as Yuuji bullies his cock repeatedly into that spongy spot shooting stars behind your eyes. With an angle and drive and care you’re sure would be lost on any man other than Yuuji - and you’re dumbly struck by the hope that maybe this hard work is only because he’s here with you. And that coherent thought is fucked out of you with Yuuji’s next whimpered request.

“Don’t do that,” he gasps when you tighten around him after a particularly rough thrust, “Please don’t keep it down- wanna…” he moans and the sound flutters straight to your tightening gut, “Wanna hear you so bad, pretty girl.”

Unlatching your teeth from the plush of your bottom lip, flames lap through the wiry twists of your veins - burning through the stretch of your skin and scarring Yuuji. And he eats it up and greedily begs at your feet for more. It shames Sukuna just as much as it excites him to taste the salt on your skin through his vessel’s tongue and watch the way your legs shake and bounce under his vessel’s iron hold. His favorite way to have you and your favorite way to take him.

Yuuji unwinds one of his arms from behind your neck, lowering half your body slightly to swipe his fingers between the junction of your thighs. Right over the slippery spot where you’re creaming on his cock and taking the soaked fingers to your clit. His canines and soft lips battle for a monopoly of your neck and shoulder, swiftly circling your clit with his middle and ring fingers as his hips continue fucking you stubbornly.

“Hng, Yuu…!” you gasp, head throwing back and narrowly missing his - the coil winding tighter and tighter and your walls milking Yuuji tighter and tighter, “Yuuji!”

“I know, baby,” he kisses up your bent neck and presses his flaming cheek against yours, “God, please, cum for me. Cum for me,” his hips stutter, and his breath hitches and oh, he’s so close, “I wanna feel you cum on me, baby- I need it. Need it so bad.”

“Oh, Yuuji,” you dig your face closer to his as if trying to meld yourselves into one body, “‘m cumming,” you clench and he’s damn near wheezing, the knot in his lower belly popping as he feels you cum and drips down his balls, “‘m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming…!”

And just to avoid embarrassing himself from admitting he’s in love with you while spitting his own cum in your warm, wet walls, Yuuji strangles down his own final cries with a coppery, abusive bite to his bottom lip.

It starts to hurt, how he overstimulates himself through his slowing thrusts - letting you slip down onto his thrumming, sticky chest. Your legs sprawled across his sides, Yuuji slipping his softening cock from your hole.

You lazily roll off of Yuuji, landing face-first into your sheets at his side.

Yuuji can hear it again, that terrible, grating voice telling him, “Clean her, brat.”

And what’s the most terrible is he knows Sukuna’s command is entirely warranted. Flopping a hand onto your back, Yuuji traces heart shapes into the skin as he talks, “I’ll be right back.”

And when Yuuji’s wetting a soft, clean cloth he braved the hallway (nude) to retrieve from his room, he hears that voice again. It echoes in your bathroom.

“I want a turn when she’s awake,” a pause, “Fully awake.”

“Aren’t you charitable?” Yuuji rolls his eyes.

And that same utterance from hours before rings through Yuuji’s ears once again. Why Sukuna cared so much about petty crushes. Why Sukuna bothered himself by actually giving genuine, helpful points. Why Sukuna was fascinated by you.

“She was my most devoted and favorite lover in her past life.”

The way he says it inspires no respect for Yuuji - underlined in his thriving desire to be worshiped, as he imagines he deserves. Yuuji wouldn’t dare uphold you to that.

When he tenderly presses his thumbs into stiff muscles with a red flush and warm smile, Yuuji knows that for sure.

“Can I stay the night?” he whispers, folding his discarded towels and lazily tucking them by your bedpost on the floor. He feels that same hurried ache in his chest, awaiting for your impatience.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

You hum, lifting your head off the pillow and snickering, your drowsy face pinched to look at him like he’s stupid, “Duh.”

Giddy, Yuuji slips under the blankets he’d slid over you after cleaning the mess from between your thighs, and slots himself right next to you.

Rolling again, you twist into an open space against Yuuji’s chest and under his thick arm. Warmth drapes across your shoulders when he rests that arm over you. He circles his other arm around you and squeezes, grinning so hard he can feel it burning in the balls of his cheeks. Your ear rests against Yuuji’s chest, and you soothe yourself to slumber on the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Blissfully unaware of the fact that when your bones are rotten and six feet deep, two more people will be curled into each other’s arms. With your same starry eyes that some pink-haired kid falls in love with every time they’re on him.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #yuuji x reader #yuuji smut #yuuji fluff #yuji x reader #yuji itadori #yuji itadori x reader #yuji itadori smut #yuji itadori fluff #and sukuna too i guess

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