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notjustjavierpena · 4 months ago

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Applied Physics pt. i

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Long awaited smutty piece with a planned sequel. I hope you enjoy, ya filthy animal 💅🎀💖

Summary: It’s the 60s, you’re three weeks behind on a deadline, and your professor, Doctor Reed Richards, makes you face the consequences.

Pairing: Reed Richards x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: College student/teacher relationship, science talk, Reed has powers, dub con, spanking, dom/sub dynamics, implied dacryphilia, dirty talking, sub drop, aftercare, stern Reed 🥵

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62948440/chapters/161199763

Applied Physics

Dr. Reed N. Richards always wears a tweed jacket with elbow patches that show off his broad shoulders and give him an irresistible swagger. He teaches physics at your college part-time - when he is not out saving the world - and he is equally terrifying as he is warm, a combination of traits that you have learned can actually coexist but only after meeting him.

You have been wanting him since he walked into the classroom that morning many months ago, carrying a black leather binder seemingly filled with little to nothing since everything appears to be stored in his brain.

He has standards, you find, and traditional ways of doing things that somehow emphasize his love for the delicacy of science. For instance, he only grades papers with a fountain pen and therefore expects every assignment to be handwritten instead of done on a typewriter which is tedious and difficult for those who don’t possess a steady hand. The scary part of him comes out when he says he simply won’t grade the papers that aren’t turned in as he wants them to be. The warm part shows itself when he later makes a self-deprecating joke about knocking over whiskey during his grading.

The idea of the paper smelling like his cologne or even, if you are lucky, has a stain of his favorite liquor, makes you hand in each assignment whilst the ink is still drying on the paper. Perhaps you will be the first one to receive notes and feedback from him if you turn in your work before its deadline.

You imagine him hunched over a desk, pen barely able to fit in his rough hand. He wears something casual, maybe even has taken off that jacket, scratching his beard and sipping his drink whilst smiling to himself as he reads words that come from your mind. Your mind makes him smile to himself, makes him single you out from the rest of your class because you are special and he knows this. It’s the image you imagine the first time you come whilst thinking about him, shower head between your thighs and legs against the tiled wall in the shared bathroom at the boarding house you reside in.

When you do finally get your first essay back from him, you read all the comments in the margins during your lunch. You lick a drop of juice from an apple away from your lower lip as your eyes skim over a scribbled good or well done, trying to find an excuse to read more into the way he looks at you when you talk during class. You made him laugh once, that must mean something, right? He clearly has your sense of humor, the same ways of applying theory and reasoning.

You know that it is hardly rational what you are doing, projecting all these things onto him when, in reality, you only know of him what you have seen during his lectures and office hours. Yet you have found yourself noticing the way he smiles faintly when you correct one of your fellow students during group work, and it has spurred you on to become even more insufferable to your classmates only to get his attention. His approval too, if you are lucky.

Yet despite all this, here you are with an assignment running three weeks late, your procrastination having reached its limits and your excuses to your professor wearing thin. It’s a challenging state to be in when you’re so used to ranking your popularity with Dr. Richards higher than everyone else on this course. Sure, his attention is nice when it is rooted in praise but you don’t know if the kind that will follow this lecture, the deadline you’d agreed upon for your paper being yesterday, is the kind that will satisfy something in you like the small smiles have.

You keep bouncing your leg beneath your desk as you wait for Dr. Richards to enter the lecture hall with that cool aura about him and let the fast-paced lecture begin. If anyone sees you, they will recognize it as an itching to suck up to him once more but in reality, it is the first time you’ve been in the room with a nervous tic.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he greets as he finally arrives and you find yourself jolting with nerves at the fact that he is finally here and inevitable doom is just around the corner. It doesn’t make it better that his brown eyes sweep over the crowd in a hurry until he spots you, his gaze full of concentration until he gains eye contact with you for less than a second. You sit up straighter at the way he measures you and the subconscious movement of your leg stills completely. Frustratingly, the man keeps talking as if nothing happened.

After several attempts to regain your composure, you realize that you have completely missed his introduction to today’s lecture and while trying to ignore the thrill that is simmering beneath your anxiety, you scramble to start taking notes. It’s not to show him that you can go back to being his favorite student but rather a necessity to keep yourself from being three weeks further behind.

You power through the lecture even with your fuzzy mind, scribbling things down and making sure to appreciate the privilege it is to be taught by one of the greatest minds to ever live. This is even if he, multiple times, falls into the usual pattern of diving headfirst into multi-layered explanations of different phenomena and concepts, droning on as if none of you and the rest of your classmates exist to him anymore.

You pretend to keep up when he does this but even you must admit that he loses you. However, you know for a fact that it is not out of disinterest that you stop listening but rather your mind focusing on something else when his words become too difficult to follow. Instead, you end up mapping out the length of his gorgeous neck, the beauty spot where his collar ends. It is enough to leave your mouth dry, but not enough to drag your mind off the scolding you’ll get soon.

When the lecture comes to an end, you have psyched yourself enough to stupidly get up and try to follow the rest of the students out. They trickle out hurriedly though and you find yourself at the back of the school of people heading for the door.

“Hold it right there,” Reed’s voice travels through the room and hits you right in the back, making you falter in your step. Your last name rolls off his tongue with the same kind of confidence and composure that you’d tried to conjure up just an hour ago.

“Sir, I was just—“ you rest your hand on the doorknob to signal that you are leaving but you know already that you have lost the fight to exit the room.

You hear it before you see it; the faint and strange rustling of fabric as something wooshes closer. Suddenly, your teacher’s stretched-out arm moves past you like you have seen it do on television and then his hand attached to said arm splays flat on the door. He closes it with a soft click while you hold your breath.

Slowly, it retracts back to normal and you follow it with your eyes by glancing over your shoulder. Time stands still for a moment at the sight because while Reed Richards has stretched his body multiple times in the past, without much thought behind it and much to his students' shock, he never puts anyone in the position to experience it firsthand.

“Sir, I—“

“Come here,” he says quietly.

You grab the strap of your bag tightly and make your way to the desk where he sits. You decide to beat him to his reprimand, talking even if your voice shakes at his disapproving stare, “I’m sorry I missed this week’s deadline.”

“This week? Try the last three,” he calmly corrects you, “You have done your research on force, impact, and energy transfer in non-elastic collisions, have you not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you’ve still not turned anything in? Why?”

“I've been overwhelmed with coursework and–” You trail off when he raises a brow. He is still sitting down but even so, you feel like you are shrinking underneath his authority. You find it hard to believe that anything out your mouth right now will be taken seriously when you have let him down three times already but you try to reassure him anyway, “It won’t happen again, I promise,”

“No, it won’t,” he agrees as he pushes himself to stand. He drags the chair away from the table as if he thinks it is in his way, “You’re brighter than most, so I don’t believe I need to remind you what happens if you keep slacking.”

“No, sir, I’m aware.”

“I mean, we’ve already moved way past force dynamics and energy exchange on this year’s curriculum, so you’re wasting my time,” he goes on with an annoyed sigh that tells you he has better things to do, “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“I don’t know, sir,” you stare at the flooring.

“Come closer,” he orders calmly. He lets his gaze flick down to your hand clutching your bag of books, “Take out your book on core concepts.”

You follow his eyes and pull out the right book before gently letting the strap of your bag slide off your shoulder until the bag hits the floor with a soft thud. Something tells you that you’re not leaving anytime soon.

“Place it on the desk and find the pages on Newton’s Laws,” he continues and your heart slams against your ribs at the thought of an impromptu pop quiz instead of a handed-in paper. Yes, you know these pages but in the presence of him, you’re not so sure.

Behind you, Reed has shrugged off his jacket while you were flipping through the book. He folds it neatly and hangs it over the back of the chair he was displeased with a moment ago, making sure not to crease the fabric. Then he reaches for the sleeves of the white shirt that he is wearing and rolls them up to his elbows, revealing the slightly visible veins of his forearms. Your head swims and you subtly press your thighs together, images of what you’d like him to do to you flooding your mind.

“Bend over,” he says suddenly, murmuring it almost as if he knows he shouldn’t have said it.

Your eyes widen and you glance in the door’s direction. There are so many people on the outside of this room right now but the chances of someone walking in are slim since lectures are rarely started at this hour of the afternoon, “I don’t understand?”

“You don’t have to understand anything. I want you to put your palms on either side of the book and bend over,” he elaborates and clearly notices your hesitation, the direction of your eyes. His arm stretches out in front of you again, snaking its way past the rows of chairs until it reaches the door once more. He locks it, the soft click of it mixing with your unsteady breathing, and then he pulls down the curtain in the window at the top.

When the arm smoothly retracts once more, you naturally think it will stop at his side but instead, you feel his palm on the back of your neck. His other hand joins to lay on the small of your back and then he pushes down gently to maneuver you into the position that he wants.

You exhale shakily as you place your hands on the desk, feeling the smooth wood underneath your fingertips as a way to ground yourself in a moment so electric. Your body is way ahead of you, reacting to the anticipation of his next move by making a dull ache settle right between your legs. Your clit throbs, your walls flutter.

“Your paper was supposed to use Newton’s Laws as a foundation, let me make sure you know them properly,” Reed says simply while removing his hand from your lower back. His other hand, the one on the back of your neck, slips down your spine to take the previous one’s spot, leaving fire in its wake, “Recite them.”

You swallow thickly, “Newton’s First Law states that a body at rest—”

Smack.

A loud gasp leaves you at the surprise of Reed’s free hand coming down on your backside, heat spreading out underneath the fabric of your skirt where it has struck you. Your head whips around to stare at him in disbelief at what he has just done, your mouth hanging open in shock.

“Eyes on the book,” he commands sternly, curling his fingers slightly into the hem of your shirt, “Go on. Newton’s First Law.”

You count three whole breaths before you will yourself to face forward again, looking down at the text in front of you and trying to regain your ability to read. You swallow the lump in your throat, the letters jumbled on the page, “Uhh…”

“Concentrate,” he adds and gives you another blow, one that makes you jolt forward on the desk and send the book almost over the edge. You frantically reach for it, noticing the way your heart leaps into your throat when you consider what would have happened if it had fallen off.

You drag the book back down and try to act cool but your voice tells on you as you start to read out loud, “A-a body at rest stays at rest, and a body in motion stays in motion—”

He spanks you again and elicits another gasp but you seem to have expected it since you don’t go flying forward. This is even if his palm leaves behind a much more painful sting this time and makes your toes curl in your shoes.

“Until…” He sounds impatient.

You act immediately like a dog who is learning about action and consequences, “Until acted upon by an external force.”

“Good girl,” he praises and you don’t know why the softness of his voice makes you tear up. His broad palm traces over the spot that is warming up already and you make a show out of sighing with content.

However, the soothing touch is short-lived and you start struggling just slightly as Reed’s hand descends until he can grab the hem of your pencil skirt and roughly tug it up. He settles it just above the plumpness of your ass, swatting you to make you focus and stop squirming.

“I’m not going to fuck you so stop moving around,” he scolds and surprises you with yet another smack. It feels different now that each slap is skin-on-skin contact, sounds different too as the noise echoes through the empty lecture hall. You whine in slight disappointment, even if you have inappropriately imagined his cock in you during circumstances so different so many times.

“Second Law,” he murmurs, occupied briefly by the bruise forming on your cheek and scraping his nails across it.

“W-what?” You let out a whimper, your thighs pressing together to soothe your pulsing clit. In theory, you know what he has said but it just isn’t registering since your mind is occupied by you knowing exactly what you will be doing back home if he won’t touch you. In fact, a thrill goes through you at the thought of another blow to recall in your bed with your hand stuffed into your underwear.

“Newton’s Second Law,” he repeats with a smaller swat following. You suck in a breath to calm yourself.

“Newton’s Second Law states that the net force on an object is equal to its mass times its acceleration,” you say somewhat confidently, a sense of calm settling over you as you finally feel like you are getting a handle on the situation.

“Apply it to the situation you’re in right now,” he tests you. You feel your face grow hot and hesitation seizes you for a second. It takes a moment too long for him and a much sharper smack lands right on the jiggliest part of your ass, the sharpness of the pain making you moan for the first time and the noise of the blow bouncing off the walls. You almost even swear in your professor’s presence, and you would have if it weren’t for the way tears in your eyes take off the edge.

“You’ll get one more if you don’t open your mouth soon,” he adds. You’re just about to speak, about to follow orders, when he takes a step closer and presses his cock into your hip. You freeze at the size of him, a sound that can only be described as pathetic leaving you. Reed huffs out a chuckle and smacks you once more albeit slightly less maliciously.

“Y–you’re applying a force to me. Your hand is the mass and the acceleration is essentially the swing of your arm. The shorter the time and the greater the velocity of the impact, the bigger the force I feel,” you try not to hiccup through the whole explanation but the words take a longer time to come to you and your backside is hypersensitive, warm, and sore. Your pulse rings in your ears too, and you swear you can almost taste the adrenaline in your mouth from how it is coursing through your body. It might just be salt from your tears though which you realize will simply give you an excuse as to why you stayed behind after class. If you really try, you might be able to conjure up an act of a student who got some terrible feedback.

“Still with me?” You hear him ask, feel him soothe your burning flesh. You wonder if his palm is imprinted on your cheek.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble with a sniffle, your palms sticking to the desk from how clammy they have become.

“Speak up,” he corrects you and his palm leaves you long enough for you to start anticipating another strike. No hands on your body makes it harder to abstain from feeling his hard cock resting against your hip, the heaviness of it making you even wetter and oh God, aching to be filled.

“Yes, sir,” you enunciate without coming off as bratty. The next strike doesn’t come and relief washes over you, allowing you to relish in the cool air brushing your tingling and bruised skin.

“Last but not least. Newton’s Third Law?”

“F-for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” you say and rest your forehead on the book that has absorbed a few teardrops, He doesn't give you praise or a soothing touch. It bewilders you, makes you question if your scatterbrained state has accidentally made you say something that is wrong. You go quiet except for your rapid breathing as you go over your answer in your head but nothing comes to mi–

The sudden smack instantly makes you realize where you went wrong, landing across the exact spot that’s already stinging and causing you to hiss and whine through your teeth. Quickly, you scramble to relate Newton to what Reed is doing to you, “If… if you strike me, my body exerts a force back on your hand.”

“Mhm, good,” he hums while your head swims, “And I bet you’re feeling that force right now.”

“It hurts,” you whimper feebly and turn your head to the side. Yes, it’s the truth but your body can’t tell if it’s supposed to register this as pain or pleasure, the sensations overlapping intensely.

“That’s part of the lesson,” Reed’s hand returns in a gentle touch, his large palm settling carefully over the same spot he has just mercilessly spanked, “Why does it hurt?”

You wish he’d move his hand down between your legs and make you come when he realizes how soaked-through your panties are, “B-because when you spank me your hand transfers kinetic energy into my skin. The force and the friction cause heat to build. The tissues and blood vessels react, and it—”

“Gives you that glow. Precisely,” he finishes your sentence and curls his hand around your hip firmly. He sounds enthralled by his work, “And I respond with arousal, meaning it makes me so goddamn hard. Now, hold still. These last three are for the three missed deadlines.”

You know he means business when his finger slips underneath the waistband of your panties. He pulls them down just enough to settle them underneath the globes of your ass without exposing your needy cunt, the elastic of them digging slightly into sore skin. His other hand lifts and you brace yourself even if you know that any human can suffer through even uncontrollable pain if they know there’s an end to it.

The first of three strikes lands right on the curve of your backside, harder than any of the several ones before it and making your entire body seize up. He isn’t playing around this time, your skin immediately blooming with newfound heat and fiery pain. It makes you moan out loud and squeeze your eyes shut until fireworks go off behind your eyelids.

“Count,” he says calmly.

“O-one,” you manage to say in a voice that makes it sound like an apology instead.

The second one makes it feel like there’s a clap of thunder going through your bones. You jolt forward on the desk enough to finally send the damn book flying off the edge to the floor. Reed tightens his grip on your hip to steady you, dragging you back to him again as if to remind you that despite everything he’s got you.

“Two,” you say shakily, “I’m sorry, Professor Richards.”

He rubs the spot to soothe your burning flesh and by now, a part of you wants to crawl into his lap and be held. He coos softly at you and gently squeezes the roundness of your ass, making you bite down on your bottom lip and exhale a needy whine through your nose.

“No need to bring me apologies,” he tells you, “We’ll see if you’ve learned your lesson. Last one.”

He lets you wait for the final smack, but when his hand lands on your skin, a sharp cry rips from your throat. Tears start flowing freely from your eyes now - even if you’re still not fully crying as emotions have not caught up with you yet - but it’s not solely from the pain, but also from the swirl of adrenaline and arousal that tightens below your belly button. You wonder if you should reach up to wipe your eyes but you can’t make yourself let go of the desk underneath you, clutching it in an iron grip because of how wobbly your legs are.

“Three,” you hiccup as Reed loosens his grip on you. You feel the ache of your behind with every heartbeat and want to sob now that it is over. You’re hyper-aware of what is happening in your body which is the adrenaline starting to crash, and the emotions, coming in like a wave, are just about to overwhelm you when—

“Sit up on the desk for me,” Reed says gently.

“But the book,” you glance toward the textbook that you sent flying not long ago. It is a silly thing to cling onto but there’s an emotional wavering in your voice as you say it which Reed seems to catch onto.

“Leave it,” he murmurs, an order but not like the previous ones, “Sit. I need to make sure you’re alright.”

The task seems impossible. You barely manage to push yourself fully upright, your shaking legs nearly not able to hold you up, and when you turn around to lift yourself onto the desk, you feel the edge dig into your sore behind in a way that forces a hiss out of you. A tear that you have no control over rolls slowly down your cheek.

“Easy,” Reed is beside you, catching onto your motive when you get ready to jump up onto the surface in a hurry due to his earlier lack of patience. He has previously had a hovering hand nearby but now, he grabs a hold of you to still you, “Do it carefully.”

When you’re finally perched on the desk, you’re not sure if the calming cool sensation of the wood beneath your thighs outweighs the pressure against your smarting skin. What you are sure of though is the storm of emotions inside your chest, a raging one made up of an overwhelming mix of new pain, embarrassment, and vulnerability, all of which makes your heart feel too big for your rib cage.

“I’m okay,” you lie but you hear yourself and know it isn’t very convincing. He gives you a raised eyebrow.

“Seems like you’re experiencing what is known as a drop. Come on, deep breaths,” he guides you gently when he spots the way your bottom lip wobbles, “If you have to cry, let it out. No one’s going to see you.”

From his words, you realize that your breathing has become unsteady and hitched in very little time. Your shoulders shake and your chest has a ball of unleashed feelings in it that nearly makes you feel sick. It unravels when the tears that you hoped would subside resurface at the permission to let them flow. You feel them brimming at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing,” you say shakily when they finally spill over even if the tension in your torso slowly ebbs away as you let go.

“You’re alright. Just breathe for me,” he says softly. He brings his hands to your thighs and rubs them in an attempt to soothe and ground you, “Slow and steady in through the nose and out the mouth. Right now, you don’t have to do anything but calm down, and then I can take a look at you.”

The room around you seems distant as you try to breathe more steadily but you’re lightheaded, feeling almost as if you’re wrapped in a woolen, fuzzy blanket that blocks everything out besides him. You aren’t sure if it is the adrenaline crash anymore or the way that your whole body is so tightly wound for pleasure that won’t come but you crave his touch, crave him taking care of you.

“You’re okay,” he says over and over, drowning out the static in your ears, “No more crying, sweet angel. I’d rather not see you leave here like this.”

The nickname makes you snap out of it. Angel? Did he just call you an angel? Your tears go on hold when you continuously blink up at him from your seat on the desk, pawing at his chest without knowing what to do with all your longing. He makes you feel all the things you have felt since you met him all at once now, a dizzying flurry of thoughts and feelings.

“That’s better,” he smiles genuinely for the first time and you melt right then and there. He looks so damn handsome when he does it that you go ridiculously doe-eyed at the sight.

“Thank you,” you mumble while playing with the buttons on his white shirt. The butterflies in your belly have nearly made the pulsing ache of your backside disappear.

“Stand up,” he says and removes your hands from his chest which you probably make a much bigger deal out of than him, “I need to take a look at you.”

You stand on wobbly legs. Slowly and carefully, he skims his fingers over the inflamed skin and notes out loud that it is warm. It’s not a soothing caress for the sake of tenderness, but rather a deliberate check-in to take note of how much damage he’s done. He works methodically, like a man who daily works with scientific research and experiments, going over each part of you while humming at his discoveries.

“Right. Cool compress when you get home for the swelling, ten-fifteen minutes on and off. Frozen peas will do,” he instructs in the exact same tone as when he gives out science homework, “The skin is still intact but you’ll be sore if you don’t treat yourself with a little kindness. Lotion if it is too much to bear and loose clothing. Not a pencil skirt like this one, we clear?”

You nod with the hint of a pout.

“And,” he adds and grabs lightly at your chin, his tone suddenly playful, “Try not to miss any more deadlines.”

It’s a joke, you realize, something to lighten the atmosphere in the lecture hall and you barely register it from the way his fingers hold your head in place. Despite your watery eyes and racing heartbeat, you huff out a little laugh.

“There we go,” he coos at the sound of your chuckle, “Not so gloomy anymore.”

With gentle hands, he reaches just below your hips to pull your underwear up over the curve of your ass again, careful not to let the waistband tug at the sensitive skin. He does the same with your skirt, tugging the hem down over your thighs until you look decent once more.

Your lips part slightly as your eyes slide up to look at his face, feeling dumbstruck by his brown intelligent eyes and his aquiline nose straight out of the statues from Ancient Rome. You admire the column of his neck, the mentioned beauty mark just above his collar, and the dip that you want to kiss.

After a moment, you realize that you have gone quiet and when you look back at his eyes, you are dizzyingly meeting his suddenly intense gaze. It is as if he has calculated that you are back with him, lingering with desire albeit still a little shaken by your tears. His eyes are burning into yours and you can feel the restraint behind them. It is as if you can sense the electricity in the air, the warmth that prickles in your cheeks, and the heat that radiates from him.

Without a word, he reaches to tuck your shirt into your skirt until it hugs your figure tightly, a fashion choice different from how you had arrived in his classroom earlier. The dominance of styling your clothes as he prefers it makes you press your thighs together, the dull ache returning between your legs.

“I’ve noticed, seen it all. That’s why I did it,” he says cryptically as he stuffs your shirt down at the back, fingertips brushing the dip of your spine until heat racks up it.

“Noticed what?” You ask foolishly but had you stopped to think, you would have figured it out already.

“All the energy you’ve put into getting me to notice you and getting my undivided attention. Congratulations, you’ve finally got it,” he clarifies and lets both his hands rest on the small of your back for the briefest of moments. When he lets go of you, you follow his touch by leaning in to close the distance with a kiss.

He places a hand on your chest, holding you back just when you are pressing the ghost of a kiss to his lips. He has given you so much by now. Why not this? A ball of frustration settles in your chest and comes out as a little whine of impatience, “Why can’t we?”

He doesn’t pull away, simply speaks less than an inch from your face so you can feel his breath on your mouth, “Because you need to learn restraint, sweet angel. I can’t have you missing your deadlines three weeks in a row - or at all really - due to some little crush.”

You want to defend yourself, say that it has nothing to do with him but deep down, you know it would be a lie straight to his face. So instead, you swallow thickly, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since I saw you.”

“And you will have me,” he kisses you so softly that you want to sink to your knees, “Just not until I say so, and certainly not before you’ve been a good girl and turned in that paper.”

“Sir,” you try one last time.

“I’ll teach you to be patient, to have restraint,” he tells you and makes you realize your attempt was to no avail, “Whether you like it or not.”

You give in, buzzing with the need for more, “I can turn my paper in on Monday. Would that suffice?”

“I’ll hold you to that, but no late nights and last-minute scrambling. If I find you’ve rushed through it…” he lets the sentence drift off, letting your imagination figure out the consequence, “And it best be your best work yet.”

“Yes, sir,” you reluctantly pull back when nothing seems to work, “Whatever you want.”

“Hand it to me during office hours before class,” he instructs to which you nod.

“But what now?” You ask with a tiny impatient noise, letting him know just how much you’ve got against his reluctance to touch you.

His hand flexes by his side, “Now you go home. You lock your door and you touch that pretty thing between your thighs just how you like it most. I want you to come for me until you’re hoarse. Three times for three weeks but no more than that, not until we see each other again.”

It is Wednesday and you won’t see him until Monday. How on Earth are you going to survive on only three orgasms after this? Your mind races with protests but you don’t get to voice your concern about the limit he has set because he has already stepped back to pick up his jacket from his desk chair.

You decide to circle the table to pick up your book and stuff it into your bag. Behind you, Reed’s eyes are definitely on you as you lean forward with a hand on the desk. He is fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and putting on his tweed jacket, trying to come off as if letting you have a private moment to compose yourself.

“Monday,” he reminds you when you stand upright again. His arm stretches out between the rows of chairs and tables once more so he can unlock the door for you.

“Yes, sir,” you answer obediently.

You swing your bag over your shoulder and then you leave.

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orellazalonia · 10 days ago

Text

Echoes of a Nobody

Summary: The Avengers discover you may now be working with a hostile organization, sparking confusion, guilt, and questions about whether you were taken or left by choice.

Word Count: 2.1k+

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

The Tower still functioned. The lights still came on at sunrise, the coffee still brewed automatically, and the world, predictably, still needed saving.

But it wasn’t the same. Not really. They didn’t talk about you anymore. Not in meetings. Not in the break room. Not even in the way people usually mention someone who left like “I wonder how they’re doing,” or “Remember how they used to do this?”

Your name hadn’t been spoken in weeks and no one looked at the desk the same way. Even with the new intern, no one admitted they noticed the difference in the reports. The missing efficiency. The absence of quiet competence. You’d made things easy for them, too easy. Because you hadn’t needed praise. You hadn’t asked questions when the assignments piled too high. You never made a scene when someone else took credit.

You were just… reliable. Invisible.

And now, you were gone. Not fallen in battle. Not reassigned. You left on your own terms. And somehow, that made it worse. Because the truth was, they’d all gotten used to you being around without ever really seeing you.

Sam noticed first. He didn’t say anything out loud, but every time he found an old file tagged with your formatting or caught a smart line of code the intern didn’t recognize, his jaw would clench just a little.

Clint complained more. “Why is everything in the wrong place?” He muttered once, staring at a disorganized gear locker that used to run like clockwork under your watch.

Bruce rubbed his temples during mission debriefs now. Things were falling through. Small details, easily fixable mistakes, but they stacked up. Quietly. Subtly.

As for Bucky, he still didn’t say anything either. He still trained. Still showed up. Still leaned into quiet corners with that girl he was so drawn to, the one with the bright laugh and easy smile. They were exactly what they were meant to be: Happy. Whole. Seen.

Yet still, something in Bucky’s expression occasionally flickered. Like when he asked the intern for last quarter’s field logs, the kind you used to prepare without being asked. The intern blinked had. “Wait, were we supposed to keep those updated?”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t scold. Just nodded tightly and walked away.

He hadn’t really known you. Not the way he knew her. But maybe he knew enough now to feel the edges of your absence even if he didn’t understand it. Because no one really understood what you did until you weren’t there to do it anymore.

And now, the Tower moved on like it always does. Your desk still sat there, empty. No one had claimed it really. And when the lights dimmed and the late night silence crept in, the air around your space felt heavier. Like the room knew something had been lost.

Not loudly. Just quietly. Like everything you ever did.

Therefore, what came next was a surprise to them all. It was Bruce who discovered it first, he didn’t mean to find it.

It was late that day, late enough that the Tower was more shadows than light, more quiet hums of distant servers than footsteps in the halls. His coffee had gone cold an hour ago and he wasn’t even sure why he was still at his desk. The mission reports were dull, mostly cleanup work from intel they’d intercepted last week from an anti-shield faction operating out of the Balkans.

He was skimming out of obligation, not curiosity until he opened the fifth folder.

The file tree wasn’t remarkable at first. Standard formatting. But the subfolders were ordered a little too neatly. The names weren’t generic; they were contextual, smart. Predictive.

Then came the layouts. His eyes narrowed.

Line after line of data filtered across the screen, and his breath caught, not because of the content, but because of the structure.

The headers. The symbols. The little quirks in spacing that most people wouldn’t notice.

But Bruce did. Because he remembered seeing it for years. Quietly, reliably, every week formatted the exact same way. You used to send summaries with this layout. It wasn’t a style. It wasn’t even a system. It was… you. Distinct. Efficient. Invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking for it.

Bruce sat up straighter, heart tapping a little faster. He clicked deeper. Opened a timestamped diagnostic from a surveillance relay taken offline days before an attack. Whoever wrote the analysis had restructured the data logs to show energy signatures layered over civilian heat maps. It was clean. Elegant.

Too elegant.

“Wait,” He muttered, leaning closer.

There were redundancies in the formula. Little backups, hidden verification lines built into the metadata. He’d seen them before. He remembered once asking about them, years ago, why you'd included them when no one else did.

You had shrugged. “Because systems fail. People forget. I don’t.”

Bruce’s fingers paused over the keyboard. He sat back slowly, eyes still fixed on the screen. The quiet hum of the tower seemed suddenly louder, more isolating.

He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Didn’t want to assume something that wasn’t possible. Except… it was. And no matter how much he told himself it couldn’t be you, that this was probably just someone who used your old files, or mimicked your workflow, he felt the truth in his gut.

This wasn’t mimicry. This was your work. Your habits. Your voice, written in lines of code like a ghost.

He didn’t say anything to the others at first. Not yet. Because if he was right… It meant you weren’t just gone. You were working for them now. And there was a high chance, you weren’t coming back.

Bruce spent most of the night reviewing the files again, hoping he’d find something, anything that would disprove his gut.

He didn’t.

So when the team gathered for the morning briefing, he stood silently near the edge of the table, clutching his tablet like a lifeline. Steve was mid-sentence about a possible weapons facility when Bruce finally spoke.

“I think she’s working with them.”

The room shifted. It was subtle, but sharp. Natasha looked up. Clint stopped halfway through unwrapping a protein bar. Sam’s brows dipped in confusion. Steve frowned.

“What?” Steve asked.

Bruce tapped his tablet and cast the projection into the center of the room and said your name. The file structure lit up in pale blue: neat, layered, and efficient.

“She designed this,” Bruce said. “The data formatting, the way it parses real-time risk indicators, and the multi-tier flagging structure. This isn’t like hers. This is hers.”

Bucky, who’d been leaning against the wall near the back, arms folded, finally looked over.

“You’re saying she’s helping them now?” He asked, voice low. More like a statement than a question.

“I’m saying I don’t know,” Bruce admitted. “But this level of detail? It’s not someone copying her style. It’s her work. I’d bet everything on it.”

Sam squinted at the file, then crossed his arms. “So, what? She was a mole this whole time? Just embedded with us, waiting?”

“No.” Bruce’s tone sharpened. “No way. She didn’t have access to anything sensitive until the last year, and even then she didn’t take advantage of it. This is recent.”

“So she was taken?” Natasha asked. “Maybe they’re forcing her to work for them.”

“Could be,” Steve said quietly. “We’ve seen that happen before.”

Bruce hesitated, his thumb brushing over the edge of his tablet. “If that’s true, then why does this read like she cares? There’s attention to detail in this. Clean backups. This isn't bare minimum compliance. It’s-“

“Deliberate,” Bucky finished.

Everyone turned to him. He didn’t look at anyone. Just kept his arms folded, eyes fixed on the holoscreen, jaw tight.

“She used to keep my files color-coded,” He said after a pause. “Even though I never asked her to. Wouldn’t even have thought to.”

“She did that for you?” Clint muttered. “She never even looked me in the eye.”

“She barely talked,” Sam added.

“Because none of us ever really gave her a reason to,” Natasha said, voice quiet.

Steve’s mouth tightened. “She was reliable. Smart. I just thought she preferred to be behind the scenes.”

Bruce looked down. “Well, if they’re treating her better… if she’s found a place where she feels like she belongs…”

“…Then maybe she didn’t need to be forced,” Natasha finished.

There was a long silence that sank into the walls like fog.

Sam glanced at Steve. “So what do we do?”

No one answered. Because deep down, they were all wondering the same thing: If you chose to leave, if you found people who valued you in ways they never did…

Do they even have the right to go after you? And worse, would you even want to come back?

The holoscreen was still glowing when she walked in, heels soft against the floor, a cup of something warm in her hand.

She smiled easily, the kind of smile that made people look up even when they didn’t mean to. Bucky did. His posture eased just slightly, eyes flicking toward her like muscle memory. The one he loved brushed his arm with the back of her hand as she passed him and made her way to the table.

“Hey,” She said with a curious tilt of her head. “What’s all this?”

Steve didn’t answer immediately. Neither did Bruce. The tension still hung from earlier like humidity in the air.

“We think one of our old administrators might be working with the group we’re tracking,” Steve finally said, tone careful.

She blinked. “Oh?” Her eyes flicked to the display, then back. “Who?”

Bruce hesitated. “She left a few months ago. Used to run most of our comm scrubs and data threads.”

A small pause before her mouth curved. “Ohhh. You mean the quiet one? I think I remember her.”

She said it gently, like trying to recall the name of someone she might’ve sat next to in a lecture hall years ago.

“She didn’t talk much, did she?” She continued, sipping her drink. “I always thought she seemed sweet, but kind of… you know. Overwhelmed?”

Bucky didn’t respond. Natasha’s expression sharpened subtly, but the woman either didn’t notice or didn’t mind.

“She left,” Bruce said, steady but not unkind, “Because we made her feel invisible.”

Her brow rose slightly, as if surprised by the weight of the statement. “Oh. I didn’t realize she felt that way.”

“She might’ve been taken,” Steve said. “Or maybe she joined them willingly. We’re still piecing it together.”

The woman tilted her head. “And you think she’s helping those guys now?”

“We have signs of her system work embedded in their infrastructure,” Bruce confirmed. “The designs match her exactly.”

A thoughtful hum. She leaned lightly against the table. “That’s kind of impressive, actually. I mean… good for her?”

There was a pause.

She blinked. “I just mean, it sounds like she found a place where she fits, you know? I always thought she looked like she didn’t want to be here most of the time.”

“She probably wanted to be useful,” Natasha added.

“Sure, but maybe she is now,” The woman replied, light and certain. “I mean, I don’t want to sound harsh or anything, but if she didn’t have much clearance, how dangerous can it really be?”

Bruce stiffened. “She knew more than anyone realized. She was just never loud about it.”

“Right.” A gentle nod, like she understood. “Still… maybe it’s not worth making this a whole mission. I mean, do we really want to drag her back into this if she’s finally found her place?”

No one answered, not right away.

“She might be compromised,” Steve said firmly. “Or being manipulated.”

“Of course. But if she’s doing it by choice?” She gave a soft, almost sympathetic smile. “It just doesn’t seem worth disrupting everything over someone who didn’t even seem to like being here.”

“Maybe she didn’t like how she was treated,” Bucky muttered.

She blinked again, this time with a little laugh. “Oh… well, we were all busy. I’m sure nobody meant anything by it.”

Sam and Natasha exchanged a look.

She gave Bucky’s arm a soft squeeze. “I just think you all have bigger things to worry about than chasing down someone who’s probably better off without us. But… I know you’ll do what you think is right.”

She offered them all one last sweet smile and drifted out the way she came, calm and weightless as a breeze. Only when she was gone did anyone breathe again.

Bucky’s gaze turned back to holoscreen.

He didn’t know what unsettled him more: her gentle way of brushing it all aside, or the fact that he’d once agreed with her without even thinking twice.

He wasn’t sure what was right anymore.

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal

#The One You Don’t See #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fic #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fic #angst fic #chapter 4 #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you

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dyaz-stories · 10 months ago

Text

casual (1) || gojo satoru x reader

chapter 1: i like the way you kiss me

synopsis: Getting recruited for a double position as a teacher for Jujutsu High in Tokyo and a strategist, tasked with assigning missions to sorcerers in the region is the perfect situation for you. It pays well, it's well regarded, and it's as safe as possible — by sorcerer standards, anyway.

There is one problem though, and his name is Gojo Satoru. The one who's supposed to collaborate with you and answer to you.

The one you can't keep your hands off...

word count: 9.5k

genre: 18+, friends with benefits to lovers, coworkers to lovers, canon divergence, smut, emotional slow burn but they fuck like rabbits

warnings/tags (chapter): fem!reader (she/her pronouns, reader is afab), takes place ~5 years before jjk0, teacher!reader, sorcerer!reader, canon-typical violence, mild angst, smut (semi-public sex, fingering [fem receiving], vaginal sex, sorta dom!gojo, corruption kink if you squint), mentioned slut shaming (not the sexy kind), gojo satoru is a little shit

A/N: This is quite the Behemoth of a first chapter, I'm sorry to say. I love really long chapters, but I can only hope you all do too and this isn't too intimidating! This is a fic I've had in mind for ages and finally got around to start an outline for and actually write it. There are actually a couple of drabbles here and there on my blog for this couple already, happening at various points of their relationship.

I really hope you will enjoy this first chapter!

‘Make use of Satoru Gojo however you see fit.’

Such are the first words spoken to you by the higher-ups, at the end of an exhausting recruitment process. You nod sharply at the instruction.

“Duly noted.”

Truth be told, you don’t see why they need to specify it. You had assumed that went without saying from the very beginning.

The job offer had, at first glance, been for a strategist who would work directly under the higher-ups for the region of Tokyo. Devising teams, advising the council, and assigning missions were supposed to be the main tasks you would have to fulfill.

‘Supposed’ because, when you were one of only three candidates left, the higher-ups had revealed that there was, in fact, a second role you would be expected to perform. One that you had not imagined would be available for decades.

A new teaching position at the Tokyo Jujutsu High School was opening up, though you couldn’t understand why for the life of you. You had no connection to the establishment yourself, having left Japan as a child and trained abroad your whole life, never returning for more than a couple of months at a time, yet you knew, as did the entirety of the sorcerer world, that Satoru Gojo had been appointed there less than a year before. Well, rumor had it that he had appointed himself, and you had to wonder if that was why they were keen to have a more… traditional teacher by his side, since firing him was an option.

In that case, your lack of ties to Satoru Gojo, Masamichi Yaga and to the Jujutsu Headquarters could explain why your name ended up being the last one on the ballot. You were the best placed to be an independent monitor.

The distorted voice keeps going, bringing you back to the present.

“Unless stated otherwise, always send him to battle first.”

You school your face so you do not let any emotion appear, though the statement surprises you. You have to assume that they don’t mean for any mission you receive, because that would be catastrophically ineffective. Then again, sending him on Grade 1 missions, if he is available, makes some sense.

“Report to us if you encounter difficulties with him,” the voice adds before falling silent without elaborating.

You understand, from the finality of their tone, that you have been dismissed, and bow your head, your movements polite and sober.

“Thank you for the trust you are placing in me. I will not disappoint you.”

“We know you won’t,” another sepulchral voice answers.

In the dark, candle-lit room, it sounds sinister enough to chill you to the bone. You wait just a second longer, in case something needs to be added, before turning on your heels and walking away. No one calls you back, and you’re more relieved about leaving the room than you would like to admit.

Outside, the summer sun is high and bright. You tilt your head backwards and close your eyes to let its rays warm your face. It will take a while before the cold instilled in you in that meeting room dissipates.

You’re expected in Jujutsu Tech by the end of August. Being a teacher there is as close to the ideal position as it gets, for a sorcerer. The pay is excellent, the risks minimal, and it commends great respect from the society at large. You have no doubt that, had the offer been for that position in the first place, numerous sorcerers far more qualified for teaching than you are would have thrown their hats in the ring. You wouldn’t have made it past the first interview.

You got lucky. Just this once, you’re going in the right direction.

You inhale deeply. For the first time in a long time, you no longer envision your life as an endless successions of missions, countries, and houses that never become homes.

For the first time in the long time, you think you have a future.

There is a spring in your step when you make your way down the stairs, away from this freezing place and the ghouls that haunt it.

Behind you, the Headquarters; ahead, Jujutsu Tech.

Masamichi Yaga is a cautious man. His handshake is warm and firm when he greets you, and though his voice is calm and steady as he guides you through the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, he remains evasive. He provides all the information you might need, answers any question you have when you ask them without missing a beat, and yet you can tell he is guarded, keeping you at arm’s length.

You cannot determine why that is with certainty, though you have a handful of hypotheses. It could just be that he isn’t used to the presence of strangers. Dealing with a total stranger is a rarity within sorcerer society, even more so in Japan. You doubt that he would know anyone who could talk about you, let alone vouch for you. You understand why that would make you a suspicious character.

Another option is that you were forced onto him as a member of his staff by the higher-ups, though you haven’t heard anything about that. With you being a complete outsider, he would not have any valid reason to outright reject your presence, not when his only teacher is frequently gone for days at a time, but that would not mean that he’d be pleased with it — or view you as trustworthy, for that matter.

The third possibility, of course, is that he just finds you off-putting.

‘Cold’, that’s how you are often described by the people around you. You don’t do it intentionally, but you also cannot pinpoint what it is that you do ‘wrong’. Something about your tone, your expressions, or lack thereof, your cold eyes, the way your mouth naturally curves downwards.

That and, of course, the trail of bad omens that you bring with you everywhere you go.

These don’t tend to be active problems when it comes to sorcerers. With normal humans, now, it’s a different story. Oh, there are exceptions, who find that this all makes you intriguing, but it typically makes it hard to build actual connections with other people. You wouldn’t normally care, but in a situation where you have to collaborate with others, you could see that becoming an issue.

You had seen that coming, of course — it wasn’t like it was new information to you. As a result, you had made sure to be on your very best behavior from the moment you’d stepped foot within Jujutsu Tech grounds. You had nodded with interest, you had reminded yourself to smile, you had asked all the right questions, and yet you could feel that you had not once managed to turn yourself into a likeable person.

Ah, well. Not being likeable would not stop you from doing your job right.

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of teaching staff,” Yaga announces, his voice deep, as he reaches a new door. His hand is hovering over the doorknob when he stills, turning to look at you. “Are you ready for this just now? They were both students here, but I assume this can all be overwhelming for a newbie.”

That is a kind sentiment.

“I’m okay.” Then, because answering in monosyllables is not what likeable people are supposed to do, you add: “I read the files available to familiarize myself with the school grounds before coming here.”

His eyebrows jump up behind his glasses, but it’s followed by a hearty chuckle.

“You’ve come prepared.” He nods, appreciative. “Good. It will be nice to have someone who takes their job seriously around here.”

You don’t have the time to question the sentence before he opens the door.

The room is small and reeks of cigarette smoke. In the middle of it, a desk, and behind it, sprawled on an elegant black chair, a white-haired man that you recognize at first glance. You let your eyes slide over him. You wouldn’t want to look too, um, curious, just yet.

The brown-haired woman with the long white coat who is perched on a window sill, doing her very best to look inconspicuous, is the one responsible for the smell. You identify her as Shoko Ieiri, school doctor and reverse cursed technique prodigy. Next to you, Yaga sighs.

“Shoko,” he protests with a paternal disapproval, “I thought you’d quit smoking?”

“I did,” she answers, staring at him, her eyes dark and tired, “and then I had to regrow a lung. Do you have any idea how much of a pain it is to regrow internal organs?”

A light laugh comes from the man in the middle of the room, and you consider that this gives you permission to look at him without coming off like you’re gawking.

He has his feet propped up on the desk, and he’s using them to push himself backwards in a precarious balance. White hair spills on the dark leather, long arms hang on both sides of the chair, and he hasn’t bothered to so much as glance in your direction so far — or at least, you don’t think he has, because white bandages are wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

Even without being able to spot their signature blue, you know who he is. There isn’t one sorcerer in Japan, nor in the whole world, who doesn’t know his name.

Satoru Gojo, in the flesh.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way through medical school, it would be easier, don’t ya think?” he asks Ieiri with fond familiarity.

“Don’t—” Yaga takes two steps into the room, kicks the legs from underneath the chair. “—sit at my desk, Satoru.”

Effortlessly, Gojo jumps off the chair before it hits the floor and lands on his feet, facing Yaga. He is just as tall as the Principal, and from the wide grin on his face, it’s obvious that he is thrilled to have gotten a rise out of him.

“Then get me my own office already, what are you waiting for?”

“We’ll see which one of you gets an office first,” Yaga sniffs, and it doesn’t sound like Gojo is at the top of his list. “First, there is someone you need to meet.”

Ieiri has been observing you since you’ve walked into the room, not looking away when you had met her eyes. Yaga’s words have Gojo finally directing his attention to you, though, and something in the room shifts. You can’t see them, yet you know his eyes are on you, dissecting you and your cursed energy, collecting every possible bit of information on you. He walks past Yaga, burying his hands in his pockets as he approaches you. He has an easy smile placated on his lips, but you know when you’re being judged.

Behind him, both Ieiri and Yaga are still, tense. Yaga’s jaw is set, and Ieiri fiddles with a pack of cigarettes in her pocket, clearly itching for a new one. Ah, so this is the real test.

You don’t back off, staying rooted in your spot. He towers over you easily, and you have to tilt your head back just to look at him. You’d heard he was a handsome man, but you hadn’t expected it to be so obvious, even with the bandages on. He studies you, sharp jaw clenching, before the dazzling smile returns.

“Right! You’re the substitute teacher, aren’t you?”

His voice is light and airy, the previous tension completely absent from it. You blink.

“She will be teaching instead of you when you’re away on missions,” Yaga intervenes, “but that doesn’t make her a substitute. C’mon, Satoru, we’ve had this conversation already.”

On that last sentence, his voice turns into a threatening rumble.

“Sure, sure,” Gojo dismisses him without looking back, “and you’re the one who will be giving me missions as well, right?”

He keeps his tone cheerful, makes it sound like he’s just trying to have a conversation, but there is an edge in his voice, a bite. You cannot tell what he is trying to achieve with the question, though, or why he is being hostile, so you choose not to engage.

“Indeed,” you answer, bowing your head politely. “It is an honor to be meeting you all.” You make quick work of giving your name and briefly mentioning that you hadn’t grown up in Japan.

You’re met with silence, Gojo’s lips pressed together as he tries to read you. You do your very best not to give him anything to sink his teeth into.

“Your family’s known for their precognition, aren’t they?” Ieiri asks from the other side of the room.

“Foresight, yes”, you reply. Your answer is rehearsed, polished. Your family has somewhat of a reputation within the sorcerer world, but fortune tellers are a dime a dozen, even among non-sorcerers, and the results vary greatly — it’s not an ability that inspires trust, even for a legitimate sorcerer like you. You don’t wish to reveal too much of yourself just yet. “I look forward to working with you.”

A smile finally forms on her lips.

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I won’t be seeing too much of you. Would be a shame if I had to patch you up. If you want to go out drinking though, just let me know. I know all the best bars in the city!”

“She does, and she’s banned from half of them,” Gojo chimes in. Now that his focus is back on her, his tone is softer; teasing, still, but no longer harsh. “She could use an actual designated driver instead of exploiting her kouhais though, don’t you think, Shoko?”

She laughs at that, sincerely, her eyes creasing.

“Fuck you, Gojo,” she answers fondly.

“I apologize for these two,” Yaga says, wincing at the coarse language. “We’re very happy to have you here. I’m sure it will do the kids some good, having someone serious to take after.”

“Hurtful,” Gojo protests, pouting. “They’re good kids,” he adds, directing his attention back to you. He sounds proud now, no trace of his earlier defiance left. “They’ll be great soon. They just need a little push to get there.”

At that, you nod.

“Of course. I’ll do my very best to help them on that path.”

There is a second, between the moment when you finish speaking and the moment when a wide smile splits his face. In that second, his lips part, and you feel his eyes plunge into you, digging into the very core of your being. He doesn’t look pleased. No, he is sizing you up, and you doubt you measure up to his expectations as well as you should. You’re the only one facing him, though, and when he smiles, just a little too late, it all vanishes like it never happened.

“Good to hear! As long as that’s the case, I’m sure everything will go smoothly.”

It’s said differently, but it’s as threatening as the higher-ups’ last words to you. Still, behind Gojo, Yaga heaves a relieved sigh and exchanges a look with Ieiri that tells you just how worried he’d been about your arrival. To him, it looks like the situation is resolved.

“Why don’t we all go and get a drink together to welcome you properly, if we’re done here?” he asks, walking over and slapping Gojo in the back.

“Sounds good to me,” Ieiri hums.

“As long as we go somewhere with good desserts, I’m in,” Gojo declares, intertwining his fingers at the back his head.

“You better be, Satoru,” Yaga grumbles, “you’re paying.”

“Not sure the Gojo clan has enough money for your appetite,” he sighs dramatically, “but I mean, I can try.” Then, eyeing you, “You coming or what?”

“Of course,” you say, swallowing around the unexpected knot in your throat. “Thank you for having me.”

You follow them cautiously, keeping quiet as the banter continues, hands held behind your back, observing. You had not expected to feel welcome here. You could have done without Gojo’s strange hostility, but with your track record, you had expected far worse.

“Let me know if Satoru makes your life harder, alright? I’ll talk some sense into him,” Ieiri tells you, placing a cigarette between her lips.

“And I’ll beat it into him if I have to,” Yaga adds, snatching it from Ieiri’s mouth and crumpling it between his fingers.

“I’d love to see you try,” Gojo grins.

“Noted,” you answer, “but I’m sure everything will be fine.”

This last part is a lie. Even as he’s joking around with everyone, you know he is still observing you, courtesy of the Six Eyes, watching your every move, waiting to find a fault somewhere so he can figure out what to do with you. You can’t blame him. You will be the one sending him into action, after all, even if the higher-ups would review missions assigned to grade 1 sorcerers and special grade sorcerers. Of course he’d need some time to figure out whether or not you’re trustworthy.

Not that his opinion on the subject matters to you. You’re not the type of person who needs other to like you. You don’t even need him to trust you. All he has to do is let you do your job.

Everything else is futile.

It is no surprise that the first few weeks at your job are slow. The end of summer and the beginning of fall are always quiet periods for sorcerers, and as a result, you don’t have many missions to hand out just yet. The few, low-level ones available in Tokyo are systematically claimed by Gojo before you can look into them, as training for his students.

“Kids gotta learn somehow, right?” he tells you with a grin the first time it happens.

He’s just waltzed into your classroom and he’s leaning over the desk, elbow conveniently resting on the mission files. You try not to think about how brazenly handsome he is right now, even when he is openly provoking you. You stare at his bandages, right where his eyes must be. He may be smiling at you, but there is no sincerity behind it, no joy, and that wasn’t really a question.

You shrug.

“Alright.”

The smile falters.

“Yeah? That’s alright with you?”

“Certainly. If you think these are good exercises for them, and if you plan on being there to supervise them, I don’t see any issue with it. Just return the files if there are any they can’t clear, and I’ll transfer them to the appropriate person.”

He tilts his head. Watching. Assessing.

“You should join us!” he exclaims cheerfully, smile back in its place, clapping his hands together. “The more, the merrier, isn’t that right?”

Oookay. He is testing you. The infuriating part of that is, you have no idea what he is testing you for, what he wants you to display — or fail to display. Trying to see if you’re good enough of a teacher? You have nothing to prove here, certainly not to someone who has been on the job for such a short time. Then again, you don’t see any harm in humoring him.

“No problem. Just let me know when you intend to take care of them, and I’ll be there.”

His smile widens, but you’re not sure if it means you’ve succeeded or failed his test.

“Good,” he hums. “I’ll be taking that, then.”

In one swift movement, he retrieves the files from your desk, and he walks away with them before you can say anything.

You roll your eyes — this whole song and dance are so unnecessary — but you don’t see any reason to stop him, so you just watch him leave. You catch him stopping in the doorway, turning back to look at you. The smile is still dancing on his face, all edge and teeth.

“You’re not what I expected.”

You stare at him just a moment longer, brow furrowing, before he vanishes and you’re left with nothing to look at.

‘Not what he expected’. You turn the sentence over in your mind a couple of times, trying to conjure up an image, a personality that would fit better for the role you’re supposed to play, but nothing comes up. You have two roles: teaching the future generation of sorcerers, and assigning missions. If doing one task can facilitate the other, there is no reason not to do it — and you find it even harder to comprehend why he wouldn’t have expected you to do just that.

You shake your head, willing his words out of your mind. You’ve never felt the need to meet anyone’s expectations, so why should you start now?

Taking kids to a cemetery for a mission seems in poor taste, but that’s not what you tell Gojo when he announces it as his first choice.

“The mission is for a number of grade four curses and a couple grade three,” you state instead, “but considering the spot, it’s likely more powerful ones went unnoticed. Are you sure that’s appropriate for first-years?”

“Well,” he answers, hands casually in his pockets, towering over you with all his height, “it will be good to see how adaptable they are and their abilities in the face of danger. Plus, they’ll have two guardian angels looking after them, won’t they?”

There’s that toothy smile again.

You still don’t know what it means.

“As long as you’re here, it will be fine, I guess” is what you end up answering him with a shrug.

This time, he doesn’t say anything as he leaves, doesn’t stop to look at you.

You suspect that you said exactly what he was expecting from you.

Contrary to popular belief, cemeteries don’t typically harbor powerful curses. The smaller ones are numerous, born out of loss and grief, but the bodies of non-sorcerers don’t take the pain they endured with them in the grave. They leave it all over their houses, leaking through the walls and ceilings, seeping through the cracks in the floor, cursing their loved ones.

Cemeteries remain clean.

The exception to that rule is a notable one. In any place where cursed energy accumulates for long enough, there is a risk for it to congregate to the point where strong curses can emerge. This slow growth means they learn to better hide themselves, and it makes them harder to spot and eliminate. In an ideal world, there would be a sorcerer expedition every other decade to ensure nothing big can develop, but sorcerer numbers being what they are, that is impossible to ensure. There is also a high likelihood that it would be useless anyway, a waste of time and resources, far too much firepower for the bunch of fly heads sorcerers would find.

Still, you keep an eye on the three, baby-faced first years, and chew on the inside of your cheek as they start to make their way through the alleys.

You don’t like this.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Gojo says lightly, next to you. “You’re a grade one sorcerer, aren’t you? There’s nothing more powerful than that here. I’d know it if there was.”

“My evaluation took place in Europe. I don’t know if I would have ranked that high, had I taken it here.”

“Aw, c’mon, if even you think you’re that weak, who’s going to believe you’re strong?”

The sentence surprises a chuckle out of you. A grade two sorcerer is nothing to turn your nose at, but you can’t say you’re shocked that the Satoru Gojo would equate that status to weakness. He is so far off the scale that he would break it altogether if it wasn’t for the convenient, murky ‘special grade’ title.

You look at him, find him already turned in your direction. His lips are parted in surprise. You don’t realize it, but you have somehow managed the feat of getting Gojo’s undivided attention. The Six Eyes are focused on you, dissecting you, taking you in. This is— new. People are predictable. It’s not always a bad thing, though it gets a little boring. You— you keep catching him off guard while doing things that seem completely natural to you.

For once, you’re the one who is smiling, and he’s stunned into silence.

“It doesn’t matter to me, whether or not people think I’m strong. All I care about is—”

Teeth reflected in a pupil. Muscles like lead. A hand raised in defense. Flesh that turns into mist, there one second, gone the next. Clicks like a laugh, coming from behind. ‘Morino Iori — 1954-2010’, splattered with blood. A curse with its head thrown back, an arm coming out of its open mouth, disappearing when it swallows. Tears dripping down from the chin to the ground, barely diluting the puddle of blood that has formed there.

The rest of your sentence is lost when you turn around and take off running.

There is a string of cursed energy pulling you in the right direction, one that found its way to you, one that the cursed technique engraved in your brain knew how to decode. You’re old enough not to question it, not to struggle with the vision, and following it comes as a second nature. Just as you get there, you see Sota rounding the corner slowly, looking around, squinting, searching for something he isn’t finding. Your fingers close around the weapon at your waist, withholding your cursed energy — for now.

To a non-sorcerer, you would appear to be holding nothing but a stick. A sorcerer would know it’s a cursed weapon, though most would not be able to figure out its use.

At least, not until the curse emerges from the fog, only two steps behind Sota. In a flash, you let cursed energy irrigate your weapon, and a blade of sheer energy appears. The stick is now a scythe.

It’s in poor taste, in a cemetery, but you don’t linger on that.

You’re between the boy and the curse before he can turn around. The curse’s abilities must allow it to hide its presence, would allow it to disappear back into nothingness a mere moment after the kill, but you don’t give it the opportunity to do that. The scythe cuts through it like butter, splitting it in two. The two halves haven’t yet hit the ground that you’ve already lowered your weapon, emptying it from cursed energy as soon as you’re done.

“Are you okay?” you ask Sota, turning around to face him as you anchor it back to your waist.

“Um,” he says. He doesn’t look scared, just mildly surprised. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“What happened to seeing his abilities in the face of danger?”

You bite your lip, glancing at Gojo. He is standing atop a headstone, balancing without any struggle and watching the two of you with unmistakable amusement.

“He freezes in the face of danger,” you answer.

Sota’s eyes go wide, and he turns away from you, shaking his head. He isn’t doing it for you, though, but for Gojo.

“That’s not true! I’ve exorcised curses before, you’ve seen me do it!”

He’s desperate to prove himself to his teacher, and something sinks within you. You don’t need a vision to tell you what will happen next.

“The kid’s got a point,” Gojo lets you know. “That precognition thing of yours, how accurate is it?”

There was a time when those words would have sent you reeling back. Even now, when you’re expecting them, you feel the blood withdrawing from your face as he speaks them. But you swallow, school your features. You know better now. Fighting now will only delay the inevitable. Gojo was standing next to you anyway. With the Six Eyes, he must know for certain that you hadn’t activated any sort of cursed technique when you took off running. That alone would be enough to make him suspicious, if he didn’t already doubt you.

Cassandra’s Bargain. Tell the truth, and save only those who believe you.

Unlike others, explaining the workings of your cursed technique doesn’t make it more effective — it makes it useless. If you try to tip the scale in your favor now, you will all pay a high price for it later.

You know what Gojo is implying, about your accuracy. Most people who have foresight see a number of futures. If he suspects you saw one in which Sota died, your actions must make sense to him.

“Enough to keep me safe,” you answer, tight-lipped.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s give the kid a fighting chance from now, what d’ya say?”

That’s not how it works, but it doesn’t matter. At least Sota gets to keep his arm — until next time.

What a waste.

“Of course,” you say with a nod.

You would do it again in a heartbeat if you had to, but you no longer feel threads of cursed energy, threads of fate, pulling you in one direction or the other. Oh, they’re all around you, and you’d know much more if you activated your cursed technique, but you know how it functions. That had to be the worst that could happen. Things should be fine now.

“Start running Sota, you’ve got some catching up to do!”

“Yes, Mr. Gojo, sir!” the kid replies, all but saluting. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Gojo’s laugh at that, as the kid takes off sprinting, couldn’t be more genuine.

You lean against the pristine Morino Iori headstone — it’s disrespectful, and you formulate a silent apology, but all you can do is hope they won’t mind. You’re exhausted, and yet the tension is keeping your body in hypervigilance, refusing to go away.

Gojo approaches you, hands in his pockets. The ghost of his usual smile is dancing on his lips. For once, though, it doesn’t feel mean-spirited.

“We have to save them if they need us,” he says, voice surprisingly soft, “but it’s as least as important that we teach them how to fend for themselves.

“I don’t disagree with that.”

This kind of reasoning just isn’t worth losing an arm over.

Gojo steps closer, leaning towards you, so close his nose is almost touching yours. You suck in a quick breath through your mouth. From up close, it’s much harder to ignore how handsome he is, even without seeing his eyes. You blame your accelerating heart rate on the fact that you’re in a high-stress kind of and you’re particularly pent-up at the moment. If your skin tingles when you feel his breath against it, it’s because of the cold. Must be. Whatever it is, you don’t let it show, and you hate that you’re finding it harder to breathe.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He’s said it before, but his voice is lower now, deeper, vibrating through your body, and something that you recognize all too well twists, deep in your abdomen.

Desire.

You don’t answer. You didn’t know what to say the first time, and you sure as fuck have no clue now — don’t know what he means, don’t know what you’ve done that you weren’t supposed to, don’t know if the interest in his voice betrays the same feelings rushing through you right now. So you glare at him until he laughs, light and airy, and takes a step back.

“If you need me, I’ll be on top of the temple, watching the kids.”

You wait for him to disappear between the tombs, keeping yourself still, too still, probably, to be inconspicuous, and it’s only once you’re sure he’s gone that you let yourself exhale very, very slowly. The urge to laugh at yourself bubbles inside you, because what the fuck is wrong with you? It’s not the right time, not the right place, and not even remotely the right person.

You’re fully aware of all of that, know it in the deepest parts of your soul, and yet your eyes still trail towards the temple. You could imagine that you’re seeing Gojo’s silhouette there, if you didn’t know better.

Except you do. You do.

When you look away, you know full well you’re doing it too pointedly.

You don’t get a chance to involve yourself in the Kyoto Goodwill Event. With the beginning of fall, files are starting to accumulate. Since you’re still getting your bearings in Tokyo and familiarizing yourself with the sorcerers you can send on missions, that is what you dedicate yourself to.

Or, well, that’s what you’re told.

You know that you’re more than capable of doing several things at once without botching any of them. Masamichi Yaga and Satoru Gojo are the ones who disagree. You’re called into Yaga’s office, and Gojo is already there, leaning against the wall behind him. For once, he isn’t wearing the bandages, but rectangular sunglasses. Even from behind them, you see the faint glow of his eyes, and it takes a lot — a lot more than it should — not to stare.

“The students taking part in this year’s event will be exclusively second and third-years. Satoru knows them well.”

“Yeah, and they’ve been training for a that for a while,” Gojo says without missing a beat. Where Yaga is stern and serious, his voice is relaxed and pleasant, lightening the mood without trying to. “The third-years have already won once, so they know what they’ve got to do for a repeat.”

That’s right. Tokyo won last year, under Gojo’s guidance, for the first time since… well, since he stopped competing himself, according to what you’ve heard.

“Satoru had already started putting this year’s strategy together by the time you joined Jujutsu Tech,” Yaga adds, trying his best to sound apologetic. “So there’s no need to concern yourself with that. It’s already well-oiled.”

As far as you’re concerned, the only thing that’s well-oiled here is this routine they’re performing, all for your sake. You click your tongue, not bothering to hide your annoyance, and watch as Yaga’s fingers curl, as Gojo’s chin lifts and the blueish glow focuses on you. There’s politics in the air, you can smell it, with a role you have to play. So they think, at least. Unfortunately, you lack knowledge when it comes to Japanese society, and you cannot quite identify what that role is.

To be fair, you also don’t care for it.

“Was it really necessary to waste all of our times with this charade?”

“I beg your pardon?” Yaga asks in response. His voice thunders dangerously. He’s warning you not to cross a line.

“If you don’t want me involved, you can just say so,” you answer with a shrug. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have missions to assign.”

You don’t wait for him to dismiss you to stand up, rolling your eyes once you have your back turned on them. How bland. You’ve never seen the point of engaging with this kind of theatrics when there are such greater things at play. Having you help the kids come up with a strategy of their own, going over the basics of planning, now that could have been interesting and helpful. It’s not that you doubt Gojo’s abilities in that domain, you don’t, but it is your specialty, and you’ve had to learn to survive with resources that are significantly more limited than his. Instead of doing that, in the name of whatever internal conflict is going on here, the kids have been deprived of that experience.

How boring.

Once the door has closed behind you, Gojo lowers his head, shoulders shaking. Yaga turns around, frowning, only to find him quietly laughing to himself.

“Told you she was a weird one,” he says once he’s caught his breath.

“Maybe,” Yaga mumbles, “but there must be a reason why she was placed here.”

Gojo hums. Outside the office, he follows your cursed energy. It has always been diffuse, fickle, fizzling out around you until it becomes hard to tell where it ends — even for him. Must have something to do with your cursed technique, but he hasn’t seen you use that yet. You go straight to your classroom, where you sit behind your desk to work, like you do every day until it’s late in the night.

Yaga is right, of course. There must be a reason. But you’re at least making it fun for him to figure out.

The Kyoto Goodwill Event does not go over well.

Maybe you should get some petty satisfaction from it, but there is none to be found, just a bitter taste in your mouth. Next to you, Utahime, the Kyoto school teacher, does not look up at the screens provided by Grade 1 sorcerer Mei Mei. She has her eyes on her hands, and she is nervously rubbing her fingers. In fact, while a few outsiders who have come to see the game for their own enjoyment exclaim at the students’ impressive moves, there is only one member of the schools who seems to be enjoying himself, and that is Principal Gakuganji.

Kyoto is methodical in their approach. On an individual level, you suspect that Kyoto is far ahead of them, but as a team, they have come up with the perfect strategy — at least against the Tokyo team. They have done their research, know everything there is to know about their adversaries. Then again, having one member of the Zen’in and one member of the Kamo family on their side, even if neither have access to their families’ historical techniques, must have been quite the help to gather that information.

You don’t see them doing anything revolutionary — if anything, a team such as theirs could have been composed hundreds of years ago — but they have no need for it, not with how brutal they are willing to be, leaving devastation in their wake. They’re prepared, efficient, collected. They’re also quick, having adapted to this modified version of capture the flag, one that involves curses, without hesitation.

Tokyo defends to the best of their abilities. They prove themselves especially capable when it comes to improvising on the spot, which means that Gojo’s teaching works on that front is working, at least. The match ends up closer than Kyoto must have been hoping for, but it doesn’t change the end result.

It’s a resounding victory for Kyoto.

“Well,” Gakuganji is the first to speak as it ends, “that was quite the beautiful display of sportsmanship, don’t you think, Satoru?”

You glance at Gojo, who is sitting next to you. There’s real anger in the way his jaw tenses at the question, but by the time you blink, he’s already relaxed it.

“That was really impressive!” he laughs, throwing his head back and clapping enthusiastically. “They’ve progressed so much since last year, haven’t they? I never imagined they would be able to come this far.”

You press your lips together at the barely veiled insult.

“Indeed, that is what realized potential looks like,” Gakuganji replies, stroking his beard. “Such a shame to see your promising pupils crashing and burning… Although that’s not the first time you’ve seen that happen, is it?”

That is the least charitable way of looking at what happened there, but it is impossible to argue with the facts: Kyoto bested Tokyo. You can’t say you appreciate the way he’s talking about your students, but you don’t think it’s your place to say anything.

Gojo’s smile thins.

“Well, I’ll be looking forward to the individual tournament tomorrow,” Gakuganji adds, standing up. “In the meantime, Yaga, I assume you have planned for accommodations, and all this action has given me quite the appetite.”

He leaves the room with an unmistakably pleased smile, Yaga getting up after him. He gestures at Gojo to join them, and he’s not hiding his scowl when he stands up, unfolding his long limbs slowly. The other sorcerers follow suit, Utahime included, though she is sporting a somber expression too. You’re the only one to linger in the room, in no rush to suffer through more of Gojo and Gakuganji’s quips.

When you do leave, you stop by the infirmary, where you find Ieiri cursing through her teeth as she works on the students. Even though several of them are fully healed, they’re keeping themselves huddled up together, shoulders hanging low, eyes on the ground.

Defeated.

“Professor Gojo has already come by,” one of them informs you without bothering to look at you. “We’re fine. We’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will,” you confirm, and you see flashes of hope on their faces, mistaking your confidence for a prophecy. Truth be told, you haven’t seen anything for the next day, but this is often the best way of using the aura that surrounds you. “But you did well today. They saw a weak spot, and they exploited it. As long as you learn from it, there is no shame in this defeat.”

That deflates them, and Ieiri snickers, glancing at you with a grin.

“Quite the pep talk you’re giving here.’

She’s right. You’ve never been good at this.

“You’re all excellent sorcerers, but even you can be defeated by people who are not as good as you, provided they’ve prepared adequately. That is what you need to take away from today. Conversely, you will be able to defeat much stronger adversaries than you, with the right approach.”

Some look thoughtful at your words — most still look just as dejected as they were when you walked in.

“We’ll work on that once this tournament is over. For now, all you need to do is rest. You’ll prevail tomorrow.”

Smiles finally break on their faces, and you take that as your cue to leave, before you can say something that would ruin it again.

You’re in no rush to join the other sorcerers just yet, so you wander through the hallways, intending to go back to the classroom that’s become your refuge in the school. You’re one corner away from it, when the window that leads to the outside slides open, and Satoru Gojo jumps in, right in front of you. It is the second floor, yet you can’t muster surprise.

He shoots you a smirk that knocks the air out of you, but it’s nothing compared to what he does next. He looks back towards the window, looking displeased, and that’s when you notice voices calling for him — Kyoto students and low-level sorcerers. You’re about to look down when he catches you. He wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you away, presses the other on the wall, next to your head, and you freeze. He’s close, and everything you’ve been feeling for weeks at this point comes rushing back in.

“You know what’s a great way of getting people’s attention off you?” he asks, smirk even wider, if possible.

“Wh—”

Then his lips are on yours.

He tastes sweet, you’re surprised to find.

It’s playful, the way he kisses you, a press of his mouth against yours, stolen, daring. It’s also all you need to admit to yourself how badly you’ve been wanting this. That’s why you’re the one who wraps your arms around his neck, kissing him back harder. He lets out a surprised noise into you, maybe a chuckle, but he certainly doesn’t fight it, even if he wasn’t planning on it. In fact, it’s quite the contrary.

He reaches greedily for your hips, pulling you to him and keeping you pressed against his hard chest. When you part your lips, there is not a moment of hesitation on his part before he pushes his tongue in, swirling it against yours. You crane your neck to give him better access to your mouth, all while holding on tight to his neck to lower him towards you. Your back is against the wall, your body arched a way that would be uncomfortable if you weren’t so hot all over, set ablaze by his touch.

When he pushes his thigh between your legs, flexing it so it rubs against you just right, your knees buckle under you. It doesn’t help that, in this position, his semi-hard cock is pressed against your abdomen, and that awakens a very special kind of hunger within you.

There is no softness to the kiss or to the way your bodies move together, just pure lust. Wetness is pooling between your legs already, in anticipation for more, more of him, more of his body, more of his touch. He’s so tall, it’s like he’s everywhere, his scent surrounding you, his body caging you against the wall effortlessly, his mouth demanding more and more of you. You roll your hips against his, trapping his cock between your bodies, and he hisses into you, his grip turning bruising — not that you mind.

“Tease,” he manages to mumble as he takes a quick breath.

There’s no room for any more words before he reattaches his mouth to yours, almost biting into you, and fuck it feels good. His lips are soft, but that must be the only thing that is soft about this kiss. He moves your skirt out of the way, one hand coming to grab your thigh so he can lift it up, and that is when your eyes snap open, some reason coming back to your lust-filled brain at last.

“Wait,” you mumble, “not here.” Your eyes dart around the dark hallway — empty, but far too in the open for your liking. Problem is, your body is aching with how much you want him, and, even if it would be the smart thing to do, you can’t bring yourself to stop now. “Classroom,” you conclude, pulling him with you.

He lets out a breathless laugh, but follows. The second the door is closed, he has you against the wall again, this time with his chest pressed to your back while his lips find your neck, teeth pulling at the skin mercilessly before dragging his tongue on the sensitive area to soothe it. You let out a sigh, but it comes out much louder than you’d intended, almost a moan, and you have to lift a hand up to cover your mouth. He snickers, but doesn’t waste any more time on teasing you.

Instead, he snakes his hand into your skirt, and this time, you don’t stop him. Long fingers move past the hem of your panties to brush against your clit and you jump, biting your lower lip to keep quiet. His lips stretch into a smile on your neck.

“You’re so fucking wet already,” he comments by your ear, rubbing his fingers over your pussy lips, purposefully not entering you.

You groan in frustration, and push your ass against his now rock-hard cock. The low moan he lets out in surprise is delightful to hear.

“As if you’re one to talk,” you reply.

“Is that how you want to play it?”

Before you can answer him, he easily pushes two fingers inside you. They’re long and they fill you so well, you have to focus every fiber of you that’s not lost in pleasure on keeping quiet. Gojo’s free to take his fingers out, then plunge them into you once more, and you can’t help clenching needily around them.

“See,” he says, and oh his low voice, the way it makes his chest vibrate against your back, it all goes straight to your core, making you gush around his fingers some more, “that’s expected of me, ‘cause everyone knows I’m sorcerer society’s problem child. Aren’t you supposed to be the good girl?”

It’s no easy task to think with his fingers pumping in and out of you relentlessly, but even through the haze of pleasure, the words make you frown.

“Says— Ah— Says who?”

He uses the heel of his palm to press against your clit, and you’d conclude that he is actively trying to render you speechless if pleasure wasn’t shooting through you like electricity.

“Hmm, I don’t know, I’d say you’re being pretty good right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Would you— fuck— would you stop talking and just fuck me already?” you still manage to bite out.

He laughs again, delighted and maybe a little fond, but he stills his fingers inside you. You get some time to catch your breath, and use whatever self-control you have left not to try and fuck yourself on his hand.

“You sure?”

“As long as you’re clean, I’m safe,” you say — maybe not your smartest moment, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

He pulls his fingers out, and you glance at him over your shoulder. He’s still wearing the bandages over his eyes, but his jaw is uncharacteristically taut, and his movements lack their usual fluidity. You grin. Good to see you’re having an effect on him too. It becomes even more obvious when he pulls out his cock, hard and veiny. You’re not surprised by how big he is, and you find yourself licking your lips, clenching around air at the prospect of what’s to come. Shit, you cannot wait to have it inside you, stretching you out.

“I’ve been wanting to mess up that skirt for weeks,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, as he pushes it out of the way and lowers your panties.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you ask with a click of your tongue. He is still talking way more than he should.

The smirk he gives you should concern you. He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance, and then, instead of penetrating you, as you’re frozen in anticipation, slides his length against your pussy lips, sending jolts of pleasure through you, but not giving you what you need right now. You whimper pleadingly, not catching yourself fast enough to keep yourself silent. You worry that he will keep teasing, but it appears he has reached his limits too, because soon he is pushing the tip of his cock inside you, and fuck, it’s even better than you’d imagined.

You hear him grunt behind you as he starts pushing himself inside you at a devilishly slow pace. You expected him to do it all at once, so you turn around once more, ready to throw another quip at him for his relentless teasing, but the words die on your lips when you see his face. His teeth are planted in his lower lip, and his face is contorted in a pleasure that he is clearly trying to reign in, his breathing quick and shallow, his chest heaving. The sight leaves you breathless, so you stay quiet.

“So fucking tight,” he all but whines as he keeps pushing himself inside you.

He bottoms out at last, and he stills for a few seconds, all so you can adjust and not at all because he is going to come too fast if he can’t get used to how warm and welcoming you are around him first. The discreet groans he was letting out turn into a full moan when you move forward, pulling him out of you, then back, sheathing him inside you completely once more. You’d keep moving, but he grips your hips tightly, fingers digging into the flesh, to stop any movement you could make.

It doesn’t last long though, because after that, he starts moving himself, and the pace he sets it merciless. The slapping of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the empty room, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when you can barely think, not when your knees are failing you and his hands on hips are the only thing keeping you standing, not when tiny whimpers keep spilling past your lips, no matter how much you try to keep them in.

“Couldn’t be even just a little patient, hm?” he asks you. It’s undercut by the gasps that interrupt him, the pleasured moans that escape him too.

This time, you don’t find anything to answer. The angle, with you bent over, hands on the wall in a desperate attempt to stay on your feet, makes you feel so, so full that you can’t think straight. Pleasure is coursing through you with each time he hammers into you, and you clench around him helplessly each time he pulls out. He’s fast, relentless, but if the way his moans keep getting more-pitched is any indication, he’s close to reaching his climax. You’re not far yourself, you just— just need— just a little—

One of his hands abandons your hip, and you would stumble forward if he wasn’t holding you so firmly. His free hand finds its way to your clit, and pinches it expertly, just as he snaps his hips into you harder than he has so far, spilling himself inside you. The orgasm hits you like a thousand volts, and your hips jerk back uncontrollably, whole body shaking, as you ride the wave of it on his cock until it ends. Ah, you needed this so badly that, as it recedes, you can only feel content, the pleasure it gave you still tingling in your body.

For a while, the sounds of you and Gojo’s panting are all that fill the room. Finally, he pulls his sensitive, softening cock out a you with a hiss, and you ignore the squelching sound it makes. He tucks it back into his pants, and you finally find it in yourself to pull your panties back up, readjusting your skirt. Your hair is messy from the kissing earlier, but apart from that, you’re still rather presentable — you hope.

“Didn’t think you had that in you,” Gojo comments. He’s still catching his breath.

“At what point are you going to admit that you’ve just misjudged me?”

He laughs, but the smirk he shoots you, hands in his pockets, standing a few feet away from you, is proof that the distance between the two of you is back to what it was before. You don’t find yourself minding all that much. This is as good a way as any other to release tension, and you’re more relaxed than you have in weeks. The lightness of his voice tells you the same is true for him. Seems like you both got the same thing out of it, and that’s fine by you, even if it doesn’t bring you any closer.

“Once I know I was wrong,” he says. It sounds ominous, but, well, if he wants to keep clinging to that image he’s made of you, that is his problem. So far, you’d argue that it has rather worked in your favor.

You shrug.

“If you hadn’t felt that way, Tokyo would have won today,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

His smile widens.

“Guess we’ll have to see about that next year, hm?”

“I guess we will.”

Silence grows between the two of you. You normally wouldn’t mind. Now, you feel the need to say something.

“This should stay between us,” you finally manage to say. Sorcerer society can be— harsh, on women, to say the least. The last thing you need is for someone to know you’ve fucked your coworker. You’d be branded as a whore, and while you find this all horribly regressive, you’d still rather not have to deal with the fallout.

Gojo hums in agreement.

“I’m not really the type to want all my business out there either,” he tells you in a surprising display of sincerity. It’s ruined when he smirks and adds, “Next time, I think I should fuck you on your desk.”

You scoff, but you know you both hear your lack of denial loud and clear. You’re not opposed to there being a next time, provided this doesn’t get out. By the look of things, it would be mutually beneficial.

You don’t bother to answer him before you open the door, glancing outside. No one in sight. He would have known if that had been the case, of course, but you’re still relieved. You slip outside unceremoniously — it’s pretty clear you’re done here anyway — and he does nothing to hold you back.

Later, after you’ve taken a quick shower in the facilities available at the high school and you’re sat by Ieiri around the dinner table, Gakuganji can barely hide his smugness.

“Where you have been off to?” he asks Gojo, his tone making it clear just how pleased with himself he is. “Licking your wounds?”

“Something like that,” Gojo answers lightly, and you’re careful to keep your eyes on your food.

The conversation fades into the background. Your thoughts move to the upcoming solo tournament, the next day, to your students, to the missions you have to assign. And then, for the first time in forever, you find yourself distracted by something that isn’t work-related. You welcome the respite it gives you.

On your desk, next time, huh?

You could work with that.

thank you all for reading and getting all the way here! interactions are what keeps me writing, so please comment/reblog/send an ask to feed your author and have my eternal gratitude!

tagging people who expressed interest in the first chapter: @sapphiccloud @saccharine-nectarine @calypsothegoddess @aspiring-bookworm @aerismonia

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #my writing

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starkeymeow · 3 months ago

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plot ── after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

content ── longer than usual, rafe making his decision, the start of the interview process for rafe, next chapter being a trip down memory lane again !!

authors note ── need to make a masterlist for this asap. anyway if ud like to be part of the tag list, feel free to lmk thru replies, dms, anons, or reblogs !! <3

main masterlist | ending vote | previous next

the knock is barely there, hesitant, almost like she’s second-guessing it before her knuckles even meet the wood.

rafe hears it. of course he does. the house is too quiet for him not to. he hears the way sarah shifts her weight, the way she uncrosses her arms just to hesitate, just to hover her hand over the door before finally knocking again, this time clearing her throat to force the words out.

“rafe?”

nothing.

he doesn’t answer. doesn’t move. doesn’t even look up from the floor where his hands are braced against his knees, his head hanging low, eyes unfocused. his body feels heavy, like if he moves too fast, everything will shatter around him. so he stays still. tries to breathe.

but breathing only makes the thoughts louder.

his father’s voice still rings in his head, looping, repeating, cutting into him like a dull blade, dragging out the pain. he should’ve known. should’ve seen the signs. but now it’s done. she’s gone. not in a way where he can chase after her, not in a way where she can be found. because she’s here, she’s somewhere on this fucking island, and yet she’s not.

she doesn’t remember.

he swallows hard, lifting a shaky hand to rake through his hair before suddenly moving, jerking forward to grab his laptop off the desk. his hands fumble over the keys, movements rushed, impatient, his heart hammering as he types it in.

lucuna inc.

his fingers hit enter, and the screen floods with results.

his eyes scan too fast, jumping from line to line, trying to make sense of it, but everything is vague. legal jargon. privacy policies. standard corporate bullshit. no real answers.

then he sees it.

an official website. an address. a process.

his pulse spikes, his throat tightens.

the floor creaks outside his door. sarah shifts again, her voice quieter this time. careful. like she’s not sure if she wants to ask, “rafe, you in there?”

he doesn’t answer. his breathing is uneven, shallow, his thoughts running miles ahead of him. but he stays frozen, eyes locked on the address, his mind spinning through every possibility, every outcome, every what if—

then his gaze flickers downward to the floor. to the letter.

the same fucking letter he read the time his dad told him. the one he nearly ripped in half because it felt like it was tearing him apart anyway.

he stares at it, jaw clenching. and suddenly, everything clicks into place.

he moves fast. too fast. pushing off the bed and grabbing a backpack from the floor, yanking open drawers, rifling through belongings, shoving things inside with no real thought, just motion. just impulse.

“rafe?”

sarah again. closer now. firmer. she knocks harder, the sound breaking through the frantic energy building inside his room. but before she can say another word, the door swings open.

she takes a step back, startled, arms still crossed over her chest, eyes wide as she looks at him. and he looks . . . not okay.

his hair is a mess, his t-shirt wrinkled like he’s been in it for days, his movements sharp, tense, like he’s running on nothing but adrenaline.

“what the fuck?” she snaps, eyebrows furrowed.

rafe doesn’t answer. doesn’t look at her. just pushes past, the strap of his backpack slung over one shoulder, his mind already somewhere else.

she follows a step behind, her voice picking up. “rafe—”

but he’s already storming down the stairs. already grabbing his keys off the counter. already yanking open the front door and walking straight out.

the drive is a blur.

the kind where his vision tunnels and the world outside barely registers, just flashes of green, of pavement, of houses he’s passed a thousand times but never really seen. his hands grip the wheel so tight his knuckles burn. the gps speaks, but he barely hears it, just follows blindly, his mind elsewhere, his chest tight with something suffocating.

but then he pulls up, and the building is just there. like it’s always been. like he should’ve seen it before. like it was hiding in plain sight.

nothing about it stands out. it’s gray, lifeless, just another cold, concrete structure tucked into some forgotten corner of the island.

but this is it.

he kills the engine, the silence swallowing him whole. his fingers tremble slightly as he reaches for the passenger seat, unzipping the backpack, pushing past clothes and clutter until he finds it. the letter.

he pulls it out, unfolds it, skims the words again, even though he already knows what it says. even though it’s burned into his fucking brain. his jaw tenses, and his grip tightens. he stuffs the letter back into the bag, zips it shut. then he steps out of the car, slams the door behind him, locks it, and walks straight to the entrance.

the moment rafe steps inside, the air shifts. but it smells clean. not like bleach or cheap disinfectant, but like something expensive. fresh, sleek, the kind of sterile that doesn’t feel suffocating, just carefully curated. there’s a faint undertone of something citrusy, maybe a diffuser somewhere, keeping everything from feeling too clinical.

nothing about this place screams hidden or secretive, yet it’s tucked away in a corner of the island he swears he’s driven past before without ever noticing.

maybe that was the point.

his hands find his pockets as he stands just inside the entrance, scanning the room. the lobby is spacious, quiet, with a few people scattered in chairs along the walls. none of them look particularly happy to be here.

they hold boxes in their laps. nothing dramatic, no duffel bags or suitcases, just small things. a sweater draped over the edge of a box. a framed photo peeking out. little remnants of lives being left behind.

they look miserable, like they’re questioning everything. like they got this far and don’t know whether to stay or run. rafe knows the feeling.

his fingers flex in his pockets. he could leave. he could turn right back around, walk out the door, drive home, forget he ever found this place. maybe that would be the smarter move. maybe—

his eyes flick to the hallway past the front desk, catching a glimpse of someone through a cracked door.

a young woman. nothing striking about her, just another face, but it’s how she carries herself that sticks. she’s smiling, chatting with someone behind her, this man in a white coat, a doctor, it looks like. he’s escorting her into the lobby, his expression professional but kind, and when they reach the desk, they shake hands.

her smile falters slightly, but she thanks him. then she turns, lowering her head as she walks past rafe, slipping out the door.

his jaw tenses, and the doctor lingers. he’s gathering papers from the receptionist, nodding, murmuring something quiet, polite. but when he looks up, his gaze lands on rafe. for a moment, they just stare at each other. rafe doesn’t move. doesn’t blink.

the doctor studies him, just briefly, before tilting his head slightly, almost like he’s saying ‘we get a lot of people like you’ or ‘go on, come see for yourself.’

then, just like that, he turns and disappears into the hall.

rafe swallows. his throat feels tight, his pulse too loud. his gaze drops to the floor, the thoughts creeping in again, the uncertainty, the questions, but then he takes a step forward, up to the front desk.

his shoes make soft sounds against the polished floors. the receptionist looks up, and he offers her a nod, his fingers still in his pockets as he stands there for a moment, watching her, like he’s unsure of how to begin, “hey.”

the woman behind the desk smiles softly, her expression calm, welcoming, as if she’s seen this uncertainty a thousand times before.

he hesitates, shifting from one foot to the other, glancing around the room. his fingers tap nervously against his pockets. “i, uh . . . i don’t know what to— i mean, what do i . . . what’s the process here? what do i have to do?”

she doesn’t blink. she simply nods, reaching forward to slide a form toward him. “you’ll need to fill this out first. it’s just basic information: name, contact, and a brief reason for your interest.” she gestures toward the form, her voice calm. “from there, we’ll go over the details of our services and see if this is the right fit for you.”

he takes a breath, turns, and heads toward a chair to complete the paperwork.

a soft knock at the door, followed by the sound of it creaking open. the doctor from earlier enters, his expression is unreadable as he makes his way to his seat, sitting down at his desk with practiced ease. he gives rafe a nod, his eyes steady but polite.

“how can i help you today?”

rafe doesn’t answer immediately. he shifts in his seat, the discomfort almost palpable, as if the words are caught somewhere between his heart and his throat. he stares at the doctor, unsure how to even begin, unsure if this is really what he wants.

“i need to erase someone,” he says slowly, the words tasting foreign as they leave his mouth. he swallows, feeling the tension in his chest tighten. “i think . . . someone i think i need to forget.”

rafe's knee bounces subtly beneath the desk, his palms pressing into his thighs as if trying to ground himself. his fingers twitches, restless, before one hand lifts, dragging across the short buzz of his hair, then dropping heavily onto his knee again.

he can feel the doctor watching him, but he doesn’t lift his gaze until the man shifts slightly in his chair, tapping a pen against the desk.

“someone you think you need to forget?”

rafe finally glances up, his eyes flickering toward the man’s name tag before anything else. dr. ellis hartwell. the name barely registers before he looks away again, exhaling sharply through his nose.

hartwell lets out a short, almost amused breath, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “you can’t just think in a place like this,” he says, his tone not unkind but firm. “decisions here aren’t made on a whim. they’re permanent, son.”

rafe clenches his jaw, his fingers curled into his pants as he presses his elbows harder into his thighs, still not meeting the doctor’s gaze.

“so,” hartwell continues, tilting his head slightly, studying him. “are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

rafe swallows, the motion visible in his throat. his adam’s apple bobs as his lips part slightly. “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t,” he mutters.

hartwell hums, watching him carefully, but he doesn’t challenge the statement outright. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “so tell me, rafe. who is it? who’s the person you need to forget?”

“my ex-girlfriend. y/n.”

it comes out rough, like it’s been lodged in his throat for too long, finally ripped free. hartwell gives a slow nod, his expression unreadable.

rafe needs something to break the moment, so he clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “uh, i . . . i brought all the stuff in my room that’s hers. or related to her in any way. like the website said to.”

he reaches down, grabbing the backpack he’d stuffed full before leaving the house. it’s heavier than he remembered, or maybe it just feels heavier now that he’s here, actually doing this. he places it on the desk, the zipper already partially open, revealing a glimpse of what’s inside.

but hartwell pulls it closer, opening it further, and the first thing he pulls out is a hoodie. it’s black, slightly oversized, the scent of you still clinging to the fabric even after all this time. rafe watches as the doctor sets it aside, then reaches in again, pulling out a bundle of movie and concert tickets, all bent at the edges, ink slightly faded but still legible.

then there’s a tube of lip gloss, uncapped, sticky residue smeared along the rim.

a bracelet, delicate and silver, the kind that jingled softly whenever you moved.

a teddy bear, small, worn at the seams, one eye slightly looser than the other. a stupid claw machine prize he won you after spending way too much money trying to get it. you had joked that it was ugly, but you never let go of it, kept it at rafe’s house whenever you slept over like it was your child.

he sees the polaroid last.

it’s buried under everything else, tucked between the frayed bracelet and the ticket stubs, almost like it had been placed there on purpose, meant to be forgotten along with the rest. but as he shifts through the pile, his fingers brush the glossy surface, and he pulls it free, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

he recognizes you immediately.

his reaction is subtle, barely noticeable, just a brief flicker of something behind his eyes, a tightening of his jaw that lasts all of a second. but rafe notices. he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, but hartwell can feel the way his presence shifts, the way his shoulders stiffen slightly, like he knows what the doctor is thinking.

hartwell studies the image. it’s slightly curled at the edges, like it’s been handled too much, carried around, kept close. you’re mid-laugh, head tilted back slightly, hair caught in the wind. the sun is behind you. your eyes are squinting, like you’re looking at something, or someone. someone behind the camera. someone who had been important enough to keep this picture.

he exhales slowly, setting the polaroid back down on the desk, his fingers lingering for just a moment before he finally lets it go.

this isn’t the first time he’s seen something like this. people come in all the time, desperate to forget, to carve someone out of their memories like they were never there to begin with. but there’s always something left behind. the ghost of a touch, a name that lingers on the tip of the tongue, a song that plays at the wrong moment.

but when it’s a duo, when both people come in separately, wanting the same thing, it always makes him wonder. how bad did it get? what was the final breaking point? was it a slow unraveling, or did everything snap all at once?

he never asks. that’s what the tapes are for.

hartwell looks back at rafe, who is still staring at a fixed spot on the desk. his jaw is locked tight, the muscle in his cheek twitching slightly. his fingers grip his knee like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the moment, like if he lets go, he might change his mind.

but he doesn’t.

he watches, silent, as hartwell zips the backpack shut and sets it on the floor beside his desk.

then, after a pause, the doctor folds his hands together and says, carefully, “how soon would you like to start the procedure?”

the recorder blinks red, capturing everything, the hum of the fluorescent lights, the scratch of a pen against paper, the subtle shift of weight in a chair. rafe feels the tightness in his chest. the room is too quiet, which only makes it worse. every sound feels magnified, every pause heavier than it should be.

he sits forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped loosely between his knees. his thumb rubs over his knuckles, a nervous habit. he doesn’t look at hartwell. instead, he stares at the table, at the edge of the recorder, at the wall behind him. anywhere but at the man sitting across from him.

hartwell, patient as ever, adjusts the microphone slightly before speaking. “state the full name of the person you wish to erase.”

rafe breathes in, slow and controlled, before finally forcing the words out. his voice is quieter than before, almost reluctant, “y/n y/l/n.”

hartwell nods, jotting something down. no reaction, no shift in expression, just a simple acknowledgment before moving on, “how long have you known her?”

rafe leans back slightly, rubbing a hand over his buzzed hair. his fingers trail down the back of his neck before dropping to his lap. he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “a . . . few years.”

vague. dismissive. but hartwell doesn’t push him for more, just watches, waiting.

rafe rubs his jaw, his thumb dragging over his bottom lip. he exhales sharply, shifts in his seat, and mutters, “met her before one of my parties.”

his brows furrow like the memory is distant, something he hasn’t let himself think about in a while. then he scoffs lightly, shaking his head. “stupid. shouldn’t have even been there.”

his hands press against his thighs, gripping the fabric of his jeans. his shoulders tense slightly before he shakes his head again, exhaling. “neither should she.”

hartwell tilts his head slightly, pen poised. “why do you say that?”

rafe’s fingers tap against his knee, restless. his jaw clenches before he exhales, voice quieter now, like he’s half-talking to himself. “i don’t . . . i don’t know. i just remember noticing something.” his hands rub together slowly, like he’s trying to make sense of the thought before saying it out loud.

“she stopped for gas before heading to my party. found out she didn’t even need to, tank was already almost full. but she still put in a little more. just in case.”

his eyes flicker toward the table, lost in the memory, “guess i just . . . thought that was kinda her. planning ahead. making sure nothing could go wrong.”

his voice has that faraway quality, like he’s seeing it all play out in his head. hartwell watches him closely, taking note of the shift in his expression, the way his fingers still against his knee for just a second before moving again.

then, after a beat—

“what was your relationship to her?”

rafe stops fidgeting. his knee, which had been bouncing slightly, stills. his throat bobs as he swallows. “i was her boyfriend.” his voice is flat, controlled. there’s something clipped about the way he says it, like he doesn’t trust himself to say anything more than that.

hartwell studies him for a moment, pen hovering above the notepad before he writes something down. “describe her in a few words.”

rafe’s fingers flex against his knee. he blinks down at the table, his expression unreadable. “driven,” he mutters after a long pause. his jaw shifts, like he’s clenching his teeth. then—“stubborn.”

his mouth twitches slightly, almost like a smile, but it fades before it fully forms. his fingers rub together absently, his voice quieter now, edged with something unspoken. “she thinks too much. always in her head about shit. like, always planning ahead, always preparing for the worst.”

his brows furrow slightly, frustration creeping into his tone not at her, necessarily, but at the memory of how it used to be. “but she’s . . . she cares. too much, probably. about everything. about people.” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “even when she shouldn’t.”

there’s a beat of silence. hartwell watches him, waiting to see if he’ll say more.

rafe doesn’t.

hartwell makes a note. the recorder continues to blink red, steady as ever. he doesn’t even linger on rafe’s last words, doesn’t acknowledge the weight of them. he simply nods, his expression neutral, and flips to a new page in his notebook. the scratch of the pen against paper is the only sound in the room for a moment, apart from the steady hum of the recorder.

then, without looking up—

“tell me about your happiest memory with her.”

a/n: gonna write the next chapter out with whatever he answers with so we get a flashback with y/n in it finally. SORRY if this is so much of rafe, i just really dont like rushing thru scenes when ik i can do more. this is a filler chapter if anything 😓

@luvrclub @nemesyaaa @flvredcas @montanajgbn @f4dedtouch @psychocitylights @faephoria @annaconscience @congratsloserr @rafekisser @grandfartvoid @vampiriito @countryclubwhore @yktayy9669 @lilou0401 @gemininormouzz @k4yr14 @pinkamenap1e @nelo321 @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @dreamybabbyy @peachyparkerr @drewstarkeytruelove @wtfisastiles @adoreeyou @rafestar @nymphetkoo

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mononijikayu · 5 months ago

Text

don’t they know it's the end of the world (cause you don’t love me anymore) — geto suguru.

You blinked, the knot in your chest tightening as you took in his face, his solemn expression that didn’t match the usual carefree look he wore. Was he already saying goodbye in some way? You shook your head slowly, the smile coming to your lips, though it carried a mixture of sadness and certainty. "Sugu, how could you even think about that?… I could never forget about you." “It can happen, you know. Life happens.” He smiles in a small timid manner. Your voice was soft, but there was no doubt in it. "No, you’re wrong. You’re the most important person in my life. How could I forget someone like you?"

GENRE: alternate universe - canon divergence;

WARNING/S: gen, afab! reader, angst, fluff, friendship, friends to lovers, eventual romance, slice of life, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, sad ending, physical touch, pet names (sugu, buttercup) mentioned character death, depression, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, internal conflict, post-hidden inventory at the end, letting go, break up, meeting each other again, depiction of childhood, depiction of romance, depiction of internal conflict, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, depiction of depression, mention of internal conflict, non! sorcerer reader, sorcerer! suguru;

WORD COUNT: 10k words

NOTE: im soon back at university, so im rush writing everything and so im exhausted all the time too. so if im not updating, its because im probably regretting my life decisions. though, in any case, i will still publish as much as i can. im about two/three finished with valentines fics, but im tortured by sukuna because i have a standard with him and i can't escape it. anyway, i wrote this for suguru's birthday. he would have been thirty-five today!!! i hope you enjoy this fic!!! i love you all!!! see you on the sixth!!! <3

main masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

══════════════════

IF YOU COULD DESCRIBE WONDER, IT WOULD BE BEING BY SUGURU’S SIDE. No one else could understand it, you like to think. What the two of you had, it was certainly a language made for two. It was a life that was built for the purpose of being known by you both. And you like to think that he feels the same way too.

You and Suguru had been together since you were kids, bound by an unspoken connection that neither of you ever questioned. Because, there was nothing to question about it. Nor could words even describe it all. It was too unique, too intriguing. And yet, it only belonged to the two of you.

It all started on a warm afternoon at the school playground, where laughter and shrieks filled the air as children ran around in endless games of tag. It was a long while ago, and yet it felt like yesterday to you. You could feel your eyes twitching as you watched from where you stood, permeating with desire and anxiety.

You had been standing alone for a while, just a bit near the jungle gym, watching all the kids giggle and run about, with the zeal of youth dashing along with them.

As you watched them there with eager eyes, you kept wishing you could join in too, you wished you could run amok with joy too. But that heavy weight of fear blossoms your hesitation. It held you back from a lot of things, including making friends.

Yet, why wouldn’t you feel like this? You were new in town, and you didn’t know these kids. You didn't know any life lived in this place before you had come. Everything was new for you, as much as you were sure it would also be new to them.

How would they even react to you, knowing you aren’t a familiar face they were already comfortable seeing? How would you interact with them, anyway? It’s not like you could just jump in and smile and just jump in easily? This is a sea and if you plunge so deep, you could drown. And you didn’t want that to happen. Not here, not when you were starting a new life.

But then, that’s when he found you.

"Why are you just standing here?" a voice asked.

You turned to see a boy with dark hair, a little messy from running around, and warm, curious eyes. He wasn’t out of breath, despite the wild chase of tag that had just ended. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his tiny shorts, and he looked at you like he was trying to figure you out.

"I….I don’t know how to approach them." you muttered, kicking at a loose pebble. "I’m not sure how to come and tell them I want to play too, so I….."

Suguru blinked, then without hesitation, he grinned and reached out a hand to you. "I see…..Then let’s play together! I don’t care if you’re slow. I’ll just run at your speed, if that would make it easier on you."

Your eyes swiftly widened, surprised by the easy kindness in his voice. "Really?"

"Yeah!" he said enthusiastically. "I’ll even let you tag me first."

That was the beginning of everything, that was certain.

During recess, the world belonged to just the two of you. You ran hand in hand across the playground, unbothered by who was faster or slower. You hummed little tunes under your breath, and he giggled at the way you always skipped a step ahead before doubling back to him. You hopped, he ran, and sometimes, in the joy of it all, you tripped over each other’s feet and tumbled into the dirt.

And if one of you scraped a knee? The other sat down beside them without hesitation. If you fell, Suguru would plop down next to you, crossing his arms stubbornly. “I’m not playing if you’re not playing. That’s just how it is!

And you would do the same for him, because what was the fun in anything if he wasn’t right there beside you?

Nothing was ever quite complete without each other.

It wasn’t a good day unless you were together.

Even as you grew older, nothing changed.

The playground turned into quiet walks home, but your hands still found each other without thinking.

"You still hold my hand like we’re kids, Sugu," you teased one afternoon, fingers laced together as you walked home. The sun hung low in the sky, spilling warm golden light over the quiet street. Your shadows stretched long behind you, linked together like a promise.

Suguru glanced down at your hands, his grip tightening just slightly. "Yeah? You don’t like it?"

You smiled, squeezing back. "I never said that, you know!"

His grin was soft but sure, a mirror of the way he had always been with you. "Good. Because you’re still my favorite person."

And really, wasn’t that all that mattered?

══════════════════

IF YOUR BIRTHDAY COULD BE A HOLIDAY, SUGURU WOULD MAKE SURE OF IT. Your birthday has always been special, you know that much. But now more than ever, especially because, for as long as you could remember, Geto Suguru had been by your side for most of it. Now, it was even more special than before.

The years blurred together in a collage of memories: the laughter, the excitement, the simple moments that felt so big when they were shared with him. There were so many pictures, pictures of the two of you, year after year.

You were always together. His presence in every single one, a steady anchor through the passing time. One that was the only constant throughout the world that keeps on changing.

Whether it was the early mornings, when you both rushed around the house, throwing together last-minute gifts for each other in the midst of the chaos of birthday preparations, or the quiet evenings spent chatting under the stars, those moments were always colored by Suguru’s unique way of making everything feel more important.

He never treated your birthday like just another day. To him, it was an event, something that deserved to be celebrated with the utmost care. After all, it was the day you were born—the day you were with him. And to Suguru, that meant the world.

He didn’t just show up for your birthday.

No, he took it as seriously as he would a test.

He planned it meticulously, down to the smallest detail, as though the day had to be perfect.

"I thought you might like this, buttercup!" he’d say with a grin, always just a little too proud of whatever thoughtful gift he managed to get you, even if you’d both picked it out together the day before. "I’m pretty sure you’ll love it."

And every time, no matter how simple the gift, the thought behind it always felt like the most meaningful gesture.

On your birthday mornings, you’d wake up to the smell of something delicious. The pancakes, bacon, whatever it was that he knew you’d love, always cooked with that special touch that made it taste even better. He would rush in, hands full of wrapped presents, bright eyes sparkling like a child eager to see your reaction.

"You ready?" he’d ask, bouncing on his heels.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight— Geto Suguru, the one who always had his life together, who always so composed, turned into a ball of excitement for just one day.

Even in the evenings, as the day began to fade and the sky turned dark, you would find yourselves sitting together outside, wrapped in blankets under the stars. He’d listen to you talk about the year that had passed, what had changed, what had stayed the same while you both sat in comfortable silence, the kind only the two of you shared.

"Make a wish, okay?" he’d say when it was time to blow out the candles, the way he’d always said it every year. But there was something about the way he said it then, with that little smile on his face, as if he already knew your wish without needing to hear it.

Suguru didn’t need grand gestures. For him, it was always about the little things, the way he made sure your favorite song was playing when you entered the room, the way he’d insist on carrying your cake even though it was ridiculously heavy, the way he refused to let anyone else help you with the birthday prep, because it was his job to make sure everything was just right for you.

And he didn’t think it was just about the day itself. To Suguru, your birthday wasn’t just a celebration of your life; it was a reminder that you existed, that you were here, and that the world—his world—was just a little bit brighter because you were in it.

Every year, as he gave you your gift, no matter how big or small, you could always see that gleam in his eyes. The beautiful gleam that said. "This is important. This is you, this is us, and I’m going to make sure you feel special, because you are."

For Suguru, your birthday wasn’t just another day in the calendar. It was the day you were born—his day to remind you just how much you meant to him, and to celebrate the fact that, all these years later, you were still by his side.

And when you looked back at all the memories, all those years of birthdays spent with him, you couldn’t help but smile. They weren’t just your birthdays, they were his to celebrate too.

He celebrated them just as fiercely, just as passionately, as if it were his own day to remember. Because, to Suguru, every birthday spent together was a blessing. And he never took that for granted.

But this year, it felt different.

Not because of the cake or the candles. Not because of the way your friends sang off-key, their voices melding into a perfect disaster. No, this year was different because, when the party had quieted down and the night was winding to a close, Suguru handed you a small, neatly wrapped box.

He was sitting beside you on the couch, his beautiful lilac eyes watching you closely as you held the box in your hands, the soft rustle of paper the only sound between you. You could only look at the beautiful box in front of you for the longest time. He clears his throat.

“Are you really not saying anything?”

You looked at him suspiciously, fingers hesitating over the ribbon. "You didn’t have to get me anything, Sugu."

"I wanted to, buttercup." he said simply, nudging the box closer. "Go on, open it."

So you did.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, the light catching on the fine chain, making it shimmer. But what caught your attention was the tiny charm hanging from it—a miniature book, small enough to rest in the center of your palm, its metal etched with tiny details that made it look like it had real pages inside.

You blinked up at him, surprise evident in your expression. "Sugu…"

He looked uncharacteristically shy, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s nothing fancy, but… I thought it’d be nice. Y’know, for us."

"For us?" you repeated, tracing your fingers over the book charm.

Suguru nodded, watching your reaction closely. "Yeah. Because we always read together. Because of all those afternoons spent sharing a book, arguing over who gets to turn the page first—"

"You always turn the page too fast, you know." you interrupted with a pout.

"And you always get distracted by random things in the margins, buttercup." he shot back, smirking. “We’re both not good at it.”

You huffed. "That’s called appreciating the details, Suguru."

"Sure, sure." he laughed, shaking his head. "Anyway, that’s the first one."

You tilted your head. "First?"

He reached over, taking your wrist gently in his hands as he fastened the bracelet around it, his touch careful, warm. "Every birthday from now on, I’m giving you a charm. One for each year. Something that means something to us."

Your breath caught for a moment.

"You’re serious?" you asked, looking up at him.

Suguru met your gaze, his expression unwavering. "Completely." Then, with a lopsided grin, he added. "You’re stuck with me for a long time, you know."

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. Everything about you just felt warm, especially when you looked at it, knowing he put a lot of thought on this beautiful present. The bracelet felt light on your wrist, but the promise it carried felt heavier. This was solid, real, unshakable. Just like your relationship with him, ironclad for all your lives.

"Good." you said, squeezing his hand before letting go. "Because I wouldn’t want it any other way."

And back then, with Geto Suguru beside you, his promise wrapped around your wrist and his warmth wrapped around your heart, you believed it.

You really, really did.

══════════════════

ALL BIRTHDAYS ARE HAPPY, WELL THEY SHOULD BE. But this morning, this birthday of yours, it was not something that just truly felt odd. You had tried to put it off, knowing that it wasn’t the right place or time to talk about it. You could feel it, you know you do. Something was wrong with your best friend.

Geto Suguru had been unusually quiet all day, even when he was trying to be casual and jolly, smiling at you. But you knew there was something going on and you couldn't put your finger on why. The excitement of the day had dulled a little, as the two of you moved through the motions of cake and presents, but something in the air felt different.

It wasn’t until later that afternoon when everything changed.

You had walked him to the train station, like you always did, ever since he moved to another part of the city. Though this time, there was an unspoken weight that drowned between you, a heaviness that neither of you could shake. Geto Suguru, usually so confident and carefree, seemed distant, his usual smile a little more strained.

"I got in." he said, as the train pulled up to the station, his voice barely above a whisper, yet somehow carrying the weight of his words.

You paused, unsure of what he meant at first. "Got in?"

He nodded, his eyes avoiding yours for a moment before meeting your gaze. "To Jujutsu High School. I’m going to Tokyo."

Your heart skipped, the reality of the situation sinking in like ice water.

He was going to leave you, you were going to be separated.

Your Suguru was heading to Tokyo to train, on the other side of your world.

For the first time in years, you wouldn’t be by each other’s side every day. The thought was almost impossible to process. Not when you had been together for so long, just being bubbles in each other’s circle. Your lips parted, you wanted to say something. But you didn’t know what. You were too stunned to speak.

"Wait, you’re leaving? When?" you whispered, your voice suddenly became small.

“Tomorrow.” He whispered, his tone almost blossoming with shame. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I don’t….I didn’t want to ruin the time and I didn't think it was going to come any time soon, but it just….”

"But… but today’s my birthday, Sugu."

Suguru gave you a sad smile, his hand reaching out to ruffle your hair. "I know. I’m sorry. But it’s not goodbye forever, okay? We’ll keep in touch, I promise."

You nodded, but the lump in your throat made it hard to speak. Suguru was your rock, your constant. The thought of him being so far away, in a completely different city, felt like the world was shifting beneath your feet.

He took a step closer to you, lowering his voice. "I didn’t want to leave without giving you something special." He pulled out a small box from his pocket, holding it out to you.

You took it from his warm hands, your eyes brimming with questions. When you opened it, a soft gasp escaped your lips. Inside was a new charm for your bracelet—a delicate purple colored buttercup, its petals etched with such fine detail that it looked almost real. It was beautiful. And soulful. Almost glistening as brightly as his eyes.

He smiled gently, a warmth in his eyes as he slipped the charm onto your bracelet. "It’s a buttercup," he said softly. "My nickname for you. So I thought…I thought it would be perfect."

You stared at the charm for a moment, the lump in your throat thickening. "You still call me that…"

Suguru’s smile grew tender. "Always will. And whenever you look at it, I want you to think of me, okay? Think of me often."

You blinked away the tears threatening to spill and smiled back at him. "I will, Sugu. I promise."

He pulled you into a tight hug, holding you close for just a moment longer than usual. "Take care of yourself, alright? And don’t forget—I’m just a train ride away. Osaka is not that far. So when you need me, call me. Okay?"

“Okay.” You squeezed him back, trying to imprint the moment into your memory, trying to hold onto the feeling of him next to you. "I won’t forget. I’ll think of you every day."

Suguru pulled away slowly, his fingers brushing the side of your face. "I know you will."

The train’s loud engine roared to brutish life, and the sound of the wheels on the tracks made your chest tighten even further. You watched Suguru stand by the window.

His beautiful face illuminated by the soft afternoon light as the train slowly started to pull away. Your feet felt rooted to the ground, your mind racing with so many things you wanted to say, things you didn’t know how to say.

But before you could stop yourself, something inside you snapped. You took a step forward, then another, and then you were running, your heart pounding heavily in your chest, your breath coming faster as you pushed yourself harder, faster, chasing the train like you could somehow outrun the fear that gripped your heart.

"Suguru!" you called out, your voice shaking, but loud enough for him to hear.

He turned around in surprise, his eyes wide as he saw you running toward him. The train was moving faster now, but he didn’t hesitate. You could see how his face lit up with a mix of disbelief and hope, his hand pressed against the window.

"Sugu!" you shouted again, your heart racing even harder, your legs moving as if they had a will of their own. The distance between you seemed so large, but you weren’t going to stop.

He leaned closer to the window, his hand now reaching out, as if trying to touch you through the glass. You could see the concern on his face, his bright lilac eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, but it made you move faster, faster than you thought you could.

When you finally reached the side of the train, you stopped just short of losing your breath. You pressed your hands to your chest, feeling your heart pounding, and you looked up at him, eyes shining.

"I love you, Suguru!" you blurted, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Geto Suguru froze, his eyes wide in astonishment, as though he hadn’t expected you to say it—that particular thing, not now, not like this. You watched him, your heart hanging in the air between you, waiting for his reaction, wondering if you had made a mistake.

But then, his expression softened, and a smile broke through the surprise. It wasn’t just a smile you see. It was his smile, that beautiful smile that only belonged to you. The one that made everything feel like it would be okay, no matter what. He nodded slowly, a little chuckle escaping his lips as he leaned closer to the window, as if pulling you in even from a distance.

"I love you too, buttercup!" he said, his voice full of warmth, his eyes soft but certain.

And just like that, everything that had felt so heavy was lifted, the weight of the unspoken tension, the distance between you, all of it faded into the background of that moment. You smiled back at him, breathless but relieved, and the world around you seemed to slow down.

The train started to pick up speed again, and Suguru gave you one last look, his smile still lingering as he waved.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" he called out, his voice carrying over the noise of the train.

"I will!" you said, a smile tugging at your lips. "I’ll always think of you."

And with that, the train pulled away, leaving you standing there, heart full, the buttercup charm on your bracelet gleaming softly in the fading light.

That train carried your heart with him.

But you were sure that you held his heart here too.

You looked at your buttercup charm, smiling.

“Come back to me soon, okay?”

══════════════════

THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT HOW MUCH HE HAD CHANGED. And all he could do was wish that you didn’t see it, that you would never find out the truth. All he could pray for was that you didn’t notice the light in his eyes dying or the bitterness of the taste from the curses he was forced to consume still on his tongue.

Geto Suguru has always been a powerful force of nature, a rock withstanding everything in his way. In a way, he was also your rock, your steady presence in your life. No matter what was happening around him, he was there, unwavering, holding everything together with that quiet strength of his.

But recently, something in him had started to shift. Something he wasn’t prepared to admit to just yet. Ever since Amanai Riko’s death, the change had been subtle at first, there were those small signs that he was struggling, pulling away just a little more each day. But now, as the days passed, it became harder to ignore.

Geto Suguru was slipping.

And he didn’t know how to stop it.

He didn’t know how to be more than this.

He didn’t know the way out of it.

He found himself lost in a fog of thoughts he couldn’t quite articulate, his emotions tangled in a web he couldn't find a way out of. The burden of loss weighed heavily on him, crushing him in ways he didn’t know how to handle. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let you see it. Not today. Not on your birthday. Not on your last day together.

He had made it a point, from the moment you walked into the room, to be the Suguru you knew. He plastered on that familiar smile, spoke to you like everything was fine, and made sure the day went on like any other.

But the moment you looked away, or when you laughed, or when he caught you looking at him with that softness in your eyes, a heaviness settled deep in his chest. He wanted to say something, to tell you what was really happening, but the words felt like they were caught in his throat, unable to escape.

You had no idea what he was battling inside.

And he couldn’t bear to burden you with it—not on your special day.

It was the evening, the sun sinking low in the sky, and you both sat together on the balcony of his apartment, watching the colors in the sky shift from gold to deep blue. The breeze was warm, and you had your head resting on his shoulder, the same way you had for years. You both sat there in a comfortable silence, but Suguru’s mind was anywhere but there.

"I’m really glad we could spend the day together, Sugu." you said softly, your voice like a melody that brought him back to the present. “Thank you for coming to visit me, even with your busy schedule.”

Suguru nodded, his smile barely there as he kept his gaze on the horizon, afraid if he looked at you too long, you would see the cracks he was trying to hide. "Me too, buttercup." he said, but even to his own ears, the words didn’t sound right. They didn’t carry the weight they should have.

You could feel the subtle shift in his energy, the way he wasn’t fully present. He wasn’t the Geto Suguru you knew, the Sugu who would always make you laugh, who would hold you close and whisper silly things to keep your spirits high. He was distant, almost like a shadow of himself. And you knew he hated it, even without saying it to you.

"Sugu." you said quietly, sitting up to look at him, your hand gently touching his arm. "You okay?"

Suguru flinched, the question catching him off guard. He gave a small, forced laugh, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess. I’ve….been very busy."

But you didn’t buy it. You knew him better than anyone else, and you could see the lie in his eyes. But he wasn’t ready to talk, not now, not on the day that was meant to be yours, not on the day that he wanted to protect you from his own chaos. He didn’t want you to see him like this, not when everything was supposed to be perfect.

He wanted to be strong for you, wanted to be the Geto Suguru you deserved, the Geto Suguru that you love, the Geto Suguru you knew. But the weight of the world felt like it was crushing him from the inside, and he didn’t know how to hold it together anymore.

You reached up to touch his cheek, the gesture so simple but full of the warmth you had always shared. "Sugu… you don’t have to hide from me. Not now. Not ever."

He froze at your touch, his lilac eyes shutting softly, even for just a brief second. He wanted to let it all go, wanted to break down in front of you, but he couldn’t. Not like this. Not today. He swallowed hard, the words choking him before he could even say them.

"I’m fine." he repeated, but there was no conviction in his voice. “Really, buttercup. Don’t worry so much about me, okay?”

You didn’t push him further, but the sadness in his once bright eyes told you everything you needed to know. He was breaking inside, but he didn’t want you to see it. He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want to talk about it just yet. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. And especially not on your last day together.

"Okay." you whispered softly, leaning back against his shoulder once more, both of you falling into silence again.

But Geto Suguru knew. He knew that you would always see through him. And as you sat there, so close, yet so far from what was really happening, he couldn’t help but feel like he was losing grip on everything. He thought he was losing himself, you, on the life you had dreamed of sharing.

And so, the night passed in a quiet sadness, Suguru’s heart heavy with emotions he couldn’t quite express. Tomorrow, he will leave. Tomorrow, everything will change. He knew that all too well. By sunrise, you wouldn’t recognize him anymore. By sunrise, he wouldn’t be your Sugu anymore.

But for tonight, he would hold onto this—hold onto you, and pretend that everything was okay, just for a little while longer. He thinks he could pretend one last time and keep you with him, enjoying the need of warmth that only you could understand.

The evening air was still, the world outside quieting as the stars began to prick the darkening sky. You sat together for a little while, as you waited for the train to come. Geto Suguru’s silence was heavy, but there was a soft, almost palpable tenderness in the way he was beside you. It was always that way, when he was beside you. Even when you were kids.

But the silence was a new thing. This silence was so loud, and yet so deafening. Yet you also didn’t bridge the gap. At least not tonight. He didn’t need it right now and you can tell. You just took a deep breath and waited, staring off the train tracks.

Your Suguru seemed lost in his own thoughts, his calloused fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the railing in front of you, his lilac gaze ever so lost in the faraway space. To the place you could not follow.

But you knew it was just his way of trying to hold everything in. Then, after a moment that felt like eternity, he broke the quiet, his voice soft but steady, like he was trying to make it sound casual when it wasn’t.

"I got you something, buttercup." he said, his hand reaching into his pocket. You looked up at him, noticing the faintest tremor in his fingers, but you didn't comment on it.

He pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box, offering it to you with a look that was a mix of hesitation and something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words. "I know it’s not much, but I wanted to give you something… meaningful. Like always."

You took the box from him, your little heart fluttering a little in anticipation, not knowing what to expect. Slowly, you unwrapped it with much care, your tender fingers gently peeling back the layers until you saw what was inside.

It was a charm, delicate and beautiful, with a tiny forget-me-not flower carved into its surface. The petals were soft, yet detailed, their edges just slightly raised as if to give them life, to make them feel real. The forget-me-not. It was simple but meaningful, and somehow, it felt like it held everything unsaid between you two in one small, fragile flower.

Suguru’s voice broke the moment, barely above a whisper, but heavy with emotion. "I want you to always remember me, buttercup." he said, his gaze meeting yours, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t place. "No matter what happens, no matter where life takes us, never forget about me."

You froze for a heartbeat, confusion washing over you at his words. Never forget about him?

The thought didn’t make sense. Geto Suguru was more than just a memory; he was the person who had shaped so much of your life, the one who had been there for you through everything. He was your everything. How could you forget him?

You blinked, the knot in your chest tightening as you took in his face, his solemn expression that didn’t match the usual carefree look he wore. Was he already saying goodbye in some way?

You shook your head slowly, the smile coming to your lips, though it carried a mixture of sadness and certainty. "Sugu, how could you even think about that?… I could never forget about you."

“It can happen, you know. Life happens.” He smiles in a small timid manner.

Your voice was soft, but there was no doubt in it. "No, you’re wrong. You’re the most important person in my life. How could I forget someone like you?"

Suguru’s lilac eyes softened at your words, the weight of the moment easing just a little as you spoke. His chapped lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something more, but he only let out a quiet, relieved breath, his shoulders relaxing for the first time that evening.

He reached out, gently placing the forget-me-not charm on your bracelet, his fingers lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. "I just… I need to know you’ll always remember. Even when we’re apart.”

"I will, I promise." you said, your voice firm, the sincerity in your words reaching the deepest parts of him. "I’ll always think of you. Every single day, every single hour. Even the seconds. I’ll always remember you, Suguru. You’re too important to forget."

“Is that so?”

You hummed, smiling at him. “Hm. Because I love you.”

For a brief, tender moment, Suguru’s eyes seemed to shine with something that wasn’t just sadness but relief. It was as if the weight of the unspoken fears, the guilt, and the pain he’d been carrying had finally started to lift, just a little. He smiled, a real, heartfelt smile that reached his eyes.

"Good," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "That’s all I need to hear."

And there, under the stars, with the sound of the world fading into a quiet lull, you both sat together. You didn’t need words to fill the silence that had settled between you. The charm on your bracelet was a promise, a symbol of everything you had been through, everything you had shared, and everything that was still to come.

"I love you too, buttercup." Suguru whispered, his voice barely above a breath, but the words carried so much weight, so much meaning that it felt like the whole world had shifted in that instant.

You didn’t hesitate, not for a second. "I know, Sugu. I know." you replied, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips, a smile that only he could make appear.

It was a statement, but one that wasn’t born out of arrogance. It was the truth. The truth that had been there all along, between the quiet moments, the shared laughter, the years of growing together. He was your constant, just as you were his.

And you had always known, known in the very marrow of your bones.

he loved you too. More than anything in life. More than the universe could know.

Suguru didn’t immediately respond. He simply stared at you, his gaze softening with an intensity that almost made it hard to breathe. He shifted closer, his hands rising slowly, as if afraid that if he moved too fast, you would vanish in an instant. His fingers brushed against the curve of your jaw before they settled on your cheeks, warm and grounding.

His touch was gentle, the weight of his hands steady against your skin, as though he was afraid to touch you too hard, afraid that any sudden movement would make you slip through his fingers.

His gaze never wavered from your face, and for a long moment, it was like the world faded away. There was nothing but the two of you, him, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence, and you, feeling like the universe had shrunk to this moment.

Suguru’s eyes searched for yours, his expression both tender and filled with something deeper, something that only someone who had loved you for so long could understand. It was as though he was memorizing every detail of you.

The way the light caught in your eyes, the curve of your lips, the soft flutter of your lashes when you blinked. He took in your features like he was afraid they would slip away, like time was running out and he couldn’t afford to miss a single second of it.

His thumb traced the outline of your cheekbone, the movement so soft it almost tickled, but it was full of reverence. As if you were something sacred to him, something irreplaceable. As if you were the most important pearl of the world, shining in front of him, making him your sea.

"You’re so beautiful, buttercup." he whispered, and the words held so much more than just a compliment. It was the way he said them, as if he had seen every side of you—your strengths, your flaws, your heart—and still, in every corner of it, you were beautiful to him.

The simplicity of the words took your breath away, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You just looked at him, feeling the weight of his love like a gentle embrace, like it wrapped around your heart, holding it safe in his hands.

You didn’t need to speak to feel the truth of it all. This moment, this space between you, felt like the entire universe had conspired to bring you to this point, where everything you had shared and everything you had yet to share hung in the balance of this silent exchange.

Suguru leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the way his body was still, but there was a pulse of something deep inside him, something he wasn’t fully ready to let go of, not yet. And in that breathless, delicate space, you let your own heart speak.

"I love you, Sugu." you whispered back, your voice trembling just slightly, but filled with a certainty that made everything else fade into the background.

His hands cupped your face a little tighter, his thumbs stroking the soft skin of your cheeks as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world. "I’ll never forget you, buttercup." he murmured, almost as if he was saying it to himself, but you heard it. “You’re everything I am. Everything I breathe.”

The weight of it hung in the air, and though his words were bittersweet, you felt a flicker of hope in them.

"I’ll never forget you either." you whispered, your voice steady and sure, despite the turmoil swirling within you.

Because you knew that no matter where life took you both, Suguru would always be a part of you. No amount of time or distance could change that. “You’re my everything too.”

You leaned into his touch, your foreheads pressing gently together, the warmth of his hands grounding you both in the moment. His lilac eyes closed for a beat, a soft sigh escaping him as if he, too, was trying to hold on to this feeling, trying to commit it to memory just as you were.

And for that brief moment, there was no goodbye. There was only the now, the shared stillness, the love between you both, wrapped up in the quiet understanding that no matter what happened, you would always carry each other with you.

He moved his face closer, his lips brushing softly against your forehead. The kiss was light, like a promise, a silent vow that this love, this sacred bond between the two of you, it would never truly be broken, no matter the miles between you.

Suguru’s lips linger on your forehead for a moment longer, a soft, lingering warmth that makes everything else feel distant, as if time had slowed down just for the two of you.

The world outside the station, the sound of the train tracks, the noises of the city, the ticking of the clock, everything seemed muted, fading into the background as you both existed in this fragile, perfect bubble of quiet.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes soft but laden with an unspoken weight. He looked like he wanted to say something more, something important, but the words never quite formed.

Instead, he just studied your face, as if he was trying to memorize everything about you. Every little memory of you, your bright expression, the way your long hair fell around your face, the way your eyes held a kindness that had always been there, even in the most difficult of times.

“I’ll miss you.” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, a subtle crack breaking through the calm facade he’d been trying so hard to maintain.

You nodded, your heart aching as his words sank in. The truth was, you would miss him too, more than you could ever put into words. You couldn’t even imagine what life would be like without him so close, without his constant presence to steady you.

The thought of the distance between you both made the space around you feel colder, as though the warmth of his touch was already slipping through your fingers.

“I’ll miss you too, Sugu. More than you know.” you whispered back, the truth of it making your voice tremble just slightly.

He smiled, a sad, bittersweet thing, his thumb tracing the outline of your jaw once more, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every moment.

"Just remember, buttercup." he murmured, his eyes soft but intense. "No matter where we are, no matter how far apart we get, I’ll always be with you. I’ll always be there, in everything we’ve shared."

"I know." you said, nodding again, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And I’ll always carry a piece of you with me. In my heart.”

Geto Suguru’s breath caught at your words, his eyes glistening as if he wanted to say something more, but the emotion was too much, too overwhelming. Instead, he just leaned in and kissed your forehead once more, gentle but full of all the feelings he couldn’t quite express.

“I’ll be waiting, buttercup.” he whispered, his voice low, but there was a fierce determination behind it. “No matter how long it takes. I’ll be waiting for you.”

You looked up at him, your heart full, eyes brimming with something that could have been tears if you let it. You didn’t speak for a moment, just held his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle into you like a warm, comforting blanket.

Finally, you smiled through the lump in your throat, the quiet sadness blending with something softer, something hopeful. "I’ll come back to you, Sugu. I promise. So come back to me too, okay?"

The words hung between you, a promise sealed in the silence that followed.

He can’t promise something like that to you, not like this now.

By sunrise, he can no longer come back to you, never again.

And yet, he still does, he lets this promise be unfulfilled.

He lets this moment be a little white lie to keep your smile.

Suguru nodded, a small, hopeful smile on his lips, but his eyes, those dark, familiar eyes, held a quiet ache. He didn’t say anything else, just stayed close, his hand still on your cheek, his presence steady even though the moment was winding down. The night was still, and it felt like time was slipping away too fast.

“I should go, buttercup.” Suguru said, his voice tinged with reluctance. "But I’ll see you again, right? You’ll visit me when you can, won’t you?"

You nodded, already knowing how much this meant to him. You smiled tenderly at him, you smiled at him like you loved him. You smiled at him like he deserves to have it. And yet he doesn’t. The devil does not deserve such a thing.

"Of course I will." you reassured him, reaching up to touch his hand, the one that had stayed on your cheek. "I won’t let you forget about me."

His smile grew just a little, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a glimmer of peace in his eyes. "I could never forget about you."

And with that, he gave you one last kiss on the forehead, light and full of everything unsaid, full of everything you would carry with you in your heart. He pulled back slowly, his hand slipping from your cheek to your hand.

His fingers lingering for a moment longer, as though reluctant to let go. Then, with a final, lingering look, he turned and made his way toward the door. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want this to be the last time. But he had to. He had to go.

He let himself step into it, the door closing softly behind him. For a moment, you felt the weight of the world shift. The quiet that followed his departure felt louder than any noise, and yet, somehow, you knew you’d be okay. You’d carry him with you, just like you promised.

The night grew darker, but the small forget-me-not charm on your bracelet caught the light, reminding you of everything you had shared. It was more than just a memory, it was a piece of him that you could hold on to, no matter where life took you both.

Geto Suguru was always going to be a part of you. And no matter the distance, no matter how much time passed, you would never forget him. He was the most important part of your life, and that would never change.

Two days later, you got the call.

He had gone missing, his parents were gone.

And you?

You had lost the love of your life.

That was his goodbye.

══════════════════

epilogue

A LONG TIME HAD COME AND GONE, BUT IT STILL FEELS LIKE YESTERDAY. Seven years had passed since Geto Suguru’s defection from the jujutsu society, since the time he turned away from everything he once held dear. Time had blurred the edges of the past for everyone except him.

He had tried to move on, he knew he had to. He had all but tried to bury his memories deep enough so that they no longer haunted him. But there were days when everything came rushing back to him.

The horror on his parents faces that night, their deaths at his own hands, the ones he had betrayed, the village consumed by blue flame. And then there was you, the love he had lost and left. The one he had let go and fly away.

From the shadows, Suguru watched you kneel before the graves, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting long shadows across the quiet cemetery. You were gentle with the flowers, your movements soft as you arranged the bouquets on the gravestones, your fingers careful as they brushed away the dust that had accumulated over time.

He had never imagined, in his darkest moments, that he would see you here—so close, yet so far away from everything he had become. But there you were, tending to the graves of the parents he had killed, as if it was something he had never been able to do. You were doing it for him, in a way, even though you didn’t have to.

He had heard the stories about it all. He had to keep his tabs on you, he just couldn’t stay away, even now. Throughout the years, he heard whispers of how you had married, how you had continued on without him, a life of your own.

He had known that it was bound to happen, but it didn’t make it any easier. To see you with a ring on your finger, a life that no longer had a place for him, a life that had moved on while he stayed stuck in his past.

The soft rustle of the wind moved through the trees, and that was when you turned your head, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. You blinked, as if you weren’t quite sure you were seeing him, but then there was no mistaking it.

Geto Suguru was standing there, just outside the cemetery gate, watching you with that same quiet intensity that had always been his. The world seemed to hold its breath as you slowly rose to your feet, the weight of his gaze pulling you in.

He didn’t speak at first, not knowing what to say.

After all this time, what was there left to say?

He had left you and you had suffered.

What could someone who broke their promise say?

You walked toward him, your expression unreadable but steady, your steps purposeful. As you got closer, he noticed the glint of sunlight on your finger, and his breath hitched before he could stop himself. The wedding ring.

It was a beautiful thing, one could say. But when he looked at it, it was all but a bitter ugly, disgusting thing. It was a reminder of the life you had. A life he had never been a part of, a life he had given up on when he made the choices he did.

You stopped in front of him, your gaze unwavering. You looked at him for a long moment, your eyes searching his face, almost as if you were still trying to figure him out after all this time. "I didn’t think you’d come back here." you said quietly, your voice thick with something he couldn’t place. Maybe it was sorrow. Maybe it was a relief.

Suguru felt a pang in his chest, but he swallowed it down. "I didn’t think I would either." His voice was rough, almost foreign to him after so many years of silence, but the words still carried weight. "But... here I am."

Your gaze flickered to the bracelet on your wrist—the one with the forget-me-not, the buttercup, the book charm. It was a silent progression that told a story. A long forgotten story, one that only you and him could remember. It was at one point his story. His presence, his absence, his love. And now it wasn’t. Not anymore.

That Geto Suguru is dead.

All that remains is an imposter.

All that remains is a devil.

"I never took it off." you said, a small, sad smile playing at the corner of your lips. "You told me to never forget you. I thought I would, after all these years... but I never could."

Your fingers traced the charms lightly, the memory of the years that had passed between you both lingering in the air like a ghost. "I couldn’t take it off, Suguru. Not even when it felt like I should."

He couldn’t quite hide the sadness that flickered in his eyes at your words, but he didn’t look away. He had been the one to leave. He had been the one to make all the wrong decisions, and yet, somehow, you had never given up on him. You had never completely forgotten him.

Suguru reached into his pocket slowly, his movements deliberate, as though he were unsure of his next step. He pulled out a small charm, delicate and beautiful, white chrysanthemums this time, it was an offering of something new, something that said goodbye and hello being said like it was the same word. He held it out to you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"For you." he whispered, his voice barely audible, but full of all the unspoken feelings that had built up over the years. "I know it’s too late. But I want you to have it."

You took it from him, your fingers brushing against his for just a heartbeat before you looked down at the charm in your palm. The white chrysanthemums were soft, intricate, and they reminded you of the fleeting nature of everything. It was full of the memories, the love, the pain.

You smiled, a bittersweet curve of your lips, your heart heavy with a mixture of emotions that you had long buried. "Sugu….Suguru." you began, your voice steady but thick with something he could almost taste. "For so long, TYou wanted to be remembered. But now... you want to be forgotten."

His heart clenched at your words, but he nodded slowly, as if he had already known, as if it was something he could never change. "You deserve better than to remember a ghost of someone long gone, buttercup." he said, his voice soft but full of the kind of finality that only a ghost could understand. "You deserve a life that’s yours, not one haunted by me."

The distance between you seemed so vast in that moment, even though you were standing right in front of him. The years had stretched that gap wide, and yet, in this final moment, you both understood each other completely.

You stood there, the weight of his words heavy between you both, as the space around you seemed to quiet. The cool breeze rustled the trees, the only sound in the air, but even it felt like a distant whisper against the rawness of the moment.

You opened your mouth, a million things on the tip of your tongue, but none of them felt right. Your heart was full of so much you couldn’t put into words. A thousand emotions flooded your chest/

And yet, you felt an aching kind of clarity in his request. You hadn’t expected it. You hadn’t expected him to say those words, to say that he wanted you to forget him. To leave him behind as if he were nothing more than a faded memory.

He stood before you, his back slightly turned, but he didn’t move away. His eyes, those dark, familiar eyes, were locked onto the distance, as though he was already gone in his mind, already on his way to somewhere far from this place, from you.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering over his face, trying to catch any hint of a smile, of the warmth that had once been there between you both. But it was gone. Everything had long perished to nothing.

The man in front of you wasn’t the same person you had known all those years ago, and deep down, you knew that neither were you. You had both changed, time had done its work, and the world had swept you in different directions.

"So, if I see you again—" you started, unsure of where to take the conversation, unsure of whether there even was a conversation left to have.

Suguru’s smile was sad, almost imperceptible, but it was there, and it tugged at your heart more than anything else. “Pass by, buttercup.” he said, his voice so soft, so worn. "Don’t look at me. You shouldn’t remember me. Just...."

Let me go. He thinks to himself. Don't love me again.

The simplicity of his request hit you harder than any words of anger or resentment could have. You shouldn’t remember me. He was asking you, begging you, to forget him. As though he was a shadow, a passing thing, unworthy of your attention, of your love, of your memories.

For a moment, you just stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind spinning with the weight of it all. You wanted to shout, to argue, to tell him that he was wrong—that you couldn’t just erase him from your life like he was nothing.

But the silence in the air, the finality in his tone, made you hesitate. It wasn’t anger you heard in his voice. It wasn’t even regret. It was something else entirely. it was something deeper, something rooted in the pain he had carried all these years.

“I can’t just forget you.” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The truth was raw and simple, and it echoed in your chest as it passed through your lips. "I’ve carried you with me for so long, Suguru. I can’t just erase you from my life."

Suguru turned his head slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and filled with something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t guilt or anger, but something quieter, something softer, as though he was bracing himself for the weight of what he had just asked you to do.

"You don’t need to carry me anymore." he said, his voice barely audible, each word dragging with the weight of a thousand regrets. "I don’t deserve to be remembered. Not by you. Not by anyone. I’ve become someone else, someone I never meant to be."

His eyes drifted to the ground, and for a moment, he looked almost... defeated. "I hurt too many people, and in the end, I hurt you too."

Those words hung in the air like a star waiting to fall from the sky but they didn’t sting, nor did they cause you any pain. Instead, they felt like the closing of a door, the end of a chapter that had been written in too much pain. You felt your heart ache, but you understood. You had mourned it long ago and this was just the end. The final bow.

You understood because, deep down, you had always known this moment would come. You had always known that one day, Geto Suguru would fade from your life, not because of time or distance, but because he had made himself into something unrecognizable.

You stepped closer, closer than you had been in so many years, the distance between you two now defined not by physical space but by something more profound, something that time had created. Your hand reached out but you stopped. You had to. You knew you can't do this. You purse your lips into a flat line.

“I see.” You whispered, barely audible over the deafening silence between you. It was as if the world had swallowed your words before they could reach him, and the weight of it all pressed down on your chest like a heavy fog.

"I'm sorry." you murmured, feeling the familiar sting of regret in your heart.

But the words felt useless now, just as they always had when it came to him. Too many apologies, too many unanswered questions. It was all too late. Geto Suguru shook his head ever so slightly, his dark lilac eyes never leaving the distance beyond you, his voice low but firm.

“Don’t apologize to me.” he murmured, the edges of his words soft but carrying a weight that made your heart ache. "I should apologize…"

His eyes finally met yours, and for that brief moment, you saw a flicker of vulnerability, something raw and unguarded that he had never allowed anyone to see.

“Buttercup, I’m letting your hand go.” he said, and his voice cracked on the last word, like it pained him to even say it.

You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes, threatening to spill, but you fought them back, the lump in your throat making it harder to breathe. It was too much. Too much to lose, too much to let go of.

“I know.” you replied, your voice barely a whisper as if saying it out loud would make it all more real. The finality of his words clung to the air, and you wished you could take them back, take him back, but the truth had already been laid bare.

“Goodbye, buttercup.” he said, the words both tender and final, and they fell like a stone into the abyss between you.

“Good… good-bye, Suguru.” you managed to choke out, your voice shaking but steady enough to carry the weight of the moment. Your lips trembled, but you didn’t dare look away from him. There was nothing more to say, nothing more that could fix the pieces that had been shattered between you two.

Geto Suguru gave you one last look. It was so brief, so fleeting, like the last ray of light before the darkness settled in. His gaze lingered on you, a final connection between two souls that had once shared everything but now, they were a thousand miles apart.

He didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t look back, not once.

He simply turned, his figure growing smaller and smaller as he walked away.

Your heart tightened, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. There was no running after him anymore. He had already made his choice, and you had to respect that, even though it felt like a piece of you was being torn away with every step he took.

His footsteps were quiet against the earth, a soft rhythm that carried him further into the distance, further away from you, from everything you had ever known. And you stood there, frozen, unable to move, unable to make sense of the emptiness that filled the space where his presence used to be.

You watched him disappear into the horizon, the last connection between you both unraveling like a thread slipping through your fingers. But this time, you didn’t chase after him. You didn’t need to. You didn’t have the strength anymore.

There were no more promises, no more hopes of reunion. This was the end of the story that had once been yours, the final chapter in a love that had burned so brightly but had faded into the past. The world had changed, and so had you.

You would never see him again. He would never hold your hand again, never smile that gentle smile that had always made you feel like you were home. And you could feel the weight of that truth pressing down on you, but it didn’t break you.

It was the end of that world. Of the two of you, of the way you had been, of everything that once felt like it was meant to be. And so, you let go. You let go, even as it hurt, even as it felt like the most impossible thing in the world.

You couldn’t love him anymore. Not like you used to. Not in the way that kept him a part of your every thought, every moment. You couldn’t carry that burden with you forever, and you couldn’t make him stay.

As he disappeared completely from sight, you finally exhaled the breath you’d been holding, a quiet sigh that seemed to carry away the remnants of him still lingering in your chest. It wasn’t easy. It would never be easy. But it was the only way forward.

You took a slow step back, your feet heavy with the weight of all the years you had spent loving him. You weren’t sure what the future held, but you knew one thing for certain. You had to let him, or you'll both suffer more.

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leafofkudzu · 7 months ago

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Hooray hooray, it's Wintersd- oh, not quite yet, but happy December, everyone! I hope those of you in colder regions have a nice warm spot to bundle up and get cozy for the holidays! Meanwhile, the first Saturday of a new month is this Saturday, which means it's time for another art party hosted by my guild, [VS] Verdant Shield!

I've said this in almost two dozen posts now, but there are always news eyes around, so a quick tl;dr: art parties are a concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - in-game get-togethers for artists of all kinds to hang out, chat, and create together! For GW2 parties there's more of an emphasis on hanging out and gathering references during the party itself, and then in the days/weeks following to work on your creations at your own pace and then post to the shared art party tag. We've used the same one (#VSArtParty) since the very beginning so you can go allll the way back and explore what people have made!

Even more tl;dr is this: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

Time and /squadjoin information is below the cut, but will also be posted again on the day of the party as things begin!

Location Information:

No fighting this time, we're in a nice no-combat corner of Snowden Drifts (the Southwest corner, to be precise!). There is a nearby dredge event that we might catch some dialogue from from time to time, but because we're up on the main part of the building across the bridge from it, no enemies should ever come close - simply relax and get cozy! Podaga Steading Waypoint has the matching name of course, but Skradden Waypoint (by the map entrance from Gendarran Fields) is just as close!

Time & Squad Details:

As is customary, we'll be having two parties - the first one on EU servers and the second on NA - with an hour break in between for those who may want to attend both!

The EU server party will begin at 9pm Central European Time (aka 3pm Eastern Standard Time or 4 hours before in-game reset). I'll be hosting this one on my EU alt account, so please either /whisper or /squadjoin Stormcaller Nell for a taxi invite if you don't end up on the right map!

The NA server party will begin 1 hour after the EU party's official end, at 7pm Eastern Standard Time (aka 1am Central European Time or at in-game reset). I'll be on my main account for this one and may switch 'host' characters a few times, but please /whisper or /squadjoin Freja Owlsong for a taxi invite if you don't see my customary white cat tag hanging around on your map!

Closing Words:

Feel free to consider this a Wintersday-themed party if you like! Because Anet likes to start their festivals midway through the month and I like to do the art parties at the start, it often means if I want to have a party during a festival it ends up awkwardly late, like Halloween in November..... but regardless! We just celebrate a bit earlier than the game does! Anyway!

Thank you everyone who comes out to these events and makes them so fun and memorable - there wouldn't be an art party without all of you! Take care of yourselves, keep yourselves warm, and I'll see you all this Saturday! ♥♥♥

#making a pre-emptive new years resolution to do something cool next month for the 2 year anniversary please look forward to it!!!#gw2 #guild wars 2 #vsartparty #obnoxious tourist simulator #📢🎨

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nabi-unveiled · 5 months ago

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Flipping the Characters in Futtara Doshaburi

This show is a vibe, and I'm vibing with it. I'm loving everything about these two lonely people desperately seeking intimacy. Watching episode four in the car while the rain poured around me only added to the vibe. That said, being in the car means I can't do my normal screenshot process so semi-relevant gifs it is.

We start with Hagiwara descending into the depths. I mentioned after episode 3 that he still had a more positive outlook on his circumstances. But he's now on his way into the hole where he won't be able to gloss over his unhappiness. Sei is already in the hole. He has been there for a while, he knows he's there, and he's somewhat resigned himself to it.

This change in Hagiwara's attitude is reflected in our aesthetics too. While Hagiwara's home had bright and warm elements last episode, the door to his house is cold and dark after their dinner. It's no longer welcoming. The restaurant is where the warm colors resided.

However, the truly interesting thing to me about this show is in how much this show has flipped the character expectations.

It's flipped the idea of "good guys" and "bad guys" - particularly in a drama that's definitely leading towards cheating. It's pretty standard fair in a cheating drama for the partners to be painted as not caring or evil. But as Hiragawa and Sei make clear in their exchange after the meal, nobody really is in the wrong (yet). It's really unfair to all of them. I actually think Sei's partner has the shortest end of this stick thus far, but that's a different discussion.

The partners of our leads are caring. They cook for our leads. They clean up for our leads. They are kind. But they offer companionship, not sex. This makes them "cruel". It's cruel to be kind.

Our leads actually have only shown minimal considerations towards their partner. Sei sprayed perfume and Hiragawa goes to his girlfriend's social events, but they aren't the ones doing the major acts of service. The have mainly shown care to each other, not their partners. And they mainly want sex (and intimacy, but...the dialogue keeps saying sex) from their partners. In most other shows, our leads would be the "bad guy". The boyfriend who is obsessed with sex and has you do all of the work. But this show is clearly demonstrating that while romance may be in the little things, the little things cannot fill the empty hole. And it's okay to want that hole to be filled.

The characterization of our main leads has flipped as well. The initial setup in episode one depicted Hagiwara as a bit of a bumbling oaf. He sent an email to the wrong address. He forgot to pick up his ID card. Sei, on the other hand, was initially portrayed as the fastidious one handling a business need and admonishing Hagiwara for wearing an id tag that wasn't company issued.

But we have learned that those were false impressions. Hagiwara is good at his job. It's made clear that he's good at planning the company outings. He's good at sales. He's the responsible one gathering and returning the umbrellas. He's the "picky" one at the grill making sure the grilling is done correctly. Sei is the one who stands in the rain and acts a mess. We now know he likely reacted to the id tag because of his complex feelings about who designed it, not because he actually cared about the rules. It's an interesting switch up.

There's also some interesting flips in that Hagiwara is a gregarious guy who talks a lot (he's in sales after all). He not only goes to social events on the regular, he plans them. But he never says what he actually wants. That characterization is more common, but it's still an interesting dichotomy. He is tumblr - only saying his deepest thoughts when writing to a stranger.

Meanwhile, Sei says exactly what he wants. The man is crude and rude, but he's also open with his thoughts. Many taciturn, loner characters are blunt, but few are as open as Sei. He just lays it all out on the table. I wish I could catch the linguistics of Japanese to know if he's actually using rude speech patterns as well, but that's outside of my skillset.

Being a prickly porcupine, Sei is used to people being put off by him. He said earlier that he wasn't nice. And he's not. But we still LIKE him and we still FEEL for him. And that's incredibly difficult to pull off in a show that clocks episodes in at under 25 minutes.

Sei fully expected that Higawara would back off and only give him courtesy greetings once he found out his identity. His friend from college did just that this episode. A few courtesy greetings followed by "Oh you don't have LINE. Guess we won't talk then. Bye." Fujisawa is the only one that seems to have put up with his personality. But Higawara, as bad as he is at expressing his own thoughts, feels comfortable with Sei. He keeps reaching out. He reached out through e-mail. He reached out with an umbrella. He reached out with an invite to treat Sei for helping. He reached out with a dinner invite. And unlike his partner, Sei responds.

For Sei, whose desire to talk keeps getting shut down by his partner, this invitation explicitly to talk is a lifeline. He always responds, taking any hint of Hiragawa reaching out to initiate an entire, probably way-too-honest conversation. After all, the hole is deep.

By the end of the episode, Hagiwara has fully descended into the underground thanks to our pregnant friend spilling the tea. In a bright environment with a lot of light no less (enlightenment I dare say?). He's reaches out to his partner in a final attempt and gets shut down. So he reaches out to Sei. And, Sei does what he always does. He responds. He welcomes someone joining him in the underground. At the end of the day, they both crave the intimacy this connection is providing. But as the storm glass predicts....rain is coming.

How did they fit that much meaty stuff in a 25 minute episode?!

#i don't know where this is going #but i'm here for it #i overthink everything #i could probably write three more essays on this episode #there was so much meta there #futtara doshaburi #when it rains it pours #this post became an essay #my when it rains meta

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 1 year ago

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A Spark To Ignite (Bodyguard!141 x Famous!Reader Preferences) Mild NSFW

Summary: You see each other every day. He works to keep you protected - a perk of your job and his. Occasionally feeling moments of passion and promises of something more between you two are only normal, right?

AN: I've got another bodyguard!AU for the 141 that's more angst based. I'll post that later. I've also got a Price x Escort!Reader in the works plus the end of "Star-crossed in the Crosshairs". Let me know if you have any requests/anything you'd rather see first <3

Content warning: Minors DNI, 18+ only, allusions to sexual tension/arousal, second person, no use of Y/N

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another notification of being tagged in the same paparazzi image hit your notification inbox, yet you still opened it and shared a giddy grin at the Instagram feed.

You hadn’t been fussed about going running; it was the company rather than the activity that attracted you. But one thing you were certain about the sport was that no one ever looked flattering whilst doing it.

Yet there he was, your Kyle, looking like a model for Sports Direct. He was snapped midstride, his biceps practically rippling in the glow of the morning sun. There was even a hint of his lean washboard torso with the flap of his t-shirt’s raised coyly.

However, his dimpled smile aimed was the main focus of the headline – mainly because it was aimed at you and your equally elated expression. You blamed the euphoria of exercised endorphins but the way the photo was framed (plus the gaudy text declaring it so) made it seem as if you and Kyle were a true couple in love. It looked incredibly staged. Kyle was an “unknown” though so most budding theorists did not support any claims of it being a publicity stunt. Just two lovers out on a jaunty little run together.

You saved then added the photo to the folder of photos that captured you out with your bodyguard and the headlines that (sadly) misidentified him as your new boyfriend.

“Hey Kyle!”

Blending some fruits. His duties did not include head chef but you had long since allowed him access to your kitchen, even storing some of his favourites around the cupboards and fridge in case he fancied a snack.

Your phone was thrust up into his eyeline, you beaming behind it, “Another Pulitzer.”

Abandoning his smoothie temporarily, Kyle cupped his hand around yours to steady your swaying phone.

“They need to up their standards. Taking you for a jog is hardly a date you deserve,” He commented.

“Ooo, do tell: what do I deserve?”

“Well,” Kyle began pouring the smoothie into a glass, “I could go classic, take you to out on the town to a special place only I know about.”

You leaned onto your elbows, chin resting in your palms, cheeks creased in a cheeky smile. “Mm-hmm.”

“Wine you, dine you, treat you like a deity,” Kyle said as if he was listing off menial tasks on his day to day whilst collecting another glass for the remaining smoothie. “Take you back to mine if you fancied it, another drink whilst we talk the night away and time passing without us noticing.” Graciously, he slid the other one across the countertop, and your fingers locked against his warm ones wrapped against the cool glass. “Then work up a sweat in a whole other way.”

Blinking away the glaze that had coated your eyes, you restrained the urge to gulp back your desire. A fresh breath in your lungs recovered you quickly and you managed to conjure a teasing quip amidst the fog that had settled over your thoughts.

“Think you could keep up with me?” You said before sipping the smoothie.

The sweetness of it countered Kyle’s smirking reply: “You and I both know I can more than handle you.”

“Better train harder then,” You said, proud of yourself for not stumbling over your playful banter, “I’m a catch, so you better be fast enough.”

“Jog, same time tomorrow?”

“Sure.” And, not missing in the reflection of the oven door how Kyle – for a split second – looked you up and down, you did your best not to collapse or squeal during your return to the sitting room.

-----------

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You leant against the ropes of the new boxing ring with a panting chest and aching legs. Jellied bones dared to let you collapse to the ground but at least, since your self-defence training had begun, you were lasting the full session rather than just after the warm-up.

“I think we’re done for today! Did good, held your own.” Johnny gave you a hearty slap on your back that almost ricocheted you off the ropes. “I’ve still got a few reps to get in.” He leapt out the ring and swigged from his water bottle, tossing you your own.

“Show-off!” You called out after him, though all in good fun, as you caught your bottle and your breath.

Technically, since you didn’t have anything else to do, you could get a head-start on getting cleaned up. You were in the privacy of your own gym, added at your request so that Johnny could train you better and you could do so without being ogled or papped.

Quite hypocritical it was then, that you lingered in the ring to watch Johnny stack up his weights on either side of the bar (the ones you purchased as part of his perks of working for you).

Your day-job came in handy with pretending to do some cooldown stretches, sipping from and pouring your water bottle over yourself. Well, you were actually doing those things but acting as if they were the only things that occupied your thoughts was the main role you were playing. From the corner of your eye, you observed Johnny squatted with a stack of weights lining each shoulder. God, those arms were practically popping, his thighs bulging with the effort of remaining planted on the floor and folding up and down beneath the hefty set. Mesmerising, you forgot to keep up your pretence by the second load of reps.

It left your lips before you could reconsider for the tenth time: “Bet you couldn’t lift me.”

Soap paused in a deep squat and looked up through his lashes at you. Meeting his steely blue gaze was easier than anticipated but maintaining it as he righted himself and rested the weights back on the rack with a restrained grunt was the difficult part.

At first, you thought maybe his silence was his answer. Then Johnny knelt down and assumed the plank position.

“Get on,” He said, loud and clear.

You still doubted him, “Seriously?”

“You made the bet. Now lie in it.”

As elegantly as possible, you dismounted the ring before making your way over to his side. He showed no signs of tiredness during your journey, nor did he when you balanced yourself across his broad back.

“Ok, ready,” You said, your voice close to wobbling.

And so it began. Up and down, you could feel how his body sustained you through both your and his workout gear. His back muscles rippled beneath you and his elbows kissed yours each time he lowered you both to the floor. Out of nowhere, you began giggling and you couldn’t figure out how to put a stop to it. Giddiness flooded your entire system until you were beyond drunk.

Suddenly, your world tilted and you rolled off onto the mat but Johnny refused you any respite, flipping you over onto your back again, like a pancake.

“I win,” He panted, “What’s my prize?”

Still giggling, you felt your cheeks burning at the sight of him hovering over you, his skin glowing, his chest panting. His unrelenting stare had you locked beneath him, barred between his trunk-like arms. If this was your prison, you’d commit any offence to stay in there. God you were so close you could kiss him-

Nope.

“You finish your workout early so you can have a nice hot shower sooner?” You said, covering your mouth to cough and clear your airways of whatever shit you breathed in to make you even consider making out with your bodyguard. You must’ve looked so daft; you blamed the endorphins. Then you blamed Johnny completely as he started to laugh down at you, sending your thighs quaking as he crawled off you and ordered you to get cleaned up – that he’d be in shortly after as a hint to not use all the hot water. As you drifted back to the bathroom, you tried not to think about him in the shower or how you wanted to offer to scrub him down.

-----------

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Say the word and I’ll have him removed.”

For a man so stoic and intimidating, Simon sure made you smile a lot. You needed it after that… “interesting” conversation with one of the party’s guests – someone who you knew to be a detractor behind your back.

“It’s fine, really,” You insisted with a winning smile.

Casting a glance over your shoulder where your shadow dutifully remained was a reward you would never be exhausted of. Simon looked so good in his tux. Plus he’d humoured you and worn the silk black mask rather than his usual. You were brimming with privilege at seeing his hair styled beyond the flattened fuzz it would take on after being beneath the balaclava for twenty hours at a time. Even more so, you got to see his tattoos pairing nicely with them like a good bottle of wine.

You could hear the smirk hiding beneath his mask. His veined hands clasped firmly in front of him as he leant close, just his mask separating his lips and your ear.

“We could make a break for it. Ditch these twats. Get a drive-thru.”

He knew you never would agree to it; this gala meant a lot to you. Such a tempting offer though, in such a tempting voice too. His rough tone did nothing but delight you when you heard it. Turning to look at him, you took note of the two mere inches between your face and his.

He continued, “You’ve shown your face long enough.”

“Getting jealous of them stealing my attention?” You asked provocatively.

Simon let out a low laugh, shaking his head fondly with just a hint of patronising, “That’s funny, sweetheart.”

“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of people who are dying to still talk to me.” You gestured with the glass he’d gotten (and checked for any malicious interference) for you around at the room, those who would never have the privilege of being a part of your and Simon’s bubble.

“Just as long as you and everyone else knows that I’m the one who takes you home.”

The implications of that statement swelled in your chest, nestling into your heart like a cat in a warm patch of sunlight. Intently, he looked at your face for your reaction. That was the thing with Simon: always observing, recording every flicker, every possibility in that incredible mind of his. You were certain he could see into your soul with those all-seeing eyes. He kept you safe, kept you on your toes, kept you happy.

But the bubble burst before you could hit back and you abruptly checked yourself back into work mode. The person who’d spoken loud enough to bring you back down to Earth didn’t seem to notice your slip up. You, however, were more than acutely aware of Simon’s lingering presence at your side. So close the hairs on your arm extended on goosebumps, coaxing and begging to touch him.

As you were once again left alone, you found yourself stifled by your need to be nearer to Simon and quickly decided the alcohol was to blame. “I need the bathroom.”

“This way.” His hand grazing the small of your back had an impact tripled, but you managed to submit it to travelling through your nose, rather than gasping out your mouth. But you were certain that Simon had caught you. He never missed a thing.

-----------

John "Bravo Six" Price

After shaking hands again with the presenter and declaring a few thanks to the crew, you were guided straight to the dressing room by Price. You took off your own microphone and handed it to him, which he immediately passed to a nervous stagehand. Your name in Arial font on an A4 sheet of paper greeted you from the dressing room door.

Sometimes you needed that extra time to decompress and he knew before you did more often than not. Today was not one of those days, though you did request to stop and pick up the bouquet that had been there to welcome you in when you first arrived. It was so large, your favourites blooming in the dew-dropped cellophane, that you had trouble waving to the folks who’d stuck around at the barrier, Price’s arms keeping you walking and guiding you towards the car.

For your safety, you had to go in the back where the tinted windows offered you a hint of privacy. It was a thorn in your side though. You longed to sit beside Price as he fought playfully with you over the music, grumbled with the directions his phone offered, collected your drive-in order. Then maybe your daydream of being his partner could have a little more to stand on.

A true gentleman as well as your protector, Price walked you up to the house and let you set up your evening meal while he made final checks to secure your house again. Normality for you was hearing him walk around and jiggle door handles and returning only when he was certain none had been tampered with and your cameras were fully functioning.

“Anything else you need from me before I leave for the night?” He asked, standing at ease in front of you.

You gestured to the bouquet you were cradling like a baby, “Thank you for the flowers.”

His brows furrowed for a split second then a sheepish smile smoothed out the lines in his forehead, highlighting his eyes instead.

“You caught me,” He said quietly, sparing a look at the flowers he asked the host to order for you, then back at you.

Squinting mischievously, you asked, “Were you really hiding it?”

“I suppose not.” He let his smile soften and dull. Back to business. Yet you could’ve sworn he glanced at your mouth before he asked, “Anything else you need?”

Your heart yearned to beg him to stay and tell you what else he did behind the scenes without a hint of expecting more, so that you could show him how much you cared in an appropriately equal response. His favourite whiskey perhaps for when he was off duty, or one day doing something together that he wanted to do so it wasn’t just looking after you. It was more than that, the job. He’d told you so. But you didn’t want to just be a job to him.

Quietly, you maintained your decorum, “No, thank you.”

John nodded his head, “Of course.”

It was as he was about to cross the threshold when you started to ask, “Do you-”

Not even three words made it out before Price whipped around, already returning to where he’d stood before. You could feel your lungs struggling under the strain of maintaining steady breathing at the gesture, suspending all the blood in your face (and maybe your groin). It stopped your question in its path, as if it was waiting until Price was listening attentively (he always was for you).

“Yes?” He prompted, his voice soft as if to coax you out of your hideout.

Fidgeting with the bouquet still, you cleared your throat and began again, “Do you want to join me, for dinner?”

Price’s hands, now at his sides, tapped on his thighs thrice before he said, “Two conditions.”

“Name them.”

Perhaps you said that a little too quickly because it made him laugh, which only made things worse for you. You had a real weakness for that laugh.

“You teach me whatever you’re planning on making, and you let me help you make it.”

Your heart accelerated and you dismissed his with a smile and a slight self-deprecating remark to soften the weight of this decision you were both making: “It’s nothing special.”

“Those are my terms,” Price insisted. His eyes creased as a smile grew on his face, more beautiful than the flowers forgotten the second you placed them into the vase. But at least it gave you to excuse to look away and gather your expression into something more collected as you ordered him to go and wash his hands.

#kyle garrick fanfic #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish fanfic #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #ghost x reader #john price x reader #john price fanfic #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #my writing #preferences #r: gn

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shinestarhwaa · 1 year ago

Text

ILLICIT AFFAIRS || CHO MIYEON

This piece broke me, apologies x

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Pairing: Miyeon x Fem reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Tags/Warnings: Closeted lesbians, Forbidden Love, High society/Bridgerton inspired, 1800s, Princess!Miyeon, Aged down Miyeon (you and her are both 18 years old), unprotected sex, virginity loss, make outs, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting, scissoring, overstimulation, grinding/humping, emotional damage, heartbreak

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @wh0re4yunsangho

ENJOY!

February 10th, 1815

You couldn't help but look at her all night. It was as if the entire world paused and only she, she was moving. In fact, she was moving right into your heart and you swore you could literally feel it swell in your chest.

She was absolutely magnificent in her gown, hair pinned up and a beautiful, shining crown in her hair. The jewelry she wore must cost millions and she truly did look like a million dollars, as they say. If only she'd look at you, right? And if only you were a man of royalty because how else would you ever be with her?

Yes, you were lucky enough to be born in the high society class, in a family that was wealthy, but the smile you wore everyday is fake. Your mother and father didn't marry out of love and they couldn't stand each other, always fighting. Honestly, you were used to it and you could definitely handle it, but that doesn't mean it hasn't had a negative effect on you and your sisters.

All five of them were different from you, they're more to the standard. Alice, Idylia, Florence and Genevieve were all married now to their husbands and the eldest two even had children. Florence and Genevieve both got married last season and your mother now forced you to find a husband this year's season.

You hated it, the way things were arranged in the society, but you couldn't possibly break the rules that have been the standard for so long. But you really do not want to fit into the society's standard, you are too emancipated according to your family and most important of all; you'd have to marry a man while all you can think about is princess Miyeon.

Princess Miyeon and her beautiful hair, her slim body, deer eyes and her elegant manners. You were a little clumsier than that, and you didn't truly mind but somehow you wished you were more elegant and calculated so maybe she'd like you. But you had to get those thoughts out of your head, you told yourself, nothing could ever happen. You are a woman and she's the royal princess, she's the heir, she's to be queen one day. She'll probably be excited to have a king by her side to rule the country with.

But fuck, you wanted her. You had met her long ago and spoke to her a few times because you played together as kids when the adults held their party's or fancy balls if you will. As you and Miyeon turned older she got more reserved, held back and protected by her family. She looked sad though, she must want to be more free.

Suddenly you looked eyes with her and you swore your heart stopped. She flashed you a smile and walked up to you. "Y/N, it is lovely to see you again, it has been a long time, hasn't it?" She said. You bowed to her and smiled kindly. "Princess Miyeon, your grace, I'm glad to see you again too, it has been years indeed."

"The ball is kinda boring, is it not?" She giggled. You smiled, recognizing the mischief she had in her eyes when she was still an innocent child. When the world hadn't caused her pain yet. "It sure is a quiet one," you nodded.

"Do you wanna go for a walk? Let's sneak out," she grinned. It truly was just like old times again. The two of you slipped away from the stunning ballroom and ran through the halls. Your heels were clicking on the floor and your giggles and laughs were echoing throughout the halls.

Miyeon stopped running and entered the balcony, taking a deep breath as she leans on the cold white stone. "Your grace, isn't it too cold to be outside? It is still winter and I do not want you to catch a cold," you said worriedly, stepping onto the balcony with her.

She grinned and sighed. "It does not matter, Y/N. I'm just glad I finally can breathe again. I love the fresh air and I hate staying inside all day, drinking tea with my mother. Ever since my father died she's been so..."

Miyeon stopped talking and sighed. Your heart sank, remembering the terrible news from last year when it was announced the queen's husband; king Theodore had fallen sick and passed away in his sleep.

"It has been hard on her, and now she's making it even harder for me because she's pushing me to get married and have children so there'll be more heirs."

Princess Miyeon is the only child of Queen Isabella and the late king Theodore, as they hadn't spend much time together in their younger years due to wars and battles. Queen Isabella raised her on her own while also ruling the country. You had felt bad for Miyeon, it must be a tough and lonely life for her. Maybe, just maybe, you could spend more time with her, as a friend?

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

April 29th 1815

Time passed and you and Miyeon had actually gotten closer to her as a friend. The queen was glad Miyeon had a lady of great class that Miyeon could trust so she elected you to be the princess' court. You'd spend a lot of time with her, the queen told you, and to be honest you couldn't be happier.

In public you were very professional but behind closed doors you joked and played around like every normal 18-year old girl. You drank tea together and discussed all the drama and gossip going around and you shared wisdom with one another, reading books together.

Today Miyeon was feeling particularly mischievous and she took you with her to one of the big libraries in the palace. You were checking out the books when all of a sudden her voice called out to you.

''Y/N, What do you know about the marital act?''

You froze and looked at her. ''The marital act? You mean the wedding night... occurrence?'' ''Yeah, do you know what that is?'' You sat on the couch next to her and looked at the book she held in her hands. ''I don't know much about that, actually, my family has never told me about it except for my sister Florence. She told me there's a thing that married people do and that's how children are made.''

Miyeon nodded and opened the dusty book. It revealed texts about the marital act with pictures and details of male and female anatomy. ''That's what a naked man looks like? That is the...'' ''That's the penis,'' you said, nodding. ''It looks strange,'' Miyeon comments. You nodd and sigh. ''I agree, I'm not really... attracted to it. Or the man,'' you say. You mentally slap yourself for basically confirming your sexuality but Miyeon seems to skip over it.

''I have never seen it before. I have only seen myself naked.''

You felt like your skin was on fire, why did she have to talk about her being naked? As if you hadn't imagined that enough already. ''Are women's bodies different?'' she asks. You grin and play with your bracelet nervously. ''You're a curious one, for sure. Well, me and my sisters' bodies are all different... Some of them are taller, some have bigger breasts, some of them have bigger buttocks or thighs...''

''And the... crotch area? Is that the same?'' Your cheeks were bright red about now. ''T-The crotch area? You mean the... the vulva. I haven't seen my sisters', that is a little... inappropriate.'' Miyeon nodds, understanding that it's a more private matter. ''Sometimes I think about what it would be like to touch another woman's body. I wonder if it's different,'' she confesses.

You can feel your pussy clench around nothing, and you were most definitely aroused now. It was only because of Florence - who is definitely your favourite sister - that you learned about what arousal is and what you can do about it, what you can to do yourself. Even though you don't understand the entire concept of these so called 'sexual' acts and feelings, your instinct is to touch yourself between your legs and now you definitely feel the desire to do the same to her.

Fuck.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

May 11th, 1815

It has been about two weeks since your feelings for the crown princess started to develop into something more. You felt such affection and fondness while looking at her. You wanted to kiss her lips and carress her, and also undress her and lay naked with her, desiring to feel pleasure with her. You secretly stole the book from the library and in the back there were several drawings that were vague and nearly crossed out, but you could see well enough that the drawings and texts were about sex between women.

You had never seen, heard or read anything like this but you could not stop. At every waking moment you wanted to look at the drawings again, imagining princess Miyeon and yourself and at night you touched yourself. You did it all night long, dreaming about her and her body. You thought you might be delusional because you felt like she might be experiencing the same things. Did she not say she wanted to touch another woman?

When you showed up in her room you felt some sense of guilt, because you felt like it was the most horrible thing in the world to do. But her sweet and kind smile and her beautiful feminity made you forget that guilt. She seeked more touch than before, giving you hugs, holding onto your arm and hand and she even gave you a kiss on the cheek when you left her last Tuesday night.

Miyeon's welcome was warm as always and you sat in her room without any guards, just hanging out as two normal girls, not caring about your statusses. Once again Miyeon started to talk about the sexbook and you hold back a frustrated groan. You just nodd along and listen to her rants as she keeps on talking and babbling about it.

''So I don't know if I would ever have sex again if I had a child. Sex with a man doesn't interest me much. Would it not be easier to be with a woman? Know how the body works? It seems like... like a good time,'' she finally says, leaving you with your mouth wide open. What did she just say?

''You feel that too?'' you breathed out. ''I do... Maybe all women feel like that. I think women are prettier, more delicate.'' You literally could not breathe at this point, your core aching for her. ''Have you ever kissed anyone, your grace?'' Miyeon shook her head. ''No, but I have read about it and I saw other people doing it.'' ''Ah, I understand,'' You nodded.

''Would you like to kiss me, Y/N?'' She swiftly and suddenly said. You gasped a little as Miyeon scooched closer to you, her leg brushing up against yours. ''I... I would like that, princess,'' you nodded. Miyeon rested her soft and dainty hand on your cheek, carressing your face ever so gently. You leaned in and pressed your lips on hers, pecking her softly before pulling back. A fire broke out in your body, it was burning with passion as you stared into her eyes. Miyeon licked her lips and closed the space between you, pulling you close and putting your lips together again.

Her head tilted to the right as your lips moved together. It felt so nice and smooth and you felt the desire to deepen the kiss more. You pulled her even closer and felt her torso against yours, the sensation of your chests coming together sent a lightning bolt straight to your core. Her hands ran through your hair now, as yours ran over her back and hips. The material of her expensive dress felt so nice in your hand you wanted to keep touching it but you desired to feel her skin even more.

Your hands now slid from her back to her buttocks and you grabbed it, pinching and squeezing it. She whimpered softly, lips parted against yours. The princess slid her tongue in your mouth, slowly gliding it against your own and tasting each other's saliva. You felt so warm, like you'd combust. To your disappointment she pulled away from you after a few minutes, panting softly.

How were the two of you ever gonna move on from this?

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

May 20th, 1815

Apparently, you did not have to move on from it, because it kept happening. Miyeon kept kissing you from morning 'til late at night, in her room, hallways and secret places. Your hands, lips and tongues were all over each others ever since the first time. You're in the library once again and you lifted her on the dark wooden table in the center of the room. Your tongue glides over her neck and she throws her head back, moaning out softly.

Miyeon tugs down the top of her dress so that her breasts pop out. You curse underneath your breath and pepper kisses from her neck and collarbones down to her chest. Your hands reach up to her breasts and fondle them gently, watching her face closely. You kiss them and then close your lips around her left nipple, licking and sucking on it. She mewls and squirms underneath your touch and instinctively widens her legs.

''Y-Y/N,'' she moaned softly. The princess takes your dominant hand in hers and brings it underneath her dress, to her crotch. Your hand grazes the fabric of her underwear and it's so wet, so goddamn wet.

''You're so aroused, aren't you, my princess?'' You teased as you rubbed over her clothed crotch. ''Y-Yes, my lady, my Y/N, I'm so hot right now, please, I have read so many texts about this and I want it, I want it, please, I know you can make me feel good, please, God, I want it!'' she begged.

A smirk played on your lips and you pushed the bombastic skirt of her dress up and pulled her underwear down, revealing her glistening wet cunt. You looked at it up close, admiring how it's similar and yet a little different than your own. But it was wet in the exact same slick way yours got when you thought about the princess.

''I'm going to touch you now,'' you announced, spreading her legs wider. Your fingers slid through her folds, collecting her juices before pushing one finger inside her. ''Relax,'' you ordered her as you felt her body tense up. She nodded and watched you pump your finger in and out of her pussy slowly.

When you noticed her body relaxing you moved it faster and harder, opening her up before adding a second finger. You scissor your fingers inside her and curl them just right so it hits all the sweet spots inside her. You take off her panties and stuff them in her own mouth to keep her quiet. Her pussy clenches around your fingers and you decide to use your other hand to play with her clit. This is one of those times where you're thankful for having perfect co-ordination between your hands.

The princess is squeeling, whimpering and squirming as you move your fingers faster and put pressure on her clit. Her body tenses again and you know she's close to orgasming. You keep going and rub her clit even faster. ''That's it, princess, you're gonna come for me now, you'll come like the perfect princess you are,'' you breathed out, surprised at your own vulgar talk.

In a matter of seconds Miyeon came undone, coming and squirting so hard on your fingers, arousal seeping out of her pussy. She drenches herself and you in her juices and you ride out her orgasm before retracting your fingers from her wet hole.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

May 23rd, 1815

The Queen threw another party in her gigantic ballroom for the debutants and other ladies to find a suitor and both you and Miyeon were expectant to look for one tonight, but you sneaked off again. This time she brought you to a room full of artworks that were just collecting dust, meaning barely anyone came here in the past weeks, if not months.

She crashed her lips on yours again, sinking into your embrace and feeling your warm body against hers. You pulled away minutes later and panted, wiping the lipgloss from your cheek. "Princess, should we be doing this here?"

"Y/N, my dearest I keep thinking about you. About your hand between my legs, and your lips on my breasts, but that is not all. I think about your kind and beautiful face, your beautiful laugh and your golden heart. I think... I think I might have fallen in love with you, my dear."

You gasped softly, stunned at the sudden confession from the heir. "But princess, do you not know this is impossible? You need to find a suitor to be your king, you have to focus on ruling the country. It is... definitely not possible for us to be anything," you muttered.

Her eyes became glassy, welling up with tears, but as she learned she held them in. "But Y/N, I love you," she whispered. Her hand carressed your cheek softly, her fingers grazing your jaw. "Our love isn't impossible, I know you want me too."

"But the situation is impossible, in years you'll be the queen and you cannot... you cannot be a queen without a king and children. And even if you were, you couldn't be a queen who loved another woman. It's scandalous!"

"If I'm the queen can't I just... change the rules?" "You know damn well that you can't, Miyeon, you'll be a queen and not God" you spat. "Well fuck God, to hell with God!" You gasped and palmed her mouth. "Do not shout these things princess, please, we'll get caught and you'll get in a blasphemy scandal."

She took a deep breath and took your hands in hers. "I only want to be by your side. Can we do at least that?"

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

June 4th, 1815

You just came back to the palace from a long walk with the princess, which was more of a date because you felt like you were out with your lover. You talked about the world and about happy things while you held hands and laughed. Now you brought her back to her room and before the staff got to say anything Miyeon told them that you would be helping her get a bath and get ready for bed. You bowed to the staff and send them off, then closing the doors to Miyeon's room.

She pushed you up against them immediately. The gold ornaments on the door was gold on your chest but the hands gripping your buttocks firmly set you on fire once again. "Finally we are all alone," she whimpered in your ear as she pressed herself against you. You felt her breasts on your back and you wanted to turn around but her grip was surprisingly strong this time.

The princess grinded her crotch against your behind while her hands traveled up to your chest, pulling your dress down so your breasts sprung free. That's when she spun you around and fondled your breasts, kneeding them and massaging them just the way you like it. "Y/N, you drive me crazy, these... these beautiful breasts of yours, I wanna hold them all day long and I wanna touch you while I drown in your eyes," she sighs, kissing your breasts and lapping her tongue at your nipples.

"Why don't you drown between my legs instead?" You moaned softly, smirking slightly. You helped yourself and the princess out of your dresses and underwear, seeing each other completely naked for the very first time. Miyeon pulled you to the bed and you laid down on it together, embracing one another. "You're a beautiful woman, Y/N," she says with a smile, caressing your hip gently. "As are you, your grace." She laid you against her soft pillows and spread your legs wide. "I can not wait to taste you, my dear," she breathed out. "Then don't wait, please, do it, now." She nodds and licked a stripe up your wet pussy, tasting your arousal and smirking.

Her tongue glides along your folds, licking you up and again, and again until she tries to push it into your hole. You mewl and quickly cover your mouth with your right hand, stifling yourself as much as you could. After a few minutes of her tongue pumping and licking your inner walls she pulls out and finds your sensitive clit instead.

You cry out and grab the sheets tightly with your fists and moan at the sensation. It's one thing rubbing your clit with your own fingers but having the most beautiful woman on earth licking and sucking on it was something else. It didn't take Miyeon long to make you come undone on her tongue, lapping up your arousal as your body squirms.

When you gain your breath again you pull her on top of you, feeling her breasts on yours and rubbing them together slightly as you make out with her again. You notice yourself becoming impatient and wanting more so you flip yourselves over, getting on top of the princess. She looks at you with her big and beautiful brown eyes, patiently waiting with hunger in her eyes, curious as to what you're planning to do now.

You spread her legs and lift the right one up, letting it rest on your shoulder. She gasps as you align your sexes together, arousals colliding as you do so. "God, baby, Y/N, what are you doing to me?" She moaned. "I'm going to make love to you, princess, and I can do this sweetly, but I could also fuck you, fuck you hard," you grunted as you slowly rubbed your pussy on hers. "God, that sounds so good, please, that's what I want, Y/N, please do it hard and make me cum again," she begged. "Say no more, my princess," you nodded.

You started to rub your crotch on hers quicker, aligning your clits together and sparking a fire between your bodies. Both of your whimpers, moans and pleads were slowly becoming louder and louder, no longer thinking about keeping things quiet.

"Yes, yes, Y/N, that's so good, that feels amazing, my love, please do it harder, oh! O-oh that's good, yes! Please!"

Miyeon was a loud one, squeeling and moaning, nearly screaming as you quite literally rocked her world. The headboard of the bed was banging against the wall as you kept riding and grinding on her at a fast pace. The tension between you two was growing and both of you were getting close. You held each other as tight as you could while grinding together and quickly you both came, arousal dripping out of you and moans becoming a beautiful set of sinful harmonies.

When you stopped and laid down next to her, Miyeon still hadn't had enough, spreading your legs and putting her pussy on yours once again. She was still so sensitive from her previous orgasm, as were you, so it didn't take long before she started moving quicker and harder, moaning loudly. She threw her head back, her hair coming undone and falling onto her shoulders in lucious shiny curls.

Miyeon presses her lips onto yours as she keeps rocking into you, moaning into your mouth as she comes again in a matter of minutes, squirting on your pussy. "Fuck, fuck, princess!" You moaned against her lips. You flipped her over again, laying her down. The princess' head is laying over the edge of the bed and you set yourself back in the familiar position, grinding on her pussy, her pelvis, her thigh, you rubbed your pussy everywhere, chasing your own high.

"Yes, Y/N, Fuck! Use me! Rub it on me baby, rub it on me, use my body and make yourself come, give it to me, come for me!" You screamed loud and came, shuddering and shaking and falling on top of the princess. The two of you laid there for a while, sweaty and panting.

After a while you stood up and helped the princess up, carrying her to the bathtub. You drew the bath and helped her get in, massaging her skin and scrubbing her while pressing soft kisses on her lips. "I wish we could do that all day long," she sighed. "Me too," you nodded, washing her hair. "I love you, Y/N, You're my dearest love." You sighed but smiled and kissed her. It hurt you when she said those things, because you were realistic enough to know this was gonna end badly and you'd end up in pain. So you didn't ever say it back. But she knew.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

June 15th 1815

''Miyeon, my dearest,'' Queen Isabella said, ''I have found you a suitor! He will be attending the ball next Saturday. You will have to look your absolute best, yes?''

You swallowed thickly, looking down at the teacup in your lap. You tried hard to stay calm, and not to scream 'No! Don't take her from me just yet!' but you knew there was no use. If it's the Queen's orders Miyeon would have to obey her wishes. Miyeon nodded and cleared her throat. ''Yes mother... May I ask what he looks like? What his name is? Where he is from? Because... I would rather marry out of love but if I cannot then I will at least have to know who I marry, right?''

''That is not important. He is a good man, he is from France and we shall hold the wedding soon, after the two of you meet.''

Miyeon nodded, but she stayed quiet the entire time. When the Queen had left and you asked for a private conversation she bursted out in tears. ''Y/N,'' she cried, ''I do not want to marry that French prince, I wanna stay by your side!'' ''My princess, I will be on your side, except our situation will be different. You understand that what has been happening can not happen again.'' She sighed and brushed some hair out of her face and dried her cheeks. ''Not until after the wedding. I can still do whatever I want right now.''

The sovereign pulled you close in her arms and kissed your lips and then your neck. Her hands slid over the material of your dress and she pulled the skirt up, grazing your soft thighs. ''Oh, princess,'' you sighed out when her hand slid into your underwear, cupping your sex. She rubbed your folds as she kissed and sucked on your neck. ''Miyeon, oh God,'' you moaned when she entered you with two fingers. You wanted to stop her, tell her it would only hurt more if the two of you would continue this illicit affair, but you could not stop her. The power of her love and her being was too strong for you, and so you let her.

Her slender fingers pumped in and out of your pussy, making you wetter and moan her name into her mouth as she kisses you. It did not take long for you to come undone on her fingers, falling into her embrace.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

June 18th, 1815

Watching the love of your life meet her future husband was killing you inside. What was worse than that is the fact he was making her laugh and he was touching her hand. The hand that only belonged to you, the hand that fucked you just a few hours ago. Louis, was the guys name and you found him a snob, an arrogant man. Why was she laughing at everything he said?

You knew you tended to overthink certain situations but the way she looked at him showed you she was fond of him and you could not watch it any longer. You took a glass of champagne and drank the entire thing in a matter of seconds before exiting the ballroom. You sat in the hallway, where staff walked around but did not give a damn about how you fell to your knees and cried out. You were losing your love and nobody gave a damn.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

June 19th, 1815

''He's not too bad, luckily,'' Miyeon sighed after she told you about her fiancé. ''Not too bad? You were drooling all over him,'' you scoffed. ''Y/N, please, if I had a choice you know it would be you, not him. I'm just saying I'm glad he's not a total... twat.'' ''He is a twat, he is stealing you from me. You might end up with someone but what about me? I will not be living in a golden palace and I will not be having anyone's children and-''

''Y/N, for one moment, will you think about me?'' ''ALL, I think about, is you princess. You are my thoughts, you are my life, you are it.'' ''You have said yourself that this would hurt and it would not work out even before I did, why are you suddenly verbally attacking me? You knew this was going to happen.''

''So that means I cannot have feelings about this? That means I cannot hate him and feel outraged that he will kiss you and hold you while I rot away in my parents house?'' ''Y/N, please, I will be heartbroken too if I can never hold you again but you knew it was coming. This is not new information. I might be with you but I am still your princess!''

You swallowed your pride and looked down, nodding and taking a deep breath. ''Yes, your grace, princess.'' The tone in your voice was enough for Miyeon to know you drew a line. ''Come on, Y/N, do not do this, we still have a little while,'' she says, trying to take your hand but you step away and bow for her. ''I will not let you cheat on your fiancé, my princess, I shall head home now.'' You bowed once again and left princess Miyeon alone, in tears.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

June 21st, 1815

You were a weak woman, because only days later you were back in bed with Miyeon. Her body felt warm and delicate against your own skin. ''Princess,'' you called out softly. ''Do not speak, Y/N, do not say anything to... to stop this moment.'' You nodd and close the gap between your lips. They move together as you get on top of the beauty. You spread her bare legs and put your crotch on hers. The contact feels so good you throw your head back as you roll your hips forward. You bite back a moan as you bit your lips, breathing picking up as you grind your clit on hers.

''Y/N, Dear, please move faster, please make me finish on your beautiful cunt!'' she pleaded, holding your hips tight. ''Yes darling, my princess I'll make you come again, that is my duty.''

Your hands moved to her naked chest, fondling her breasts as you fucked yourself on her crotch, chasing your on relief. Miyeon was moaning over and over again, nails clawing in the soft flesh of your buttocks. ''Do it harder, harder!'' she screamed. ''Oh my God, oh my God!'' she squeeled when you did her just right. She moved her body along with yours and came hard, eyes rolling back to her brain. The sight of her coming for you made you come as well. You rode out your highs before getting off her but keeping her legs spread.

Miyeon whimpered when she felt two of your fingers dip into her core and she clenched around them. ''Y/N, please, t-too sensitive!'' she cried, but you did not care, you wanted to leave a memory and make her orgasm over and over again. Her arousal was seeping out of her cunt as you moved your fingers inside her quickly. Miyeon's breathing was picking up and with just a few more thrusts she squirted over your hand, coating you in her slick. Without giving her a chance to gain her breath again you kept going, determined.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

June 26th, 1815

The wedding bells were loud, too loud actually for you. It was incredibly hard to hold back the thick tears welling up in your eyes as you watched Miyeon walk out with her prince, her husband. It made you feel nauseous, you wanted to throw up and run away, cry, scream and disappear, knowing you have now lost her to someone else.

You bow to her and congratulate her as she walks by, and when she gets into the carriage you run away. You do not even know where you are running to but you are running, running far away from the church. You end up in the field you once sat in with her and you fell to your knees, not caring your dress would get dirty. You laid in the grass and looked up to the sky while tears fell from your eyes, rolling down your cheek. You missed her dearly, already, and this was only day one. From now on there would be a lifetime without her. Without anyone ever knowing she was once yours.

And that's the thing about illicit affairs And clandestine meetings and longing stares It's born from just one single glance But it dies, and it dies, and it dies A million little times

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