#this chap is only one part

[joshym]

one more little snippet of ch. 7 before it's complete. ⚔︎

see you very soon. 🤍

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - 38

PREV

If it weren’t for the fact that he and Riko had stumbled across a truly traumatizing video of his birth that they had watched secretly in Tetsuji’s office when he was away on a business trip one weekend Kevin would believe that he was born with an Exy racquet in his hand. But the image that is seared into his retinas to this day has proven that he came into this world empty handed.

That doesn’t change the fact that Kevin has spent the majority of his life utterly and completely submersed in Exy. He was trained as a Raven, he was court, he was a champion as both a Raven as a Fox and if he had his way he’d leave college with more Championships under the orange and white than the black and red.

Exy was everything in the world to him.

He could overlook many personality defects if someone brought something to the Court.

Apathetic five foot nothing who was more likely to stab him than shake his hand? Well, he’s the best goalie that Kevin had ever seen in his entire life (and that was saying something).

Tight ass who has anger management issues and will not shut the fuck up about his girlfriend now that he’s not even allowed to have? Well, he is a very solid backliner who has excellent ball handling skills (even if Aaron keeps telling him to stop saying it like that or why he keeps yelling that he’s straight).

Overly touchy, too emotional, will not shut the fuck up about his fiancé in Germany? Well, he is a very solid backliner who is great at rebounds (Kevin doesn’t get why Nicky gets mad when he says that or why he brings up Erik).

Guy who actively dislikes him and is dying for any chance to punch him and also being overly attached to his friends? He’s a great enforcer on the court and had the stamina to play far longer than the other two backliners (Why Dan always said “yeah he does” whenever Kevin commented on Matt’s stamina he will never understand, and he also doesn’t want to.)

Suspicious kid from Millport with a mouth that could strip paint and a past so shrouded in mystery that it even had Andrew perking up in interest? Well, he’s the fastest Striker in the game and the only person that has ever kept up with Kevin’s obsession with the sport. (There was the minor downside that he was the son of the Butcher and almost died before the championships, but Neil pulled through.)

He tolerated all of them and now they’re his best friends.

There are some who he does find personally objectionable but so long as Jack and Sheena manage to continue to be good on the court he doesn’t care about the many many faults in their personalities. They’re his teammates, they aren’t his friends.

He accepted that he might not like any of the others that came onto the team. For the most part he had never given a shit about before the Foxes, content with his brotherhood with Riko even if it wasn’t…perfect. Then he became friends with FF and FF had done him a truly large favor and Kevin wanted to pay that back the best way he knew how. Through his truly infallible health advice and through perfectly crafted smoothies.

Then Daniel appeared with the truth that FF truly met all requirements to be a Fox and Kevin tasted his own smoothie for the first time.

He considered both revelations to be equally upsetting.

Still…

FF was one of the best dealers Kevin had ever had the pleasure to be on Court with. The man knew his position well and interrupted offensives with an enviable ease that made Kevin wish to possibly strap some sort of device onto him and figure out how he did certain things.

It wasn’t that far off to believe that a man raised in the same environment as FF could possibly have similar talents and since Lisa fucked off back to some small town cult they really did need a good sub. Sheena was a good offensive dealer but they had games coming up where defense would be imperative and FF did not have the stamina for a full game and likely would not for quite some time considering he’d be recovering from being stabbed.

So, he’d defended Daniel’s right to try out.

At first, he had felt vindicated. Daniel kept up quite well during the initial warm-ups. Kept pace with Jack, Sheena, Aaron, Andrew, and Nicky. Kevin had been bringing up the rear mostly to make sure that Andrew didn’t stab the guy during warm-ups.

Then it was time for the first precision drill.

The other thing about how Kevin was raised is that he was raised surrounded only by the best of the best. The Ravens were at the top of the Collegiate hierarchy. The National Court used their stadium for practice.

The worst Exy that Kevin had ever seen in his entire life up until the moment that Daniel took hold of an Exy racquet was still only the worst team in Collegiate Division 1 Exy.

Then Kevin watched the ball go so wide that the entire court went silent.

All of the drills that followed were as bad, if not worse.

Kevin felt himself start to vibrate with anger the longer it went on. He started to shout corrections at Daniel but the younger man merely rolled his eyes, “I think I know what I’m doing.” He would say before pointedly proving that he did not.

Kevin only realized nearly an hour in that he had wasted his entire practice shouting himself hoarse at the actual waste of human life that was Daniel Stanton.

Kevin could accept being bad at Exy and having an inoffensive personality. Kevin could accept being good at Exy and having a bad personality.

Kevin could not accept being bad at Exy and having a bad personality.

Coach Wymack called the practice to an end and Kevin thought that he’d manage to keep his anger mostly inside (he is ignoring the near hour of practice he spent screaming directions) when Daniel decided to deliver the Coup de Grace.

Sweat soaking his bangs, panting, and without a single thing done correctly (even the way he was currently holding his borrowed Exy racquet set Kevin’s teeth on edge) the man had the gall, the gumption, and the absolute AUDACITY to come up to the coach.

“So, where do I sign?” he asks.

Kevin sees red and unleashes hell.

***

This was the most fun Andrew has had at a practice since he started having to come to them.

The look of embarrassment on Daniel’s face as Kevin accurately tore into everything he did wrong on the Court and every personal failing that Kevin could home in on. His attention shifted away to FF sitting in the stands near the University official who was shaking her head at the obvious poor showing. The University may have wanted Daniel around to spruce up the Fox’s marketability but even they couldn’t let someone so obviously awful onto one of their few Division 1 teams.

FF was sat sipping one of Kevin’s god awful smoothies looking completely unshocked by Daniel’s showing.

Kevin turned his attention to FF, “You said he was good!” Kevin points at the freshman as he continues to sip the drink.

Andrew interrupts, “He never said he was good.” He remembers the conversation so exactly and there are few things he loves more than having the opportunity to rub it in Kevin’s face when the man is wrong, “He said ‘Daniel has always been athletic’ never anything about him being good.” Andrew reminds.

Kevin whips back around to Daniel, “Have you ever even played Exy?” Kevin demands.

“I didn’t think it’d be hard to pick up.” Daniel argues crossing his arms defensively.

It sets Kevin off on another furious rant.

Andrew had thought that FF didn’t have a mean bone in his body and he’s quite pleased to have been proven wrong. The thought that FF had let Daniel get all the way into embarrassing himself in such a way?

Andrew had to give him props.

“How does it feel getting to watch this idiot crash and burn?” he asks coming to the glass.

“Really thought he could manage it if I could.” FF says with a shrug that has Aaron bark out a laugh.

“You really figured?” Aaron asks coming to stand next to Andrew.

FF just shrugs again, “I mean I also started not knowing how to play and now I’m on a pretty good team.” He says as if FF starting as a child not knowing how to play is the same as someone walking in demanding a spot on a college team.

Nicky lets out a laugh.

“Oh, Smithy I could kiss you.” Nicky laughs and makes his way towards the Court entrance to likely do exactly that moving past a Daniel who was so red in the face with embarrassment and anger that he looked as if he was about to turn purple.

Andrew tuned in.

“…small pond. The only reason you ever felt like you were worth anything is that Smiths was too nice to put you in your place before now!” Kevin was probably talking about medium-sized fish in a small pond but Andrew didn’t really care to know.

“Are you going to let him talk to me like this?!” Daniel finally turned to Wymack.

“Kevin, you shouldn’t talk to the public like that.” Wymack says without a hint of chastisement in his voice.

Kevin still straightened at the reminder, “You’re right. Sorry coach.” Kevin sneered at Daniel, “Get off the court before you taint it.” He hisses.

“You’re really not going to sign me?!” Daniel demands.

“Why would I?” Wymack asks with a raised brow.

“You took a chance on John!” Daniel points towards FF.

Andrew watches as Wymack’s face does something he’d rarely seen it do, it goes utterly and completely cold. “I don’t take chances with my kids.” He spat, “I give my kids a second chance. Get the hell off of my court.” He hisses.

Daniel’s face purples further before he stomped off of the Court.

“Don’t you dare walk off with that racquet! It’s worth more than you!” Kevin shouts after him and Andrew in that moment realizes that Daniel is going to do something stupid.

And FF is on the other side of the Plexiglass with only Nicky at his side.

It’s like watching a train crash.

Daniel might say something, but Andrew doesn’t know. He sees Neil rushing as well, his sense of danger always well-honed but Neil had been in Captain mode in the moments before walking some of the sophomore and freshmen through what they had done wrong.

Neither of them will make it in time.

Daniel throws his racquet, and he throws it right at FF barely 5 feet away in the stands.

The Racquet blows past FF’s head and Andrew lets out a breath.

Then before it could crash into the seats behind him and break FF’s hand wrapped around the shaft of the stick and stopped it’s trajectory.

“Your aim really isn’t getting any better by not listening to Kevin’s advice.” Smith says as he twirls the racquet in his hand so that the net was on the ground. “Also, don’t break the equipment, like Kevin said it’s pretty expensive.” He says.

Daniel let out a primal scream but where Andrew had stalled out to watch the miraculous catch Matt Boyd had not. Daniel was tackled to the ground by the backliner, “Absolutely not.” Matt said with a scowl.

“Smithy are you okay?” Andrew hears Nicky ask.

“Yeah, why?” FF asks as if he hadn’t just been attacked but considering everything that Andrew had seen it wouldn’t shock him if Daniel’s attacks were just par for the course back home for FF. “The racquet looks okay too.” He adds.

“Coach Wymack,” The University representative made their way down looking flustered at the outburst of violence.

Obviously not someone who regularly watched Exy or paid attention to their team.

“This is why I wanted absolute control over who does and who doesn’t get a shot here.” Wymack hisses pointing at Daniel as he struggled under Matt.

“You have our sincere apologies for this.” She says looking at Daniel, “He didn’t… we thought he’d be good for the team’s culture but it seems like we may have misjudged-“

“That guy just tried to take Smithy out!” Nicky interrupts.

“I told you he was dangerous.” Neil adds.

“Can someone call campus security?” Matt asks from the ground, “This jackass keeps aiming for kidney punches and I would like to not be pissing blood during winter break.” Matt requests.

“O-of course!” the University representative says fumbling for her cell phone.

Andrew looked at Matt and figured that the backliner had a handle on that particular mess at the moment.

He made his way over to FF and Nicky who was checking over the freshman.

“Nice catch.” He says.

FF shrugs, “It’s my racquet he was borrowing.” He says, “I didn’t want to get a new one.” He adds.

***

FF watches as campus security took custody of Daniel as he continued to spit and scream. There are talks about pressing charges, but FF just wants Daniel off of the campus and away from him. It’s Jack of all people who says that getting a restraining order is a great way to make sure Daniel stays the hell away from him and FF nods consideringly.

Honestly, he’s still mostly in shock he managed to catch his racquet the way he had. His reflexes weren’t quite up to snuff since he’d been trying to catch the netting, but his hand only closed around the shaft.

Embarrassing.

He really hopes no one teases him about his slower reflexes.

“He needs to be charged for assault at least.” Kevin hisses as they watch the security officers take Daniel away.

“It’d be attempted assault.” Aaron corrects.

“He assaulted my eyes with his Exy.” Kevin insists.

“If that counted as assault, don’t you think I would have pressed charges for all the times I have had to see you dance at Eden’s?” Neil asks. “Also, you’re the one that insisted he try-out.” He reminds.

“Smiths told me he was good!” Kevin screeches.

“No, we’ve been over this Day. Smithy said he was athletic.” Nicky reminds. “Are you going to do what Jack suggested?” he asks turning to FF.

“I’d like to see significantly less of Daniel.” FF admits.

“You know he did actually commit assault, if I pee blood I’m making Kevin go buy me pads.” Matt says.

“Whatever.” Kevin says as they continued to make their way back to the dorm to get ready for the day.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[baeshijima]

no one touch me

im going insane over the s1 vs s2 load screens

[jayzioxx]

Perfect oneshot length is 2500 words

Perfect mini series chapter length is 5000-5500 words

Perfect series chapter length is 5000ish words i dont make the rules

(Write how u wanna write tho fanfic is supposed to be fun)

[madamechrissy]

Would you come with me?

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- So much mutual pining and longing, not sharing feelings. This chap- making out, masturbation (toru hehe), teasing and some very kinky ass thoughts, but mostly TENSION. Eventually - Explicit sex, oral sex, it's me so a breed kink. Gonna be a miniseries, Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad. WC this Part- 7.5k

Songs for this - Lose Contol // My Boo // Friends

This was supposed to be a oneshot but it's going WAY too long, so I'm separating it into three parts! (Also ty for 5k hehe) Comments and reblogs appreciated <3

Masterlist - Part Two>>>

Part one

“You love me, right?”

You blink a bit, as you stare at Satoru Gojo, he’s been your best friend all throughout high school and even before you’ve known him. You’re sitting across from him, while he’s sipping boba with you, his Gucci shades perched on the bridge of that straight nose, a smirk on his glossy lips. You tilt your head curiously at him, of course you love Satoru, but he only pulls this when he needs a favor.

“What’d you get into this time, Toru?” You demand, he gasps then, affronted, a hand to his chest.

“Excuse me, missy? I’m just asking if you love me.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat in the little cafe. “Of course, you know I love your goofy ass.”

 Satoru takes off his glasses, those swirling blue eyes wrecking you as they have all these years, usually you can put up enough of a barrier not to let them consume you, but apparently you haven’t today. You watch those snowy lashes lower when his eyes bore into you, swirling storms of bright blue, you have to snap yourself out of it.

Being Satoru Gojo’s best friend wasn’t for the weak.

“How much you love me, hmm?”

“What is it you need, an alibi?” He snorts then, shaking his head and wrapping his lips around the straw.

“M’not Suguru, shit… no, I need a really big favor. Like… the biggest favor, but if you agree, I can really make it worth your while.”

“Okay this isn’t a mobster movie, Toru, what is it?” Satoru looks down then, long fingers swirling around the top of his cup, before his eyes snap back to yours.

“What if I said I’d help you with all that student loan debt, and buy you a shiny brand new car?”

“Satoru, I don’t want your money, I do fine okay?”

“Your car is old enough to drink.”

“Fuck off!” Your glare makes him snort in laughter. “It is not, it’s like… not even old enough to vote… I don’t think.”

“It’s old, sweets. Say you also had a place to stay, for free?”

“Satoru this isn’t Pretty Woman-”

“I love that movie!”

“Satoru! What are you getting at!?” You’re crossing your arms then, raising a brow at the lanky man across from you, whose legs are spread wide in his dark blue dress pants, he’s pulling just a bit at his silky black tie.

Satoru has taken a huge role recently in his family business, the conglomerate that owned a million different things, you know how much he detests it, but once Satoru graduated college his family pushed it more and more. At this point he was thriving, doing most of the work with his father taking much more of a back seat, his health starting to deteriorate.

You and Gojo spend more time together than ever, you know he needs his friend, especially with Suguru having left for some time, the two of them not together was always hard on him. You’d been friends with both of them, but Suguru seems to have left and found his own calling, swinging through to see you both from time to time, but much is different since those days at Tokyo high.

Not you and Satoru though.

For the longest time you pined away for him, but you never made that move, aside from one stolen kiss in a closet during seven minutes in heaven, and Satoru had it bad for you all of Junior and Senior year, but the two of you never risked it, your friendship. And now you’re glad to have him in your life, but it’s hard to even think of someone serious when he’s so brightly and firmly in your life.

“This is a huge favor I need, it’s… a lot to ask.” Satoru murmurs softly, you tense a bit, brows drawing together.

“What’s wrong, is everything okay?” Your voice is a low hum as you murmur, he nods just a bit.

“Yeah it’s fine just… I’m being forced to choose a bride, and they have many candidates.” He laughs humorlessly, and your heart breaks for him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Satoru. I thought you’d have longer?”

“Yeah, I wish.” He runs a hand through his silky white locks, looking down for a moment, lips that always smirk or maybe pout actually frowning. “I need to just get it done, get em off my ass.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, why not tell em to fuck themselves, hmm? Where’s my Toru!?”

“He’s exhausted.” He swipes a hand across his face, and you lean closer, hand on his leg, his eyes sliding back to yours.

“Do you want me to help find someone? I have a lot of good friends in high families… find you someone not money hungry, not a psycho? How much time do you even have?”

“That’s not what I'm asking.” He puts his big hand over yours now, sighing, leaning closer to you. “I’m asking if you want to.”

“If I want to, what exactly?”

“Marry me?”

“What!?” He chuckles then, but even that sound is exhausted.

“You forget you’re from a top family, nah it’s not the Gojo clan but…”

“Satoru…”

“Just for like a bit? To get em to leave me alone, let me gain some more power. All for show, and I’ll help you with anything, I promise.” He’s clutching your hand, and suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning.

“Wh-why me? We… you… I…”

“You’re my best friend, it would be like being roommates damn near. You could… do your thing as long as you’re discrete.” He murmurs, you want to laugh then, as if you’ve done anything in a couple of years now. “And I would be discrete, respectful, we’d just be in name, appearance. We’re best friends, it will be a piece of cake, and most of all… I trust you.”

You try to digest all the information, blinking and trying not to think the insane thoughts that come with it, but you fail. “But won’t they want… an heir?”

Satoru’s cheeks flush bright pink now. “We don’t need to… I’d never ask you to do that, ever I swear. I’d never be an ass like that.”

You feel your heart racing as you shove back all of the images you should not have for your friend. “I know, I know. But… they’d-”

“That’s the thing, a year or so and they’ll back off. Give me time to fix some mistakes, with dad being sick… I’m not saying I won’t miss him, but how he is running shit? No, I know I can make things better, take down these shitty higher ups who are so greedy. You just could give me more time, and I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you too.”

“It’s insane, this is marriage!” You blink a bit, shifting, his hand now brushing back a lock of hair from your forehead, a familiar gesture that now takes on something more intimate.

“It can just be for show, we’ll be the same best friends as always. I have no one I can imagine even living with but you, maybe Suguru but… he’s not a girl.”

“He has that long silky hair?” You both laugh a little, softly then.

“He sure does, but… you’re prettier to look at.”

“Flattery? Stop that. It’s insane, and… how would we even explain it in such a rush?”

“We’ve been friends forever. Who wouldn’t believe that we got together? It’s even easier. I mean, maybe a couple kisses and things for show, but… you’ve kissed me before, remember?” He’s grinning wide then, you shove at him playfully. “That closet was cramped, hmm?”

“Oh shut it, that was so long ago. I mean, if you really need me, you know I’ll do this for you. I don’t expect you to go all out on anything for me in return.” Satoru pauses now, watching how the light streaming in through the large cafe windows hits your pretty face, as you explain to him that you’d want nothing in return for this!? For this huge imposition on your life.

You have always been the sweetest, best friend he has had, so important to him he’s never dared to cross that line, and he knows it will tempt him to no end to do this, but he also knows he can trust you. “Let me just take care of a few things for you, you can almost see it as a job. There will be events, meetings with the other leaders, trust me. Like anything I can do, you’ll be helping me so much.”

“Alright.”

“What!?”

He’s hugging you tightly to him, you giggle a bit, breathless. “Yeah, I’ll do it… I need a nice car though, Toru. A BMW?”

“I’ll get you ten BMWs.”

“Jesus, no. Silly boy.” You giggle as you look up at him, your best friend, but then your heart falters when he’s just a bit too close.

“Should we practice kissing now?” He teases, voice husky.

“Satoru, you're insufferable.”

He pouts now, and you swallow down the fact that you don’t know if you can even handle kissing his lips. “Aww you’re still such a brat, since middle school.”

“You’re the brat here.”

“Meanie.” You both stick your tongues out, and when he’s walking you over to your shitty car, he wraps you in a big hug in his strong arms, making you melt against him. “Mwah, mwah, mwah you’re the best friend ever.”

“Oh, stop.” He’s smacking kisses on your head as you inhale his cologne, sighing as you contemplate just what the fuck you’re doing. “When do we do this?” You ask, pulling back a bit and looking up at him.

“I can have things going in a couple weeks, something super simple, like I said we’ll just live our lives, just be friends, it’ll be fine. Like a really long sleepover, hmm?” He teases, grinning now, putting back on his shades.

You figure, what’s it hurt? Your apartment is shitty, your car is old, Gojo is your best friend, and you’re down to help him avoid a miserable marriage for as long as he can. You nod then, smiling. “A long sleepover.”

One week of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend

Satoru Gojo thought he would control himself decently living with you, considering how many times you’ve slept over, how many movies you both have crashed out on the couch together. He’s seen you in bathing suits over the years, he’s caught glimpses of your pretty body of course, he knows how beautiful you are and he’s always maintained himself.

Satoru treasures you far too much to fuck it up in any way, despite the amount of times he’s almost lost it. Aside from Suguru, you have been the most important person in his life, and perhaps you’re closer now. But he can’t help but compare other girls to you over the years, and he usually makes quick work of the small relationships that he has with them.

However, what he hadn’t anticipated? Living with you walking around in your fucking panties and a crop top.

You nearly took him out the first morning you were here, when he went to brush his teeth, he has a huge house but of course you went to the main bathroom that divides his room and the room he set for you, it’s the bathroom you used when you stayed over. So he should have maybe anticipated it, but nothing prepared him for you bent over the sink, washing your face.

Your ass looked far too tempting in those damn boyshorts, half of each cheek tempting him to smack it, grab it, fucking lift you by it and slide into you. He was shocked when he was hard from the sight of it, he’s not inexperienced or not used to women, and he’s used to you, but something about the sight made him fucking feral, and he had to literally run to one of his guest bathrooms.

He now was almost used to you walking around in almost nothing, but this morning you’re in some little white tank top and he sees the outlines of the curve of your pretty tits, sees your nipples perked up, begging for his mouth. You’re wiping your eyes, yawning, using his Keurig to make coffee, smiling at him as if this is in any way normal or okay.

He gulps as you turn your attention to him, hair in a messy bun, his eyes struggle not to just stare at your body, he has to shut his mouth because it’s just slightly ajar. Satoru, a man who sees women naked frequently, fuck he has business meetings at strip clubs, nudity is nothing. But he can’t take it, take how your breasts are calling for him, how your thighs shift.

“Good morning, Toru! We have that event tonight, right?” You say sweetly, as his heart hammers in his chest, and then you feel his gaze on you, making your nipples tighten, more apparent as you look where he is now, biting your lip. “Shit, white isn’t the best color huh? How embarrassing… it’s kinda cold…”

“Yeah, cold.” He clears his throat, stepping closer, and your eyes drink him in, shirtless and built so perfect. You’ve seen him this way of course over the years, Satoru had no issue pulling his top off to work out, play a game of ball, but something about him in his soft sweats that show too much makes your brain run awry.

You should be immune to it, the god-like body Satoru Gojo has, how fucking perfect he is built, how pretty he is, but something makes your tummy heat up lately, especially when he comes closer, blue eyes lidded. “Um, I’ll make coffee?”

“Yes please.” He smiles sleepily, far too pretty, and you have to remind yourself, as you have all week, that you’re not with him, not truly.

It feels too easy, too comfy.

That was the point though.

“Got it.” You turn now, setting to put the pod in, tiptoeing to get his sugar, he chuckles deeply, reaching above you now, far too close to you, his bare chest pressing against your upper back. Your fingers grip the counters, feeling the cool granite of them, your breath catching.

“I’ll put them a little lower.” He teases, smirking as he sets them down, leaning a hip on the counter, and you smile, pretending to be calm, like your heart didn’t just beat out of your chest.

You’ve literally hugged this man every time you’ve seen him, you’ve even crashed next to him, why is he fucking with you so badly!? You suppose his presence in pieces was just easier to cope with than anything, but now your brain keeps having ridiculous images. Him having you up on that counter, your thighs spread, so intense you drop the spoon, it clatters to his tile floor.

“Shit, sorry.” You bend down, and your breath is right against him, over his thin sweats, and you look up at him, creating the worst images of his best friends he can ever imagine.

“It’s… fine.” He clears his throat, turning so you don’t see the clear evidence of what you’ve done.

“You okay, Toru? Tons of sugar, like usual?”

“Yeah.” His voice is gruff, as he glares at his cock, willing it to go down, you blink curiously at his back, wondering what’s wrong. You clear your throat again and hand him the cup, stepping next to him, he takes it, having put his cock up in the waistband of his boxers now, smiling nonchalantly. “Thanks sweets.”

“Of course! Can we go over a few things later today, before we go? I don’t wanna fuck anything up.”

“Of course we can. I also ordered you a dress and some jewelry, that cool?”

“Oh what? I have dresses, pretty ones!”

“I know, it’s really uppity bitches there though, you need something top notch.”

“Oh…” You trail off, a blush decorating your cheeks now, making you look even more tempting. “But you don’t know my size?’

Satoru brushes a tendril of hair that’s come out of your bun then, smirking just a bit. “Think I don’t know your size, sweetheart?”

“I… um…” Satoru has you flustered, dammit. “Oh?”

“Mhmm.” As if he hasn’t eyed your body a million times over. “It’ll be here later, I have to go to work for just a couple hours.” You nod then, for some odd reason wanting to kiss him, but you bite your lip instead.

“Sounds perfect, I have the day off!”

“Even better, go take a nice bath and relax before we deal with the snobby old fucks.” You giggle at him, you have always loved how he speaks of rich people, when he’s filthy rich, but Satoru? He’s very different.

He’s just…

Satoru.

Satoru’s heart doesn’t hammer in his chest, it almost falls out after he’s got his three piece pinstripe suit on, adjusting a skinny silk tie and peering at his silver Rolex, seeing what time it was, as you appear in front of him. The dress he picked out was a lacy black one, perfect for evening, but the way it hugs your every curve, the way your breasts are pressed up in that top?

You do a nervous spin, revealing your pretty back, the curve of your spine, the v neck so deep he sees hints of the dimples on your back. You turn back around, eyes glittering, enhanced with a little mascara and eyeliner, your lips the prettiest shade of red he can imagine. You look…

Beautiful.

Is that even the word?

How does he even explain it, when he’s speechless, when he feels his ears heat up at just how nervous he is to be in your presence then, eyeing a delicate gold necklace that hits just so in the hollow between your collar bones. You’re tilting your head to the side, hair falling softly in curls you’ve put it in, clutching your pretty little evening bag.

“How do I look, Toru? You look so handsome, but when don’t you.” You tease, and he tries not to look at the slit showing far too much of your pretty thigh, so tempting to slip a hand up it, find your surely pretty little pussy.

“You look…” He takes a breath, trying to act somewhat normal, smiling then. “You look… hot as fuck.”

You giggle then, rolling your eyes. “Oh whatever!”

“You look… amazing. Really.” He steps to you, giving into the temptation to brush the backs of his finger across the apple of your cheek, then across your jaw line, watching your breath catch, your red lips part, showing a hint of your little bottom row of teeth.

How would that pretty face look so fucked out?

God, it’s been a week, he needs to stop.

His hand falls, and you barely hold yourself together, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “You look beautiful, sweets. Gonna make quite the impression.” His husky admission makes you blush further, looking down and eyeing that little knot on his tie, as it’s like the entire room is holding its breath, everything so overwhelming, his nearness, his scent.

“Thank you, really for this dress. It’s so beautiful, and this.” You touch the pretty gold necklace, just making his eyes watch your pretty breasts rise and fall.

“Of course, it’s part of this, you know.” His little admission breaks you just a bit, for some insane reason, you felt like this was some date? You rein yourself in just a bit, smiling.

“Yes, but thank you. Shall we go, hubby?’

“We sure can, wifey.” You both laugh, the friendship of years prevailing finally, when you slip into the back of his limo with him, trying to ignore the feeling of his strong thigh pressing against yours, burning through the silky layer of the dress. “So remember the story?”

“Yeah, it’s easy to think of it happening, friends falling.” You then panic, as his blue eyes catch yours in the dark of the limo. “I mean-”

“No, of course it is. I’ll say that… I started falling in high school.” Because he did, god he did. After you all are about to be at the event, he notices it, your nerves, this just wasn’t your scene. “You look perfect, really.”

“Oh no…” He leans close, cupping your face, but it feels too good, your lips are too close.

“You do, gonna knock 'em dead, yeah?”

“We both will.” You smile tremulously, inhaling the night air greedily as you both walk up to the event, being ushered in. You’re clinging around his elbow as he casually goes about it, going into Mr. Gojo mode, you’ve seen him do it plenty over the years, still keeping his charm and sarcasm, but he’s just a force, the way he plays them all.

Knowing Gojo wants to take most of these people down is thrilling in its own way, you’ve always been enamored with how he fights for his principles, how real and raw he truly is with you about it. How humble when he’s come from everything, but still he knows that role he must play, and play it he does, his hand pressing on the small of your back as you two make small talk.

“I always thought of you two falling for each other.” Says your mom now, yes even your parents had to think it was true.

“I did too… so sudden though? Young love.” Gojo’s mom says, tossing back her silky long locks with a smile.

“What can I say? Your son is hard to resist, he’s so persistent. Like a cute little puppy.”

“A what!? Brat.” He’s glaring, but your parents and his mom are laughing, and you know it works, being real.

“Aren’t you two so in love?” Another person says later, as they observe Satoru placing a little peck on your temple, and he smiles with ease, not realizing the entire mess he’s making you.

“A beautiful couple. Gojo, you chose well.” One of his work friends says with a grin.

“We’re very lucky, both of us.” You say softly, stopping Gojo’s heart, when you peck a little kiss on his neck, tiptoeing in your heels, he turns then, your lips far too close, so close you taste the sweetness of his breath, and your eyes lock. “Aren’t we, Satoru?”

He blinks, realizing… you’re just helping him, and you’re nailing it. He tries to shove back the odd fluttering in his tummy, tilting your chin up. “We are lucky.”

The night ends up with plenty of dancing, plenty of schmoozing back and forth, and plenty of both of you being the perfect team. It was so easy, you both knew each other like no one else, the answers flow, the dancing flows, you’ve both danced in school before, you’ve partied together. You’ve been a plus one even as a friend.

Too natural, too perfect.

You soon need a breath, as you feel far too much as Satoru dances with a lovely girl, you recognize her, Gojo dated her and she’s a family friend. You assume she was a candidate for marriage as you recall her family ties, but seeing someone in his arms suddenly makes your heart break.

It’s only been a fucking week!? Can’t you keep it together!?

Later as you both get home, you’re taking off your shoes, wincing as the heels are off your feet, and Satoru looks at you curiously. “You okay, sweets? Kinda a long night of assholes, huh?”

“Oh it’s fine, Toru. Truly. Um… I recognized a couple girls there.”

“Yeah, they run in the same circles.” He takes off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves of that crisp white dress shirt, revealing the veins of his strong forearms, addling your mind further, how fucking attractive he is when he loosens that tie.

“Um, I know you said discrete, will you be… bringing them here?”

Satoru blinks at you, head tilting, soft white hair falling just so. “What? Bring who here?”

“Um, her, or any of the girls there really. If so I think I’ll probably… wanna know if you don’t mind? So I can make sure I’m in the room or whatever. A little notice?”

Satoru walks to you now, your head is tilted back when he hooks two fingers under your chin. “You think I am interested in them?”

“They’re beautiful. And we’re not together, so it’s fine! Just… a little notice would be cool?”

“And you, what if you bring someone over.” His jaw tenses, his words surprisingly sharp. “Will you tell me?”

You laugh softly. “That won’t even be a thing.”

“In a year?”

“It’s… never been a thing really.” You realize then, that you are almost spilling it, the fact that the entirety of your experience is one fuck in college, a two pump event that involved nothing really.

His brows draw together in disbelief. “Never? You don’t…”

“Listen, we’re best friends, but that’s private. Okay?” He nods, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck, looking down.

“Shit I mean you date a bit though?”

“Yeah, I do. But… it’s… I need to get out of this dress.” You say then, suddenly rushing to your room, leaving Satoru’s mind whirling.

How do you think he wants anyone when you’re here killing him.

“Toru?” You lean your head out from the bathroom a few moments later.

“Yeah?”

“This is embarrassing, but the zipper is stuck, and it’s so expensive… I don’t wanna fuck the dress up.” You murmur, he smiles, feigning ease as he steps into the bathroom, peering at you in the golden gilded mirror.

“No worries, got ya. Huh it is a little stuck…” He gently tugs at the zipper, humming a big. “Um… hang on I need to pull it up a bit.”

“Sure. Be careful!”

“You’re worried about this when I could buy you ten more tomorrow.”

“Still!”

He smiles at your reflection, hand palming your bare back then, making you bite back a gasp, body shifting in desire at just the touch, your eyes shut so he can’t see them rolling back, but he sees those goosebumps everywhere. He unzips it then, revealing lacy panties that make him pause, letting the dress fall, you’re catching it at the front, gasping.

“I think I got it.” He says huskily, unable to stop his fingers from trailing up your delicate spine, blue eyes so bright in the mirror they wreck you, while you barely hold the material on. “Need any more help?”

“No! I mean… n-no.” Shit shit shit.

You’re soaked from a brush against your back!?

“Got ya.” He smiles just a bit, leaving you now, resting his back on the door, hand running across his face, curious how he’s throbbing with precum from seeing your fucking back.

Two weeks of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend

You arrive at his work, the coworkers all greeting you so friendly, as his assistant Miwa escorts you, giving you both soft smiles. “Your wife is here Mr. Gojo.”

Satoru looks up in surprise, you’re in your pretty work dress, looking all cute and professional, holding a bento box in one hand, a boba in the other. You’re smiling brightly, as his lips part in surprise. “I had an early day and I thought I should bring some lunch?”

“Oh… oh thank you… Miwa if you could?”

“Of course, I’ll give you some privacy.” You hear her giggle and you smile at Satoru, looking as he’s leaned back in his big leather seat, smiling softly back at you, eyeing your hands.

“I get lunch made for me, shit I am lucky with my fake bride.” You snort, rolling your eyes and walking up to him, setting them on the desk.

“It seemed wifey to do? But also I really do have a short day, figured you might be hungry?”

Fuck you’re sweet.

Fuck you’re pretty.

God, you’re looking at him like that, leaned over just a bit, his eyes darting over your body that tempts him every day more and more, but your sweetness ruins him, the thoughtful nature you’ve always had, but now so geared to him. Is it all for show, he can’t believe it is when you open the bento and show him sushi, onigiri and greens placed so prettily his mouth waters.

“You ordered this, yeah?”

“No silly, I’ve been practicing. You helping me have some time off work has literally given me so much time… I hope they’re yummy? Oh, I didn’t make the boba though.”

“Why didn’t you get anything?” He asks, frowning.

“Oh I’m good, I just was dropping it off. You’re probably busy, taking down the villains huh?” Satoru’s words catch in his throat, looking you up and down again, before looking back down at the food in front of him.

“Stay a bit, it’ll… look good you know, us having lunch together.” He murmurs, lying out of his fucking teeth, as if he didn’t want to eat you then and there.

Your thighs spread, panties to the side, lapping you up?

Yummier than this. Killing him to imagine.

“Oh, um… where do I sit, over here?” You go to scooch a chair over, and he stops you.

“Nah those are heavy, come on.” He pats his thigh, earning your eyes widening, pulse fluttering as he smirks. “You’ve sat on my lap at parties plenty.”

“Y-yeah… but it’s… I…”

“C’mon, have a couple bites please, I’ll feel bad if you did all this for me and didn’t eat.”

“Satoru, you have bought me a new wardrobe and a car, can’t I make some sushi?”

“Sit.”

You sigh, it’s true you’ve sat on his lap, but the past two weeks of constantly being wet around him are taking their toll. You smile brightly, sitting on one of his thighs, praying he can’t feel it, the heat from your pussy as you’re pressed on a muscled thigh, and he’s picking up sushi with chopsticks, popping one in his mouth and moaning, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck that’s yummy. You made it for real!?” You giggle, nodding and trying to be more comfortable, it’s your Toru, right?

“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. That’s got eel sauce on it, this one is the spicy crab.”

“You like spicy crab, here.” He pops one to your lips, and something feels too intimate, on his lap like this. “Open.”

Open.

Open!?

The pictures of you hearing him that while on your knees makes your cunt dribble, you shift nervously, clearing your throat.

“Open, silly.”

You do as he says, as he pops the roll in your mouth, and you chew, feeling the flavor hit your tongue, he grins now, popping another into his mouth, and you wonder if it’s easy for him to be this way. He’s so natural at it, sipping his boba and humming happily, all while his thigh presses where you’ve been aching for him, forcing yourself not to touch your pussy to the thought of him.

You can’t do that, it’s fucked.

You try to get up, and he presses you down, big hand on your waist, far too close when he leans the thick straw to your lips. “Take a sip, it’s so good.”

“Oh… um sure. Thank you.” You take a sip, lips pressing where his had, and he can’t stop focusing on how good your lips look, wrapping as you suck, cheeks hollowing and making his cock twitch.

You both sit there then, staring at each other, breaths coming just a little too quick from you, as he sets the drink down, but you stay on his lap. “Y’know… the event tonight, we should probably actually kiss? There will be cameras all over.”

“Kiss!?” He laughs then, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I mean it’s kind of part of it. You’re comfy with it right, not gonna fall head over heels.”

“Psh.” You already have, long ago, it’s all fucking hitting. “You’re so cocky, Toru I swear.”

“I can’t help it, my lips are so talented, you know. Makes girls fall.” He brushes his silky hair back, winking at you then, and you swear you can hear your heart in your goddamn ears.

“I remember you were pretty good.”

“Yeah, you remember?”

“Yeah it… was my first kiss.” You mumble then, looking away, sipping his boba nervously, he blinks rapidly, blue eyes wide in shock.

“What now!?”

“No biggie, we were like seventeen…”

“But you… never told me?”

“It was embarrassing.” Satoru’s mind races to that night, as does yours, as you sit in his office, just the hum of the fan and soft music playing from his little device, staring at each other, both in a haze.

You and Satoru Gojo were thrown in a closet together, you’re sighing as you’re pressed against him, peeking at your phone in the dark to see the time. Being too close to Satoru wreaked havoc on your brains at times, though you have known him so long, you couldn’t lie and act like you didn’t think of things… kissing him, maybe dating him? But you know they’re silly thoughts.

“Don’t freak out, we’ll just let 'em think we made out.” He says now, and you turn your eyes up to him, adjusting in the dark, but even here you can see the glint of those bright baby blues.

“Y-yeah. You’ve kissed plenty, though.”

“You haven’t really?”

“Um, no.”

Satoru’s gently turning you to him now, tilting your chin up while his eyes adjust to see your pretty face, you’re thankful it’s so dark that he couldn’t see your blush. “We could practice, you know.”

“Satoru!”

“What? A little practice between friends? You know you wanna kiss me.” He taunts, teasing tone as he grins.

“No way!”

“Not at all? I’m hurt, sweets.”

“Oh whatever, it'd be weird, we’re too close. Do you kiss Suguru?”

“Oh yeah, have you seen him?”

You both laugh then, when he leans down just a bit. “Well, if you kissed Suguru, I feel left out now.”

“We can’t have that. Show me what you do know, I’ll advise.”

“Kissing expert, hmm?”

“Mhmm.” You lean up then, as he bends down, your arms wrapping around his neck, you pause as his hands press against your waist, making your heart race. “Ya scared?”

“No! Goofy ass.” He’s chuckling until you lean up, pulling him down for a kiss, and your lips meet for the first time.

Your first kiss.

He pauses, your lips connecting just do something. Satoru at seventeen had done plenty of make out sessions, but they were fun, something to do, exciting at times, but nothing prepared him for it. For your sweet lips on him, tingling them, his heart beating in his chest.

Satoru falters, and he never falters.

He doesn’t slip his tongue in, he doesn’t pull you close, he freezes, so in shock at how good it feels, how right it feels. You ease back, nervous then, clearing your throat, as he hasn’t moved his lips. “I’m sorry I’m not…”

Satoru yanks you against him then, pressing your body on his, kissing you over and over, so deeply, taking your breath away, you’ve never felt something like this, you’re trembling as you feel his tongue slip against the seam of your lips. “Open them up for me.”

This isn’t silly Satoru, goofy ass friend, his husky declaration destroys you, and he uses the gasp to slip his tongue inside, swirling with yours, igniting something between you that night that you will both avoid talking about for years. When he presses you against the closet door, sighing into your lips, and you’re being picked up in his arms, as your mouths move over each other.

You both pull back, gasping as the timer goes off.

What was that!?

“If I’d known it was your first kiss, maybe I wouldn’t have… gotten so excited.” He says with a little pink on his cheeks.

“No, you didn’t cross any lines, Toru. Don’t worry.”

He wants to laugh, because oh, he wanted to.

If he’d had more time he’s sure he’d have lost it, whatever control he has now he did not have as a seventeen year old. “Was it a good one at least?”

“The best a girl could have.” You say softly, smiling at him then, making his heart race when you both sit there, far too close, and he swears he can feel your heat against the hand that’s on your thigh.

“I know I’m pretty amazing hmm?” He teases, trying to hide the raging storm inside of him, you giggle, shaking your head and standing finally.

“You’re a conceited little shit.”

“Hey!?”

You’re both back at ease, as he stands now too, looming so tall over you, his presence making it hard to remember why you’re here. “I should go.”

“We should practice, though, yeah?”

“I mean… you think we’re that rusty?” You try to feign ease, he smiles then.

“Yeah, we gotta be. We’ll bump our heads together or some shit.”

“Okay… um…” You take a sip of his boba then, clearing your throat and smiling up at him. “Let’s practice.”

Satoru brushes his thumb across your chin, your ass pressed against his desk and you’re pinned between it and him, your hands sliding up his starch white dress shirt slowly, eyes lowering to his glossy lips. He presses a kiss against your lips, and you then know it, more than ever.

Nothing is like kissing Satoru.

Nothing is like his lips making contact with yours, as your eyes close, the feeling of him working his lips over you so gently, making you tremble, making you ache in ways you have tried to hide, to avoid. He pulls back, cupping your face and exhaling, his snowy lashes low over cerulean eyes, his lips parted just so, as you both stare at each other, speechless.

You don’t know if he’s as affected, and neither does he.

“How’s that?” He asks softly, and you lean up, your fingers enwrapping in his hair, as two of his hands bar you on either side.

“Maybe one or two more? To look natural.” You whisper, and you expect a smirk, or something cocky, conceited, but he slams his lips on yours now.

His tongue is swirling against yours in moments, as you both devour each other, hungry and needy, kissing each other desperate, messy now. A kiss like you’ve never had, as his hands press against your hips, then he lifts you on the desk, your thighs around his hips, making you cry out. The sound causes him to lose any semblance of control, he’s biting your lower lip, moaning into your mouth.

“Mmm!” Your hands pull his hair now, as his slip up your bare thighs, and then you feel it, the hardness under his slacks against your heat, your panties already sticky and damp, and you pull back with a gasp.

Your eyes shoot up to his when you break apart for just a moment, and Satoru’s breath is coming in little pants, his fingers scrunching your skirt up your hips, yanking you closer. You whimper now, head falling to the side, and he’s kissing down the side of your neck, your breasts pressing against his chest, dying for him inside you, as he’s ready to fuck you right on his desk.

“Satoru… what are-” You’re trying to whisper when his lips find the shell of your ear.

“I need-”

Knock knock knock.

You both pull back, his eyes dilated to the point they’re dark, his hands still on your bare skin, as his eyes dart down your body. “Yes?” He manages gruffly.

“Twenty minutes until your meeting Mr. Gojo.” You hear, and he curses softly, turning away, trying to calm his nerves, his racing heart, all while you’re hopping down, trying to pull yourself together.

You’re almost darting out of the door when he sees you. “Shit, please…”

“No, no. We um… were practicing?” You manage to whisper, as his hand is over yours on the knob. “I got carried away.”

He laughs, without humor. “You did?”

“I did. I’m sorry I don’t even do this.”

“Just how… inexperienced are you?” He asks softly.

“A lot.”

Because she can’t help but compare every man to Satoru Gojo.

“Well, you can’t tell, you’re an amazing kisser.” You blush furiously, looking down, biting your lower lip.

“You don’t have to say it.”

“You are, shit. My god.” He brushes your hair off the side of your neck, exhaling, breath tickling you, setting your body on fire.

“Thank you, so are you. We will be good to go tonight, you think?” You whisper, so nervous to say what you want to, and he pauses, clearing his throat, his hand falling off your shoulder now.

“We’ll kill it. Thank you again for lunch.”

“Of course.” You brightly smile, trying to remember.

It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake.

As you’re repeating it in your head, Satoru is struggling to not lift your skirt up and fuck into you right on this door, he wouldn’t care if the entire office heard you scream his goddamn name. When you slip out the door he rests his head on it, the cool wood doing nothing to his overheated skin, hands clenching into his fists as he tries to calm himself.

What was that, what is that with you both?

He promised he would be respectful, he has to try to rein it all in, he has to make sure your friendship isn’t ruined because he can’t stop himself. Satoru tells himself that as he wills his cock to go down, but he can’t stop himself, soon he’s stroking it right in that seat, remembering feeling your pussy pressing against his length.

God he needs you, he shuts his eyes, imagining sinking inside you while he twists his hand up and down his length, desperate for any relief. He had some regulars he would call back in the day, but not only does it feel so wrong to do so, he doesn’t want anyone but you, he can’t even put a vision in his mind but you.

‘It’s fine, baby girl you can take me’ he murmurs softly, snowy lashes shut as he imagines fucking into you, stretching you god he bets you’re so tight, and he could feel that warmth, imagining you as he spits down on his pretty cock.

His pink tip is oozing precum while his head rests back in his office chair, he can still smell your scent, that shampoo you use, the body spray you have worn since high school, it’s you. He’d kiss every inch of your body, have you so ready you beg for him, fuck you so good tears pool in your pretty eyes, he can damn near feel is as his hand strokes faster and faster.

He lets out a soft groan, muttering a ‘that’s it, you’re so wet f’me, huh?’ to the very image of you on that desk, tasting your sweetness on his lips, while he pinches his tip, the precum and spit wetting his cock enough that the sound of him stroking fills his office. His breath quickens as he thinks of shoving your thighs up high, slamming into your cervix, ruining you.

As he cums white hot spurts all over his palm he cries out softly, the release feeling so good, he’s fought it, touching himself to you, but he can’t anymore. He quickly cleans up, panicking as he sees what he’s done, jerked off to one of his best friend’s in the world, someone who trusts him, and he’s not even holding himself together for shit now.

He exhaustedly leans his head against the desk as his alarm for the next meeting starts, struggling to remember this isn’t real, but his cock sure didn’t fucking realize that, and by the time he’s home and he sees you all dressed up for the next event? He almost has to go jerk off again.

You’re smiling all nervous in this beautiful glittering gown, and he’s once again speechless, trying to pull together his usual charm, but it falls flat. You look at him, concern clear on your features. “Everything okay Satoru?”

“Of course it is. Look at you.” He smiles, putting on the best show he can, as you wonder if you’ve over thought that kiss, he just seems so normal really.

Maybe he just got carried away, should you act normal too?But how can you, when just the brush of his hand on the small of your back shoots desire straight through your body. It’s only been two weeks, how could you hold out an entire year?

Sooo to have written this in a oneshot would have been INSANE but expect the next two parts very quicklyyy ;) Gojo is DOWN BAD my god- smut in the next hehe.

Part two

taglist #1: @plaggi @baepsays @victoria1676 @flwerie @luringfantasy @moncher-ire @allonyyourmom @kindablackenedsuperhero @evelynxxo @jkslaugh97 @sugurusfavemonkey @ninikrumbs @s4ikooo1 @bunheadusa @twinkling-moonlillie @chameleonsoul111 @nina-from-317 @naammiii @whippedbyikemen @alygator77 @uarmyhopeworldwide @1satoruu @theclassbookworm @jud3thedude @isleqt @mcromer2999-blog @silvarys @orikixx @jiejies-corner-store @assbutt-inlove-with-koreans @lordbugs @ari-sa @blue-musingss @minaa-06 @uhnosav @cvixmei @seeiin @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy @beachaddict48 @miizuzu @honeybunnnnie @honeybunnnnie @gojosukuna2268 @haruhatake @strychnynegirl @jinjen @give-em-hellkid

[lilyflower06]

If I see just one more person hating on DR UDG for no reason again, I swear I'll become UDG's number 1 defender even though I don't like it as much as the main games. But I still like it damn it!

[lazy-ahh]

I THOUGHT OF YOU BETWEEN THE BLOODSHED

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

jason todd comes home to you with bruised knuckles and a heart too full to name. the red hood is all sharp edges and violence, but with you? he's just jason—achingly tender, disarmingly soft, hands that break bones cradling your face like you’re something sacred.

"you taste like gunpowder," you murmur against his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer. his breath is warm, a little ragged, like he’d sprinted up the stairs just to get to you.

"that’s ‘cause i was shootin’ people," jason huffs, but there’s no bite to it—just that low, rough voice curling around the words like smoke. his hands are big where they settle on your waist, thumbs pressing into the dip of your hip bones like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

you hum, tilting your head to kiss him again, slow and lazy. his mouth is chapped, the faint metallic tang of blood lingering from where he’d bitten his own lip too hard earlier. but he sighs into it, lets you lick into his mouth like you own it, like he’d let you take anything from him if you just asked.

when you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, dark with something that makes your stomach flip. the white streak in his hair is mussed from your fingers, and you reach up to smooth it back, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. he leans into the touch like a cat, a quiet rumble in his chest.

"missed you," he mutters, like it’s a secret. like he’s embarrassed by it.

you snort. "you saw me this morning."

"still missed you."

his nose bumps against yours, clumsy with affection, and you can’t help but smile. jason todd, red hood, the crime lord who’d put a bullet through six men’s kneecaps tonight, is nuzzling into your hand like he’s starved for it.

his fingers trail up your sides, over your ribs, like he’s counting them. when he speaks again, his voice is softer. "thought about you. when i was out there."

"yeah?" you tease, but your heart stutters anyway. "what, in between breaking bones?"

"especially then," he admits, and his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, catching on the swell of it. "kept thinkin’ about how you’d laugh if you saw me. how you’d roll your eyes at me for bein’ dramatic."

you do roll your eyes now, but he just grins, that crooked, boyish thing that makes him look younger. makes him look like jason, not the red hood, not the ghost of robin. just yours.

"you’re such a sap," you tell him, but your hands are gentle where they frame his face, where your thumbs trace the scars on his cheeks.

he turns his head, pressing a kiss to your palm. "only for you."

and god, if that doesn’t make your chest ache.

for some reason, tonight felt more... intimate. more warm and safe. soft and right. so right. the two of you sitting on the couch, with you situated on jason's lap as you cuddled and shared soft, tender kisses.

and you can’t help but stare.

because up close, he’s beautiful.

the way his lashes cast shadows over his cheeks when he blinks, long and dark like ink smudged on paper. the faint scar cutting through his eyebrow, a story he’d shrug off if you asked but you love anyway. his nose, slightly crooked from one too many fights, and the way it brushes against yours when he leans in, clumsy and sweet.

his lips are chapped, but they’re warm, and they part so easily under yours—like he’s been waiting for this, like he’d let you take and take until there’s nothing left.

and his hands. god, his hands. big and rough, knuckles bruised and fingers calloused from years of gripping guns and knives and the edges of his own rage. but right now, they’re gentle. one cradles the back of your head like you’re something precious, the other tracing idle patterns on your hip like he’s memorizing you.

you reach up, thumb brushing over the white streak in his hair, the strands soft between your fingers. he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for a second—like he’s savoring it, like he’s starved for it.

and you think, this. this is the jason no one else gets to see. the one who sighs into your touch, who lets you trace the scars on his skin without flinching, who kisses you like he’s trying to say something words could never hold.

"what?" he murmurs, catching you staring.

"nothin’," you whisper, but your fingers don’t stop tracing the curve of his jaw. "just thinkin’ about how pretty you are."

his breath hitches, just a little, and you watch the way his throat bobs when he swallows. "pretty?" he echoes, voice low, disbelieving. like no one’s ever said it to him before. like he doesn’t know what to do with the word.

"yeah," you murmur, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. "so pretty it hurts."

his cheeks flush, just a little, and he ducks his head like he’s trying to hide it. but you catch it—the way his lashes flutter, the way his grip on your waist tightens, just for a second. like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

"shut up," he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. just that quiet, aching vulnerability he only ever shows you.

your hands reach for his face, cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the high curve of his cheekbones. his skin is warm under your palms and you tilt his head up just enough to see the way his lashes flutter, the way his lips part—just slightly—like he’s already waiting.

and god, he’s beautiful like this.

you press the first kiss to the corner of his mouth, soft and teasing, feeling the way his breath stutters against your lips. the second lands on the bridge of his nose, right over that little scar he never talks about. the third finds the dip under his eye, where his skin is unfairly soft, and he lets out a quiet, shaky exhale, his fingers tightening where they grip your waist.

"fuck," he whispers, voice rough, and you can feel the way his pulse jumps under your fingertips.

you don’t stop. you kiss the crease between his brows, the spot just below his ear, the sharp line of his jaw—every touch feather-light, reverent. and jason melts, his shoulders slumping, his head tipping back against the couch like he’s surrendering. like he’s letting you take him apart piece by piece.

when you finally press your lips to his, it’s slow. sweet. his mouth is warm, yielding under yours, and he makes this quiet, desperate noise in the back of his throat when you suck gently on his bottom lip. his hands slide up your back, fingers trembling just a little, like he’s not sure whether to pull you closer or hold himself back.

you pull away just enough to murmur against his lips, "let me worship you, dearest."

his breath catches, and for a second, he just looks at you—eyes dark, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and parted. then he’s surging forward, crashing his mouth against yours like he’s starving for it, like he’s trying to say yes, yes, yes without words.

and you let him. you let him take, let him press you closer, let him kiss you like he’s drowning and you’re the only air left in the world.

he kisses you like a man starved, all rough edges and clumsy hunger, but you slow him down with a hand fisted gently in his hair. "easy," you murmur against his lips, and he whines—actually whines—high in his throat, his hips jerking up against yours like he can’t help it.

you swallow the sound, kissing him deeper, slower, until his frantic movements still and he’s just shaking beneath you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. his breath comes in ragged bursts against your mouth, his chest heaving, and when you pull back just an inch, his eyes are blown black with want, his lips slick and parted.

"please," he gasps, and it’s wrecked, broken, like he’s begging for something he doesn’t even know how to name.

you shush him with another kiss, this one lingering at the corner of his mouth, then trailing down to his jaw, his throat. he tilts his head back with a groan, baring the column of his neck to you like an offering, his pulse fluttering wild under your tongue. you bite down—just a tease, just enough to make him curse—and he arches off the couch, a strangled "fuck—!" tumbling from his lips.

his hands scramble at your waist, tugging at your clothes, but you catch his wrists, pinning them gently to the cushions above his head. his breath hitches, his thighs tensing beneath you, and when you finally meet his gaze again, he looks ruined.

"let me take care of you," you whisper, and his throat works around a swallow, his lashes fluttering.

he nods, once, sharp and desperate. "yeah. yeah, okay—please."

and so you do.

…1.4k full of soft jason- WHAT CAN I EVEN SAY TO THIS AHHHH I NEED MORE BUT MY BRAIN IS SO AHHHHHHH sorry, guys—i'm hopeless at writing anything steamier than slow kisses and yearning glances and whatever this is. maybe someday, when i've deemed that my skills are worthy enough, there'll be a part two. maybe-

[madeofcc]

DH MELODIA : CHAPTER 2 : Rumors

Main page / Previous / Next

Note : this episode was supposed to include a video part as in Chapter 1 but I don't have the time to create it anymore so this musical episode will continue without the musical part I guess ^^" The transcript will include some details about what was planned for the video part though ... See it as a complete new experience !

[transcript]

AÏSSA AND LEÏLA ARRIVE AT THE THEATER; THE STUDENTS ARE KIND OF EXCITED BECAUSE THE TEACHER IS GOING TO ANNOUNCE WHICH ONE HAS BEEN SELECTED FOR THE FINAL SHOW OF THE YEAR.

??? : I'm pretty sure it's going to be Julia ...

??? : Come on ! You know you also have your chances !

AÏSSA SEEMS ANXIOUS

AISSA : Damn it ...

LEE : What ?

AÏSSA : I'm pretty stressed about that stupid audition

LEE : Girl, your audition was the best of the class !

AÏSSA : I know ... But this posh university will never let a woman like me ... You know

LEE : Why are you so down ? I mean, you're the strongest woman I know okay ?! With Destiny of course but that's for other reasons

AÏSSA : Really ? I mean ... I know I can look confident but these days, with the end of the year coming you know ?

LEE : Stress and anxiety are everywhere these days I swear

AÏSSA : Oh my god, you're so right girl

TEACHER ; Everyone, please ...

So this year, we're going to create together, a new version of the shakespearian classic : Romeo and Juliet.

??? : I love that play !

TEACHER : I know this is an old story but I'm pretty sure that you all have awesome ideas to create this unique version.

LEE : How will we be involve ? I mean, about the writting process

TEACHER: Well, each one of you will bring their opinion and we'll work together as long as we're rehearsing. This is a way for you to discover a entire new process of creation !

JULIA : Who will lead then ?

TEACHER : Well ... Everyone as the same place here but if you're asking me who's going to be the famous cursed couple well ... I have to admit that it's been obvious to me to give to lead performance to our awesome Troy and Aïssa . Miss Tamoré, I have to admit that your audition inspire me a lot to choose that story. Do everyone agree ?

??? : Oh my god ! That's such a great idea !

MOST STUDENTS AGREE

TROY : I'm up for it sir !

LEE : See ! I told you you nailed it !

AÏSSA : Oh my god ... I don't know what to say ...

JULIA : Shut up then ... Sir, I disagree !

TEACHER : And can you tell us why Julia ?

JULIA : Well ... It's seems obvious that the plot won't fit right ? I mean, we all know they both come from the hood so …

TROY : Julia ! What the heck ?

AÏSSA : Girl, you better shut your filthy mouth right now

JULIA : See ? She's even speaking like a dude ! It wouldn't fit !

THE STUDENTS ARE SHOCKED

TEACHER : Julia ! This is not a tolerable behaviour. I don't want to hear you ever again today

JULIA : I have the right to say what I want okay? And come on you all ! Everyone heard rumors about her

TEACHER : This is a serious project Julia so if you continue you'll get expeled okay ? Leave Aîssa alone !

AÏSSA : Sir, it's okay ! Actually you know what ? I've been hearing a lot of rumors about you and especially your brother lately Julia ... And I've been hearing rumors about me my entire life but you know what ? ...

♫ RUMORS BY LIZZO STARTS ♫

LEÏLA JOINS DURING THE CARDI PART

AS THEY SING, THE GIRLS ARE WALKING AROUND THE CAMPUS, BECOMING THE STARS OF THE DAY ;

[magicdustsworld]

Zayne has standards.

He really does.

And those standards include not thirsting after his very beautiful wife every time she has the audacity to exist in a damn sundress.

But here he is.

You are sprawled out on the couch, using a cushion as a recliner while you scroll through your phone with a practiced ease that should have been illegal. You are wearing that sundress again—the same one he bought you and the same one that made him lose his mind the first time you walked out of your bedroom wearing that. The soft yellow clings to your bust and torso, before flaring from the waist down. A slit runs down from your knee to the hem—giving him a tantalizing view of your legs as you cross them over one another. The neckline dips low; although keeping your modesty concealed, the sweetheart shape leaves no stone unturned—promising the allure behind the veil.

There you are resting on the sofa like some celestial being descended from heaven; taking away his breath and self control—fighting and failing hard to resist the temptation.

And the worst part of it all? You aren't even trying to seduce him.

You are just there.

Radiant.

Effortless.

Dangerous.

As ever.

Zayne leans on the doorway, arms folded over hios chest and jaw set in a thin line as if that would the heat from crawling up his neck.

As if sensing his gaze, you speak without making the effort to look up, "Anything wrong?"

"It's too cold for you to be wearing something like... that.

"Huh?" Finally, you grace him the look he was so desperately begging for. (Not that you'll ever know about it). You make some clicks on your phone before turning the device towards him, "See! It's 70 degrees. It's warm enough."

In response, your husband just glares at the screen like it has personally offended him. It has. Then, he mumbles something incoherent under his breath; along the lines of 'You have a knack for getting knocked out cold' and 'How much it'd help him you if you only sprout some wisdom and put on a cardigan.'

He rotates on his heels, strolling towards the kitchen—at this point only some chilled water would help him—and hoping you haven't caught onto his monologue. But you did. You always do and when you finally register his words in your mind, a slow grin curls down your lips.

So that is it, huh?

No sooner has Zayne reached the refrigerator, he feels the warmth of your figure behind him. He fixes you with a questioning gaze, one of his eyebrows raising, as he fishes out a bottle of water from it.

Leaning against the counter, your perpetual smirk depends and that's the cue for your husband to know that you are upto no good.

"You okay, darling?" You ask, voice low and turning towards a teasing edge. Stepping closer, you place your hand on his forearm—the muscles tensing almost instantly under your touch. Perfect. "You look a little... warm."

Zayne clears his throat, "I am fine."

"Mhm, hmm, you sure?" you ask, leaning in—absolutely revelling on the effect you are having on him.

"Of course," he swallows, stepping back but you only step closer; not letting him or anyone shorten the proximity. You wouldn’t even let it happen, no matter what occurs. "Why would you even think otherwise?"

"Heh!" You snort, amusement floating in the sound. "Because what if I say you keep looking at me like I am dessert and you are starving?"

"Then I'll say you're delusional."

"Oh?" This time, you raise an eyebrow. Then, wedging your voice to a tone lower—transcending it to something sultry and wicked. "Then you wouldn’t be affected if I kiss you right now?"

His shoulder jerks back, eyes widening as a warmth spreads all over his cheek and burns down to his neck. "You wouldn’t dare—"

But you do.

You kiss him.

Standing on your tip-toes, your eyelids flutter shut as your soft lips pressed against his chapped one. The slow motion of the movement gave him all the time in the world to memorize each nook and cranny of your expression before you engulfed him into a sincere affection. Sacred in the act. Reverent in its nature.

After being happily married to the calm and composed Dr. Zayne—one of the best surgeons in the Akso hospital and the youngest winner of the starcather award—for two years; you'd wonder surprise kisses like this would be considered a routine now. And although they are, Zayne's reaction to them every time hasn't had a single itch of change. You still remember how he had reacted when you had kissed him unexpectedly for the first time. It had been under a snow cuddled christmas tree in the heart of Linkon city and as cliche as it was, it was the fruit of your hard earned resolve after yearning for him for literal years.

Even that time, his hands and feet had fallen victim to paralysis as well. Heart beating in his chest at a rapid rate and he stood there like a statue, barely moving his lips against yours—just like now. Only when did you begin to pull away, did he finally take the lead.

His hand wraps around your waist, pulling you close whilst the other cradles your jaw. Angling your face to the side, he parts his lips—pressing them on yours with a fervent hunger. His tongue prods over your lips and you open your mouth, welcoming him into the salacious exchange. The fabric of his shirt, bunches inside your fist prompting you to pull him closer. He relents, lips meeting with yours with sheer desire and affection. Despite the carnal nature of his mouth on yours, you couldn't deny the wafting purity in the air. The way Zayne handled you with so much affection and zeal—never rushing you, matching his tempo to yours because it isn't just him indulging in this wanton connection. There's you and Zayne is nothing but vigilant when it comes to you; as if you are a fragile thing and any stitch of recklessness would shatter you. Something he'd never let happen as long as he lives.

When he let's you go, both of you are breathless. Inhaling the mingling air in abrupt, short pants; a flush spread over your skin.

Then, "Still fine?" You whisper, gripping the fabric of his shirt tighter. The smug smile back with full force.

Zayne, still dazed and doomed, "You are... evil."

But even as he says that, his hold on your waist tightens just ever so slightly. Because, even if the end of the story concludes you as evil, he'll be gratified to know that you're his evil.

P.S. if y'all are wondering why does every Lnds drabble of mine consist husband!LI then it's because I'd husband them up in a breath if they were real ;-; jdhdjhdjhs hope you liked it

Zayne is my main btw <3 do tell me yours!

[luveline]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭

part one | chapter list 

You find yourself drawn into Remus’ life after an awful night you can’t remember. He does his best to hold onto you. [10k]

cw: heavy themes, implied sexual assault of the reader [with no graphic scenes but it’s a continuous theme, so please be careful when reading], pregnancy, eventual friends to lovers, friendships, hurt/comfort, james makes a lot of soup, found family

𖦹

The pharmacy on Wilmand Street is always deathly quiet. The boy behind the counter reads and occasionally picks up the phone to put it back down, his hair in his eyes, a waxiness to his pale skin that never fails to perturb. 

Your shoes creak over the hardwood floor. He’s noticed your entry, signalled by a golden bell above the door and your muffled panting, but he hasn’t looked up. 

Your eyes slide past pads, nighttime, ultra-long panty liners, searching with a poorly restrained desperation for something in particular. 

The phone rings —dark-haired boy picks it up and puts it back down again as you recalled, silencing the ring. You watch him from over your shoulder and he looks up from his book to stare. 

“Pregnancy tests?” you ask.

His expression doesn’t change as he pulls a drawer open behind the desk with a metallic clink. “What kind?” 

“The most reliable. Please.” 

He gives a nod, black curl bobbing under his chin. He grabs a blue card box and places it on the counter. “Sixteen fifty.” 

You open your purse before you’ve reached him, extracting the change exactly and tipping it next to his book. “Thank you.” 

“Are you alright?” 

Your heart squeezes in your chest like a tightening fist. “Why?” 

“I have to ask. I’m a mandated reporter.” 

“I’m not a child.” 

He levels your look with his own. “You don’t have to answer. I’m only asking because you look upset. Are you alright?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say more than three words at a time. His voice is reminiscent of someone else’s, half-remembered. You want to ask him, then. The questions you’ve had since it happened. Why does it hurt so badly, still? But the boy, while seemingly well-intentioned, isn’t one you trust to care nor keep it to himself. 

“Fine,” you reply, pressing the blue-boxed test into your pocket, pulling the hood of your coat up to brace against the December rain. You’re fine. 

The door opens before you can get to it, another lovely dark-haired boy letting himself inside. His stare is blank as the one at the desk’s is, but you smile on instinct and he smiles back warmly after a moment, holding the door for you to leave. 

“Okay, Reg?” you hear him ask as you pass.

“Close the door,” Reg says. “You’re letting in the cold.” 

—

It’s even colder the next time you go. You throw on another hoodie and wrap a scarf tightly around your neck, face ducked, nose tickled by flyaway fibres. The walk to Wilmand Street takes seventeen long minutes where your hands hurt, then shake, chapped by hateful winds. 

The pharmacy’s newspapered window comes into view. A poster for the local pub leaks ink on the outside, wet by the rain, its font blooming like fungus across purple paper. Live music event: December 31st. 

The dark-haired boy —Reg?— is behind the counter again. The first one. Are you alright? boy. He looks twenty so or near that, but there’s something wilfully young about the skin under his eyes, despite a more haggard pinch to his brow. You were hoping it would be the second one, or the sandy-haired boy who mans the till in the very early mornings. He has a more natural smile than the other two. Perhaps not more authentic, but quicker to perk up when you slink in for whatever before work, Mondays and Fridays if he’s there. 

Reg doesn’t lift his head. You push yourself toward the back of the pharmacy. It’s a small shop slotted between two others, one wall touched from the next in thirty seconds should you walk it. It makes pretending you’re there for other things useless and embarrassing, but you do it anyway. Another test won’t change what you wanted the test to say, but you can’t take one single test and trust it was right. 

“Reliable?” Reg asks when you finally approach. 

“Yeah. And the five strip box, too, if you have it.” 

Reg takes them from the drawer and adds their prices seemingly in his head. “Eighteen eighty-nine.” 

You pass him a twenty pound note and wait for your change, not bothered that he counts it slowly, or that he puts it down flat on the counter away from your outstretched hand. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

He noticeably bites his tongue. 

“I want to be sure, is all,” you say. 

“If you go to the doctor’s, they do it for free. And it has a ninety nine percent rate of accuracy.” 

You hold the tests to your stomach. “I’m not… really sure what I’d want them to tell me, right now.” 

“They’d tell you the truth, at least.” Reg seems to decide this line of conversation isn’t one he wants to continue, and he lets his mouth flatten into a thin, white line. You get the sense though that he isn’t done talking, and are rewarded for your patience with an inkling of an almost-smile. “Please know that I’m bound by duty of care while I work here, so if you are concerned about something, I can listen and offer advice. And if you don’t want to tell me private information, my uncle is the acting pharmacist, and he is more strictly bound by patient confidentiality law.” He looks you in the eye. “You’re only as alone as you allow yourself to be.” 

“Who says that?” you ask, poked by the way he lays it out. 

Reg doesn’t like your question and doesn’t answer. He picks up his book, murmuring, “I hope they give you the result you want.” 

A different dark-haired boy is standing outside of the pharmacy when you leave. With a nice nose, eyes like a puppy, he’s handsome but hidden behind black frames. He stands from his car where he’d been leaning when the door swings out, sits back again when he realises you’re not who he’s looking for. “Sorry, lovely,” he says, pulling at a loosely-knotted tie. “I thought you were someone else.” 

“Sorry,” you say back, holding the tests to your chest. 

Your hand covers the boxes. His eyes flicker down to them regardless. You wait for disdain or embarrassment but see neither. Really, the only thing this new boy wears is pleasantness. 

“Don’t stay out too long, will you?” he asks, smiling genially, “You’ll freeze.” 

“I’m–” You clear your throat, caught off guard to have a stranger care about you so openly. No reluctance to his well wishes, and no strings. “Sorry– I’m going home now. I won’t stay out.” 

“Good, shortcake. Have a good night.” 

You should say you too. The wind chases you back to your flat, where you head for the bathroom, and, despite living alone, lock the door. 

—

You take your pregnancy test and sit on the floor, too weak-legged to stand at the sink, waiting for two pink lines. 

Sure enough. Control, result. One solid pink line, and one much lighter. It doesn’t matter —a positive is a positive, no matter how weak. The strip tests say the same thing. 

In TV and movies, people always paint the test as the ultimate moment. As though the result is the result, and that everything after is fixed, but the result now is only a signifier for another decision to be made: will you keep your baby, or foetus? Do you feel as though it is a baby, or a foetus, or both? Is it welcome, or a foreign object? There is no right or wrong answer, only how you feel. 

The migraine you get then is debilitating. Like toothache in every tooth, pain behind your eyes half-psychosomatic, half physiological stress. You’re not sure how long you’re in the bathroom holding your forehead, but it’s dark when you manage to stand again, and the tests have only gotten more obviously positive. You throw them all in the bin. 

—

The third day you go back to Wilmand Street pharmacy, the desk is manned by your unfamiliar, smiling boy. He looks up when the door opens, his eyes browned honey set in a face that recently saw the sun, but not too much of it. Kissed by it. His cheeks are pinked. He must be the first person who’s worked here to bother turning on the heating. 

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you say back. Voice croaky, you remember to be polite. “You okay?” 

“I’m great, lovely, thank you. How are you?” He gives a nod toward the street. “It’s so cold out, are you gonna be warm enough in your jumper?” 

You find yourself struck as you were the day before, so startled by genuine kindness that you can hardly work your mouth. “I’m okay. I’m going right back home after this.” 

“Aw, good.” 

You nod. What are you here for today? Not another test. You aren’t stupid enough to believe a third round will give you a different verdict, but you‘d felt an urgent need to move. 

You grab a rounded basket from near the door and make your way to the haircare. There’s a handful of shampoos to choose from. You take the usual. Beneath them are baby shampoos and soaps. On a whim you pick one up, the words Tear and fragrance free stuck like a bad swallow at the back of your throat. 

Babies need so many things. At the supermarket they have these great walls of baby food and it’s expensive enough to take your eye out every time. A quarter of an hours wage for every organic, soft meal, and sure, they don’t need organic, vegetables are organic intrinsically, whatever, but if you don’t buy organic pre-made meals you have to make the baby food yourself, how long does that take? You put the baby shampoo down and turn to the conditioners. 

Unhappy, you scour them for nothing and turn on the spot. Why is Dr. Black never here? How are you supposed to ask him your questions if he doesn’t show up to work? 

You’ll have to ask the brown-haired boy. Nice eyes, nice smile. He probably won’t judge you, at least not out loud. 

He stands up from his rickety chair, soft leather seat worn and creaking as he pushes it away. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Do you have to do that patient-confidentiality thing?” 

He smiles rather gently. “I do. A condition of my employment is to protect patient information. Legally, I can’t share private or sensitive information about you to anyone else in the world, unless I believe you’re in proper danger.” He holds his hands behind his back. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?” 

Wind roars outside. Your eyes start to the door. 

“There’s a private room in the back,” he adds. 

“I don’t want to waste your time.” 

“It’s not wasted. Even if I weren’t legally obligated to keep whatever secrets you may have, I’m worried you look a bit poorly.”

He speaks oddly. Or not odd, but different to any of the other men you’ve met. It’s friendly, and yet somehow he’s quiet, too. His interest feels real, so you cross the room to the desk and put your basket on your shoes. 

You try to find a way to say it. “I know you’re not a doctor.” 

“No, I’m an apprentice pharmacist.” 

“Right. I know I should go to the doctor, and not you.” 

“That depends. We’re here to help. Doesn’t matter if you should go somewhere, you can ask me first.” 

You struggle. He waits. His hands lay steady on the edge of the desk, his face nearly blank besides a hint of warmth.  

“Is it alright if it’s a question about, um, sex?” 

He nods emphatically. “Of course that’s alright. I can’t promise I’ll know the answer, but you’re welcome to ask me anything and I can always get back to you if you’re not willing to ask someone else.” His smile turns wry. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s only sex. I don’t mind.” 

“I just…” You hold your hands together. “I wanted to know, if pain after… if it’s supposed to hurt so much after.” 

His wry smile is quickly subdued, though he remains friendly looking. “It depends,” he says, measured, “on a few things. You probably know that the first time you have sex can be painful because of the initial perforation of the hymen, but usually sex isn’t supposed to be painful at all.” 

“At all.” 

“No. If sex hurts, it’s likely from a lack of preparation, bruising of the cervix, or it could be a condition called vaginismus. That’s where your muscles tighten suddenly when you attempt penetration. Having sex with vaginismus can be extremely painful.” 

Something on his chest catches the light. A name tag. 

He follows your gaze. “Oh,” he says. “I’m Remus. Sorry, it might’ve been nicer for you to know that before I started talking.” 

Remus… You shake your head at him. “Um… Remus… Well, I’m not really sure what happened.” 

“Right.” 

“I wasn’t–” Your heart jumps before you can confess, horrible secret stuck to the roof of your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “are you sure you don’t want to go sit down in the quiet room with me? I can make you a cup of tea.” 

“I can’t have caffeine.” 

“I have night time tea. Is that alright?” 

“The shop?” 

“It’s okay, I’ll ask Sirius to come down. You really aren’t doing anything wrong.” 

“I feel like I shouldn't ask you.” 

“That’s a consequence of our great British society,” he says, lightly teasing as he lifts the counter to come from behind it and presses a small red button on an intercom box by the inside door. It’s an attempt to make you feel better, and it nearly works. “You feel embarrassed about something you have no reason to feel embarrassed of. Everybody has sex, and everybody has bad sex, sometimes, and needs advice.” 

The intercom crackles before you can speak. “Moony?” a voice asks. 

“Sirius, I have someone who needs to talk to me. You’ll have to come on the till for a bit.” 

“Kay. Down now.” 

Remus smiles. “That’s about as obliging as he gets.” 

“Sirius, is he the– is he the one who reads?” 

“Not often. You’re thinking of Regulus, his brother.” 

Regulus, of course. “They look so similar.” 

“They do.” He gestures for you to stand beside him as the inside door swings open, unveiling one of those dark-haired brother’s, the taller of the two. 

“Oh, hi,” Sirius says, wet hair on his shoulders, his t-shirt sodden at the front like he’d swept it back, “okay? There’s biscuits in the left cupboard, Moons.” 

Remus, Moons, Moony, holds the door back and lets you inside. 

The walk to the quiet room is strange. Sitting down at the table with him as he passes you a box of biscuits, kettle boiling, he doesn’t put you on ends, but it doesn’t feel good. You slip your hand under your t-shirt where he can’t see and feel the hot stretch of your stomach for something that isn’t there. 

“So,” he says, grimacing, “I’m going to ask you some precursory questions. You don’t have to answer any of them if you don’t want to.” 

“Okay.” 

“Are you in any active danger?” 

You shake your head slowly. “None.” 

“Is someone close to you hurting you?” 

“No.” 

“Are you alright?” 

You twist your hands together tightly. “I don’t think so.” 

“No?” He slips his chair closer to your own. “Are you hurt now?” 

You look down at your lap. This is awful. This is why you didn’t want to go to see your doctor. “I don’t know. I’m not hurt, but it does hurt. I move and it feels like something sharp is digging into me.” 

“I see.” He frowns. “This can happen sometimes with penetration. It’s like I said before, if your body isn’t, you know, prepared? If you aren’t using lubrication, if you aren’t relaxed, it can be as simple as friction having hurt you, but it’s possible you’ve got cervical bruising, or an issue with your pelvic floor. It could be that you have a UTI. If we go through a couple of questions together I might be able to suggest a solution, but I have to tell you to see your doctor if you can. Alright? Pain after sex can be normal, but it doesn’t have to be. When we go back out, I’ll give you some paracetamol as well.” 

He looks as though he might have something else to say, but he stops when you open your mouth. “I don’t know what happened.” 

Remus frowns again. “Right.” 

The cellophane on the biscuits is shining under the light. 

“I don’t really know what to do.” 

“It’s a stabbing pain?” His frown gets impossibly deeper. “I have some ibuprofen. Off the record, you can have some of that with your tea. Here.” He procures a blister pack from his pocket and hands it to you, jumping up for the kettle, carrying it back to your mugs to set with the pint of milk. “It will probably go away soon, lovely, I would try not to worry, but it’s good to keep an eye on it too, and to book with the doctors if it gets worse. There are so many things that can go wrong in the body, but we’re also such good self-healers, it’s hard to know what to do.” 

“It’s… something else, too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I was wondering if the pain is maybe because I…” 

Your face goes hot as coal embers, a furious sweat on the back of your neck. Remus doesn’t prod. He pours water into your mug until it’s a little over half full, the tea bag at the bottom staining it sepia. 

“I think I’m pregnant,” you say, not sure why it hurts to say so much. 

“Right.”

“Do you think it hurts because of that?” 

Remus bites his lip as he pours his own mug of tea. He’s looking at you as he puts the kettle down. “No, I wouldn’t think so, but it’s not an impossibility. How pregnant were you thinking?” 

“It was two weeks ago, so… so however long it takes to get pregnant.”

He looks alarmed, then. “Lovely, that was the last time you had sex?” 

“Yeah.”

“And it still hurts now?” 

“Only sometimes,” you say nervously. 

He ignores his steaming tea. “Right. Well, I think I need to advise you to make an emergency appointment today. I can make it with you. You shouldn’t still be hurting after two weeks, pregnant or not. Ectopic pregnancies don’t tend to hurt until further along, so…” Remus slows, looking at you with that too-kind frown, brown eyes darker back here behind the fog curls of his tea.

You feel caught on something. 

“I wasn’t awake,” you say quietly. “Just woke up hurting. I guessed what happened, ‘n now I’m pregnant. It could only have been...” You shrug it off, even as heat blooms behind your eyes, nose already hot and sniffly. 

“You were assaulted.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

Remus seems to freeze up. “I’m sorry.” He takes a few seconds, and then he meets your eyes. “I can’t imagine how scary that must have been, and how scary it still is.” 

Your eyes line with tears. “I mean, it’s less scary now.” First tear tips forward as your voice falls to pieces. “I just don’t know what to do. Every day I’ve come here this week I’ve tried to ask about it, because I saw that poster, if I’m hurt then I can– then I can come to the pharmacy, but I’m not hurt, I’m fine now.” 

“Oh,” he says gently, pushing his chair over a little to bring himself closer, his hand coming to rest on your hunched shoulder, “even if you weren’t in any pain at all, you’re more than welcome to come here and speak to us, to me. This residual pain, I imagine you must’ve been quite injured when it happened. You didn’t have any help at all?” 

“I didn’t think there’s anything they could do.” 

“That’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he says, rubbing your shoulder kindly. “I just want to know as much of the details as you feel alright giving me, so we can move forward in the best way possible.” His hand slides across your back, nearly hugging. “I’m sorry. Really. And I’m sorry for talking so much about ‘bad sex’, I didn’t realise what you were telling me.” 

“I’m sorry for telling you.” 

“What?” he asks, a soft incredulity to him, “You have nothing to be sorry for. You can tell as many or as few people as you like, but I’m extremely glad to be told, because no one should ever have to face this sort of thing alone, should they?” He rubs your back when you nod, again when you sniffle. “Alright. It’s alright. You’re okay.” 

You don’t cry as much as you worry you might under a soft touch. The memory of waking up paralyses you for a bit, that confusion, the pain, the bruise across your neck. All of it makes you feel sick, but Remus shushes you under his breath, not to really shush you, but to calm you down. 

“I’m okay,” you say, shamed. 

“Try and drink some of this tea. Can I leave you alone for a minute?” 

“Oh, uh– yeah, of course. I’m fine.” 

His hand lingers between your shoulders. “Just for a minute, I’m going to find some bits for you–”

“I don’t need anything–”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s just stuff I have to give you, and some things you might need.” Remus’ hand traces carefully to the front of your shoulder. He meets your eyes, nothing but compassion in the line of his mouth. “Okay?”

You say okay. Remus uses the door you came in through to head back out onto the pharmacy’s shop floor, letting it shut quietly behind him. You press your hand to your teeth. 

—

To Remus’ credit, he apologises for both pamphlets. Abortion Explained. What to expect when you’re expecting. “For you to know your options,” he’d said. “Whatever you decide, it’s your decision.” 

He can’t know you’ll spend a week pouring over them all, that you’ll worry at the corner of the STD clinic card, or that you’ll shove the RapeCrisis one down the side of your bed, desperate to throw it out, but terrified you’ll need it, too. 

And some of the stuff he gives you. You don’t even know what to do with it. Painkillers, lavender oil, discreet pads for incontinence. You’d tried to pay and he’d touched the back of your hand without explanation. “No, it’s okay,” he’d said. Nothing else. 

You spend days again wrapped in your own nausea, until Thursday evening, when you make your way to Community Support. 

You honestly weren’t considering it when Remus first gave you the card, but he said his friend worked there, “My best friend, James,” he corrected, ”and his wife, Lily, too. She talks to people about all kinds of things. I just wonder if you might feel happier talking about it with a woman.” 

Which was a nice sentiment, and possibly true, though Remus had been the first person you told. To be met with his sympathy in such a boundless capacity made it easier. Made you think, Maybe I’m not stupid for hating that it happened. 

“I’m here every Monday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday,” he‘d said when you made up a lie about needing to leave, scared of overstaying, “seven ‘til three, but you can ask for me if you ever want to. Sirius usually knows where I am.” 

And you had wanted to, but you knew you couldn’t. Being so desperately alone that you craved the comfort of a stranger’s hand is fine, but it didn’t feel okay to hold him hostage like that. Of course he feels sorry for you, of course he wants to make you feel better, how heartless would he look otherwise?

You’d chide yourself for thinking cynically about someone who’d only ever been nice if it would make a difference. Lonely, wrecked, you end up at the Community Support Group at the local leisure centre, wavering behind the swing doors. 

A face appears on the other side of the door. Deep skin, eyes like cherry pits and lips painted a cheery red, a woman smiles at you and pulls it open. 

“Hi! Are you here for the support group?” 

“Uh– Yeh–” You swallow roughly. “Yes. Is that here?” 

“That’s here.” She puts a thumb through the belt loop on her jeans. “Why don’t you come inside?” 

You take a tentative step.

“I’m Mary,” she says. 

“I don’t have to sign anything, right?” you ask. 

Mary leads you into the room without stopping. “This is off the books only. Do you want some tea or coffee?” 

“I can’t have caffeine.” 

“Decaf?” 

“Can I have water?” 

Mary has a good smile. Like she knows you, like you’re already friends. She cups your shoulder and guides you to the refreshment table, an impressive splendor of coffee, tea, individually wrapped biscuits, and sandwiches. There’s a box of protein bars with a handwritten red felt note that says: Take me home if you want to! 

“Aren’t hungry are you?” Mary asks. 

“Not really.” 

She ducks down at the table and pushes aside tablecloth to grab a crate of water from underneath.

“You haven’t been here before, then?” Mary asks as she stands. “I remember most faces, I don’t think I’ve seen you here.” 

“No, I’ve never… um, someone at the pharmacy told me I can come,” you say tightly. 

“Oh, you can! Of course you can. I wondered if you were new, that’s all.” She presses a bottle of water into your hands. You look down at her fingers, confused at their odd texture, your neck snapping up once you realise what you’re doing.

Mary has scars all over her hands, her wrists, and you’d been gawking at them by mistake. “Sorry,” you mumble. 

“For what? Do you want me to stay? Or would you rather be by yourself?” 

“We don’t sit in a circle, do we?” 

Mary laughs lightly. “No, no circle yet, you can leave if you don’t wanna stay for the group talking therapy. For the first hour people just say hello to one another. There are a ton of counsellors here, okay? I’m just gonna wander, but if you want to talk to me, come and find me, yeah?” 

“Okay, thanks. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, hun.” She smiles at you, a little softer than before. “You can sit down if it makes you feel less awkward, but be warned, the sofas are James’ territory. He loves to talk.” 

Don’t wanna get stuck with James, you think. Though really, you’re here to talk. Or to turn around and go home with a pocket full of protein bars. 

The community room is an emptied dance hall that’s been made nice. There are big boards of fliers, of last year’s trampolining club, and another of the Community Support Christmas club, whatever that had been. It looked busier then than it does tonight —there are a ton of sunny looking counsellors dotted around the room and talking in triangles, half as many people like you. 

Someone random catches your eyes and you fluster, making your way to the terracotta sofas in the corner of the room on impulse. A man sits with an arm across his eyes, glasses on his chest, looking so sorrily tired for a second that you forget you’d come looking for help of your own. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, stilted. James’ territory, and you’d walked straight in. 

The man sits up starkly. He looks right at you, but you don’t recognise him until he puts on his glasses. It’s one of those pharmacy men. 

No, it’s not, you’d just seen him outside. 

“Hello,” he says, sliding his glasses up a strong-bridged nose. “I’m okay, I’m just resting my eyes,” —he laughs— “you alright?” You nod. “Yeah? Here for the support club? Or the sandwiches?” 

“I–” Will you stammer every time someone asks you about it? “One of the– the pharmacy, one of the pharmacists told me to come.” 

“That’s good,” he says earnestly. “I like those guys. Did you want a sandwich or something? I must’ve made a hundred. My hand still aches from the butter knife.” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Okay. Well, did you want to sit down? I promise I won’t hold you hostage or anything.” 

What am I doing? you think miserably, taking a seat in the sofa adjacent to his. 

He crosses one leg over the other. “Please don’t look so upset. I swear I genuinely won’t make you talk. I’m just here for the biscuits and lovely Lily, I promise. And lovelier Remus–” He laughs to himself. 

“You’re James?” you ask. 

“The last time I checked.”

“Remus– he mentioned you’d be here. I forgot.” 

James only smiles. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?” he asks, wriggling in his seat to procure one of those biscuit packets from his back pocket. 

“He said that I might like talking to Lily.” 

It feels weird calling her by her first name without knowing her, but James agrees, “I’ll introduce you when she gets here, if that’s what you want.” 

“I just… I don’t know.” 

“She’s just as nice as Remus is. Remus was nice to you, wasn’t he?” 

You nod and look down at your clenched hands. “Yeah. He was nice to me.” 

“That’s good.” 

A tepid silence pervades for a moment. 

“Do you want a biscuit or something? Or we have noodles and soup and stuff in the storage room, I’m happy to make you something warm if you want that.” 

“You guys are like a restaurant,” you say, still not willing to look at him. 

“It’s nice to have options.” 

You nod hurriedly, sick to your stomach all over again. Options. Decisions. 

Somewhere in the room, they turn on a radio. Shoes squeak on the waxed floor, a boy laughs like he’s being tickled. It was a mistake to come tonight. You desperately want someone to hug you and you know it’s too much to ask for, staggering to your feet with a headrush to be blinked back. 

“You okay?” James asks.

“Yeah. Um, where’s the toilet?” 

“Back out of the double doors, they’re right in front of you, okay? Straight in front and then to the left, you can’t miss them.” 

“Okay.”

“Wait, Y/N?” he says. 

You shoot him a look that betrays your surprise. 

“Sorry, Remus told me to keep a look out for you. I just wanted to say, I know this is different, and it’s weird, I get that, and I have no idea why you’re here tonight, but I promised Remus I wouldn’t upset you, and I think I already have.”

“He didn’t tell you why I’m here?” 

“Of course not.” James blows a breath that makes his hair fly away from his face in a wave. “It’s none of my business why you’re here. My job is to make sandwiches. I mean, some people come here just for the sandwiches or the warm room, and that’s fine.” 

“The sandwiches are that good?” you ask. 

“They’re great. We don’t fuck around, I use the real salted butter in the foil wrappings and the thick bread and everything. Proper ham, not the wafer thin stuff. And there’s veggie bacon too, if you don’t eat meat. I don’t know, could you please just let me feed you something? Remus won’t forgive me if you came here and you didn’t even eat.” 

“I think you’re using Remus as a ploy,” you say quietly. 

“I am! So let’s go have a sandwich or a biscuit or something.” He waves his biscuits at you. “They’re Border’s. Butterscotch Border’s, you literally can’t ask for better.” 

Just try. Be brave for a bit. “I like the uh– the lemon ones.” 

James shoots up onto his feet, grinning. “Amazing taste. Let’s go find you some.” 

—

James takes you to the refreshment table. He finds you lemon drizzle biscuits, two packets, and he pushes two more into your hands with the command to take them home. He offers to make you dinner again when Lily arrives in a tizzy, with a chubby baby on her hip. 

Harry, she says. Just turned three. Scandalised everyone at home, Lily’s sister kicked her out, disaster. Harry, though, is beautiful. James and Lily are beautiful, and happy. James takes Harry into his arms the moment he sees him murmuring about his boy, and the sensation of guilt under your skin grows worse than ever. 

How are you liking group? Lily asks. Would you come back next week? That’s great! I’m so glad to hear it. 

—

You’re walking through Wilmand Street to the corner shop a few days later when you see him. Brown hair wet with snow, ashing a cigarette into the brick wall by the library. Remus cringes as he does it, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth in a call, “Y/N!” he says, “Hey, lovely, how are you? Sorry about the smoke,” he adds. “I was hoping I’d see you this week.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I wondered how you were doing.” 

“Well, don’t worry about me, I’m okay. I…” You cringe, pulling a hand down your sore chest. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for the other day, for dumping that stuff on you, you don’t even know me and I told you such a horrible thing and made you worry, and your friends were so nice to me at the community group and I just didn’t say thanks or anything. I’m genuinely ashamed of myself.” You smile a weird smile, clunky, attempting to brush everything away like it didn’t mean anything, silly little you. “All the time.” 

Remus’ expression goes odd, a wall you can’t read, left searching his winter jacket for clues as to how he’s feeling. “I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” he says, finally and simply. 

“It was rude of me.” 

“I have some experience with feeling ashamed for the things other people have done,” he says, flakes of snow kissing his shoulders, a white dot coming to rest and melt on his cheek. “I understand why you’re feeling this way, and it’s expected, but… How do I put this?” 

You watch his eyes. Remus struggles to say anything more. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen a flicker of insecurity on him. He always seems calmly settled, as though he’s thought about the world and found what it is he was looking for in it a long time ago. 

“Just because we think something doesn’t make it true,” he says, hiding his hands in his coat pockets. “You might feel like it was wrong to tell me, but it wasn’t, and you might think you were rude to my friends, but you weren’t. They didn’t have a single bad word to say about you. Not that either of them tend to say anything disparaging about anyone,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“I wish I didn’t tell you, is all.” 

“I’m sorry. I can go on as though you didn’t, if that’s what you want, whatever you want.” 

You look down at your chest, nodding. “Okay.” 

Which isn’t a yes or no to his suggestion, but he doesn’t pull you up on it. “Okay. Are you going to the pharmacy?” 

“I– no. But I did hope to ask you something.” He nods, as if to say, Go on. “It’s about the sex clinic.” 

“What about it?” 

“I don’t really know what it is.” 

Remus looks around the street and then up and down your arms. The jumper you’re wearing is thin, your teeth aching to chatter, and he’s noticed it already. “Do you want to have this conversation over tea, lovely?” he asks. 

“Decaf?” 

“Yes, and biscuits, if you’re interested.” 

You follow Remus up the marginally steep hill that makes up Wilmand Street and enter the pharmacy behind him. It’s wooden front and newspaper clippings give way to the starker insides, where you find Sirius sitting at the front desk. Or rather, sitting on it, corded telephone held between his ear and his shoulder. “Oh, he’s just come in, but he has company. Yeah, he said.” Sirius presses the phone to his shoulder to give you both a small but earnest smile. “Hey, you’ve been snowed on. Turn the heating up before you catch your death.” 

“It’s been caught,” Remus says with a wave. “We’re going to sit in the kitchen. Tell Reg not to interrupt us.” 

Your mouth falls open, but Sirius only salutes his —friend? coworker? “James says he’s giving the phone a sloppy one for you.” 

“Lovely.” Remus laughs brightly, his hand slipping behind your shoulder. “Alright?” he asks. 

You give a nod and continue following him past the inside door to the kitchen you’d sat in before. Remus flicks the kettle on and sits down, forcing you to take his cue and sit opposite of him. 

“Much warmer in here,” he mumbles, stripping out of his coat. “Alright. What did you want to ask me about the sex clinic?” 

“Um… I don’t know. How do I go there?” 

“We’ll make an appointment. It’s not far from the leisure centre, so you can walk, or I can book you a taxi, give you a lift. We'll work something out.”

“And they… won’t mind that I– that I don’t really know what I’m doing?” 

You almost miss the dissatisfied noise he makes over the rising sound of the kettle. “They won’t mind.” 

“Do I have to tell them what happened?” 

“No. I mean, I assume it’s better if they have a clearer picture of the circumstances, but then again, you’re entitled to your privacy. You could just say you’re concerned about your intimate health.” 

“But they’ll ask questions.” 

“Yeah, they will. I know you don’t want to answer them, and that’s okay. You don’t have to answer them. Doctor’s, pharmacists, we just ask about stuff because we have to, but there’s no law that says you have to answer.” 

Now you’ve had time to think about things beyond the aching and the angry horror, a new fear has curdled. “What if he gave me something?” you say under your breath. 

“Then we can get you whatever medicine it is that you need and we can work toward you feeling better again.” His head tips as the kettle clicks. “Did you still want tea?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Remus makes you each a cup of decaf tea, bringing sugar and milk to the table for you to add yourself. 

“We can go now, if you want to.” 

“To the clinic?” you ask. 

Remus nods slowly. “Mm-hm. It’s an emergency.” 

“You’d come with me?” you ask, not breathless, but almost. 

“If you’re okay with it and you want me to, I’ll come with you. It might not be so scary. Or I can ask Lily to take you.” 

It’s not Remus’ fault that the person who assaulted you was a man like he is, but it does sound less intimidating to go with a girl. You’re not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t been kind since the minute you asked him about confidentiality or that he deserves your distrust, but even sitting in this room with him now talking about the clinic has made you uncomfortable again. “Would she mind?” 

“Lily would love to take you. I know that sounds strange. She wouldn’t love that you need to go, but she wouldn’t want you to go alone if you’re worried about it.” 

“And she’ll go now?” 

Remus pushes your mug toward you. “You have some tea and I'll go and ask James if she’s around.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re not,” he says. “There’s biscuits in the cupboard, lovely. If you want some, you can help yourself.” 

Things don’t pass that day in much detail after that. When Remus returns ten minutes later, you’ve finished your tea, and Lily is with him. She was on her way here already. She’d be happy to take you to the clinic. 

So you go, and you get checked out, and you submit to their tests and their invasive, well-intentioned questions. Lily takes you to a cafe afterward and buys you a pastry you can’t do more than poke. She takes you home. You feel guilty for not saying thank you in the car, but you can barely speak. A few days later you get a phone call with your results. You take a course of medications. You cry yourself to sleep three days in a row, because, as they’d tested for STDs, they tested for something else, and they’d told you what you‘d already known. 

You’re as pregnant as your home tests said you are. Despite everything, you feel an emotion you hate, and you push it down again. 

—

The door to your flat shakes with a sharp knock. 

You startle and stand, not sure what you’d been thinking, a hole burned into the floor at your feet. You’re in no state to answer the door, wet hair dripping a river down your back and your pajamas old. There’s nothing for it. 

You take the handle into your hand and squeeze. 

Dark-haired Regulus is standing in the hallway. You let the door close just an inch between you. 

“Regulus,” you say, unsure if surprise will help or hinder you. 

“Hello.” 

“How can I…” 

“Remus asked me to check in on you.” 

You’re not sure you like what he’s saying. “How do you know where I live?” 

“Remus didn’t ask me to come to your flat, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“No, it’s not. I’m confused that you know where I live when I didn’t tell you.” 

He holds a deft hand up in surrender. “I live across the street, I’ve seen you come into the building, and your last name is on the postbox downstairs. I’m not doing anything illegal.” 

Just weird, then. 

“Remus asked me to keep an eye out for you,” he says, “but you haven’t been to the pharmacy, naturally.”

“So your solution was to come to my house?” 

“I don’t think there’s any need to get twitchy.” 

But there is. There is. He might not know what it is, and you might find thinking about it feels like a serrated blade end squeezed in your fist, but there is a need. You don’t want him to be here. It doesn’t matter that he’s small and skinny and has a sweet nose. This is your place to be by yourself, and to have nobody know where you are. This is the locked door. 

He has the sense to soften his bravado. “Sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.” 

You try to relax your shoulders. Your ribs ache with the tension. “Please,” you say gently, “tell Remus that I’m alright. Thank you for worrying about me.”

Regulus looks to the stairwell leading to the foyer. “He’s going to Community Support tonight if you want to tell him yourself. I am, too.” He doesn’t look at you again. “See you later,” he says to the stairs. 

 —

You go to Community Support despite yourself.

“Can you forgive me for not flirting with you?” 

You surprise the urge to flinch hard, turning to the voice with a half-smile. Sirius is standing beside you suddenly, your faces reflected in the plexiglass covered notice board just outside of the community hall. “What?” you ask. 

“I don’t mean to be offensive. I haven’t flirted because I thought Remus might have his eye on you, and I don’t want you to think it’s because you’re not beautiful.” 

You have to turn to see him to realise he’s teasing you now to be friendly. “I’d be offended if you did flirt with me,” you say. 

“Marvellous, then I won’t.”

“Remus doesn’t have his eye on me, though. He’s just been giving me pharmaceutical advice, I suppose.” 

“Oh, I see. I thought maybe you’d… Well, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He’s handsome enough that you’d be shocked if he actually did flirt with you, clear-skinned as his brother, but with a warmer smile, almost mischievous, like he knows something you don’t know and he’ll tell you for the right price. His shoulders are slim, his biceps particularly solid as he crosses his arms over his chest. He notices you noticing and gives a flex, to your laughter. “Like what you see?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“We’re on the rugby team, you know.”

“You and Remus?” 

“As if, Remus doesn’t like sports. He’s more of a walker. James and I are the sportsmen.” 

Sirius didn’t strike you as somebody who plays anything either, but it’s not polite to say. 

“Well, aren’t you coming inside?” he asks. “We could use a face like yours in there tonight. Beautiful girls are great for overall morale.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t think so.” 

“You came all the way here. You could at least come in for a bit of cake or something.” 

“Community support or community kitchen?” you mumble. 

“Everybody gets hungry. The best part of being in a community is making sure nobody goes hungry for long, right?” 

You give him a sideways look. Somehow, someway, you’ve become acquainted with a circle of philanthropists. Normal people aren’t so generous. You’re too tired to be this kind. 

“What kind do you have?” 

“Carrot, red velvet, Victoria sponge, and plain chocolate, I think. Maybe a bit of walnut sponge if Marlene hasn’t mauled the whole thing.” 

You’re not sure you can stomach it, just he’s looking at you so nicely that you want to go in with him. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

Sirius slips a hand behind your back, letting it hover an inch from your skin as he shepherds you through the double doors and into the main hall. It’s far more crowded than it had been on your first visit, a small circle of people already in chairs talking a ways from the crowded food table, pilfered, more sandwiches in hands than hands to hold them, and enough brewed coffee to scent the air. James is immediately noticeable crouching at the table, having pulled a crate of juice boxes from beneath it, laughing about something someone is saying to him —something Remus is saying, the tallest man in the room and somehow completely non-imposing, his voice more colour than sound as he talks. 

It must just be because Remus is attentive. Must be the memory of his nice hand on your shoulder, squeezing, that makes you pay special attention to his shaking. “Is he laughing?” you ask. 

Sirius tunes in quickly. “Yeah. He’s done that since we were kids. He can laugh like normal, but when something really has him it’s like he can’t get the sound out.” He chuckles himself. “Idiots. Come on, let’s get you your slice of cake.” 

You can’t help staring at Remus as Sirius takes you over to him and James. James is so happy to see you he almost loses his glasses. 

“You’re back! I thought my shitty impersonation of a counsellor might’ve scared you off. Don’t want some soup, do you?” 

“Don’t say yes out of pity,” Sirius says. “Nobody ever wants James to make them soup.” 

“You like my soup.” 

“I like Effie’s soup. She makes the best bowl of lemon chicken I’ve ever tasted, and you make a mediocre imitation of her recipe, which is as good as it gets while I’m away.” 

“Effie’s my mother,” James explains, clambering to his feet with the crate of small bottles of juice held to his chest. “Euphemia. And she does make the best lemon chicken soup, but mines just fine! And anyways, tonight I made winter vegetable because all the Christmas veg was 8p and I have a fuckton. It’s delicious. I cut the swede up so thin it melts in your mouth, I got fresh thyme from the garden, little bit of spinach, all of it cooked in a metric ton of butter.” 

Remus snorts softly. He meets your eyes, which has you smiling on automatic. “James is a bit of a soup addict.” 

”I–” You feel hungry for the first time in weeks. “I’d quite like to, uh, try some. If you really don’t mind.” 

James glows, shoving the case of juice onto the refreshment table next to the hot water towers. “Yes. How about toasties, lovely, d’you want a cheese toastie with it? You’ll love it.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Anyone else while I’m warming it?” 

Remus meets your eyes again, like you’re sharing a secret. “I’ll have a bowl, Jamie.” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright,” Sirius acquiesces, “and me. And Reg will, too, wherever he’s gone off too. But he won’t have cheese–”

“Just toast, I know.” 

James gets a look on him like he’s found the secrets of the universe. “I’ll make a garlic butter cheese toastie for all of you. Mm?” 

Sirius waves him away. 

Sirius grabs you a slice of cake even as you mumble about the soup and how it’s dessert before dinner. Doesn’t matter, he murmurs back, not worried about why you’ve gone shy, I promised you a slice.

You take an apple juice and follow him to a table. Remus comes with you. He looks sunnier today than the last time you saw him despite ever-cloudy weather. Maybe he’s just a bit golden. Steady, he sits at the table across from you with Sirius taking a seat perpendicular, the three of you three sides to a square, nothing to look at besides your hand squeezed around the handle of a plastic fork. 

“I’m sorry about Regulus,” Remus says. “I didn’t mean for him to visit you at home. He told me you weren’t thrilled about it, and I can’t blame you.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Sirius says, wrinkling his nose. “I have no clue why he did that.” 

“And Regulus would be sorry, he just has a hard time realising when he’s overstepped.”

You nod at the table. “It’s okay. I mean, it did make me uncomfortable, and I– wasn’t super polite to him. I just wasn’t expecting him to be at the door, that’s all. And he said sorry, actually. So it’s forgiven.” 

“Oh.” Sirius perches his hand in his head. “That’s unlike him. He doesn’t tend to be sorry.” 

“Neither do you,” Remus says. 

“It’s a family trait.” 

“Can I save this for after soup?” you ask, shuffling your plate to the side. It’ll be easier to eat your cake when everyone else is eating as well. 

“Course you can,” Sirius says, leaning back in his seat. “But if you don’t eat it, I’ll assume you don’t like me. I’m sensitive like that.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, again gifting you with a great feeling, as though you’re in on a secret with him. He’s wearing an aviator jacket that looks incredibly soft, worn but not tattered, sherpa insides flattened but clean. The sleeves warp as he crosses his arms in front of him on the table and leans forward, conspirator. 

“So, how was your morning? Besides Regulus’ unwelcome intrusion,” he says, almost drawling as Sirius does when he gets that playful look in his eye. 

You’re not sure how to handle these boys. But you want to try. You’re sick of having nobody, of being nobody, even if it’s a little discomfiting sometimes to be with them. “My morning was fine. Tries to get through all my washing but it’s a mountain, so I left it and had a long shower instead.”

“How long is long?” Remus asks. 

“Too long.” 

“Like Remus’, then. I’m a one and done man, wash and go.” Sirius peels forward, “And Remus takes hours. Uses all the hot water.” 

“You live together?” you ask. 

“We did for a bit, didn’t we?” Sirius says. 

“Six very long years,” Remus says. “But I have a flat, and Sirius lives on Wilmand Street now, thank god.” 

“Thank god indeed,” Sirius says, “now I can actually wash my hair on a semi-regular basis.” 

“Can you?” Remus asks. 

“What are you implying?” 

“Only that your hair seems distinctly unwashed lately, don’t worry.” 

“He’s showing off ‘cos you’re here,” Sirius says, smiling despite the accusation as he takes a hand through his hair and pushes it back from his face. “I wash plenty.” 

“Do you? I was almost hoping you’d stopped. Maybe that would explain the weird thing you have going on right here.” Remus scratches his upper lip. 

“Fuck off, you just don’t like a scratchy kiss–”

Remus laughs suddenly. After a moment, it tapers into silence, though his shoulders still shake, and you can hear his laughter in his voice when he says, “That charming thatch of stubble would be the last of my worries if I wanted to kiss you, Sirius.” 

“What’s top of the list then?” 

“The smell, obviously. I’m getting top notes of wet dog and a headier dampness–”

“You sick bastard,” Sirius says, sounding absolutely delighted at his friend's insult. 

“You just need a good wash, is all.” 

You don’t mean to, but you laugh. Giggle, really, entertained by them and shocked a little by the way they snip and snap at each other. You pitch forward, face angled down, eyes tempted to shut completely. Sick bastard, you think, laughing still. 

It only makes you laugh more when Sirius nudges you. “Hey, thought we were getting somewhere,” he murmurs. 

You giggle some more. “Sorry,” you squeeze out eventually. 

“Don’t be. He can take a hit. Even if he’s sensitive,” Remus says.

Sirius sniffs. “I’m not that sensitive. Can’t make a joke anymore without being entirely misrepresented.” 

— 

James’ soup becomes a staple for you over the next couple of days. Community Support is a daily occurrence, though some nights are more popular than others. The weekends are busiest, Friday and Saturday night, but Wednesdays have an uptick you aren’t expecting, sitting at one of the plastic tables with another cup or winter veg soup and a garlic buttered toastie. You blow on melty cheese as James brings the hot plate out to the refreshment table, making it easier to serve the many who want it. He’s gleeful, promising that they’re gonna love it, and then tacking on an amendment that anyone who doesn’t like it is more than welcome to something else from the kitchen. 

With payday for most at midnight Friday, or some time after, it’s the hump of the week that hits hardest. You don’t come for the soup, but some people do, and they can’t be blamed for it; stretching money out isn’t easy. 

Your stomach clenches. Your spoon wobbles in your hand. 

From across the room, Remus sends you a warm smile, a kid in his arms and another at his thigh, chattering away as their mam takes a well-deserved breather by the terracotta sofas. 

The next day is the same. James makes soup and ham sandwiches, ham off the bone, made it himself, and you pick at the crusts at a plastic table. Sirius keeps you company for a bit, and then Remus rags on him until he leaves. They’re both too smiley to believe any animosity. 

On Friday, James isn’t there. 

“Harry’s poorly.” 

“I thought he might’ve had a day off.” 

“He and Lily like the group too much for days off.” Remus scratches a hand through his hair. It’s the most boyish thing he’s ever done in front of you. “Are you liking it here? You haven’t missed a day all week.” 

“James makes a good soup.” 

“He left plenty, if you want it.” 

You’re not sure you can stomach it. You give a small shake of your head. “Will Harry be okay?” 

“Fine. He gets ear infections, James used to get them too, even when we were teenagers. He’s on antibiotics already, it’s just the crying that’s the worst. Makes him sick.” Remus smiles sympathetically. “Makes James sick, too. But they’ll be okay.” 

“That’s good. It’s too quiet here when James isn’t around.” 

The hall is practically silent. There are a few people milling around on the sofas and another handful drinking tea by the refreshment table. Mary is patting a crying woman with pink hair on the back. A two year old sits at her feet, staring up at her sullenly. 

“I could go turn on the radio.” 

You perch your chin in your palm, elbow on the table. Tired today. “That’s okay. It’s nice.” Quiet, but not lonely. 

“You feeling okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” You fight the urge to let your eyes shutter closed. “I’m okay. You okay?” 

“I’m great. I’m really glad you’ve been coming. I know you don’t stay for group therapy, and you don’t have to, but… I don’t know, I think it’s just good to be around people.” 

You feel like he meant to say a particular but dodged it at the last second. He hesitated. 

He said he wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t want him to, but maybe you do, just so you know it was real, and bad. It was awful, wasn’t it? 

“I don’t like being alone,” you confess, scratching the back of your neck. “For a while…” You scratch scratch scratch, sounds of your nails over skin, then let your hand drop with a thump against your thigh. “I wanted to be alone. But now when I’m home by myself I feel awful.” 

“It’s normal to want company.” 

“Even after what happened?” 

“Especially after what happened. I think the stereotype is that people… experience something bad, and that they retreat into themselves, and that’s based on a real process of emotions,” —he talks quietly but surely, without a lick of condescension— “and a real sort of phenomena. Everybody needs time to lick their wounds, to put it heavily. But it makes sense that you’d seek out company when you’ve just had a really, really horrible thing happen.” 

You did retreat into yourself at first. Wasting days away in bed without an appetite, crying yourself sick and to sleep, hating yourself and the world and him, because it hurt so badly. But then you didn’t get your period when you were expecting it and it was like holding the times of a fork to a plug socket, a nasty shock flaring through your entire body from the tips of your fingers. And now you have decisions to make and a life to live after, it’s happening now, quickly. You aren’t feeling any better than you were that morning when you first woke up and realised you’d been attacked without fully knowing, but time is moving forward regardless. You don’t know why you crave other people, but you do. You like seeing Remus every night, even if he only talks to you once or twice. You like eating James’ home cooked food, like watching Sirius and Regulus bicker as they lean against one another, and you like seeing Lily press her nose to her baby’s. You wonder what that feels like. How soft is a small nose? What does it feel like to hold the person you made out of love and a little bit of every part of you in two hands? 

You’re still so lonely it’s palpable. There are moments throughout the day where you can’t face it head on, but the support group is genuinely helping, if it’s just to spend an hour outside of your head. 

Lonely, and with nobody to confide in. 

Remus watches you think for a while. He’s waiting patiently for you to speak again. 

“Can I tell you something stupid?” you ask softly. 

“Sure.” 

“Don’t laugh at me.” 

“I doubt I could.” 

You let out a deep sigh. He’s all browns tonight in his old jacket. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown jacket. “I was thinking about keeping the baby. I don’t know if you’d consider it a baby right now,” you murmur, staring at the corner of his mouth, “but I think I want it to be one. And I can’t stop thinking that it’s a bad idea.” 

“It’s your decision,” Remus says. When you sigh, he looks chastened, and you hadn’t wanted it to be a chastening. He clears his throat. “You already know that, don’t you?” Not expecting an answer, he leans back in his chair and levels you with a smile more friendly than you deserve. “Keep your baby if you want to, lovely. The point of– Well, of having the choice, is being allowed to choose yes, to choose to keep your baby, even if it’s a bad idea. Or looks like one.”

“I know, but…” 

But it’s a bad idea. But it happened because somebody hurt you. But you’re completely alone.

“I’m not upsetting you, am I?” he asks. 

“No, you’re not. You’ve been really nice to me,” you mumble, letting your aching eyes close as you lean into your hand. “It’s not you.” 

Remus settles for a few seconds. “Can I put my arm around you?” he asks finally. 

“Okay.” 

So he does. His voice drops to match your own, his elbow right between your ribs as his thumb skirts across the top of your shoulder, “I’m sorry I can’t fix it for you, I wish I could tell you what to do that’s going to make you the happiest. I can’t, though.”

“I know.” 

He rubs your shoulder. “I know you know.” 

There’s a lot to think about. You aren’t pregnant by a miracle. Something bad happened to you, and the choice is yours now to take, and no one would blame you for wanting to forget the whole thing. At least, nobody here at the support group would. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it; lately, it’s the only thing on your mind. But the guilt of wanting it won’t go away. 

“Sorry you have to do this again,” you mumble. 

“What, give you a hug?” Remus’ voice turns softer. It feels less like the kind words of a stranger and more like a friend. “I don’t mind it.” 

You try to stop feeling guilty. The most you can be right now is looked after, at least for a while, for as long as Remus will hold your shoulders. 

“It’s not your fault,” Remus says. “You know that, too, I’m guessing. What happened to you wasn’t your fault.” 

You’re not so sure. It’s a different guilt to look at in whatever light finds you when it happens. “I know,” you say, half a lie. 

“And I know you have no reason to trust us with something so huge, but we’re here for you. That’s the whole point of the group.” 

You sigh heavily. “I know,” you say under your breath. You’re just not sure it’s going to be enough.

𖦹

hi thanks for reading the first part! this is a heavy one but it’s also a fic I’ve wanted to write for a long time, or rewrite <\3 some of you may have read my first go at this years ago and I’m hoping to tie in some of the old stuff but it’s also its own story hopefully, it’s shaping up well! 

https://rapecrisis.org.uk rape crisis UK — they have a support line! and many many articles

information about rape crisis https://247sexualabusesupport.org.uk/faqs/

[junezsq]

compliments

harry james potter x fem!reader

summary: on the train ride back home for christmas break ron dares you to find out what harry likes about you

established relationship

warnings: it’s the awkward lavender train scene … so be prepared, unbreakable vow is mentioned, sad hermione :( year 6!

word count: 1.3k

a/n: this was the scene i came up with that made me decide i wanted to write for harry and turn it into this small interconnected series lmao. i love writing my oc’s into existing book/movie scenes, so pls lmk if you do so as well, and if you do; my requests are open<3

── ᵎᵎ ✦

you, ron and harry had settled into an empty compartment on the train back to london for christmas break. your legs were crossed by the ankles as your eyes glided over the words carefully written down in the book you’d been reading for a few days now — not that you were actually processing what they said though, since your friends’ conversation took care of being a constant distraction.

“unbreakable vow?” ron leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “you’re sure that’s what snape said?”

“positive. why?” harry leaned against the window, his eyes focused on the red haired across from him. the latter looked down in thought, “well, it’s just you can’t break an unbreakable vow.”

a soft sigh, barely noticeable, escaped your lips as you dog eared the page you were on. you were fairly sure you wouldn’t be able to pick up any information if the pair continued talking.

“i’d worked that much out for myself funnily enough.” harry spoke causing you to let out a light chuckle. the pair turned to you at the sound and ron’s brows were raised as if he was waiting for you to say something. your head gave a small shake, “nothing… please, continue.” you smiled as you looked at them; wanting to hear their thoughts.

ron slowly turned his head back to harry, “it’s just that…” the rest of the sentence never came, as ron looked deep in thought. you kept your eyes on him for a moment longer before resting them on harry, “unbreakable vows are incredibly dangerous.”

harry, who was sat beside you, sat up a bit straighter at your words, “are they?”

“yeah, mate.” ron breathed out, “you don’t understand…” but before he could continue the presence of someone outside the compartment caught his attention, “oh, bloody hell.”

you followed ron’s line of sight and when you saw lavender brown behind the glass door you immediately closed your book, incredibly curious what’s to happen. her exhaling on the glass, along with the movement of her finger drawing an outrageously big heart on the condensed part of the door, caused you to press your lips together — having to try your utmost best not to laugh.

“no!” you whispered, turning your head to look at harry, who was busy distracting himself while lavender continued drawing an ‘r’ and ‘l’ in the middle of the heart. it made it even harder for you to suppress the laugh bubbling up in your throat when harry mindlessly pulled the armrest out of the train seat, only to push it back in not even a second later.

eventually you dared to look back at the door, just in time to catch lavender exhale one last time against the glass; clarifying the heart and message she’d drawn. you watched — your eyes still wide and lips still pressed together — as she breathed out an exasperated ‘i miss you’ before turning to leave.

the second she’d left you turned to look at the two boys sat across one another, and when harry uttered — deadly serious — ‘lovely’, you couldn’t help but let the laughs escape your lips, “oh my god.”

ron shook his head, “all she wants to do is snog me.” he leaned closer towards harry, “my lips are getting chapped.” his finger moved up to point at his lips, “look.”

while the red haired moved closer, harry tried to dodge his face, “i’ll take your word for it.”

“i don’t get how you two do it.” ron sighed as he sat back, but after a short second he crossed his arms, “now that i think about it,” he squinted his eyes as he observed the couple that sat across him. “i’ve never even seen you snog.”

“i mean, we don’t really do it in front of—“

however, before harry could finish his sentence you sat up straight and cut him off, “i still can’t believe you two are together, honestly.” your hands were curled around your book, which had been laying abandoned on your lap for the entire interaction. ron sat back, “is it really so hard to believe that i have a girlfriend?”

“no.” you shrugged, “she just doesn’t really seem like your type, now does she?”

“my type??” ron’s brows raised, “i don’t have a type.” he slumped down in his seat. you playfully raised your brows at his words, “alright, what do you like about her then?”

ron swallowed, resting his head against the backrest in thought. when you glanced at harry you could tell he was confused on why you were interrogating your friend by his slightly squinted eyes and furrowed brows. you shrugged, “what? i don’t know her that well, really. i’d just like to know.”

a harsh sigh from ron pulled your attention back to him. in the meantime he’d closed his eyes and after another long silence he looked back at you and harry, “i guess she’s quite nice?”

your mouth fell open at his words, “she’s quite nice?” you blinked before looking at harry who just shrugged his shoulders. a scoff fell from you lips as you put your attention back on the red haired, “ron, if you’d had genuine feelings for her, i’d imagine you would be able to come up with a lot more than just guessing she is quite nice?!”

he crossed his arms, “it’s pretty difficult actually, why don’t you ask harry what he likes about you, hm?”

you rolled your eyes once more before sighing, “sure.” after carefully placing your book beside you, you turned slightly in your seat so your body was facing your boyfriend, “harry, what do you like about me?”

the brunette glanced between you and his best friend, “what?!” he shook his head, “i’m not doing this, alright? this is your discussion.” his eyes landed on yours and when you raised your brows at him — waiting for an answer — he sighed, “fine.”

he sat up slightly straighter before speaking up again, “for starters, you’re incredibly kind. not only through words, but through actions, also. you’re always there for me, ready to help with … anything, really. not only after we started dating, but when we were just friends, too, and even when you barely knew who i was, in our third year.” when harry saw a soft smile starting to form on your lips he felt encouraged to continue.

“you’re funny, doesn’t really matter if you try to be, but you make me laugh. you’re also an amazing storyteller; the one about the four siblings in their fantasy world, that one’s great.” a soft chuckle fell from your lips at the memory of you telling harry the story from your childhood. “and i really like it when you play with my hair, helps me relax when—“

“bloody hell, you’re aggravatingly cute together, the two of you.” ron cut harry off before he could continue his list.

your eyes stayed on harry for a moment longer, the smile still evident when you eventually turned to look at ron, “proved my point, don’t you think?” but the red haired slightly shook his head and mumbled under his breath, ‘whatever.’

in the corner of your eye you noticed hermione walking up to the door to your compartment. however, when you turned around — ready for her to walk in — she stopped in front of the drawing lavender had made on the glass only a moment earlier.

your heart sank for her, knowing how much she liked ron, and when she immediately stalked off without even saying hello your smile dropped. you quickly glanced at your friends before standing up and opening the compartment door, “i’m going to talk to her. i’ll be back in a moment.” you spoke, slipping through the opening before closing the door behind you and following hermione.

“that was … weird.” ron muttered and after a moment of awkward silence harry turned to his best friend, “so what happens to you? what happens if you break an unbreakable vow?”

“you die.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

SOUNDTRACK // stardust, zayn

TAGLIST // @callsigncrushx @moonjellyfishie @pussyslayerhd @accio-mayachhiato @ezrafrss @iyskgd

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotage you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey/highkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed- down bad) recreational drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club lowkey a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, fluff/smut AND light angst- violence, some former trauma of reader. This part- SO MUCH FLUFF lol- a lot of humor, next chap we'll be back to some drama so enjoyyy, Stepdad Kuna, whipped ass Kuna, some smut ofc hehe, oral (f revieving) lil bit of dirty talk, emotional sex- angst smut AND fluff - WC-6.6k

Will be eight or more parts- ties into my Mob Gojo story-takes place after part one of that (can be read alone ofc) I HIGHLY recommend the playlist (esp on the club scenes) That mobster art in the banner is by Sketch B on X- LINKReblogs/comments so appreciated if you enjoyy!

<<<Part Four Playlist Masterlist Part six>>>

Part Five

A nice and steamy, pounding hot shower was just what you needed, alone in Sukuna’s own personal bathroom, as he spends time with Touma. You’re exhaling as you sit on the marble bench, letting the water hit you in waves, sighing at just how good it feels, the little drops pounding against your skin, easing the sore achiness of your muscles.

A shower alone as a mother was unheard of, maybe a quick five minutes, but usually Touma and work had you so exhausted you got in for just that, too much to do, too tired to do more than scrub your skin, wash your hair. As fast as you could, but this was pure fucking bliss.

The first day moving most of your things - which wasn’t much- to Sukuna’s penthouse, had been a bit surprising. He’d had movers ready, they all basically did everything for you, and when you’d come, Sukuna had thankfully put up all the freaky shit in his room, and locked up all guns and drugs out of sight. The first meeting of Touma and Sukuna makes you giggle even in the shower.

Touma had been curious when Sukuna had leaned down and kissed you, hugging at your leg and looking at him. Sukuna looked right back. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Touma.” He answers, so seriously. “Are you… you in love with my mom.” Sukuna had paused, mouth wide open, brows low in a shocked glare that had made you burst out laughing.

“Touma baby, Mr. Sukuna is helping us live in this really nice place for a bit, but he’s-”

“So what if I am, kid? Got a problem?” Sukuna got down on his haunches, and Touma had stepped in front of you protectively, melting you as you watched Touma walk right up to Sukuna.

Mob boss, intimidating ass Ryomen Sukuna, and your kid crosses his little arms, tilting his own head. “She’s my Mama, I protect her.”

You gulp down your own emotions now, and Sukuna just glares at him. “And you think I won’t protect her?”

“It’s my job, I’m Touma. I protect Mama.” You’re damn near in tears, turning away for a moment, you hate that Touma feels this way, you’re instantly wracked with questions.

All the fights he saw?

Was it-

“That’s because I love mommy. Do you love mommy?”

“Maybe I do. Will you come kick my ass?” Touma giggles as you turn around and glare.

“Sukuna!”

“No, only if you hurt mommy.” Sukuna sighs then, big huge hand on Touma’s little shoulder.

“I’ll never hurt your mom. Okay? I want to… protect her. Better than you even.” You feel like you’re in some dream in that moment, as Touma stomps that little foot, shaking his head.

“Not better!”

“Way better. I’m bigger, hah!” Touma shoves at Sukuna then, and Sukuna yanks him up high, throwing him over his shoulder, as Touma’s legs wiggle. “See?”

“Put me down, Mama tell him!”

“Put him down, shit.” You can’t stop your laugh though, as Sukuna eases him down until he’s standing again, and he’s holding his shoulders very seriously.

“Will you help me protect your mama?” He asks softly, a tone you have rarely heard, and Touma sighs, nodding then.

“But I can do it alone, you know.”

“I’m sure you can, kid.” Sukuna smiles up at you then, seeing the glimmering tears in your eyes. “You know she’s kinda a crybaby.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Are you one too?”

“No, not a crybaby!” Touma determines, Sukuna grins then, spreading across his handsome face.

“Good, good… wanna see some cool shit?”

“Cool sh-”

“Bad word, Touma!” You cover his mouth, glaring at Sukuna then. “Watch that mouth, hmm?”

“She’s very bossy.” Sukuna says, Touma giggles, and then he tilts his head. “Come on, I got all kinds of… kid shit.”

“Mouth!”

“Kid things, fuck.”

“Don’t cuss like Mr. Sukuna, it’s bad.” You whisper, but Touma looks at you all bright eyed.

“He loves Mama.” You look up to see Sukuna’s blush, bringing upon your own as you clear your throat.

“You think so?” Touma nods, then Sukuna leads you both over, to open a door that’s somehow become a kid’s fucking paradise. Touma squeals, literally squeals, just running in, and you follow, blinking just a bit in shock. Touma starts bouncing on a little toddler bed, and Sukuna shakes his head.

“Ah-ah. No jumping. Didn’t mommy tell you about those stupid monkeys?”

“Monkeys… what?”

“They broke their bones.”

“Kuna!” He just grins as Touma gasps, stopping jumping immediately, but you sigh, taking in every bit of the room, dinosaurs all over, a gaming system, somehow he’s got everything a kid needs in one day. “How’d you do it all?” You murmur, while Touma starts poking around on a remote.

“I paid a shit ton of money for someone to set up shit for a little boy.” He shrugs a broad shoulder, eyeing you then. “Don’t cry, brat.”

“I… you…” You’re in tears, fully, and Sukuna sighs, holding you then, a big hand on your head as he tries to hush you. “You d-did all this? For me? For us?”

“It’s not shit, I just spent money. I literally snapped my fingers and a bunch of workers did the shit. Stop… you’re such a crybaby.”

You’re sobbing now, quietly against his shoulder, as he brushes a hand down your back, his heart filling more and more with every fucking moment he’s near you, when he sees your exhausted, tear streak face he falters, mouth opening and closing. But you beat him to it, cupping his face and leaning up.

“I really love you, Sukuna. You’re… you’re something so… you’re so different, from anything.” He exhales nervously, looking away and gulping.

“You’re being all sappy, stop it. Just wanted him to be comfortable.”

“Thank you so much. He loves it already.” You’re giggling while you’re crying, Sukuna smiles just a bit.

“You’re a wreck, brat.”

“I know.” He exhales, letting you cuddle to him, when Touma comes up and hugs his thigh, making Sukuna freeze, and you grin.

“Thank you Mr. Kuna!”

“God, even your kid uses the name? It’s Sukuna.”

“Kuna!”

“Jesus.”

You’re still grinning so hard it hurts, fuck when was the last time you were this damn happy, even with the looming threat of Naoya and so much more happening. As you turn off the silver knob of the shower, you’re curious how it’s going, Sukuna and a kid kind of made no sense, but seeing him trying more in one day than Naoya did in years was touching, it was fucking beautiful.

You don’t just - kind of love him- or - think you’re in love. No, you’re madly head over heels for this gruff crime lord, who’s giving you so much, and you don’t know what he gets in return. You want to help him, and be good for him, show him just how appreciative you are. Which, you heat up as you stare in the mirror, thinking of ways to show him tonight.

As you slip on your pajamas, you hear ‘ bang bang’ and rush out, it’s Touma saying it, over and over. You hear Sukuna’s booming laugh, rushing out with still damp hair as you eye the scene in front of you, mouth dropped open, Touma’s hand has a toy gun, his damn teddy bears have their little squishy arms tied, and there is fake money strewn all over.

“Haha, yeah kid, you just point and say it, c’mon you got it.” Sukuna’s grinning as he sits on the carpet, with his own toy gun, showing him. “Say - yo- you got my money!?”

“Yo gots my money!” Touma giggles now. “Bang!”

Sukuna slaps Touma in the back so hard the kid almost falls, affectionately you think!? “Yes, that’s it, then you-”

“What are you two doing, hmm!?” You cross your arms, and they both look at you, Touma’s eyes bright and glittering, Sukuna just smirking.

“What, we’re playing and bonding and that kinda shit. Touma, show mommy.”

“Look!” Touma shoots off the nerf gun now, and you gasp as he knocks the teddy bears right over, Sukuna smacks Touma in the back, bursting with laughter.

“This kid, I like him, look at that aim, huh? Now you take the-”

“Are you two serious!?” You demand, scowling at Sukuna, but Touma giggles and runs to you now, jumping up and down.

“Mommy, so much fun! Kuna is so fun I wuv him!” Sukuna clears his throat, bashful suddenly as he stands, rubbing the back of his neck.

You ignore the barbies that the teddy bears have thrown fake cash at apparently for just a moment, ignore the tied up bears and the nerf guns, and look down at Touma, who you haven’t seen this happy in so long. Then back at a Sukuna who is looking away, worried he’s fucked it all up.

You exhale then, realizing it.

You’re hopelessly in love, and even your kid loves this crazy ass man, on sight. “Although this isn’t the best game to play…”

They both look at you, eyes hopeful.

“I’m glad you’re having fun, hmm?” You murmur to Touma, brushing back his soft hair, you hear Sukuna’s exhale as Touma runs back to the game. Sukuna eyes you, walking close and leaning down, hands in his pockets. “You-”

“I know, I know I’m shit with kids. I just wanted you to have a break for a minute, and I don’t know what brat ass little... things even do. I figured-”

“Shh.” You grab his face then, kissing his lips gently, and he pulls you close, right against his chest, your skin dewy from the shower, eyes once again swirling with emotions, as he gulps a bit, just how pretty you are.

“You’re pissed hmm?”

“No, not pissed. This isn’t good behavior but… look at him.” Touma’s popping nerf guns at the bears with a little too much precision. “He’s so happy. Thank you for all of this, really, even if this is… inappropriate and a horrible influence, but...”

Sukuna blinks sooty pink lashes. “You're thanking me?”

“Yeah, you’re trying. And he… wuvs you.” You watch him look away again, as Touma begins to yawn.

“Tch. Wiped out already, kid?” Sukuna demands, but Touma just nods, and you swoop in, getting him to lay down, Sukuna lingers by the outside of the door, giving you both a moment.

“Will you be okay sleeping in here tonight?” You ask softly, Touma’s eyes are already fluttering shut as you cover him up.

“I like it here mommy, he’s so fun!” You grin down at him.

“He is fun.”

Touma touches your cheek with his little hand, melting you. “You love him, huh Mama?”

You look behind you, seeing his shadow along the doorway, sighing and then looking back at Touma, smiling. “Keep it a secret, but yes.” 

Sukuna’s heart hammers in his chest as he hears you both, and you hum so sweetly to him, his feelings so overwhelming he can’t control himself. The minute you shut the door, you’re in his arms, lifted, his hands gripping your thighs, pressing you against the wall.

You gasp then, before you relax, and he smells how sweet you are from that body wash he bought you, you probably would flip if you knew the price tag, but Sukuna would get you anything. You don’t know what he’d do for you, who he’d kill for you, just to keep you and that kid- who's actually pretty okay, for a kid - safe, and happy, so quickly you’ve consumed him.

You’re clinging to his shoulders, as you bite your plump lower lip, trying not to make any noise, and Sukuna exhales, leaning even closer, lips a breath from yours. “Know how crazy you make me, brat? Got me having a whole kid here, got me thinking of putting another in you.”

You flush now, arching your hips, as he hides his groan in your neck, exhaling, your hands enwrapped in pastel locks. “Think I don’t picture it too? Think you don’t make me insane?”

“I need you, brat. Now.” He whispers, you nod eagerly and he’s carrying you, like you’re nothing, kissing messy and brutal down the hallway, until you’re in his room, and he’s kissing down your neck, biting your delicate skin brutally.

“Kuna!” You’re whimpering as he does, grinding your heated cunt against him in your silky shorts, feeling his cock hard and throbbing.

“Need you now.” You nod eagerly once more, as you look up into dilated ruby eyes, almost black.

“Then take me.”

“God, what you do, woman…” You’re on his bed before you can blink, dizzy with how the man just throws you around, how he’s slipping off your shorts, you’re throwing a hand over your mouth as he spreads your thighs, kissing down your breasts, to the peaks of them, making your back arch. “Ah-ah.”

Sukuna yanks your hand off your mouth, and you suck in a breath when he’s kissing your other breasts, tongue lapping around and areola. “I can’t have him hear anything!”

Sukuna grins then. “I told you, it’s pretty much soundproof.”

Your eyes narrow. “Do I wanna know why?” He chuckles, continuing to kiss, lick and bite between your breasts and around your rib cage, shoving your little pajama top up further as he does.

“If you must know brat, I used to have Toji living here, and I decided I didn’t want him jerking off while I’m fucking.” You shake your head with a breathless giggle.

“You two!? Lived together!?”

“He lived here while he was a broke bitch, now I really don’t wanna talk about Toji right now.” He bites your nipple hard, and you whine out, head falling back against the soft pillows.

“You’re so f-freaky…”

“Mmm, I take it easy on you, you know that? Think I’ve ever been like this with a woman?” You exhale now, hands running through the pastel locks of his hair, arching your hips up more as he kisses down a shimmery white stretch mark. “God look how fucking sexy you are.”

“Kuna… please…” He smirks now, kissing even lower, until he’s hovering over your pussy, breath hot as he spreads your lips, spitting right on your clit and groaning as he watches it trail down.

“Please what, brat? I can’t take my time?” He demands, raising a brow, your pussy is drooling as he flicks his tongue on your clit, making you moan out loud, his cock is so hard he’s thrusting it against the bed for friction.

“Need you, please, stop teasing.” He flicks his tongue again, chuckling against you as your thighs are trembling on either side of his head.

“Oh do you? Need what, hmm?”

“More.” You yank on his hair, and he’s grinning against your pussy, tongue swirling around your clit but just not hitting it, watching you huff in frustration. “Kuna, please!”

“You’re beggin’ huh? So pathetic?”

“You know what-” You yank his face against you now, and he moans as you do, the action turning him on so much he can’t think, as you greedily grind against his face, and he’s leaking precum, dying to be inside your tight entrance, lapping all your juices up so hungry. “Y-yes!”

“Greedy little slutty brat f’me?” You nod as he murmurs against your skin, as his huge tattooed hands are pressing your thighs further apart, and he’s drinking you up, moaning as he works you. “Gonna fuck my face- god yes.”

“S-sorry… need more…” You’re lost now, as you rock up and down, as his tongue and nose and teeth all work you over and over so good, until you feel the pressure building, breasts heaving with your quicker breaths. “So good, f-fuck, Kuna it’s so…”

“Cum all over my face, c’mon baby.” He urges, lapping your juices from your hole up to your clit while you’re gasping for breaths, pleasure wrecking your brain, washing all over you in waves. “C’mon lemme drink it up.”

“Mnh!” You’re cumming so hard as he drinks you up, as his fingers bruise your thighs, and his mouth devours your pussy, the sounds of him echoing off the walls and making you scream out more and more. As you’re pulsing around his tongue, the wet muscle presses up, tastebuds just a little rough on gummy walls, forcing you into another orgasm.

“Mmm…” He’s moaning at your sweet taste, licking at his lips now, biting your inner thigh, the pain making you cry out again, hands now gripping his shoulders, broad and strong, yanking at the shirt he’s wearing. “Need me so bad?”

“God, you already know I do, you’re so-” He cuts off your compliments with a hungry kiss, as you’re running your fingers down his muscles, trying to take a breath, thighs shaking while his cock is rubbing between them.

“Taste yourself.” You’re lapping your juices off his lips with your little pink tongue, as he’s grinding against you, still in pants, making you huff in frustration, yanking on them as he laughs.

“You’re so mean, jus’ lemme…”

“Gotta have me right now, can’t wait, you’re so impatient.”

“No, c-can’t.” You’re freeing his cock, stroking the huge, thick length up and down, thumb pressing against his piercing, eyes darting up to his face as he drinks you in. “Beautiful.”

“Me!? Shut that shit up.”

“You are.”

“Calling me some bitch shit. You’re beautiful.” You smile and shake your head, thumb brushing across a flat brown nipple. “So beautiful I never want anyone to even fucking see you again.” His voice is husky, one of his hands guiding his cock to rub up and down between your folds, pressing against your clit, making you drool down his length.

“Never, how will I strip then?” You tease softly, he scowls, rubbing the piercing against you over and over, watching your pretty eyes flutter shut.

“Think I’ll let you?”

“Think you can stop me?”

Sukuna smirks, shaking his head as he shoves his cock deep inside you, and you’re screaming out, thankful his walls are soundproof for whatever weird reason it was, as the stretch burns so good inside your cunt. You’re struggling to take him as he watches every expression on your perfect features, your lips parted, your nails pressing into his skin.

“I can stop you alright.” He whispers, pulling back and thrusting deeper, stuffing you even more full, tears in your eyes as he works you. “Gonna argue ever when I give it to you so fuckin’ good?”

You shake your head, whispering out - “N-not fair…”

“Takin’ my cock like you’re made for it.” Sukuna’s words along with him yanking a thigh up, putting the arch of your foot on his shoulder and kissing your ankle makes your walls pulse around him. “Struggling to take it, too fuckin’ tiny?”

“I c-can do it.” He smirks down at you, broad smile on his handsome face, before he slams inside you so hard your toes curl, hitting your cervix as you damn near pull back, his hands dragging you by your hips.

“Don’t run, now- f-fuck…” Sukuna moans as he leans over, sinking impossibly deeper, cock stroking in and out of you, his teeth grazing your neck as he buries his face against your neck, exhaling and biting harder, spurned on by your whines, making him lose it.

“Mnh! So b-big…” You’re whispering, hissing again as he bites your neck harder, sliding hotly tongue up the side of it, shalmming his cock so far in you’re cumming again, piercing dragging right on that fucking spot.

“You’re so tight f-fuck, so wet for me, just me huh?”

You nod, panting, eyes squeezed shut as his cock stretches you open, as he’s fucking you harder now, deep and fast, his pelvis slapping into yours, making a sloppy, obscene fucking sound the wetter and wetter you get. You can feel your cunt gushing around him, feel it dripping down between your thighs, down your ass and his balls that are heavy and smacking you.

He pulls up, ruby eyes locked on yours, as you whisper - “L-love you.”

Sukuna pauses, exhaling, hot breath against already overheated lips when he cups your face with a big hand, slowing his thrusts for a moment, making every inch take so excruciatingly long, letting you feel every fucking part of him. Your heart races, you can’t stop yourself.

“I do. I do. I d-do… I know it’s-”

“Shut it, brat.” He slams his lips back down on yours, shutting up your every confession, rolling his hips so his piercing is pressing on that spongy spot, drinking in your every cry, while your pussy is tightening around his cock.

“Kuna…” You’re hiccuping at how good he feels, while he’s leaning heavy weight on you, brushing your hair back. “S-sorry…”

“Shh.” Hiis thrusts are becoming more erratic, more intense, watching your eyes roll back, mouth open. “Think I don’t love you?”

Your eyes try to focus, but he’s fucking you so good it’s impossible, you just sputter as he works over you, one hand now resting under your chin, long fingers wrapping your delicate neck. He rests his other elbow near your head, that hand entangling in your hair, pulling at it, watching as he fucks you stupid.

“Answer me, now.” He orders, you’re clinging to the sheets, and he glares now, slowing his strokes. “Get those nails back on my back.”

“Yes, y-yes sir…” You do just that, watching him moan, his head falling back, you eagerly kiss down his neck, lapping at the bobbing adam's apple as he’s in bliss, your walls contracting around him, pouring out more and more soaking arousal.

“Answer me.” He orders again, while your nails are digging against his muscled back, looking back at you, eyes black damn near, slamming his cock in so hard you have to bite back a full scream, only earning his groan, squeezing your throat just a bit harder. “Now.”

“I d-don’t know if y-you feel sorry for-”

“Nah, fuck that, I just fucking want you. I need you.” He watches your eyes go glassy, your lips tremble, as your thighs squeeze his hips, and he works your cunt so goddamn good, thumb pressing your racing pulse. “Did I fuck you too stupid, think I don’t love you already?”

“Kuna…” You’re sobbing when you kiss him, and he loses himself even more in you, inside you, surrounding you, while your back arches, lips and tongues fighting for dominance, as he flips you, now letting you on top of him.

“Gonna make me keep saying it, like some dumb fucking simp?” He demands with a glare, and you nod with a little giggle so breathless and weak, while he slips you down his cock. “Then you better ride me.”

It’s been a while, and you aren’t sure you’re good at it, faltering, as your hands rest on his strong chest, against just a part of the endless black tattoos, your hair falling to the side as you roll your hips. “Will you tell me if I’m okay?”

He scowls, lifting your hips and dragging you back down his cock, watching your breasts bounce as he brings you down on him, veins pulsing inside your cunt. “Okay is never a fucking word for you. Y’know how good your pussy is, show me, huh baby?” He whispers, encouraging you, and you nod then, biting your lip, watching as his cheeks tint pink even in the dim lighting of his room, as he bites his lip with white teeth.

“Like this?” You ask nervously, trying to shove back all the past of hearing how terrible you were at things, because Sukuna looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess right now, nodding and gulping.

“Fuck yeah, just like that, ride me till you cum.” He says, all husky, and you eagerly start to bounce now, thighs slapping against his as you ride him harder, faster, then start leaning up, thighs working themselves. Sukuna’s groaning out loud, hands now on your ass cheeks, pumping up inside you. “There it is, there you go-”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Shit.

You instantly freeze, looking at the door, and hearing it again-

Knock knock knock.

“I need to-”

“Fuck no.” Sukuna drags you back on him as you go to get up, but you glare now, shaking your head. “Really now.”

“Mama? Mr. Kuna?” You hear, and Sukuna holds back his groan as he covers his face, cock twitching when you’re sliding off it, cursing yourself with how sore you already are.

“Let him go back to bed.” Sukuna grumbles, staring at his cock that’s glistening with you, as you slip on pajamas and giggle.

“Mostly soundproof?” You tease.

“He didn’t hear shit, promise, unless he’s right against the door the entire time.” He murmurs, cupping your face.

“I’ll be back in a bit, Mr. Kuna.” Sukuna scowls as you rush out, and throw a blanket over him.

Kids are cockblocks.

“What is it, Touma?” You murmur, as you walk out, and see him sleepily rubbing one eye, but when you bend down you see his distraught face. “Bad dream baby?”

“Bad dream. Mama got hurt in it.” He’s sniffling then, and you pick him up quickly, holding him tight.

“No, Touma I’m fine!”

“Mama was gone.” His words make your heart hammer, you shake your head quickly as you walk back to his new room, feet padding gently on the polished floors until you hit his soft carpet.

“Mama will never leave you.” You murmur, laying him back down, and Touma lifts the bright blue blanket, patting it with his little hand.

“Cuddles?” You smile amidst terror gnawing at you, trying to shove it all down for him, getting right in the toddler bed, laying on an arm as you watch him.

“You worry so much, I promise I’ll be okay. You seemed so happy today, with Mr. Kuna hmm?” You brush his hair back and he grins now.

“I like him so much! He’s so fun!”

You grin right back, heart fluttering as you think of it- Sukuna loves you.

Loves you.

“He is fun. I think he likes you alot too, Touma.”

“Will we be here a long time?” You blink a bit then, sighing and snuggling further against Touma, as he rubs your cheek, so caring already so young, he touches your heart more every moment, the love for your son so deep it feels impossible that you had room for Sukuna too.

It’s like your heart grew to expand enough for the both of them, though of course the love is so different, you now know you’ve never felt it for another man, even when you thought you loved him. Naoya. How, you can’t really fathom, the gaslighting, manipulation!?

Were you such a fool?

But then you wouldn’t have him, your baby boy.

“Mama?”

“Sorry, baby.” You try to snap back to the moment, as Touma’s little pout is so serious for his cute little face. “We will be here for a while I think.”

“I like that, Mr. Kuna can show me more games!” You yawn, as you pull him against you.

“Maybe nicer games?” Touma yawns now too, and you snuggle closer, feeling sleep tug at you. “Maybe I’ll just sleep for a minute…”

Twenty minutes.

Does it take twenty minutes to get a kid to sleep!? Sukuna doesn’t know, but he knows the kid is now responsible for the girl he loves leaving him wanting, and that’s irritating. He wants you all to himself, and sharing you is irritating, even if he does really like the kid, he needs you back.

Sukuna decides to finally go check once his cock went down, which took far too fucking long, and he pauses at the doorway when he sees it then, his heart doing this irritating flutter feeling. It’s even worse than the love he feels already, when he sees you snoring lightly right next to your little boy, who is snuggled against you tightly, his little arms around your neck.

“Well, shit.” He mumbles, leaning on the doorway for a moment, crossing his arms as he stares at the two of you, you sleeping on one arm, no blanket, it appears you’d put it all on Touma.

Sukuna sighs now, walking in the little room, taking a pillow and slipping it under your head, you hum just a bit, still curled up in the tiny little bed. He chuckles softly, taking some of the blanket and tucking you up in it, looking at the little smile on your pretty face, stroking your cheek for just a moment.

You’re so cute he’ll forgive you for leaving him hanging, he supposes, looking at Touma who snuggles right back to you, and you instinctively wrap your arm around him in your sleep. The sight of the two of you, especially you cuddling what is just about a copy of you, is too much for him, he’s feeling too sappy, and irritated, deciding to scowl just a bit for good measure.

He wants you in his bed, dammit… he wants you to cuddle him, but he has to admit as he walks out, you’re fucking adorable.

*****

Sukuna wakes up to heavenly scents wafting through his penthouse, tummy grumbling as you work your magic in his kitchen, the sight of you humming in little sleep shorts half rolled up is far more appetizing than event he scents, as he eyes Touma sipping orange juice from a little cup with a top, grinning at him.

“Mr. Kuna!” Touma runs to him, and you turn back to see him hugging Sukuna’s leg, Sukuna just stands there, grimacing as you giggle, earning his glare your direction, a thousand things unspoken in that expression of his.

“Yeah, morning kid.” Sukuna pats Touma’s head, pushing at him a bit awkwardly, eyeing you looking all fresh faced with a messy bun, spatula in your hand. “And good morning, brat.”

“Morning Kuna.”

“Tch.” He steps to you now, swiping at a little flour on your nose, inhaling how sweet you smell, pressing a kiss on your lips. “You’re in trouble, y’know?”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You whisper, as you now eye Touma. “Hey, can he watch some tv?”

“Shit, yeah. What do you watch, kid?” He asks, as you hand Touma a plate, and Sukuna flips on the tv in the living room, letting Touma sit on the floor in front of it with his waffles, eggs and bacon.

“Bluey!”

“The fuck’s a Bluey?” You’re holding back laughter as you finish making breakfast for you and Sukuna, listening to the ensuing humor that is your boyfriend and your son conversing.

“It’s a dog, and she’s so cool, Mr. Kuna do you wanna watch!” Sukuna grimaces, shaking his head and turning on Netflix, handing Touma the remote.

“God no. Here, you know how to put it on?”

“Mhm!”

“Good.” He pats Touma’s head again, and comes back to you, as you’re making him a plate, complete with a whipped cream smile and strawberry eyes. Sukuna’s face makes you burst into laughter.

“It’s cute, huh?”

“You’re so asking for it.” He grumbles, snatching up the syrup and slathering it all over the fluffy waffles, destroying your smiley face.

“Meanie!”

“Tch. Where’d you get all this food anyway? I order out all the time.”

“I ordered groceries, is that okay?”

Sukuna’s jaw sets. “With your money, no.”

“Kuna!”

“No, I’ll have to give you a card or some shit.” You shake your head at him, making your own plate and sitting next to him, biting back a sigh when his big warm hand touches your thigh, and he leans close.

“Sorry I passed out.” You murmur, awakening far too much he’s trying to hold back, his eyes narrow at you.

“I’ll make you make up for it tonight.” You shift just a bit in your seat at the mere thought, earning his smirk, as his hand squeezes the plush of your thigh. “With that mouth, hmm?”

“Oh, I don’t mind that.” You whisper, against his ear, sending shivers of desire down his spine, before you kiss his cheek. “This is the best day I’ve had.”

“It’s just started, though?”

“Still. It is. It feels… right?” He brushes his hand up and down your thigh, moaning as he bites into the waffle now, feeling it so flaky and fluffy in his mouth, so sweet.

“Tastes so goddamn good, shit.”

“As good as me?” You tease, mouthing quietly, he bites back a moan, dragging you even closer, one of your legs over his.

“Nothing’s that good, shit. But close?” You nibble on one too, smiling happily, to be this close to him just doing something so simple is bliss. “Gonna have to keep you around, cooking like this.”

“Yeah?” You grin so big, lighting up your face, making him falter, then making him scowl. “What!?”

“Making me sappy, so fucking annoying.”

“Poor Kuna.” You kiss him again, he tries to keep the scowl, but it fails. After a little bit he’s fully in  a four piece suit, however, overcoat and all, along with black leather gloves, making you frown a bit while you’re washing dishes.

“I have a dishwasher, brat.”

“I am just used to hand washing.” You dry your pretty little hands on a towel, he frowns as he looks at them, a little calloused from the pole already, he doesn’t like that, he really doesn’t want you doing a damn thing as soon as you’ll let him take care of you completely. “Where are you going? Should I call Miwa over for a bit to watch Touma, go with?”

“No, you can’t go to this shit.” You frown deeper, and he tilts your chin up, shaking his head. “Dangerous.”

“Then why do you go!?” You whisper, heart feeling with fear, and he leans closer, arms now on either side of you on the counter.

“Baby girl I run a mob, I’m not some little bitch. I’m always good.”

“But-”

“This is part of it.” His tone is firmer, and he lifts his jacket, showing an array of guns and knives glinting that make your tummy flip.

“All that?” You whisper, eyeing him with even more fear.

“I’m always good, promise. You play pretty housewife and hang out with the kid, I need to deal with…”

“Naoya?” You’re mouthing it, he shakes his head.

“Not yet. Meeting with the Kamo family first, okay?”

“So not as…”

“No, they’re pretty in with the Gojo family. But this isn’t a concern, what I need you to do is wear him out today so I get you all to myself, hmm?” He’s smirking, and you fight him with a pout, until he keeps kissing you over and over, and you’re melting in his arms, nodding. “Good girl.”

“You’re not playing fair.” He’s pulling and your waist just a bit, thumbs brushing under your breasts, as every nerve ending is on fire for him.

“I’ll be back later, make me something yummy for dinner too?”

“You’re liking this a lot aren’t you?” You tease, but he hears it, the hope and nerves in your voice, he pinches your ass, and you hold in your yelp, smacking a hand on your mouth as he grins.

“I’ll like it more when you melatonin the-”

“Kuna!”

“Well, just saying. I need to go though.” He frowns at his rolex, and your heart feels like it will pound from your chest in fear. “Have you seen me? Think anyone can fuck with me?”

You look down, terrified for him, feeling the guilt of causing more problems gnawing at you. “But he-”

“Ain’t got shit on me, brat, does he?” Sukuna raises a brow, god you want to just stay in his arms forever, but you know you can’t.

“Nothing, and you know that. But he’s-”

“Ah-ah. Shut it. Now, entertain the kid or whatever you do? Take the day to relax a bit. If you need something just call me.” He leans a little closer, pressing his lips on your forehead, your eyes flutter shut at how good it feels. “Bodyguards are outside, no one will come here.”

“Thank you, Kuna.”

“Tch. You’ll thank me later alright.” You glare so cute, as he walks by, but not before Touma runs to him, hugging his thigh again, and the sight is so adorable your cheeks hurt from grinning. “God, you’re a clingy kid huh?”

“Mr. Kuna, will you watch a movie with me later?” He asks, and Sukuna rolls his red eyes, shrugging as he tries to pry the kid off him.

“Sure, but I’ll pick it, maybe Godfather or-”

“You will not even watch Godfather!” He smirks over at you, winking.

“I’ll let your Mama pick instead.”

“Okay! Have fun at work!” Sukuna bites back a smile, walking out then, leaning against the door and righting himself, he’s been too blissful for the day, for the night, now he knows, it’s time to get serious. He takes his phone, hearing Satoru’s voice on the other line now.

“Got it scheduled right?” He asks Gojo then, and he sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, but it’s gonna be so boring.”

“Rather bang that bartender huh?” He snorts in laughter as he rides the elevator down, hearing Gojo sigh dramatically again.

“More than that.”

“Shit, you down that bad already?”

“Says you, Stepdad Kuna.”

“God don’t you fuckin’ call me that too, shit.” He’s disgusted as he steps into the back of the limo, hanging up and seeing Satoru in the backseat, all pouting.

“I don’t wanna be up this early going to see them, they’re so-”

“Boring, yeah yeah. Think I wanna?” Sukuna grumbles right back, looking out the window for a moment, thinking of spending the day with you.

“I know this is necessary just… the Kamo family are pretentious as fuck, I get tired of trying to make deals with them.” Satoru sprawls his long legs, then perks up just a bit as Sukuna grabs a little baggie. “Gonna share?”

“If it cheers your mopey ass up.” Satoru’s grin is back, though his shades are pushed up a little higher than usual. “You gonna go on a date with her?”

“Oh yeah, I’m gonna ask her…”

“When?”

“Um… I… how do you ask a girl out exactly? I’ve never…”

“Yeah.” Sukuna snorts in laughter again. “We are not having a father to son talk I sure the fuck hope.”

“I’m not much younger, and women just come to me.” Satoru sighs again, snorting a line and pinching his nose. “I really like her, Kuna.”

“I hate that name so fucking much.” Sukuna snorts one too, wishing he could instead snort it off your pretty body. “Just ask her?”

“Like and take her where?”

“I don’t fucking know, Fiji?”

“Yeah?”

“No, Satoru, shit… like dinner or something. Hmm…” He pauses then, he hasn’t even taken you out yet. “Where do you take dates?”

“Let’s ask Suguru.” When Satoru and Sukuna stop in front of Suguru’s place and he glides in, he’s now bombarded by the two grown ass men, Satoru pouting, Sukuna’s lips in a terse line.

“You all look… serious.” Suguru muses with a smirk.

“How do you ask a girl on a date!?” Satoru asks, and Sukuna shakes his head, holding up a hand.

“Where do you take your girl on a date?” 

Suguru blinks a bit now, before snorting in laughter, one of his hands over his mouth, shaking dark hair. “You two serious?” A pair of blue and red eyes just stare at him now, and he sighs. “Shit, you are. Alright then…”

I KNOW so much fluff- this will clearly be more than six parts- prob eight? I don't know yet I'm having too much fun with Stepdad Kuna don't you judge him!!!

Taglist #1 @naina326 @1worm1 @yenayaps @shokosbunny @sukubusss @msniks @kittyyyyykats @nyxly1412 @trashsuarecan @dumbbunny98 @monster-effer @tojis-ball-sack @tangsakura @friesnkwtchup @lhhlver @attackonnat @moonchhu @mat-mat-mat @cherryjain17 @havkjhdecs @stargirl-mayaa @the-dark-creature @lulunx @saitamaswifey @spacefae-x @deitysdream @sorahatake @gojoscumslut @stainednailpolishremover @kidd3ath @clp-84 @rinkomei @catastayy @oneirataxiaa @inthedarkshadows000 @travistheaussie @cold-blooded-girls @emi311 @blublublubby @fluttershyfangs @actuallynarii @7thsthings @ilovemeni @erluu @for-hearthand-home @angellliqua @mai-505 @suguru-nugget @scorpiosugar

[sweetlyvibe]

✎ . . . lazy makeout sessions with HAIKYUU BOYS .ᐟ.ᐟ

- 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. 𝖪𝖾𝗇𝗆𝖺 𝖪𝗈𝗓𝗎𝗆𝖾 ⋆ 𝖭𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗈𝗒𝖺 𝗒𝗎𝗎 ⋆ 𝖲𝗎𝗀𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖺 𝖪𝗈𝗌𝗁𝗂

Kenma :

It starts the same. You’re lying on his bed, the world quiet except for the low hum of his laptop and the occasional shift of blankets as you both breathe.

Kenma’s hood is up, his face half-hidden, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. He’s quiet, but his fingers trace little shapes against your hip, absent-minded and gentle. He’s thinking, but not about the game on his screen—he’s thinking about you.

You shift a little, turning toward him, and your hand reaches up to brush the hair from his eyes. “You okay?”

He nods, then leans in. “You’re distracting.”

The kiss starts soft—barely there. Just his lips brushing yours, featherlight. He kisses like he’s trying not to wake you, even though you’re both wide awake. But then your hand curls into his hoodie, and your lips part just a little, and something shifts.

His hand moves to your waist, not gripping—just resting. But it’s heavy, like a silent don’t leave. You deepen the kiss, slow and gentle, your lips parting again as his tongue brushes yours, shy at first. He tastes like tea and quiet sweetness.

Kenma sighs into your mouth, and the kiss grows just slightly heavier. His body melts into yours, one leg sliding between yours, his chest against yours. He’s warm. Soft in the way only someone completely comfortable can be.

His hands stay slow—one curled around your hip, the other lazily trailing up your spine under your shirt, his touch light enough to make you shiver. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. Everything is said in the way he kisses you. Like time doesn’t exist. Like the world outside his room can’t touch either of you.

Eventually, he pulls back just an inch, eyes half-lidded, breath mingling with yours. He whispers, voice barely audible:

“Stay right here.”

And you do.

౨ৎ

Nishinoya :

You didn’t even mean to start kissing. One second you were watching some movie, the next, Noya’s fingers were brushing your cheek, and his lips were on yours—quick, excited, barely controlled. Like he couldn’t wait anymore.

His kisses come fast and eager, all tilted heads and laughing into your mouth, like he’s having fun. His hands find your waist and pull you onto his lap without a second thought, and then it’s on.

You’re straddling him, his back pressed to the wall, and your hands are in his hair—messing it up even more than it already was. He groans when your fingers tug, then kisses you harder in retaliation. His lips are warm, a little chapped, moving fast against yours—hungry, but never rough. He kisses you like he can’t get enough. Like he needs one more, and one more, and then ten more after that.

His hands slide up your back, under your shirt, warm and grounding as they spread over your skin. One of them rests right between your shoulder blades, holding you to him like he’s afraid you’ll float away.

You both pause for a moment—just a moment—to breathe. You’re panting against each other, foreheads touching, and he’s smiling.

“You good?” he asks.

You nod. Then kiss him again—slower this time, deeper.

His hands grip your hips like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered. His mouth moves with yours now in a more deliberate rhythm, slower, thicker with emotion. When your tongue brushes his, he moans softly, the sound muffled against your mouth. He chases you every time you pull away, leaning forward to steal more, more, more.

When you finally pull back, his lips are red and swollen, and his eyes are glazed over.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes.

You laugh—and kiss him again.

౨ৎ

Sugawara :

With Suga, it always starts slow. Romantic. He pulls you into his lap on the couch, wraps a blanket around both of you, and kisses you like it’s the only thing on his schedule. Like the world can wait.

His lips are soft. Gentle. He tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss, and his hand finds your jaw, thumb stroking just under your cheekbone like he’s savoring the feel of you.

You shift in his lap and he lets you, pulling you closer, pressing your chest to his, letting you lean all your weight into him. He kisses you like he’s memorizing you. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just endlessly affectionate.

But then your fingers tangle into his shirt and pull. Just a little.

And something in him flickers.

The kiss deepens, shifts. His hand slides down your spine slowly, and his tongue slips past your lips—exploring, deliberate, slow. You hum softly against his mouth and he smiles through the kiss.

He breaks away only to press tiny, trailing kisses down your jaw, behind your ear, across your neck. Lazy, teasing little brushes of lips that make you melt into him.

“Suga—”

“I know.” His voice is low and warm. “I just want to kiss you everywhere.”

You lose track of time like that. Wrapped in each other, kissing like the world doesn’t need you back yet. His hand holds the back of your head like you’re precious, his mouth moves like a prayer, and your body feels boneless against his.

Every kiss says: I’m yours. I’m here. I’m not letting go.

[honeyscara]

Lipbalm – Yeon Si-eun

~weak hero class

Content: fluff, gender neutral! reader × sieun

A/n's note: just wanted to write one sieun fic since I haven't seen many whc fics on here

~700 words

It’s freezing outside.

The kind of biting cold that cuts through layers, painting noses pink and making breath curl in the air like smoke. You're sitting beside him on a concrete ledge behind the school, huddled up in your jacket. Sieun’s next to you, hoodie up, sleeves pulled over his hands, looking straight ahead with that usual unreadable stare.

He hasn’t said much in the past ten minutes. Not that you mind. You’ve always liked the quiet with him — not heavy, just… calm. Comfortable.

But then you notice it.

“Your lips are chapped,” you say, glancing at him sideways.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at you. “So?”

You reach into your pocket, pull out a small tube of lip balm, and wiggle it in front of his face.

“I brought this. Let me help.”

He raises an eyebrow, finally turning to you. His eyes flick to the balm, then to your hand, then back to your face.

“I’m not a kid,” he mutters.

“I didn’t say you were. I’m just being nice,” you reply, uncapping it.

He stares at you for another moment — that typical Sieun silence that always feels like a test. Then he sighs and leans slightly toward you.

“Fine. Do it.”

Your heart stutters. You didn’t actually expect him to say yes.

You lift your hand slowly, the lip balm poised between your fingers. His gaze doesn’t leave yours, even as you move closer, close enough to smell the faint scent of his shampoo. Clean. Warm. Like something grounding.

“Stay still,” you whisper, voice softer than you meant it to be.

His lips part just a little. You gently swipe the balm across his bottom lip, then the top. They’re dry, just like you said. A little cracked near the corner. He doesn’t flinch — just watches you. Quietly. Unblinking.

You finish, heart thudding like an idiot.

Then, right as you're pulling back, your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth.

“There,” you murmur. “Much better.”

You expect him to roll his eyes, maybe wipe it off with his sleeve. But he doesn't.

Instead, he says quietly, “You missed a spot.”

Your eyes flick up. “Where?”

His gaze drops to your lips. “Here.”

You freeze.

It’s not a joke. Not a smirk. His tone is soft — almost shy, but confident in that way only Sieun could be. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t close the distance. Just waits. You try to find something clever to say, something to cut the tension with a laugh. But nothing comes. Your mouth is dry. Your heart is anything but quiet now.

“…You’re serious?” you whisper, voice barely above the wind.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

God, why does his voice have to be that low? That steady?

You take a slow breath and close the space between you, barely tilting your head. It’s careful — hesitant, like you’re giving him one last chance to say he was joking. But he wasn't. His eyes flutter shut right before your lips meet, and the moment they do, it’s—

Soft.

Softer than you expected from someone like him.

His lips are still a little cold, a little dry — but the way he kisses you is warm. Tentative, but not shy. Gentle, but not weak. His hand lifts, almost out of instinct, fingers brushing your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

You lean in more, and he responds just a little — tilting his head, letting the kiss deepen in the most natural way. No rush. No pressure. Just the slow, steady realization that this is real.

When you finally part, it’s only by a breath.

You stay close, your forehead brushing his, your lips tingling.

Sieun doesn’t move for a moment. Just exhales. His breath hits your cheek, warm despite the cold.

“…Tastes like strawberry,” he mumbles, eyes still half-lidded.

You blink. Then laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. “Of course that’s your first comment.”

He shrugs lazily, lips curling at the edges. “You picked the flavor.”

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

✧✦✧ PROLOGUE ✧✦✧

Yandere Platonic Bat Family x Neglected Regressing GN Reader

Warning this part will contain the following: Death (mainly MC's), MC getting hurt, implied to have died more than once, gun and gun violence, THE JOKER, Suicidal thoughts or low self-preservation, finally losing it and typos.

Note: Y/N will be gender neutral and no mention of specific physical traits except for general parts of the body, there are some easy hidden codes and number meaning in these and I'm trying out to see if I can pull this off.

English is not my forte, it's not my main language so sorry in advance if you cringe at my choice of words.

MASTERLIST Pages 1....➣

NOW PLAYING ↻◁ ||▷↺ Alien Blues - Vundabar ılıılıılılılıılıılı

Let's bring it back to ???? shall we?

-✧- 01100011 01101000 01100001 01101110 01100011 01100101 -✧-

Setbacks more than I can count.

Thousand chances I tried to save.

Rinse and Repeat

Repeat and.......Rinse out the blood.

Rinse out the Pain and Suffering.

Dry off the Tears and Sweats of my efforts.

All I ever want is for you to see me.

To understand what's it like to be me.

All that I wish is for you to atleast look at me with anything but pity and indifferece.

2,789 chances and lives I relived just to become something I regret at the end of each death.

-✧✦✧- 2 7 8 9 -✧✦✧-

Blinking I looked at the end of the gun as I sit still trying not to choke on my own blood and spit as the cackle of a maniac clown drowns my sorrows.

I look at the camera as it blinks red, looking at the dirtied lenses knowing that whoever watches this could never careless if I survive this or not.

SLAP

Searing pain woke me out of my daze as my head snap to the right while my left cheek burned from the whip of the gun.

"Look alive little one! why won't you smile for the camera? Let daddy dearest know how much you miss him, hmm?". The Clown smiles at me with his cut up lips as he grips my face and shake it around.

Looking at him I show him my own smile, teeth and gums bloodied as I laugh making him frown.

"What's so funny?" He sneers as he let go.

I continued laughing as I finally descent into madness, each wheeze and giggle as my body shakes in pain and shockingly....

Relief.

Maybe.......just maybe.....this could be it.

"Aw? why the sad face Mr. Joker? are we not having fun? Do you want me to sing for a very sad clown instead?". I giggled as I stare at him with maniac eyes leaning my tied up body to him as much as I could.

"Why so sad now? come on! you planned all this don't let it go to waste!" I say at him while tugging on my bindings.

I laughed more as I taunt him making him more angry than before.

I stop before looking at him my hair slightly covering my eyes as I smile at him one more time.

"Do it, I know you want to" I taunt him but he only frowns before smirking when he looks at something behind me.

He kicks my chair down the force making me fall on my back, slamming on the concrete floor I gasp from getting the wind knocked out of my lungs as I strain to look up and see 'him' standing.

A wide smile broke through my chapped lips , he started talking but the blood and pump of my heart muffled everything and as soon as few more of 'them' arrived making me laugh hysterically.

BANG

Suddenly everything was quiet.

Everything was calm.

I laid on the floor and see him above me cradling my body as the moonlight broke through the glass windows of this building shining and silhouetting his form and the rest.

I can't move.

I can't feel him.

I can't hear them.

I can't answer them.

How can you when you're bleeding from a hole on your head?

-✧-2 7 8 9 -- 2 7 ↓ ↓ -- 2 7 9 0-✧-

Heartbeat, repeating heartbeats.

I can hear my heartbeat again.

Gasping I look around as I see an interior of a car and turn to the window and see us pulling up somewhere.

"Here we are". I look up and see the familiar face and slightly younger face of Commissioner Gordon again as he turn to look at me as I peer up and see my reflection on the rear view mirror.

A small younger me that's about to do the same shit all over again.

'Ah Shit, here we go again'

〖 = ✧ = 〗

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN

[pearlywritings]

Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife. PART 3

pairings: Childe, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Wriothesley x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship (married/engaged/mated), secret relationship, immortal reader in Neuvi's part

word count: 6.1k+ words

a/n: part 1 and part 2 can be read here!

Childe

Spurred by the whistles and a whip of a coachman three fine white horses are trotting along the snow-covered road, dragging a big sleigh. Made of the sturdiest wood and painted in red and gold, the construction is effortlessly sliding on ice crust, almost lulling you under all those warm blankets and furs Ajax has thrown over your half-sitting half-lying bodies. You are glad to have this instead of jolting in a carriage (not like it’ll even be able to ride through all this snow), sure to have an aching arse even under the thick sheepskin coat, and instead of whatever machinery your lover could’ve gotten his hands onto due to his position - otherwise it wouldn’t have been so romantic.

Resting your head onto his shoulder you sigh blissfully, puffing out a small cloud of warm air. The fluffy-looking firs, tall pines and naked larches are flashing past in a magical gleam of snow-covered branches; you think you see two grayish squirrels chasing one another on a tree on your left.

“Oh, little minxes. A couple of seconds later and that snow could’ve ended up on our heads.”

You giggle at the young man’s comment, taking your gloved hand out of the sable muff and reaching to adjust the hat with earflaps (which he once again refused to tie under his chin) on his head. Before you can retrieve, a bigger hand clad in mitten wraps around yours and brings it to the chapped pale lips. As if spellbound you watch him press a tender kiss just where your ring finger joins the palm - right where the engagement ring is hidden under the thick material.

Now it’s hard to tell if your cheeks are rosy from cold or the swirling emotions.

“A little bit more and we will be in Morepesok,” he says softly, deep pools of his blue eyes staring back at you adoringly. “I can’t wait to share the news with ma, pa, sisters and brothers…”

You know he’s written them a letter right after you said ‘yes” to him, too excited to wait. So excited in fact, that he couldn’t sit still in expectation for the response, so he solicited an impromptu week-long vacation with the help of Pulcinella, and here you are, on your merry way to his home village.

“I can’t wait for that too,” you smile, leaning up to peck his nose, eliciting the same smile from him. “But I worry a little - will they be happy for us? I mean, that it’s me who you are going to marry?”

“Absolutely!” He nods enthusiastically and you have to readjust his hat again. “They all love you very much, I promise you. And if I am being completely honest, mom and Tonia did keep asking me when I intended to make you my wife during the last couple of times we visited.”

“Wait, really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was already planning a proposal at the time - didn’t want to spoil it by accidentally letting my tongue loose.”

It’s hard to believe that this man is one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers. Childe is surprisingly good at separating his work and off work behavior, turning into a completely normal, maybe just a tiny bit unhinged, young man as soon as his family is involved. You know he’s built this facade to keep them and you away from harm, but you also know it comes from the heart as well.

“Then I can only hope we can bring the female members of your family to the capital soon - I want them to participate in the wedding dress shopping.”

You are immediately gathered into a tight embrace and your laughter is smothered by the fur on his collar. Yes, he is the Eleventh Harbinger, Tartaglia, Tsaritas’s soldier, Childe… But in moments like this he is just Ajax. Your Ajax.

His parents’ house meets you both with the quiet creak of the gates, the barking of two big fluffy malamutes outside, the clink of the horseshoe against the wood on top of the front door, the warmth of a well-heated inside and a bit taller than the last time you saw him Teucer, who runs full speed at his big brother, practically tackling him.

“Big brother is home, big brother is home!”

Ajax joyously laughs, somehow managing to take off his coat and dropping it to the colorful carpet at the front door before hoisting the exclaiming boy into his arms. Kicking off your felt boots to step from the anteroom, you watch with a smile as he squeals when your lover presses his cold cheek to the warm smaller one, squirming in the strong arms. 

Not a minute later more of his siblings appear, closely followed by their mom - freckled, with her ginger with gray hair tied in a thick braid and an apron thrown over her green dress, the woman smiles brightly and, letting her children surround their brother, walks to you with arms spread, ready to embrace you.

“Mother, my clothes might be cold,” you try to warn her, but she doesn’t listen, hugging you anyway.

“As if it can affect me! Oh, I’m so happy to see you, my dear. How was your trip? Are you tired, hungry? I’m almost done with lunch, and in the meantime I can ask my husband to throw in the firewood and heat the bathhouse for you two.

“It’s very kind of you,” you smile, wrapping your arms to give her a hug in return. “But I think we’ll wash up in the evening - I really doubt Ajax’s sibling will let him go in the following couple of hours.”

Before she can say anything, a tall, wide man appears from the other room. His beard and hair are gingerly brown with gray too, thick brows naturally furrowed. By the rosy cheeks, the remnants of snowflakes melting on his hair and the choice of clothing you guess he’s just returned to the house through the back door - probably after chopping wood.

Upon lowering his gaze to you, his facial features smooth out.

“If it isn’t my son and a dear soon-to-be daughter-in-law!” His gruff voice booms across the house, immediately redirecting everyone’s attention to you and making you blush. “I knew Ajax was too impatient and would rather come to visit and bring his fiance along than wait for a response letter.”

As he moves to greet you properly and help with discarding the outer clothes, you notice your gingerhead whispering something to his siblings, to which they giggle and throw glances at you. Catching the gaze of your lover, you lift an eyebrow, as if asking ‘should I be concerned?’. But he only shakes his head with a smile and ushers everyone to the dining room.

However, the curiosity is getting better of you, as throughout the evening you keep catching the glances, watch Tonia whispering something to her mom, and the woman giving Ajax a ‘really?’ kind of look, but with a fond smile, and then his dad slapping his back with a boisterous laugh, saying something along the lines ‘I was the same way with your mom too’.

So you confront him once you are left alone in the room.

“Hey, foxy, what’s going on?”

“Hm?” He lowers the blanket that he’s just tucked inside the duvet cover and reaches for the sheets. “What do you mean, bunny?”

“Whatever you’ve been doing,” you put one of the pillows down and reach out for the other as well as the pillowcase. 

“And what’s that ‘whatever’ I’ve been doing?” You don’t miss the sly smile finding its way onto his face. You huff.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

The man hums, tucking the edges of the sheet between the mattress and the bed.

“Nothing you should worry about. I just asked them all to practice a little.”

“Practice?” Cocking your head, you throw both pillows onto the bed. “Wait, did you start planning something for the wedding?”

“Not quite. Rather for after it.”

Confused, but intrigued, you step closer when your lover sits down and beckons you, being dragged into his lap a second later. Blue eyes look at you in an unspoken fascination, as he leans forward to place a kiss to the corner of your mouth, prompting you to loosely wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Since we are getting married, I deduced that it would be only right for my family to call you my wife. Thus I asked them to get acquaintanced with the term, so they could start doing it as soon as we are pronounced husband and wife.”

You blink at him once, twice. After the third time you exhale, shaking your head, but the lift of your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by your fiance.

“I should’ve known you’d pull something like this, I am not even surprised, let alone mad. But they could just keep addressing me by my name. Plus your siblings already call me ‘big sister’ and your parents made me an honor of acknowledging me as the ‘daughter’. It won’t change much.”

“But it will!” He pouts and you can’t resist the urge to pinch his cheek. “You will be my wife and I want everyone to help me show it! Does it bother you though?”

Looking into those uncharacteristically begging eyes, you really can’t deny him his little antics. Not like you were going to in the first place.

“No, no, I don’t mind, love. Honestly, it's very sweet how excited you are. Makes me look forward to it.”

“Yeah?” Look at him, smiling like a satisfied cat, who's had too much sour cream for its own good. His embrace tightens on you a little.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes as Ajax enjoys the many kisses you pepper to his face, squeezing his eyes shut, grinning, boyishly eager for more.

“Do you think I should ask the whole village to do the same?”

“Ajax, no.”

Nuevillette

“Mother, do you mind helping me a little? I can’t reach over there…

“I’d be delighted, my dear.”

Neuvillette watches with a fond look as you put the tea cup down and stand up to walk closer to Verenata and assist her with whatever the potion maker needs. Your figure is ethereal, clad in the finest fabrics, flowing with every step and gently dropping as you crouch gracefully to hoist the melusine in your arms. From above the rim of his silver goblet the Hydro Dragon can't tear his eyes from the way one of your many “daughters” wraps an arm around your neck and reaches up, while the corner of your lips, which he can see from his position at the table, is turned upwards.

“Mother is so kind and patient,” Laume says just a step away from Neuvillette’s chair. When the man turns his head to look at her, there is Flo standing too.

“Yes, and she is so beautiful,” the other melusine sighs, clasping her hands together. “And she always brings us such nice and comfortable clothes…”

“Monsieur Neuvillette married a wonderful woman,” a couple more melusines nearby agree and there is a warm and fuzzy feeling takes place in the Judex’s chest.

Marriage… Such a beautiful concept humans came up with to validate the union of two. It begins with the wedding - a day full of happy tears and blissful smiles, shared vows to be together in sickness and in health, sweet claims of love and promises of joyful life ahead. Then this very life begins and for beings like you and your husband it’s a long, but welcome trip.

You’ve been claimed by each other for quite some time before the more ‘mortal appropriate’ ritual, and the melusines - the wonderful creatures Neuvillette once took under his wing - were aware and happy for your relationship. And it was actually their idea to hold a wedding too, once Sigewinne naturally asked how the two of you planned to introduce your bond in civil words to humans.

And it was their initiative to start calling you “mother”. With your actions you quickly became one for them anyway, and the girls actively sought your company when it was possible. Thus, such tea parties at the Merusea Village as today are a common occurrence (besides, you always welcome them because it's a great opportunity to dig your husband out of the pile of responsibilities he tends to bury himself under).

However, lately Neuvillette started noticing that when he heard the word leave the girls’ mouths, a strange feeling began rising in his chest. Even though not quite familiar with the concept of jealousy, the Judex was sure it was not the case - he loved when the melusines called you that. So, he could not really put his finger on why the action caused such an indescribable reaction.

He decided to observe. On his walks throughout the city, the man seeked the sights of parents with children to attentively listen and watch while leisurely passing by or stopping at the shopping booths to linger on the scene. He was quick to note that the interactions were hardly different from the ones between you and the girls - kids would call for their mothers in all the same tones: when happy, when asking for help, when seeking comfort and many other typical occurrences he’d seen a handful of times before.

What really caught Neuvillette’s eye was the way the parents behaved. And soon his focus shifted to the married couples instead. As reserved as the nobles seemed to appear, the ones in love still managed to slip a murmured ‘my dear’, or ‘beloved’ or ‘my sweet [Name]’ in their speech. All the things the Hydro Dragon was all too used to call you too, relishing in the image of your loving smile and joyfully crinkling eyes as you responded in kind.

But it is like a waterfall pours on him when a week later, after that tea party where he once again sunk deep in thought, a keen pointy ear makes out a simple word in the crowd.

"Wife"

Male’s heart flutters. The understanding quickly dawns on him, even more so when his eyes find the couple on the other side of the road, - it was no simple term to introduce the partner to the third party. No, the tenderly spoken word was used by that man to address his lover, to softly draw her attention to him, to remind her he is happy she is holding such a position in his life…

At least that’s what kind of puzzle pieces together in Neuvillette’s head. The couple is long gone, yet he is still standing there, hand resting on the handle of his cane and eyes staring into space.

He starts to remember all the sweet names he called you, each and every one stored in his memory with the heart-warming images of your reactions. There are all kinds of those: my love, my pearl, lizzy (affectionate from ‘lizard’; you used to tell him that dragons are just big lizards and it kinda stuck), kisses-stealer, fairy-tail nymph… The man is surprisingly creative with his words when it comes to you.

Sure, he calls you his mate, quite often too, but to his chagrin it has never occurred to him that he could call you ‘his wife’ too! It’s so simple, so absurdly logical, yet it took him weeks to figure out.

Humans are truly fascinating.

When Neuvillette returns to his office in the Palais Mermonia you are already there, lazing on a sofa with a bunch of papers, in which your husband guesses the script of probably another upcoming play of Furina. And judging by the more than a half pages turned you’ve been waiting for him for a while.

When the door closes and the cane disappears in the myriad of sparkling bubbles, you lift your gaze, and a smile immediately lights up your lovely features.

”Neuvi,” You speak softly, getting on your feet and leaving the script behind, “I hoped we’d depart on the afternoon stroll together. So imagine my disappointment when Sedene told me you had left just ten minutes ago! Oh, I knew I’d be late if Lady Furina had kept me for another minute, yet I still hoped I’d be on time…”

As you are approaching him, the Judex remembers the melusine’s words upon arrival: “Mother waits inside”. This makes all his previous thoughts resurface, and when he meets you half-way and reaches for both your hands to place a kiss to the back of each, Neuvillette has half a mind to try out his new discovery.

“Our Archon enjoys your company a lot, and, knowing you, you are not really mad,” you roll your eyes playfully, tiptoeing to peck the tip of his nose, murmuring a quiet ‘hush, let me be a tiny bit indignant’. “And I’d be honored to keep you company for the evening stroll,” and then, after a little pause of hesitation, he adds, “wife.”

He watches as the previously present smile on your face grows even bigger, but after a couple of seconds starts to fade slowly, eyes squinting a little bit to stare at him in hardly-concealed curiosity.

“What was that?”

“What was what, dear wife?”

“This!” As if to emphasize your words you point your finger to his mouth, and it’s Neuvillette’s lips’ turn to curl in a small smile.

“It’s something I hoped to discuss with you,” his gloved fingertips soothingly brush over your knuckles and soon your hand is clasped into his, as the man leads you both back to the sofa. “You see,” he starts when you sit down, “I am fascinated with the notion hidden behind the word ‘mother’ the melusines like to call you. That’s who you are for them both in reality and in terms. I’ve made some observations, and figured that sometimes humans in marriage also use the…familial terms to address one another. It seemed lovely to me and I wanted to try it out with you. What do you think?”

You hum in thought, replaying in your head the way Neuvillette spoke to you twice. It is hard to explain, but you somehow immediately see the appeal and understand why your lover got hooked on it. Seems lovely indeed. You wonder, what if you…

“Will you tell me more about those observations on our evening stroll, husband? Ooh, it does sound wonderful!”

Mark him stunned, but for a moment Judex grows speechless. The violet depths of his eyes swirl with adoration as you clap your hands gleefully, and he knows, that from now on your everyday routine will never be the same

“With pleasure, wife.”

Pantalone

Dancing snowflakes are slowly descending in their tender waltz and are gleaming like the tiniest of gems in the streetlights’, enveloping the already magical winter capital of the Cryo region in a solemn atmosphere. The white cover of the ground is crunching with every step of a passerby and every wheel rotation of the fancy-looking carriages, while the street is a jumble of fur coats and heavy military overcoats, finally breathing life into the afternoon-quiet city.

It’s a wonderful evening, too marvelous to spend it at home, too enchanting to miss the new ballet at the Bolshoy Theater, the true accumulation of the Tsaritsa’ nation’s nobility and intelligentsia. The wonder of Snezhnayan architecture is both the place to rest and enjoy the purest form of art and home to many gossip circulating in society. Some fresh and just hours old, some ancient and undying, like the topic of the Ninth Harbinger’s lovers.

Lord Pantalone is well-known and often-praised for his contribution to the Snezhnaya’s economy, along with extending the Fatui influence all across the Teyvat. But also he is quite famous for the women he appears in public with. It’s always someone new, it’s never the same one as before. Different shapes, different hair, different style - it is impossible to guess the raven-haired man’s tastes. However everybody knew - the Harbinger never entertained the company of the ladies who made attempts to catch his attention. Those ladies themselves say as much.

The Regrator’s companions never open their mouths, never utter a word - at least not when there are people around. There has never been a single name, never a remembered face - all women wear the mask covering the upper half of it, concealing the identity of yet another lucky choice of the rich man. 

Never the same woman - always the same mask.

This evening does not disappoint the gathered crowd - lifting their gazes, directing attention to the Harbinger’s personal box, they once again see the notorious mask. The long fringe of wine-red hair is coquettishly framing the ever-lasting piece of leather, similarly flaming lips are tugged in a haughty smile - as if the young lady doesn’t realize that once the night is over, she’s going to be discarded like many others before her. The dress according to the latest fashion trends and the beautiful garnet necklace do not surprise the audience anymore - even known for his love for replacements, Lord Pantalone dresses his partners royally.

The man himself has chosen yet another black costume, with a dark burgundy shirt hidden underneath and bird-shaped garnet brooch on the left side of his chest. Multiple beautiful rings catch the light when he lifts his gloved hand to adjust diamond-shaped glasses, before turning his head and addressing something to his tonight’s escort. She boisterously laughs, saying something in response, but even if attendants tried to strain their ears, they wouldn’t hear anything so far away. Even harder it gets when the third ring of the bell echoes across the theater chamber and both the Harbinger and the woman are forgotten, until the performance is over.

So no one sees when the ring-decorated hand reaches for a smaller female one, fingers sliding under the chintz-covered palm, thumb immediately reaching to tug on the hem of the glove, so the thin cool lips could press against the small patch of bared skin. A glimpse of a smile is what Pantalone gets when you glance at him with amusement playing on your lips.

Always the same mask, never the same woman, huh? 

Pride has long slithered into your heart, yet it still lifts its snake-like head every time your act of decisiveness succeeds, happily hissing. Every time it’s a test of your skills, a gamble with the eyes of ones around you, and every time you hit the jackpot, leaving the people guessing, staying the only one in possession of the banker despite the speculations.

As long as Her Majesty Tsaritsa is aware of your existence and the place you occupy next to Pantalone, you are free to do anything you want with his reputation relationship-wise. And he allows it, because should you desire the whole world - he’ll throw it to your feet like the cheapest trinket. One would say it’s because he is prideful too - he knows it’s because he loves his wife.

Loves to the point of entertaining the masquerades she stages whenever the two of you need to appear in public. It plays wonderfully into his possessive nature and desire to keep his precious beautiful wife to himself and helps with the enemies - “changing the ladies” minimizes the chances of putting at risk his one and only. Not like many know of you in the first place.

It’s a win-win arrangement for you as well - there is still an opportunity to cling to his arm, to use his expensive cologne, to play with the rings on his fingers and sneakily make out in a dark corner where no one can see. To be tugged into his lap in the carriage on the way back to his mansion, to have his long fingers undo the strings of the mask, and once the piece of leather falls onto the floor, have the palms slide down the sides of your neck, swiftly fiddling with the heavy necklace, only to let it be, the caress the shoulders, pushing the sleeves down… 

…to leave them at the elbows and grab your arms to push your back into his chest as the warm lips press to the juncture between the neck and the shoulder.

And what if you’ve lost your name in the process of this disguising? Having been an actress a long time ago made you used to it. But isn’t it fun to come up with the new ideas for your next performance? Your husband gifts you way too many dresses and jewelry sets - you must find use to all of them! He now has to simply spend a bit more on the wigs and makeup to fit each combination of fabric and gems.

“Did my wife have a pleasant evening?” The velvet voice of the man behind you caresses the ear and you meet his gaze in the full-size mirror in front of you. Amethyst eyes sparkle in the bedroom light and you smile coquettishly, red lips stretching seductively.

“Did she? How could I know?” You tease, reaching to your back to undo the corset, just to be stopped by his hands, fingers digging into the dozens of strings. “And don’t you know, Mr Harbinger, that it’s very offending for the woman, when the man speaks about another lady in her presence?”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware,” he muses, tugging a bit harsher on the ties and making you gasp, “that my dear wife can be jealous of herself.”

“When you know her poorly. Tsk-tsk, what a bad husband you are.”

Pantalone laughs behind you, shaking his head at your untrue words, and you reach to your head to remove the fiery wig. By the time Pantalone is done with your corset, you are done letting your naturally beautiful locks down, sighing in relief from both the released ribcage and hair roots.

The dress, having lost its vital support on your body, falls to the ground next to the wig and quickly becomes forgotten as you two step away from the mirror.

Your husband is still mostly clothed, having only eased out of his coat and unbuttoned the jacket, so you busy your hands with tugging the black article off and then reaching for the gleaming tiny buttons on the shirt. Your figures bask in the warm light of the room as you continue undressing the man - your eyes concentrated on the expensive fabrics, his - on the lovely expression of your face.

“But if you must know,” Pantalone raises his brow, when you look up at him, a much sincere and tender smile lighting up your visage, “your wife loved the evening very much.”

And that’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear. Fingers tangle in your hair, you harshly inhale, and his lips are on yours. Lipstick is smudging, your fingers accidentally catch the silver chain, and his glasses get slightly askew, but it doesn’t matter. His wife loved another thing he’s done for her. The banker’s day has ended in a great profit.

Wriothesley

Fortress of Meropide is a huge metal labyrinth of floors and corridors, where noise is never-ending even in the late hours of the night. The metal box which is the Duke’s office however, is constructed to mute the annoying sounds or else the one inside would have a very hard time concentrating.

Usually, even the ruckus happening outside and the clanking of the heavy machines underneath can’t sway Wriothesley’s attention if he has his mind set on doing the paperwork, even something as boring as bills. Today, however, the man has caught himself multiple times glancing at the clock he’s hung up a couple of years ago - there is no way to tell the time all the way down underwater, true, but it serves him a greater purpose. It helps him count hours and minutes before you arrive.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are the days when you take a half of the day off to come down to the Fortress to meet up with your husband. You both quickly realized that traveling back and forth together in either of the directions (fortress or home in the city) would be way too inconvenient. So, you improvise by visiting him throughout the week a couple of times and then he comes home to properly spend the weekend, having learnt to delegate his responsibilities to the most trustworthy guards. So far you’ve been extremely pleased with the arrangement, and the Fortress’s crew have learnt your face by heart to not cause you any obstacles in reaching your beloved’s office.

Today, nevertheless, something must’ve gone wrong. Pale blue eyes are practically drilling the minute hand of the previously mentioned clock, watching it moving further and further from the tiny 10-minute bar, which should’ve marked your appearance at the top of his stairs. And he gets it, everything could’ve happened, something as trivial as the queue at the pastry shop that might’ve gotten longer today, but when the delay surpasses the half-hour mark, the warden puts his fountain pen down and follows it by the creak of the chair legs on the metal floor.

As he descends down the stairs - each clunking under the heavy soles of his boots - a fleeting thought of you stopping by at the medical bay first is immediately brushed aside - his office is right on the path of entering the Fortress’s main body, and you love your husband too much to let him sulk in his longing. 

When he pushes the colossal doors open, eyes instantly start searching the area ahead of him. However, nothing unusual is spotted - two guards are standing at the front of his abode, not even flinching at the unpleasant scraping noise the metal makes; a couple of inmates are walking past them, bowing their heads right as they see the appearing the figure of their warden - Wriothesley simply nods and sends them off with a flicker of his hand; then there is Monglane’s desk with its irreplaceable owner. And no trace of his beloved wife.

Closing the doors behind him, Wriothesley comes up to the guards, inquiring if they’ve happened to see you. Getting a negative response, he hums and starts walking forward, to the corridor leading to the elevator, not bothering with asking the very same questions to Monglane.

With every passing minute, especially while waiting for the elevator, the man starts realizing how impatient he is growing, if the tapping of his foot and crossed arms are not an indicator enough. Even with just one day apart, he’s missed you so awfully much, your adoring smile, your soft voice and cute little giggles, that he feels rightfully robbed since you are not yet in his embrace, showering his face with kisses and then whining pretentiously because he’s forgotten to shave once again. Sometimes you swear he is not a big bad wolf, but a mean huge hedgehog.

He almost stomps inside the cabin the second its doors slide open and pushes the button to the reddening of his fingertip. It is a long trip up to the next level, and he admits he’s tugged on his leather straps wrapped around his arms a couple of times, but Archons, how little it all matters, when, exiting the elevator, he finally hears such a familiar voice. Your voice.

Your husband’s legs carry him like they obtained a mind of their own, following the full of amusement lilt he knows can belong only to you, just to come to a halt next to the wooden boxes piled up on the side of the path. 

He can see you, quite clearly, adorned in a cute pair of pants and a shirt, shoulders covered in a crocheted shawl - always ready for the cool air of the Fortress, yet looking so comfy, that Wriothesley can't help but desire to tackle you to the sofa in his office and cuddle this instant. And he would've done just that, if the conversation you've been having didn't catch his attention.

“No, it's wrong again. It's not Britney, it's Brytnneigh.

“But you are saying the same thing!"

"No, it is not B-r-i-t-n-e-y. It's B-r-y-t-n-n-e-i-g-h."

"Slower, please."

In the second voice the warden easily guesses a new guard that has just been employed a couple of days ago. He remembers signing the papers his weekend substitute brought him on Monday. Wriothesley also remembers how the man swore that he’d passed on to the newbie all the information and training he needed to know. But, it appears, he forgot to mention the most important thing…

“Did you make sure to write my name with two N’s?” Your voice is laced with hardly concealed mirth, and, though he can’t see the face of the guard talking to you, your husband is sure the poor young man looks quite miserable.

“Yes, mademoiselle, I did.”

“Wonderful, but it’s ‘madame’, I am a married woman after all. But no worries, I am flattered you think I look so young,” Wriothesley shakes his head with a silent chuckle. He adores you so much, but maybe it really is time to stop your little play of a new inmate, or else he’ll surely have to call for Sigewinne to check on the poor guard.

“And your last name, madame?”

“I am Brytnneigh Deirdrophnea de Troistêtesloup. Do you want me to spell it for you, dear?”

Yes, he really should stop you.

Before you can open your mouth again, you see in your peripheral vision a figure moving. Upon turning your head slightly, you are graced with the sight of your beloved husband, walking towards you with a quirked thick brow, and crossed arms. All you can do is sheepishly smile, waving at him.

“O-oh! Duke Wriothesley, Sir!” The guard behind the registration desk immediately jumps to his feet, squaring his shoulders and saluting at the arrival of his superior.

“At ease, young man,” Wriothesley nods, stepping even closer, practically invading your personal space, icy blue eyes looking at you unblinkingly. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing much, Mr Warden,” your eyes crinkle in the corners, a sight so infectious, that the man’s lips turn into a small smile. “Just a cute old me, ending up in the Fortress for Archon knows what time.”

“M-madame!” The guard exclaims rather loudly, that even your husband turns to look at him. “Even if it's not your first stay here, you shouldn’t be taking liberties with the Duke!”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Wriothesley raises his hand. “She is no longer your headache-”

“Hey!” You elbow his side to the bewilderment of the guard. In his shock he doesn’t even reach for his weapon.

“-I will personally escort this troublemaker inside. And cross out that abominable name out, would you? It’s not her name.”

“It’s not..?” Now Wriothesley really sympathizes with the guy, he looks utterly lost.

“It’s not. But,” a big scarred hand gently cups you under the chin and turns your head more properly towards the guard, “be sure to remember this adorable face very well for the next time. You’ll need that to let her in and out.”

“...out?”

“Yes, indeed. This woman is my wife.”

As the elevator doors slide close and the cabin starts moving down, you turn to Wriothesley and throw your arms around his wide frame, face burying into his chest.

“Are you proud of me for coming up with such a long and difficult name in a single thought?”

“Oh, for sure,” strong arms circle your waist and chapped lips press to the top of your head, “I bet you would be hard-to-catch if you were a criminal. But why did you decide to play such a prank on a poor man?”

“Well… I just wanted to see his face when he found out that I am the wife of the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide himself. Another reason is that there was no guard who knew my face and I doubt he would’ve believed my word. I just got creative with the way of making him summon someone else. You simply got here before anything could happen. Plus, it’s good to keep them on their toes with a job like that. Besides, I did apologize and praise him for his patience.”

At that Wriothesley just sighs and then chuckles, raising one of his hands and threading his fingers through your hair, pressing your head even closer to his chest. He is not even feeling iffy about the lost half an hour of your time together anymore. Because you gave him an opportunity to introduce you as his wife once again.