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tw - non/con, manipulation, mentions of breeding, and unbalanced power dynamics.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's ecstatic the day his owner, Suguru, brings you home. He's the pinnacle of a spoiled pet, constantly showered in toys and treats and affection, but his owner's a busy man, and he tends to sulk when left home alone. He's had other companions before, another leopard hybrid who nearly killed him before being released back into the wild and a black panther who somehow proved to be a worse influence on Satoru than Satoru was on her, but you're supposed to be more permanent solution, another hosuepet to keep him company when Suguru can't. You're a sweet little housecat, all wide-eyes and raised ears, but still, Suguru wouldn't be surprised if you're begging to go back to the shelter less than an hour after meeting your new roommate.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who falls in love with you immediately. Suguru practically has to keep him in a chokehold while you explore your new home, eventually curling up on your new bed. Satoru's on top of you as soon as he gets loose, purring obnoxiously while he runs his bristled tongue over your cheek. Suguru's half-convinced that your first day's going to end with bloody claws and bandages, but you only nuzzle into his chest and knead at the blankets underneath you. Satoru's a difficult cat to put up with, and Suguru's relieved that you, at least, find him tolerable.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's absolutely massive compared to you. The tips of your pointed ears barely reach his collarbones, and your wrist is only as thick as his fluffy tail. His favorite hobby quickly becomes carrying you from room to room despite your softly mewled protests, and he's not happy unless he's pressed against you as closely as possible. He used to force himself into Suguru's lap whenever possible, but now, he's unbearable unless you're sitting pretty in his. He doesn't even complain when you lose your temper and dig your little fangs (barely half the size of his - a poor imitation of a real predator's) into his arm, just grinning as he tugs at your ears and pinches your cheeks. He's not exactly a wild animal, but he's still at the top of his food chain. You're not quite a mouse, but you might as well be, compared to him.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's calling you his mate after less than a full month. You don't know what it means, often parroting it back as more of a question than a term of endearment, and Suguru just brushes it off as Satoru being deliberately irritating. He keeps it up, though. even after you start refusing to respond to it.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who starts introducing you to new "games". You know you don't stand a chance against him, but somehow, he always manages to goad you into roughhousing, into squirming as he pins you under his full weight. He likes to dangle things above your head, to see how long it takes your instincts to get the best of you before your chest is pressed against his and you're pouting so adorably as you jump and bat at his hand. Sometimes, when you fall asleep mid-grooming session, he'll let his mouth wander lower than it should, and you'll wake up to his tongue lapping over your chest, his face buried between your thighs in a way that leaves you teary-eyed and warm. You've tried to tell Suguru, but you always get embarrassed and end up mumbling something as vague as 'Satoru's being mean to me, again.' In the end, Satoru only ever gets a slap on the wrist and a new reason to tease you, next time Suguru turns his back.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who fucks you whenever Suguru isn't home. He planned on waiting for your first heat (delayed by your shelter suppressants and the stress of a new home), and he knows he's not supposed to, but he just can't get enough of having your smaller body curled up underneath his, your tail thrashing from side to side as he lazily rolls his hips against yours. You tend to whine, at first, to go on and on about how weird it feels and how much it hurts, but as soon he gets his cock inside of you, all those complaints tend to go away. It's almost funny, how easily your stupid little kitty mind gets all hazy and cockdrunk. He always loves you, but he loves you most when you're drooling and purring for his cum, begging him to breed you properly between hitched moans.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's not even mad when Suguru catches him bouncing your half-conscious, fucked-out body on his cock. He wants to be the best possible mate for you, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't willing to show you off <3

older reader?? SAY NO MORE

you're a confident, popular, charismatic lady in your 30s. you catch a pretty, barely-not-teenage gojo at a bar about to get roofied and rescue him.

you're neither a paragon of moral virtues but apparently you do still have some maternal instincts because you take him aside, help him sober up, and give him a stern but well-meaning lecture about watching drinks, staying safe, etc. maybe he gets a headpat and a caring look while you do this.

that's where you thought this would end but to gojo had absent parents and is starved of all forms of affection, including maternal, so he absolutely cannot let this end here and he will exploit his prettiness, his pitifulness, AND your maternal instincts to the max.

if wires get crossed and he manages to get you to bang him (and hopefully feel so guilty about taking advantage that he can get you to stay with him) then even better!!

omgggggyou know me so well-

(Warnings: manipulation, guilt-tripping, large age gap but both characters are 21+, implied non/dubcon, implied drugging)

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Bad Night

When you open your eyes, your head is pounding.

Last night is a blur, but you get the big picture. You drank too much, and you brought someone home.

He's a cuddler, pressing you against his bare chest, a long arm wrapped around your naked body. It'd be a cute way to wake up if you weren't so sweaty and already in a bad mood.

You're debating on how to kick him out when he shifts behind you. He yawns, one hand reaching up to draw circles on your waist.

"You wake up pretty early."

It's not a stranger's voice. You know him.

You turn your head, almost afraid to look. He gives a sleepy smile.

"...Satoru?"

"Mornin'." Taking advantage of your shock, he gives a quick peck on your lips.

It's a jumpstart for the memories of last night to kick in. Satoru had invited you out, you had a bad day at work and you took the offer, you took shot after shot, one thing lead after another and then-

Shit.

"What's wrong?" He asks, and you doubt you're managing to hide the horror off your face all that well. His usually carefree attitude melted into concern.

"Feeling' alright? I wasn't too rough last night, was I?"

When you open your mouth, the only thing that comes out is a strangled 'I'm fine'.

"That's good." He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. "I was worried I hurt you or somethin'. Last night was perfect, by the way. Everythin' I dreamed of, baby."

Baby. You want to throw up.

"Oh, you must be hungry." Satoru frowns, clicking his tongue. "Uh, wait here, I'll go whip somethin' up."

Another kiss, this time on your cheek, before he's sliding off your bed. He's naked. You squeeze your eyes closed when he starts to put on his pants. You keep them closed until the door shuts behind him.

What the fuck did you just do?

You know what you did. You just had sex with someone more than a decade younger than you. You can't even remember it, but the evidence was all around you. Your panties laying crumbled on the floor. The ache between your legs. The bitemarks on your chest, your legs.

You fucked up.

Satoru was by chance You weren't supposed to talk to him, let alone meet him. You were at the right place, at the right time. You happened to catch smug asshole putting something in the oblivious kid's drink. You happened to grab it right before Satoru could, before dumping it on the asshole's face.

Looking back, it wasn't your finest moment. You nearly got the police called on you, but ever since that day, Satoru clung onto you like Velcro. He didn't leave you alone for the rest of the night. You thought your lecture would have embarrassed him enough to leave, which kid wants to be scolded by a thirty-year old? If anything, that might have sparked his admiration for you.

He was determined. Before you knew it, Satoru was everywhere. He spammed you with texts everyday, when he couldn't call. He'd constantly invite you to places adults way past their college years should not be going. Despite your absolute refusal to visit his dorm, you found yourself reluctantly letting him into your house, picking him up from parties when he was too drunk to drive. He'd told you things he'd never told anyone before.

You knew what was happening, you weren't stupid. And unhealthy infatuation. Young, starved for attention, eager to please. You saw the signs, you tried to set boundaries, but you thought you could help him somehow. Your savior's complex grew too big...you thought you could help him.

And then, you ended up sleeping with him.

It wasn't illegal. You knew he was over 18, at the very least. You still feel nothing but nauseating disgust. When you looked down at your hands, they felt dirty.

You needed to fix this, somehow. You needed to tell Satoru that this was a mistake. Rip the band-aide off, nice and clean.

You ignore the crumbled clothes on the floor: your flimsy dress, Satoru's shirt. Instead, you go to the closet and pull out baggy pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt. You needed to hide as much skin as possible. To preserve the remnants of dignity you had left.

You stayed in the bathroom for ten minutes, practicing what you were gonna say over and over again. I'm sorry, it was a mistake, I was drunk, I took advantage of you, it's not your fault. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

When you step outside your sanctuary, you smell something that makes your stomach growl.

Satoru's standing over a sizzling pan with a smile on his face. He knows his way around your kitchen because he's been here before, doing homework on your countertops. You feel sick all over again.

"Hey." He pouts when you inch closer. "I told you to stay in bed, didn't I? Silly." He reaches over, pinching your cheek in affection.

You swallow and you finally manage to steel yourself.

"Satoru, we need to talk-"

"And done!" Satoru cheers, setting down a plate. "Hungry? You gotta' be, right? We did a whole workout last night." You cringe at his choice of words, wishing he'd stop mentioning your biggest blunder.

When you don't move, he picks up some food with his fork, hovering it close to your lips.

"C'mon. At least try it." He urges. "I promise it's good. Please?"

You look into his baby blue doe eyes. Wide and earnest and eager. When you accept the offering, he glows.

He feeds you like this, one forkful at a time. When you ask why he isn't eating, he just shakes his head.

"I don't think it'll stay down." He admits. "I'm so happy, it almost feels like I'm dreaming."

You clear your throat. Hopefully, you can steer this conversation into something more productive. "Satoru, about last night-"

"Did you like it?" He suddenly asks.

"What?"

"Last night." He says with a sheepish smile. "Did-did you like it? Was I any good?"

You stare at him, utterly bewildered. "I-"

"It was my first time!" He blurts out with clear impulsiveness, and your heart stops. "I-I was pretty nervous. 'Had no fuckin' idea what I was doing, but it looked like you liked it. Right?"

He looks at you with those wide eyes, filled with genuine sincerity and you want to throw yourself off a ledge because not only did you not remember having sex with him, you don't remember taking his virginity.

You were a horrible person.

"It...was a nice night." You mutter quietly.

He beams again, it does nothing to assuage your guilt.

Fuck this all. You needed to put a stop to this. You needed to stop stringing this poor kid along. You needed to be the bad guy.

But, like always, Satoru makes the first move.

He rounds the countertop, coming to a stop by your chair. Satoru kneels to the floor, taking your hands within his owns. If it were anyone else, you would have melted.

Not him. Anyone but him.

"I meant what I said yesterday." He quietly says. "I know you still think I'm young, but I'm 22. I'm more than old enough to treat you the way you deserve to be treated." Oh God. When you turn away, he's reaching out, placing a hand on your cheek. You're forced to stare at him.

"Thank you for giving me a chance." He smiles. "I-I always thought you'd never see me that way, but then you said you liked me too and-"

"Wait wait, hold on." You interrupt. "What?"

He suddenly looks unsure, his gaze darting around. "At the bar last night. I confessed, and you said it back."

That doesn't sound like you. If anything, when you're drunk, you're annoyingly honest. You've never seen Satoru as more than a kid how could you have said that to him?

But he can't be lying. Not with those eyes. Eyes that were suddenly starting to fall like dying stars.

"Oh..." He trails off. "Did you not mean it?"

He handed you your chance on a silver platter. It was a mistake. I was drunk. I've never seen you like that. I took advantage of you.

You can break his heart, here and now. You take in a breath.

"No." You smile. "Of course I meant it. I...really really like you, Satoru."

His smiles returns and he's leaping up. You can't stop him from kissing you, but he's quick, flitting away just as quickly to give you a hug.

"I'm so glad." He whispers. "I'll make you happy, I promise. I'll do anything for you."

You pat his back, still in a daze.

Satoru is smart. He's a physics major, he's got to be smart. You just need to pretend to date him for a while before he realizes that you're too old for him. Then, he'll leave you for someone his age.

He'll snap out of it eventually, right?

Ulterior Motives

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f! student Reader

Synopsis: Gojo becomes a little bit infatuated with his bratty new student.

Warnings: Explicit smut, noncon, teacher/student relationship (reader is 18+), possessive behavior, manipulation

Tags: Spanking, panty gag, dacryphilia, dirty talk, vibrators, bondage, orgasm torture, bratty reader, humiliation

Word Count: 24.4k

Notes: This one is for ABanonymous, I hope you didn’t mind the wait and I especially hope you enjoy the story. The title IS a reference and if you know, you know.

Next requested fic I will have out next Saturday, and that’s a pinky promise.

Keep reading

The Sun Eats the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 9.1k

Part two: Earth Kills the Moon

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Fimo," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

Basic Training (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, minor character deaths, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

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++ 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈/𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

[summary] sukuna wants to bone you and he makes it yuji’s problem.

[cws] fem reader. masturbation -> yuji. sukuna has vivid fantasies about reader v.v

Yuji thinks you’re a nice girl.

You’re funny, cute, sweet, and you’ve put him on his ass a few times during training and left him thoroughly impressed.

But he doesn’t like you … like, like you like you.

You’re cool to hang out with, play games with, train with, and sometimes he prefers you over Megumi when he’s thinking of getting up to some mischief—all in all, you’re a good friend, but that’s all he sees you as, a friend, and he’s sure you feel the same about him.

…

So why can’t he stop fisting his cock to thoughts of you? Because of that damned curse taking up residence inside of him — the dirty pervert.

Sukuna’s got a thing for you, a nasty thing that puts lewd images in Yuji’s mind and makes his hands and cock ache to touch you. And Yuji doesn’t want to think about these things, no! He doesn’t want to think about how you’d look on your knees, teary eyes looking up at him as your lips stretch wide around his cock. He doesn’t want to think about how you’d look knuckle deep in your pussy, back arched and toes pointed as you fucked yourself. He doesn’t want to think about how tight and warm and soft and perfect your cunt would feel wrapped around him, no, he doesn’t want to think about any of those things!

But that’s all Sukuna thinks about, everyday all day - Yuji gets no reprieve.

If he sees you in the morning, your usual smile on your face as you greet him with a ‘hey, itadori!’, an image of your smiling face is flashing through his mind, except this time there’s spurts of cum on your swollen lips and your tongue is lolling out, eagerly waiting for more.

If he happens to glance over at the wrong —right, Sukuna always snarks back— moment during training and see that Maki’s got you bent in a precarious position, suddenly all he can see is images of his cock slamming in and out of your cunt, puffy lips slick and your cum coating his base, coarse hairs there weighed down with his and yours essence.

It’s sick, perverted, and he can’t do a thing about it but what he’s doing right now in the privacy of his dorm; choking back moans as he fucks his fist to the thought of you, hips bucking up off the bed as Sukuna pushes forth an image of you sat atop him, doughy thighs bracketed around his hips, fingers splayed out on his chest as you meet his thrusts.

He swears he can feel it, feel you - feel the heat of your cunt wrapping around him, feel your slick coating his shaft and dripping down to his balls, feel your nails digging into his skin as your pussy flutters and you come—

“Fuck me.” Yuji doesn’t know if that came from him or Sukuna, and he doesn’t have time to think about it before another image is flashing, this one starring you with your face pushed down into the pillows, purple nails contrasting perfectly against your skin as he spreads your cheeks open to watch your cunt swallow up his cock.

Yuji groans as his thumb, big and calloused, roughly swipes over his leaking tip, hand tightening around his base as his heels dig into his mattress. There’s a pulling feeling at his cheek, and a fierce heat envelopes him as Sukuna’s deep drawl filters out in the room.

His words are rough, quick, breathy, and Yuji desperately wishes he’d shut the hell up because he doesn’t want to think about how ‘warm your pussy is’, or how it ‘probably squeezes real tight when you come’, or how your ‘tits bounce when you’re getting fucked’, or how you’ll probably ‘squeal, moan and cry like some bitch in heat when he plays with your little clit’—you’re his friend, and he yours, and it’s so fucking wrong to be thinking of you like this, and it’s all because of him.

The next and final image is a quick flash, no more than a second or two, and Yuji snaps his eyes shut as his teeth grind together, veins along the backs of his hand bulging as his cock twitches in his grip. Ah.

Your thighs are spread, gapped open and limp against the ruined sheets, while two of his fingers spread your lips open, a white gush of cum dripping out of your stretched hole and trailing down between your ass cheeks.

Yuji shudders, eyes slowly blinking open to see the mess he’s made on his stomach and chest, and he lets out a weak groan as he turns to bury his sweaty face into his pillow, already dreading the next onslaught of images that’re sure to bombard him soon.

++ 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈/𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

[summary] during a playful fight between you and yuji, sukuna decides to make an appearance and air out yuji’s dirty secrets.

[cws] fem reader. dubcon. lewd use of sukuna’s tummy mouth. exhibitionism -> you’re in public but no one is around. one mention of a misogynist comment from sukuna. yuji thinks about you a lot. unedited.

“Do you …hah, do you give up yet?” Yuji pants as he has you pinned underneath him, sweat dripping off the ends of his hair and landing on your forehead.

You’d cringe and shrink away if you weren’t so determined to win this mock fight (never mind that you were drenched in your own sweat, as well).

“Absolutely not.” You grit out, hips futilely bucking up to try and get him off you. He barely budges, even having the nerve to laugh as he watches you struggle. You can hear Nobara booing quite enthusiastically, while Megumi grumbles about being late for class and having to hear ‘Gojo’s annoying mouth’.

“Ya know you’re not gonna win, so just give up already and agree to hosting movie night in my dorm this time!”

“Never! No one wants to stare at pin-up posters all night, plus your tv is too small, and your bed always smells like Doritos, and—”

“Geez, just say you hate me, why don’t you.” He rolls his eyes, going to sit back on his haunches as he stays straddling your waist. You kiss at your teeth, trying once more to buck him up while simultaneously bringing your hands up and shoving at his stomach. “And my bed does not smell like Doritos! Does it?” He snaps his head over to look at Nobara and Megumi.

“The cool ranch ones.” Nobara says, and Megumi nods in agreement. “Aka, the nastiest flavor.” Yuji gasps dramatically.

“That’s the best flavor! How dare you…” As he bickers back and forth with Nobara, you focus a little cursed energy into your hands. “…says the girl who eats pickles with whipped cream like she’s pregnant or someth—!”

In the blink of an eye you’ve got Yuji on his back as you straddle his stomach, a triumphant grin on your face as you keep your hands on his shoulders to keep him pinned flat against the ground. “Aha!”

“That’s cheating!” Yuji frowns up at you.

“No, it isn’t! It’s called strategizing.”

“Cheating!”

“I’m going to class.” Megumi begins to walk off, hands stuffed in his pockets, and you shout after him.

“Movie night is in my dorm!”

“Hey!” Yuji interrupts.

“Bring good snacks only!” You finish, and then Nobara is the next to go, jogging to catch up with Megumi as she flashes the both of you an amused grin.

“Cheater.” Yuji grumbles once it’s just you two, and you snicker as you let go of his shoulders and sit up, not bothering to stand up just yet. “Using cursed energy against your friend… you should be ashamed.”

“You literally threw a spear at me yesterday and it almost killed me.”

“That’s different! We were training, and I didn’t mean to throw it that hard.” His expression turned sheepish as he avoided your eyes, and you pursed your lips as you tapped his nose with the pad of your index finger. He wriggled it in response, and you softly laughed as you did it again.

“It’s fine, just know that you had it coming when I try to kill you in the future, mkay?” He blinks up at you.

“You’re creepy, you know that?”

“Says the boy with a third eyeball on his cheek.” This time you do cringe, watching as the red eye blinks open before settling on you.

“Wha—Sukuna!” Yuji snaps, hand moving to slap over the eye and cover it. “You should probably go now before he fully wakes up … you know how he is.” A pink hue bleeds into Yuji’s cheeks as he averts his eyes, and you feel your own face warm as you nod.

“Yeah,” you agree. Sukuna had always been insufferable from the moment you befriended Yuji, always piping up with mean, critiquing comments that bordered on being cruel. The comments had started with him bashing your fighting skills during your trainings with Yuji, quips of ‘you’re so slow - it’s a wonder you aren’t dead yet’, or ‘women on the battlefield is a bad fucking joke - hasn’t anyone ever taught you your place’, or ones that had left you teary-eyed and which you refuse to repeat.

Yeah, Sukuna was an asshole, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone, and you’d rather not have your day ruined before you even made it to your first class.

“I’ll see you tonight, Yuji.” You place your hands on his chest, about to use him to push yourself up to your feet, but a low, raspy voice has you stopping in your tracks.

“You’re sitting on my mouth.” Sukuna abruptly says, and you blink in confusion, your eyes flitting between Yuji’s and where you’re sitting.

“What?”

“Y-You should go now,” Yuji tries, but Sukuna is talking again and drowning him out.

“Your pussy, that hot thing between your legs, it’s on my mouth. See?” Something moves underneath you, and you flinch at the sound of fabric tearing before a yelp is leaving your mouth when something thick, damp and warm is pushing up between your legs and pressing against your clothed cunt. “You should be careful where you put that thing, y’know.”

He talks through the mouth on Yuji’s hand, and your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as Sukuna swipes his tongue against you again, his saliva wetting the fabric of your underwear.

“Sukuna, st—”

“Sit back and shut up.” Yuji falls silent in an instant, and a wave of panic washes over you when you see his eyes gloss over and his head fall back against the grass, black markings etching their way onto his face. A grin stretches across his face, and hands move to lock around your hips, fingers pushing into your flesh as he makes sure you can’t go anywhere. “That’s better.”

“Y-Yuji?” You sound breathless, and you gasp when his tongue worms its way past your panties to swipe in-between your folds. “Yuji!”

“Relax,” he rolls his eyes, “the brat is still here. Watching and listening, he’s not gonna miss a thing, don’t you worry.” You don’t know if that’s worse or better—Yuji being aware of what’s happening, being able to see your face contort each time that tongue flicks at your clit, being able to hear the noises you try and fail to subdue.

“Stop,” your voice sounds weak to your own ears, and Sukuna guffaws, tongue forcing its way up into your cunt, the action eliciting a lewd squelch as he rubs against your walls.

“Stop.” He parrots back at you, hands tightening around your hips, and you duck your head down when his tongue leaves your hole to instead focus its attention back on your clit. “I don’t know what the brat gets all worked up about—yeah, you’ve got a sweet pussy and a nice pair of tits, but you’re a real fuckin’ tease. Rolling around with a boy in that flimsy little skirt and grinding your cunt up against him. Tch.”

“I wasn—Sukuna!” You jump when his teeth graze against your folds, the thought of him possibly biting you making a shiver of fear run up your spine.

“He wants to fuck you.” He couples the reveal with a harsh suck. “Fuck this cunt that I’m tonguing down - the pervert can’t go five minutes in a room with you without thinking about it.” Your ears burn as a fresh wave of slick rushes out of you, thighs trembling where they rest around his thick waist. “He’s too worried about scaring you off to do anything about it, though… but I don’t think he has anything to worry about, does he? Look at you.”

A whimper leaves your mouth, and you quickly sink your teeth into your bottom lip, not succeeding in blocking out the slurping, tacky sounds coming from between your legs. You want to stand up, get his mouth away from you so you can think straight, because your mind is all jumbled and fuzzy and screwy, and his words, his crude words that always made your skin hot and your stomach churn, is making it churn for another reason now.

“Won’t you give him a show, hm?” You barely register his words, and you yelp when his hand makes contact with your ass, fingers kneading at the doughy flesh as he repeats his earlier words. “Take your tits out.”

“No,” you warble, your hands weakly pushing at his wrists, a poor attempt to get him to stop moving your hips back and forth, forcing your cunt to side back and forth over his flattened tongue. “Sukuna, please.”

“Take ‘em out yourself, or I’ll do it for you and leave you to walk back to your dorm with nothing on.” You hesitate, eyes wet as you nervously lick at your lips, and when he makes a move for your shirt, you quickly begin to undo the buttons, fingers clumsy as they fumble repeatedly. “Good pet.”

Your blouse falls open as you undo the last button, revealing the pink bra you have on underneath, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you pull the cups of your bras down, fully exposing yourself Sukuna’s eyes .. and Yuji’s, too oh God.

The reminder that Yuji can see everything that’s happening sends a fleet of butterflies to your stomach, and you kick yourself mentally when you find yourself jutting out your chest just a bit. Does he like them, the thoughts zips through your mind, and you don’t have time to question where the hell it came from before hands are roughly squeezing at them, calloused fingers pinching and twisting at your nipples.

“Are they as good as you imagined, kid? Cause you imagine them a lot.” Sukuna smirks, and then he’s snapping his eyes up to yours. “You wanna know what he thinks about doing to them?” His tongue lazily laps at your folds, occasionally parting them to venture down to your clenching hole and take a dip inside before repeating the process.

Sukuna doesn’t wait for your answer.

“He thinks about putting his cock between them, pushing them together so it’s nice and tight and fucking them.” He demonstrates, hands pushing your breasts together, and you can’t help but watch his hands as they grope and fondle you. “Thinks about how they’d bounce when he’s got you riding his cock.” His hands leave your breasts to instead grip your hips, and you gasp when easily lifts you, just to drop you back down onto his tongue, the appendage sliding into your cunt and reaching deep.

“Sukuna!”

He continues to lift you up and down, forcing you to ride his tongue, and his eyes stay locked on your bouncing breasts, lips still fixed in that same smirk. “You gonna come?” You feel as if his words are directed at more than just you. He moves you faster, nails biting into your skin, and your face contorts into one of bliss as you hold onto his wrists as tight as you can, eyes fluttering shut as your pussy clamps down.

He pulls you down for the final time, mouth latched onto your cunt as you come, greedy gulps and sucks sounding as he swallows down your slick, his hands moving from your hips to your back. He roughly pulls you towards his face, and a whimper-y moan forces itself out of you as his lips wrap around a stiff nipple, teeth sinking in before he’s soothing the sting away with his tongue.

You sag against him, ragged breaths disturbing tufts of pink hair, and the aggressive sucking on your breast morphs into softer, gentler sucks, the nails that had been scratching at your back replaced with gentle caresses, and the tongue and mouth that had been abusing your now puffy and sore cunt is gone.

“Yuji.” You sigh, and he hums around you before his whole body goes stiff, tongue pausing its gentle swipe against your nipple, and hands slowly moving away from you. The heat against your chest is sweltering, and you push yourself up on shaky arms, tiredly blinking down at his red face.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know he would do that or say those things! I-I don’t even know why he said all those things, I don’t think about you like that, I swear!” He goes off into a tangent, eyes darting between your face and your breasts, and you sigh again before leaning back down to push your lips against his.

The kiss is chaste and quick, and when you pull back your face is as hot as his, and you become acutely aware of your state of dress, hands fumbling to fix your bra and redo your shirt as you avert your gaze.

“What was that for?”

“You… you wouldn’t stop talking.” You defend as you fix the last button, and then you’re struggling to your feet before Yuji finally frees himself from his stupor and helps you. He pulls away from you and takes a few steps back, the both of you staring at each other in silence for a bit, and your eyes widen when you see his shirt has been ripped away around the stomach, the skin there wet from you and his happy trail glistening with your juices.

“I-”

“You-”

“Sorry, you go.” You both interrupt each other again.

“He-”

“We-”

You heave out a breath as he groans, and when he goes to say something else to wave your hands back and forth, stopping him short. “Let’s never talk about this again.”

“Oh… okay! Yeah! Okay! Lips are sealed.” He motions to lock his lips and throw away the key, and you can’t help but smile just a bit.

“Okay.” You nod, hands twisting together, and there’s another uncomfortable silence before he speaks up again.

“I can, um, walk you to class?”

“Oka—oh, your shirt.” You gesture to his ruined uniform, and he looks down as his eyebrows raise.

“How’d that happen—oh, yeah.” He looks at you, and you roll your lips into your mouth. “I guess I should change then.” You nod. “I’ll see you tonight then, right? For movie night?” Could you really sit through a movie with him after what Sukuna just did, after what he told you? An ache starts as you recall what he had revealed to you, and your eyes meet Yuji’s as you nod again.

“Yeah. Tonight.”

Anywhere but here

You wake from a traumatic injury to find everything around you isn't the same.

Pairing: Jimin x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Nurse Jimin, smut, angst

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings: Swearing, sex, traumatic injury, hospitals, memory loss

When you wake, it’s like you’ve been reset to factory settings. You’re not a robot, but there was a you before, and now there’s a you after.

The accident cut your life into halves, and that’s the reality that you’ve been dealt. 

The people around you are nameless faces apart from your family. Your parents, your younger sister and a man you don’t know but he says he knows you.

You can’t imagine what it’s like for them to lose the woman that was the old you and pick up the new you, metalwork in your thigh and a scar along the back of your head that they gave you an uneven choppy haircut to fix.

You don’t have the headspace to try and remember the names of everyone else who cares for you.

There’s the slim woman with a ponytail and kind eyes who always smiles cheerfully when she greets you.

There’s the stern looking older woman who never smiles but has gentle hands.

And then there’s the young guy who looks like he belongs in a magazine who you find a little intimidating, to be honest.

The brain injury means you take longer to process, sometimes you know what you want to say but the words won’t come. It’s annoying but you’re assured it will get better.

More pressing is the frame on your leg from where you broke your femur in multiple places. It took you a while to get used to trying to get around on crutches without help, because there was no way you were going to ask the young guy to help you to the bathroom. 

You don’t think there’s anything left of your dignity but you’ve got some pride still.

You’re sitting awkwardly on your bed, listening to the man you don’t know but who seems to know you, trying to shift positions because your leg is singing a chorus of pain, when the young male nurse walks into the room wheeling a portable blood pressure monitor.

‘Time for some observations,’ he says, politely.

You take the opportunity to move into the chair and hold out your arm.

The nurse frowns a little. ‘Your blood pressure and heart rate are up. Are you in pain?’

‘A bit,’ you admit, an understatement. 

‘I’ll get you pain relief,’ he says.

It’s another fifteen minutes before he comes back with the meds, another fifteen minutes after that before you can draw a breath.

The man who you don’t know but you’re told you used to love is telling you about people you don’t know, and it’s not nearly distracting enough.

When he leaves you want to cry with relief.

The door to your room opens, the nurse walks in. He checks on the IV that’s running, you hold out your arm because that’s the routine.

As he disconnects the drip, he turns to you. 

‘There’s a call bell,’ he points out. ‘If you’re in pain don’t wait, just call and one of us will come.’

‘Thank you,’ you say. You’re wrung out, emotionally exhausted, physically stretched, and all you want to do is pull the covers over your head and be alone.

You’re never physically alone in hospital, there’s no fucking privacy, and somehow you feel lonely anyway.

***

The calendar on the wall orientates you to the day and month, and you’re not so bad that you can’t remember the year.

It’s your birthday today they say, another year older even though you’ve gone nothing but backwards since the accident.

Your family bring you cake, fluffy slippers, and love that makes you feel warm. The man, you know he’s called Taemin, that you were about to marry him, why do you think of him as ‘the man’ in your head?

He calls you sweetheart and you think he means it less and less every day.

Today he kisses you, lips on yours and you weren’t expecting it, weren’t ready.

He pulls away, a flicker in his eyes that looks like disappointment that you see before he can hide it.

You want to say that it’s not fair, that you can’t be expected to be the person you were before, but the words don’t come.

You stammer an apology, make it worse.

You only feel relief when he leaves.

Lately they’ve been letting you wheel yourself down to the restaurant, out to the front of the hospital. 

It’s tiring, but it’s nice to be out of your room. 

You press the call bell, and the male nurse comes in. 

He looks rushed, busy, but he’s already here so you might as well ask.

‘Can I borrow a wheelchair to go downstairs?’

He says, ‘yes, of course. It’ll take me a while because it’s quite busy at the moment, but I’ll try and bring one up when I can.’

You thank him and settle in by the window to wait.

The late afternoon sun turns into early dusk, and he doesn’t come back.

You’re getting ready to manoeuvre yourself back into bed when there’s a knock at your door.

It’s the male nurse, dressed in his street clothes instead of scrubs. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘It got so busy, I completely forgot.’

You look at the wheelchair he’s handling.

‘Would you still like to go?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re worried you sound desperate but you’ve been cooped up in your room all day and you want to go out even if you don’t get to see daylight.

He helps you into the chair. The ID badge tucked under his jacket says ‘Jimin.’

You try to commit it to what remains of your memory. 

‘Jimin,’ you say, hoping that saying it will make it stick. 

‘Y/N,’ he replies, giving you a smile that makes his eyes scrunch up.

‘Were you on your way home?’ you ask.

‘Yeah,’ he says. 

‘Thank you for this,’ you say. You put your hand on his arm, and he moves it away so quickly it’s hard not to feel stung.

‘Sorry,’ you say, putting your hands in your lap.

He’s quiet as he pushes you to the lifts.

‘I can push myself,’ you tell him. ‘You should go home, it’s past your shift.’

‘I’m heading down anyway,’ he replies, very politely.

You sneak a glance at his profile as the lift descends. 

He’s pretty, even fourteen hours into a thirteen hour shift. His nose is straight, lips full, and his skin glows like it’s lit from within.

You catch a glance at yourself in the mirrored wall. Your uneven hair that you’re still growing out makes you grimace.

You look down at your lap quickly. 

‘Are you ok?’ he asks.

You force a smile. ‘I know the docs saved my life, but they ruined my hair,’ you say, trying to make a joke of it.

Jimin’s quiet again.

‘I was joking,’ you say, quickly. ‘I’m grateful for everything.’

Thankfully, the lift doors open.

‘Good night,’ you say, smiling at him.

He asks,’will you be ok?’

‘Yes,’ you say. Wild horses couldn’t drag any other answer from you.

He looks at you for a moment longer, then he nods and turns to leave.

***

Physical therapists are demons in disguise, you think disgruntledly to yourself as today’s therapist tries to encourage you to get out of the chair.

Your thigh is screaming in pain, you’re tired and dizzy and sweating from exertion.

As soon as the therapist leaves, you press your call bell and a nurse arrives.

It’s not someone you’ve met before, you know they’ve been short staffed lately.

His ID badge says Matsu. 

You ask for pain relief.

He says, firmly, ‘you shouldn’t ask for pain relief unless the pain is bad. The last thing you need is an opiate addiction.’

You’ve never been denied pain relief before.

You feel a wave of shame.

Is he right? Are you addicted? Does it matter?

The pain’s bad though, your stomach’s churning and clenching.

‘The pain is bad,’ you say, dignity be damned, pleading.

‘I’ll check on you in an hour and if you’re still in pain I can give you some then,’ he says.

He’s out the door before you can formulate a reply.

You sit very still, try to distract yourself. The pattern on the ceiling’s swirling, you’re concentrating so hard.

The door opens, the male nurse called Jimin comes in, and you bite your lip so hard you taste metal on your tongue.

He’s saying something, but you can’t hear it over the rush of blood in your ears.

He comes closer, leans over you, voice firmer now. 

You can hear your name.

You gaze up into his face, and he looks so kind, and concerned, the tears start trickling down your face.

‘Please,’ you whisper. ‘I’m in pain.’

Jimin leaves and comes back, hangs an IV on the drip stand above your head, connects it up and opens the port.

The cold trickle through your veins makes you shiver but soon enough relief comes, so sweet and welcoming you start crying again.

You don’t know how much time has passed before you realise Jimin’s still in your room, typing notes into the computer. 

He says, ‘don’t let it get that bad next time.’

His voice is quiet, neutral, but you can’t help the flash of anger.

‘I asked for the painkillers, and the nurse told me to hold out as he didn’t want me to be addicted,’ you reply, sharp. 

You can hear the tone of your voice as it comes out, and you hate it. The thing that you resent most about the constant pain is the way it’s draining away your generosity, your indulgence, your humour. 

You can’t stand yourself.

Jimin, instead of snapping back, somehow manages to reply with a kindness that makes you feel even worse.

‘I’m sorry the nurse said that,’ he says, sounding regretful. ‘Please know you can ask for pain meds anytime.’

You’re still crying, indulging in your moment of self-pity, wallowing in it. 

God, you hate yourself.

The only thing you hate more is the pain.

***

You’re going for another trip out, you’ve started spending more time outside now that the weather’s better.

You’re waiting to be let out of the double doors to the ward when the nurse, Jimin, passes by.

‘There’s a hairdresser in the hospital,’ he tells you. ‘They’re open now, and they didn’t have any customers when I checked.’

You look at him, considering.

‘Since you said you didn’t like your hair,’ he adds.

You smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll check it out.’

You look at your reflection in the mirror of the elevator on the way down, and impulsively, decide to visit the hospital hairdresser.

It takes you a bit of back and forth to find it, you’re sweaty and frazzled by the time you press on the buzzer.

A woman with bright orange streaks in her hair answers. She gives you a once over, then smiles, kind.

‘You must be Y/N? Jimin said you might come.’

You’re surprised. ‘You know Jimin?’

‘Honey,’ she says, taking the handles of your wheelchair and pushing you in front of one of the mirrors, ‘everyone knows Jimin. He’s a sweetheart.’

‘He’s easy on the eyes too,’ agrees another woman, smirking. The tag on her chest says ‘Suzie’.

‘Jimim said those neurosurgeons did a number on your hair,’ the first woman says. She winks at you. ‘Lucky for you I’m an expert on cleaning up after them.’

You’re startled into a laugh. 

Her smile brightens. ‘You’re so pretty! And you’ll look even better when we’re done.’

An hour later, you find yourself in the lifts on the way back to your ward.

You can’t stop staring at yourself in the mirrors.

Is this what you used to look like? You’ve seen a few pictures of you. Taemin’s lockscreen is a picture of you and him on a beach, but you don’t think you look exactly the way you looked before. 

Rhonda, the hairdresser who greeted you at the door, had waved you away when you tried to pay her, saying all patients got their haircuts on the house.

You’re waiting to be let back into the ward when you hear a familiar voice.

It’s Jimin, smiling at you so broadly you blink a little at how pretty he looks.

‘You went! Your hair looks beautiful,’ he says.

You look at him searchingly but he seems perfectly sincere.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him. You give him a half-smile. ‘They like you a lot down there.’

Jimin laughs. ‘That’s because I let them do whatever they want to my hair.’

He rakes a hand through his hair to illustrate, and you notice he’s got a new undercut beneath the blonde curtain of his hair.

‘Pretty,’ you say, admiring.

Jimin glances at you. ‘Just like you,’ he replies.

You laugh, because he can’t possibly be serious. ‘Please, in this old thing?’

You pluck at a fold in your hospital gown, and Jimin says, deadpan, ‘the green specks in the fabric really complement your eyes.’

You laugh again.

Jimin asks, ‘Need a push back to your room?’

‘Nah,’ you say. ‘I can do it.’

Jimin nods. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’

It’s only when you get back to your room that you realise that your conversation with Jimin, short as it was, is the first real conversation you’ve had in a long time.

***

Taemin’s looking at you very seriously, and a sudden flash of intuition tells you what he’s going to say before he says it.

‘I can’t do this anymore,’ he tells you.

You concentrate hard on the hand he’s put on top of yours. 

Was his touch ever familiar to you? All you feel is detached.

You search his face, the curve of his brow, the line of his jaw. He’s attractive even now, but did you ever really love him the way he said you did?

It’s only been a few months since the accident. 

Did he ever really love you if he’s this keen to move on without you?

The tears come as a surprise.

He looks alarmed now, as the wetness spills from your eyes, down your cheeks.

You know it’s unfair for you two to be in limbo like this, especially when you don’t think the old you is ever coming back.

It’s just the new you, the now and forever you left.

You assure him you’re fine, that it’s the right thing to do. 

He tells you he’ll pack up your things and deliver them to your parents’ house.

You tell him to throw everything away.

What use do you have for the trappings of a life you can’t remember?

It seems like hours before you gather yourself together enough to go back to your solitary room.

You put yourself to bed because you think you’ve had enough of today, and you can only hope tomorrow will be better.

***

It’s Halloween, and you’re amusing yourself with the thought that you don’t even need a costume this year to look frightening.

You’ve had another operation, your leg’s healing well enough that the surgeons have taken the frame off, leaving a collection of red scars and a leg you don’t trust without the external metalwork.

Without the scaffolding that held you upright for months.

Your hair’s grown out, the scar across the side and back of your head is covered but if you run your fingers along your scalp you can still feel it. 

The doctors tell you that you’ll be home before Christmas.

You refrain from telling them you can’t remember a home apart from this hospital bed.

Nobody likes a killjoy.

You glance up as someone knocks on your door.

It’s Jimin, a satin cape over his scrubs, plastic fangs peeking out between his lips.

‘Are you here for my blood?’ you ask.

It’s a joke you wouldn’t have been quick enough to make a month ago.

Jimin frowns at you. ‘Where’s your costume?’

You gesture to your leg. ‘I’m the Tin Man,’ you tell him.

‘You are pretty heartless,’ Jimin agrees.

You snort. ‘You’re a nurse, aren’t you supposed to be caring?’

Jimin says, ‘I do care. There’s going to be fireworks later, I got permission to take you to the park if you want.’

You can’t believe your ears. ‘The park? As in, out of the hospital? Do you mean the car park?’

Jimin smiles. ‘I mean the park next to the hospital. An actual park.’

‘When?’ you ask, guarded, not letting yourself get excited, worried he’s going to tell you it’s a joke.

‘I clock off at eight, I’ll take you then.’

You know how hard he works, you’ve been on this ward for months and you think he’s been here almost as much as you have. And you literally live here.

You want to ask why he’d spend his precious time off with you but god help you, you want to go to the park more.

You haven’t been off hospital grounds since you were admitted, a mangled mess of broken bone and blood.

Jimin’s looking at you. ‘If you don’t want to —-‘

‘I want to!’ you say, so quickly you startle both of you.

He’s still eyeing you carefully, so you say, ‘I just feel bad taking up your time off.’

‘It won’t be long. I don’t live far from the hospital anyway,’ Jimin says. 

He smiles, and he looks so kind you feel like crying. ‘So are we going?’

‘Yes,’ you tell him. ‘Yes I’d love to.’

***

You feel an unfamiliar fluttering of butterflies in your stomach as you wait by the entrance to your ward for Jimin to finish handing over his patients.

Jimin hurries up to you. He looks a little tired, but he smiles kindly at you. ‘Ready?’

He’s dressed in his street clothes, a plain t-shirt, a hoodie and jeans, and you catch yourself thinking how pretty he looks, even in casual clothes, tired after a long shift.

Shit.

Do you have a crush on him?

At least you don’t have to think about him having a crush on you, you think ruefully. All he’s seen of you are your dumb jokes which you can’t even blame on your brain injury, your hideously scarred leg and your terrible post neurosurgery haircut.

You think you’re good.

Jimin takes the handles of your wheelchair as you leave out the main entrance of the hospital.

‘Thanks for taking me out on your own time,’ you say, wishing you could see his face.

‘It’s not a problem at all,’ Jimin tells you. ‘Like I said, I live close.’

You feel lighter the further you get from the hospital, the fluttering in your stomach getting stronger. 

Is this what happiness feels like? Excitement? 

Jimin parks you by the side of the lake.

‘I’ve got some time off after this, anyway,’ he says.

‘Yeah? Going skiing?’

Jimin looks at you, bemused.

‘Sorry,’ you say, apologetic. 

Your injuries are from a skiing accident. At least that’s what you were told. You sure as hell can’t remember it.

You want to say something else, but you’re distracted by the sudden eruption of fireworks, over the lake. 

A starburst of metals burning in the sky.

You don’t realise you’re laughing until you notice the way Jimin’s looking at you.

His face gleams red and orange in the light reflected off the lake. 

He’s beautiful.

You stop, self-conscious. 

‘Don’t,’ Jimin says. ‘Don’t hide it on account of me, you look so happy.’

A shower of purple falls gently, and it’s so pretty you could cry.

You could keep watching forever.

‘I haven’t seen your fiance in a while,’ remarks Jimin.

Distracted, you say, ‘we broke up.’

Jimin looks at you sharply, you feel the need to explain.

‘He said he couldn’t do it anymore,’ you tell him. You shrug. ‘It’s ok. I know I’m different to how I was before.’

Jimin says, casual, ‘What a dick move.’

You’re startled into a laugh. ‘Isn’t it? But I don’t have any feelings for him either, not now anyway. It would have been a farce.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jimin says. ‘If you’re committed in health ——‘

‘I don’t know how committed we were,’ you say quietly. ‘I can’t remember a damn thing about us.’

You’re both quiet for a moment.

You ask, to break the silence, ‘what are you doing with your time off?’

‘I’m going travelling,’ Jimin says. He looks at you sideways. ‘I’m going to Tuscany with friends.’

You’re excited for him. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Tuscany,’ you say. ‘You’ll have to show me pictures when you get back.’

Jimin smiles. ‘Of course. But at the rate you’re healing you might not even be on the ward when I get back.’

You hadn’t even considered this. 

‘I’ll be gone three weeks,’ Jimin says, gently. 

‘Well, send me a postcard,’ you say, laughingly. ‘You know where I live.’

‘Deal,’ Jimin says, offering his hand. You shake, as the lights rain down around you, burning bright in the dark.

***

You’re struggling at physical therapy today, more so than usual. Your breathing’s heavier, and it feels like you’re fighting through mud. 

Your physical therapist, Mara, finally stops you, just as you’re about to ask for a break.

‘Are you feeling ok?’ she asks, concerned. 

‘I’m fine,’ you grit out. ‘I can do more.’

‘I think we should stop.’

You just have enough consciousness left to hear her calling for help as your vision goes dark.

The padded mat is cool under your cheek.

You hear rapid footsteps, voices, and then, nothing at all.

***

You lose two and a half days before they allow you to wake. 

First and most pressing, the tube in your throat that it hurts to swallow around, pushing air into your lungs. Breathing for you. 

The line in your neck, the stitches holding it in that itch, madly. 

You would scratch it but your hand’s tethered with the weight of a probe on your finger, another line in the back of it. 

The tube in your nose, hooked up to a pump. 

The catheter between your legs, attached to a bag hooked carelessly on the side of the bed. 

You’re in intensive care. 

When your breathing tube comes out, a cough and a splutter, you ask what happened. 

It turns out you had a wound infection that made you septic. You’d collapsed after a physical therapy session. 

If you hadn’t already lost half your life to the skiing accident, you’d mourn the loss of the last few days. As it is, all you can do is what you’ve been doing. 

Try to move on. 

Your muscles, painstakingly built up through months of physical therapy, have weakened even though you’ve only been asleep for two days and change. 

Breathing becomes an exercise in endurance that you’ll never take for granted again. 

The lines come out, one by one, and then, at the end of your first week, you’re finally line free, untethered again. 

Just your battered body for company. 

Sohee, the older nurse with gentle hands, coaxes you through your bad days. 

You think of Jimin, more than once, sunstreaked and golden in the fields of Tuscany. 

You hope that wherever he is, he’s having the time of his life. 

Your family, initially terrified by your deterioration, are now talking about where you’ll live when you get discharged. 

Trying to help you get over the setback from your sepsis. 

You’re trying not to let your discomfort show on your face as Matsu tries for the third time to draw blood from your abused veins. 

He buries the needle, deep, and you bite your lip at the throbbing that results. 

The door opens, and you look up, grateful for the distraction. 

It’s Jimin. 

He’s tanned, and glowing with good health, and he stands out like an angel in these four walls that have been your home for months.  

‘Jimin!’ you say, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. 

‘Y/N,’ he says, with such warmth there’s a glow in your chest. 

You flinch as Matsu moves the needle in your arm, and Jimin’s face darkens. 

‘Hey, Matsu, I can take over.’ 

The tone of his voice brooks no argument. 

Matsu nods, and Jimin takes his tray from his as he leaves. 

‘I had a little jaunt to the ICU whilst you were gone,’ you say, lightly. ‘It’s not as nice as Tuscany, but it was a change of scenery at least.’ 

Jimin smiles. ‘I heard. I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece.’ 

His hand is warm on your arm as he prepares to draw blood. 

‘They did a number on my veins,’ you say. 

Jimin hums. ‘I know,’ he tells you. He’s gentle, thumb pressing on your skin as he searches for a vein. 

‘There goes my life of being a junkie,’ you say dramatically. ‘I wouldn’t be able to find a place to shoot up.’ 

Jimin says. ‘Tuscany was lovely. You should go someday.’ 

‘Yeah?’ you ask, interested. ‘Tell me more. Where did you stay? What did you do?’ 

You feel the prick as Jimin draws blood, and he says, quietly. ‘I’m in, you can relax, ok? I’ll be done in a minute.’ 

You close your eyes as Jimin tells you about the vineyard where he and his friends stayed. His voice is low, melodic, and he distracts you so well you barely realise when he’s done. 

He places a plaster on your hand, thumb smoothing the edges. 

His touch calms you in a way you haven’t felt in weeks. 

You turn to him. ‘Thanks Jimin.’ 

‘I’ve been doing this for years,’ he says. 

‘Not just for this,’ you say, gesturing to the plaster. ‘Thanks for the company.’ 

‘Apparently you like it so much you got septic so you’d still be here when I got back,’ Jimin says, grinning at you, easy. 

You laugh. ‘One day, when I get out of here, I’m going to make you breakfast, and the best coffee you’ve ever had.’ 

Jimin snorts. ‘Can you even cook?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ you admit. 

You both laugh. 

‘Well, I look forward to it anyway,’ Jimin says. He gets up, holding up the vial he’s just drawn from you. ‘I should get this labelled up and sent off.’ 

You’re still smiling long after he’s left the room. 

***

It’s Christmas day. 

Your family are visiting, they’ve even brought in turkey, your favourite roast potatoes which you used to love, and you haven’t had such a good day in a long time. 

You’re still in your Christmas pyjamas, looking out the window after they left, when there’s a knock on your door. 

Jimin steps in, slightly bemused at the collection of food and presents you’ve been bequeathed. 

‘I know you don’t know who you were before, but you’re very loved,’ he observes. 

You’re oddly touched. 

‘They left me a tonne of food, have you eaten?’ you ask. 

Jimin smiles. ‘I’ve been eating all day, all the staff working today have brought in things for Christmas lunch.’ 

He pauses. ‘And dinner.’ 

He laughs. ‘We’re all set until the end of the year, I think.’ 

‘Dessert?’ you offer. ‘It’s my mum’s sticky toffee pudding, I won’t be able to finish it.’ 

Jimin considers the container you show him. ‘I can heat it up and we can share it?’ 

‘Deal.’ 

Jimin disappears with your container and comes back with two bowls and two spoons. 

You eye the tiny gummy snowman candy he’s placed on top of your helping. 

Jimin sees your expression, laughs. ‘They’re good. Sohee gave me a whole bag of them.’ 

He perches next to your window, and you eat in silence. 

‘There’s a big tree in the main hospital, do you want to go and visit it after this?’ Jimin asks. 

You nod. ‘Also, I got you a present.’ 

You rummage in your pile of presents for the gold box your sister helped you get. 

Jimin accepts, looking shyly at you. ‘You shouldn’t have got me anything,’ he says. 

‘Don’t worry, I don’t expect special treatment,’ you tease. ‘I know you save the best treats for Mrs Kim in room 12 anyway.’ 

Jimin laughs. ‘May I?’ 

He unwraps the box, and a moment later is staring at the gold Christmas bauble ensconced in delicate tissue paper.

He runs his thumb over the design etched in the glass. ‘The tree of love,’ he says. 

You smile. ‘When you came back after your holiday, you looked so happy and recharged, and I thought this would remind you of it.’ 

Jimin smiles back at you so bright and pretty he’s blinding. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’ 

He puts it carefully back in the box. ‘The tree I was going to show you isn’t as beautiful as this, but shall we go now, anyway?’ 

‘Sure.’

You grab your crutches. 

‘I can get a wheelchair if you want –’ Jimin offers. 

‘It’s my Christmas present to myself,’ you tell him. ‘I’m not going to use a wheelchair again.’ 

Jimin looks at you for a long moment. 

When he opens his mouth, his words aren’t what you expected. 

‘I guess I could carry you, if the worst happened,’ he says lightly.

You roll your eyes. ‘Lead the way, Park, I’m fine on my crutches.’ 

Two lifts and a walk across the link corridor later, you find yourself standing in front of the giant Douglas fir in the front foyer of the hospital. 

It’s huge, at least 20 feet tall, and covered in blues and silvers. 

You sigh. ‘It smells so good.’ 

You catch Jimin looking at you. 

‘It reminded me of you when I saw it,’ he says. 

‘Does it also have a bad leg?’ you ask, teasing. 

‘I used to go hiking with my family, every weekend,’ Jimin tells you. He’s looking up, away from you, at the star on the top of the tree. ‘This tree reminds me of that.’ 

He turns to you. ‘My dad used to do a bit of woodworking, and his favourite type of wood was Douglas fir. You can paint it easily so it can be any colour you want, and at its core it’s light and strong. Look after it, and it lasts a lifetime.’ 

You’re trying to think about how this relates to you when Jimin says, ‘You’re rebuilding your life, painting yourself different, but you’re the same person at your core. You’re one of the strongest people I know.’ 

You don’t realise you’re crying until he reaches out, gently, to wipe your cheek. 

‘Do you believe in fate?’ Jimin asks. 

‘I don’t know what I believe in now,’ you say, honestly. 

‘I never did,’ Jimin says. ‘I wanted to leave nursing for a long time. I actually put in my notice last year.’ 

You’re surprised to hear it. From what you’ve seen, Jimin loves his job. He’s damned good at it. 

‘I was on one of my last shifts when you were brought in,’ Jimin says. He’s looking at you now, an expression on his face that makes your heart skip several beats. 

‘Seeing you pick up the pieces after you had something so devastating happen to you —-’ he breaks off, throat working as he swallows. 

‘It made me realise how much I love my job,’ he says. ‘I think I was meant to do this. I’m good at it.’ 

‘You’re great at it,’ you say, earnest. 

Jimin reaches out and puts his hand over where yours is braced over your crutch. 

‘Here’s to next Christmas, when all this is behind you,’ he says. 

You don’t know what to say, so you grasp his hand. ‘Merry Christmas, Jimin.’ 

‘Merry Christmas, Y/N.’ 

You stand there, hand in hand, admiring the sparkly tree, enjoying the relative lull in activity in the normally crowded hospital foyer this Christmas night, until your legs start to give out, and then Jimin walks you back to your room. 

***

You’re in your room, just back from physical therapy, when Sohee walks in. ‘We need your help,’ she says, brisk. 

You look up, curious. 

‘It’s Jimin’s birthday, and the tradition here is that if you work here and it’s your birthday, you get slimed.’ 

You’re incredulous. You can’t imagine anyone would ever dare to slime Sohee, with her perfectly starched uniforms and her stern demeanor. 

‘Park manages to evade us every year, but this year, he has a weakness,’ Sohee continues. 

She looks right at you. ‘You.’ 

You splutter. ‘Me? How am I Jimin’s weakness?’ 

‘He likes you,’ Sohee says, matter of fact. ‘He’d never act on it, not whilst you’re in his care, but he likes you, and this year, Park Jimin’s going to get what’s coming to him.’ 

‘What’s in it for me?’ you ask, nonchalant. 

‘I’ll get the catering staff to give you an extra helping on Sunday roast day,’ says Sohee, like she’d been expecting you to ask exactly that.

‘I don’t want to hurt Jimin,’ you say. 

Sohee rolls her eyes. ‘No one wants to hurt Jimin. But he’s the quickest out of all of us, and he’s slimed us all over the years, and no one can catch him.’ 

‘Come on,’ Sohee wheedles. ‘You’ll be discharged next week anyway.’ 

You sigh. ‘What do I have to do?’ 

***

You shift nervously in your chair as you wait for Jimin to respond to the call bell Sohee activated before she left. 

He knocks on your door and enters, a smile already on his face. ‘Are you ok, Y/N?’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ you start. 

Jimin’s two steps away when the door bursts open, and Sohee, Matsu and the other nurse, Alice, rush in. 

Jimin looks at them, then you, and steps in front of you quickly. ‘Ok, ok, you can slime me,’ he says, hands out. ‘Just don’t get anything on Y/N.’ 

Jimin stands perfectly still as Sohee and Matsu unceremoniously dump buckets of green and purple slime over his head. 

You don’t miss how the slime makes his scrubs top mould to his torso. 

Jimin turns, slips, and you reach out to stop him from falling. 

You lose your balance and Jimin, trying to stop you from falling, slides to put his body under yours as you end up in a heap on the floor. 

Jimin’s looking at you, concern in his eyes. ‘Are you ok?’ 

He looks so ridiculous, covered in green and purple slime, that you can’t help but laugh. 

A moment later, he’s laughing too. 

‘I’m sorry,’ you tell him. 

He’s still smiling. ‘I can’t believe you helped them,’ he complains. He shifts a little, and suddenly you’re very aware of the hardness of his torso under you, how his thighs strain against his scrubs bottoms. 

‘I’ll leave you kids to clean up,’ Sohee says, not unkindly, ushering Matsu and Alice out of your room. ‘Happy birthday Jiminie!’ 

Jimin helps you get up. ‘Be careful, it’s slippery,’ he says, holding your arm. 

You’ve never been this close to him before. 

He wipes his hand on his thigh, then brushes a streak of slime off your cheek. ‘I’ll get cleaned up, then I’ll come back and clean the room, ok? Can you get cleaned up on your own?’ 

You nod. His hand is still against your cheek. 

You’re thinking about what Sohee said about Jimin liking you. Is she right? 

Jimin pulls his hand away, and you mourn the loss of his warmth. 

‘See you in a bit,’ he tells you. 

***

You take one last look back at the room you’ve spent the last few months in whilst you’ve been recovering from your injury. 

You came in, in pieces, and now you’re walking out, changed in ways you can’t even fathom. 

Your dad and mum are in the car with your things, you’ll be staying with them for a while until you learn to live independently again. 

You’ve said your thank you’s and goodbyes. To Sohee, who made good on her promise to get the catering staff to give you extra roast potatoes on Sunday. To Matsu, who you’ve seen grow in compassion since the initial days when he wouldn’t give you pain meds. To Mrs Kim who was constantly saying how much you reminded her of her daughter. 

To Jimin, who dropped by after his shift yesterday and gave you his number. He’d told you to call him and it’d seemed like he meant it. 

You close the door behind you and see Jimin, rushing down the corridor. 

‘I was worried I’d missed you,’ he says. 

‘You’re not even at work today,’ you remind him. 

‘I live close. Besides, I couldn’t not say goodbye on your last day.’ 

Jimin smiles. ‘Ready to face the big bad world again?’ 

You smile back. ‘All my monsters are in there,’ you say, gesturing to the empty room behind you. 

‘We should meet up,’ Jimin says. ‘You owe me a breakfast and the best coffee I’ve ever had.’ 

‘We can meet up,’ you say. ‘Anywhere but here.’ 

You reach out, and enclose him in a hug. 

‘I’ll see you soon, ok?’ 

He holds you a moment longer, then lets go. 

‘Yeah.’ 

You walk down to the ward doors, press the button to let yourself out. 

You give Jimin one last wave, and then, you’re out. 

***

You’re watching TV with your parents after dinner, when the news comes on. 

‘Hey, that’s your hospital,’ you dad says. 

You watch, interest piqued as the newscaster reports on upcoming nursing strikes. 

‘They should strike,’ you say. ‘They’re underpaid and underappreciated.’ 

Later, in your room, you’re looking at the number Jimin saved on your phone. 

It’s been two weeks since you left the hospital, and you’ve not got in touch with him. 

It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him, but you’re worried about what things will be like, now that you’re out of the hospital. 

You think of the news report you saw, and you make a decision. 

***

It’s the first time you’ve really been out since you left the hospital. You’ve been with your mum to the store, round the corner to the park, but you haven’t made any longer trips than that. 

Your leg’s completely healed, you don’t even need crutches anymore, but some days there’s still an ache deep in your bones. 

You get headaches but they’re nowhere near as bad as they were. 

You hear the chanting, the sound of a hundred conversations, as you walk over to where there’s a crowd gathered, picketing in support of the nursing strike. 

Every face is unfamiliar, and you’re starting to wonder if it was wise to come and support the strikes when you see him. 

He’s dressed casually like the other times you’ve seen him in off-duty clothes, his hair styled back, holding a placard that says, ‘Safe staffing saves lives’. 

Like he senses your eyes on him, he turns, and your eyes meet. 

In an instant, he’s making his way through the crowd, to you. 

He stops a step in front of you. 

‘Is it really you?’ he asks. 

You smile.

Jimin wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as a group of people push past. 

‘What are you doing here?’ he scolds. ‘You shouldn’t be in a crowd like this —’ 

You put your hand against his cheek, and he stills. 

He moves his head, closer, so close your lips touch. 

You’ve wanted this for so long, and this new version of you takes what she wants. 

You kiss. 

Jimin makes a soft noise, deep in his throat, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head as your lips meet again. 

By the time you come up for air, you feel flushed, giddy, your heart pounding a million miles a minute in your chest. 

Jimin presses another soft kiss on your cheek before he pulls away. 

‘I’m so glad you came,’ he says. 

***

Jimin’s shucking his shirt over his head in the quiet of his bedroom, only the moonlight to show you the beauty of his form. 

He gathers you back into his arms like he couldn’t stand even that short time apart without touching you. You don’t think he’s stopped touching you at all since you met him at the picket line. 

You’re not complaining. 

Jimin pulls you closer so your lips meet again. His lips are soft, full, pressing against yours firmly. 

He doesn’t shy away, so you don’t either. 

He tugs your top over your head, litters your breasts with kisses, tugs the cups of your bra down so he can get better access. 

He laves your nipples with his tongue, like he enjoys the sounds you make as he sucks on your flesh. 

You can feel his hardness against your centre as he strokes his tongue and hands over your skin. 

You reach down to touch him, and Jimin grunts as you curl your fingers around his cock.

‘We don’t have to—’ 

‘I want it,’ you tell him, lips against his skin, hand on his ass. 

‘I want to give it to you,’ Jimin groans. ‘Fuck, are you sure?’ 

You’ve never been surer of anything in your life. 

Jimin rolls a condom onto himself, hissing a little. He positions himself above you, and you move to make room for him between your thighs. 

He nudges in a little, gentle as he’s always been with you, and the stretch is so good you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips. 

Jimin presses his face to yours. ‘Tell me to stop if —’

‘Don’t stop,’ you say. ‘Don’t you dare stop.’ 

Jimin seals his lips to yours as he drives the rest of himself into you. He stops when he’s all the way in, stills. 

He lifts his head to look at your face. ‘Are you – is this ok?’ 

You smile, breathlessly. ‘Can’t you tell, Jimin?’ 

Jimin groans as you clench around him. 

‘You’re so wet. Fuck —’ 

He moves, and your eyes close with the pleasure of it. 

‘Fuck, Jimin —’ 

He moves again, and you cry out as he rocks his hips against yours. 

It’s overwhelming, the weight of him against you, the way his skin gleams with sweat in the moonlight, the soft whines he makes on every thrust. The feel of him inside you. 

It’s his voice that eventually tips you over the edge. ‘You’re so pretty,’ he vows against your ear. ‘I can’t believe you’re here —’ 

You cry his name as you come, and he keeps going, seeking his own release now, gentle even when he’s taut with need. 

He kisses you again, grinds hard, deep, and then he’s holding you like he doesn’t want to ever let you go. 

***

You can hear Jimin moving in his bedroom, and sure enough, he emerges, shirtless, hair mussed from your fingers through it. 

You admire the beautiful lines of his cut torso as he walks towards you. 

‘Who knew you were packing all this under those blue scrubs?’ you ask, teasing. 

Jimin smiles, pulls you into a hug. ‘What are you doing in my kitchen?’ 

‘Making you breakfast,’ you tell him. ‘A promise is a promise.’ 

Jimin leans down to kiss your neck, and you shiver at the touch of his lips. 

‘Later,’ he tells you. ‘I’ll make us breakfast later. Come back to bed.’ 

He grasps your hand, and you follow him back to his bedroom. 

You have no idea where this is going, but you figure this is a hell of a good start to the rest of your life. 

©hamsterclaw 2023

somno w/ nagi 😞😞💔 he’s so spent and exhausted after the longest day of practice, but his body betrays itself as soon as you press back against his tall frame. he ruts into you, breathy in your ear and hard in his boxers, and it doesn’t take him long at all, not when you feel so warm and inviting and soft. but it’s alright, he can be motivated by the right things after all — and best believe the way you whimper for him so sweetly does it for him. fully awake now, he will make sure to take proper care of you, just like you always do to him, even when half asleep still :(

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— late night lovin' + seishiro nagi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — nagi loves the way you look in his bed late night after practice. but he loves the way you crave him in your sleep even more.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, heavy smut, established relationship, somnophilia, dry humping, cockwarming, creampies, unprotected!sex, soft dom + pro player!nagi  not beta read ! - fem!reader.

⭑ words — 2.5K.

⭑ notes — thank u for indulging my brain rot, truly love him sm !! also first time writng him pls be kind and im sorry this took so long shbs! - m.list✩

seishiro nagi hates when practice runs late.

exhaustion settles into his bones far too quick for his liking, listening to feedback from ego and the others feels like a bore and he can hardly feel bothered to grab something to eat with the team on the way home. he just about manages to shower at the stadium before making it back and by the time he does— you’re there, in his bed like he wants you to be.

seishiro nagi loves to see you sprawled across his sheets after practice.

he’d given you a key to his place after deciding it was too much of a hassle for you to drive over after his training or for him to come pick you up — it was easier if you could make yourself at home. nagi forgoes turning on the lights as he enters the master bedroom, dropping his duffle bag at the entryway after noticing that you’d fallen asleep. probably while you were waiting for him.

you’re so pretty like this, peaceful, curled up amongst seishiro’s expensive cotton linens and duvet. adorable, wearing one of his older team jerseys – the tops of your perfect pudgy thighs just peeking out from under its material.

slipping into bed behind you is easy for seishiro nagi.

the white-haired striker strips off his gear layer by layer and crawls under the blankets to join you, his bare chest snug against your back and an arm slung over your waist lazily.

your response to his closeness is almost instantaneous, pressing yourself back against nagi and finding comfort in his presence behind you despite not being able to see him in the dark. “sei—“ you whimper, soft and needy, the tendrils of sleep still clinging onto you. so cute. nagi thinks you’re so fucking cute. searching for his warmth like this. even while you rest. 

you like how he smells, he remembers. that’s why you lean into him like he’s a safety net. why he showers using a body wash with a scent so delicate it could almost be fabric softener and why you wear his clothes whenever you have the chance. the smell of cedarwood and seishiro nagi is comforting to you, especially when he’s away.

not that he minds, not that it necessarily bothers the striker. he likes it, loves to see you bare the very symbol of his passion. the one thing he loves aside from you – soccer.

you visibly relax when he wraps another strong arm around your shoulders and squeezes you close, making you feel small and safe. your pout loses itself in the sleepy babbles that lay on on your lips and crease between your brows fades too. 

“sei…?”

“shhh, angel. s’just me,” nagi coos quietly, tucking his face into the back of your neck with his lashes fluttering against it. he just wants to sleep, fall away from the world with you but his body betrays him, annoyingly so. you’re too soft, too warm, to precious for nagi to resist and it’s a little bothersome that he can’t help it.

he’s hard before he even knows it, the heavy outline of his dick pressed against your pert ass– your body pulsing to life back into your boyfriend’s grip to get comfortable once more. he’s exhausted too but maybe it would help to fall asleep like this– if he wore himself down by grinding into you, dragging his hips back and forth, slow and steady so his erection slides through your cheeks from behind.

seishiro’s breathing gets a little heavier, hot and ragged against your bare skin, his grip on you tighter and his cock weighty and wet behind the fabric of his boxers. over the blood pumping through his ears, as full of adrenaline as it would be on the pitch, he hears you whimper out for him – a sound so sweet that he can’t ignore it.

you’ve always had some kind of hold over nagi, one that he can’t ignore. one that pushes him past his limits. the right thing is always able to motivate him, and the way you mewl out for him in your sleep, your body following his lead in a soft, sensual bump and grind is exactly the kind of thing that drives him forward.

you make things a little easier for him, you always do, stretching a leg forward so nagi has better access to the treasure between your thighs. his reward for working so hard today. “ngh…s-sei…” you mumble again, back arching into his chest on its own accord when he pulls his chubby cock out, smearing his arousal along your backside and right over the crotch of your panties.

“keep quiet pretty girl,” the white haired player whispers, as if there’s anyone around to hear you both. maye its that selfishness that’s been instilled in him, the ego, per say but he wants to keep you to himself. “i’ll take care of it from here, ‘kay?”

every ounce of you, every sound you make, every twitch and shift of your body to keep up with his. it’s his to keep. you’re his to keep.

and seishiro nagi loves that.

“uh-huh,” you’re awake now but just barely, parting your thighs to make room for your boyfriend while he grinds into the heat of your core with the same energy you’d expect from a dog in rut. “y’so big sei…” you gasp like you’ve taken a bullet to the heart when nagi’s seedy tip brushes so deliciously against your clothes and swollen clit – his movements precise yet lax, his breath behind you hot, ragged yet soft as it coasts over your skin. 

“mm, you can take it…”

“m-more, need more. s-sei—!”     

“said to keep quiet, angel.” nagi grunts while his fingers dance up to tap at your lips. “gimme your mouth. c’mere.” you part them like a good girl, dazed as you follow nagi’s needy command and let him slide two digits against your tongue, keeping your mouth pacified and full. it would be enough to put you back to sleep if you wanted.

you’re so good even when you’re barely conscious, sucking on nagi’s fingers and letting him have his way with you. he’s getting annoyed, not with you. never with you. there’s just too many obstacles in his way, too much interfering with reaching his goal and making you feel good. 

too many layers of clothes, too many blankes and it’s really starting to piss him off. 

“lift your leg, ‘m gonna get these clothes out of the way. what a bother.” seishiro pants wetly into the junction between your neck and shoulder. he works a hand between your bodies, not stopping the lazy roll of his hips from behind, and kicks off the blanket. his sweats are to follow, then your shirt is pulled up enough for his large palm to settle on your tummy, just above the hem of your underwear.

nagi lets out a satisfied hum once your panties are off. you’re so wet for someone so tired but pride bristles in his chest– knowing that only he can get you sticky and soaked like this even when you’re tiptoeing the line between sleeping and being awake. 

he wastes no more time, running the length of his creamy cock through the slickness of your puffy folds before easing himself past your fluttering entrance – taking him so well and so easily. he stills for a moment, a shudder shooting down his spine because nagi can never quite get used to having your warmth wrapped around him while your cute little cunt drools down his dick.

seishiro plants wet, open mouthed kisses across your shoulders and neck, hooking his arm under your leg before he starts to move– revelling in your squeals of pleasure that echo around his fingers. “‘mph…angel, so…t-tight,” the words are stuttered, but drawn out in a low and sexy tone that makes you clench down hard. just catching on nagi’s cockhead each time it pulls out of you.”s’not fair. you’re not…fuck, you’re not fair t’me angel.”

even though he’s set the pace, slothully fucking up into your gooey insides, balls tapping lightly at the curve of your ass– you still have an ungodly amount of control over nagi, making his large body curl over yours and reducing him to a sex-crazed mess, a mop of sweaty white hair and muffled moans. 

he chases your soaked, salacious pussy impulsively, hips twitching up to meet the back and forth of your own– bearing down on the spongy spot inside of you that makes you go wild.

the world around you both grows hotter and hotter, nagi practically drooling against your back while his fingertips on his freehand sink into your fleshy thighs to leave their mark— tugging you back onto his dick every time he pulls out, only to sink back in. “feels good. so warm. keep me inside, pretty girl,” he tells in a dreamy sigh, you and through the fog of your sleep, squeezing around the thickness at nagi’s base where he stretches you open. 

your boyfriend rewards you with the same treatment, giving you more of what you crave and buries himself up to the hilt— deep within your velvet walls, smearing precum along your most sensitive spots. you gargle around his fingers, happy but drowsy and force yourself to circle your ass back onto nagi’s cock so that you lose your minds together.

lust sparks between your sweat drenched bodies in the dead of night, accompanied by the symphony of wet slaps and sticky skin on skin. it’s intoxicating how your cunt squelches with every thrust and languid jut from his slender hips. nagi is lazy and loving, desperate and hungry for the prize of your pleasure.  

“sei. w’na cum,” you bleat, needier and more aroused than before when he finally pulls his digits from your drooling mouth. the white haired striker streaks your viscous salvia across your chin and down the front of your body until he hits the pulsing nub between your ruined pussy lips.

his eyelashes flutter right behind your ear, the striker’s low moans echoing into them and sending dopamine in a hot rush across your sleepy brain. arousing it. “so soon? just a little longer…s-shit… ‘m not there yet.”

truth be told, it wouldn’t take much more for nagi to cum— there’s too much going on that overwhelms him. the glisten of his cock as it escapes the snugness of your sloppy sex, the way you cry out for him, the mental image of your face that he can’t see. how your expression is probably twisted into something so delirious with ecstasy.

he could cream your insides right now, fill you up until it’s leaking out of you, staining your thighs and the sweater of his that you wear…but instead he pulls back the hood of your clit— circling the rough pad of his thumb into the sensitive little bud just to draw it out. make the night last longer. 

“o-oh fuck! sei!” your voice is broken and husky, making his skin flush and his dick throb within the embrace of your sluice and addictive walls. you’re barely awake and you’ve got the white- haired soccer player fucked out beyond comprehension. “f-faster.” 

“nuh-uh, wait f’me angel. please.” if you beg for him any more, especially with that tone, he might burst. give you his load before he’s done toying with you, spreading the filthy mix of your arousals over your clit in the shape of his name— with the hopes of bringing you closer to your high. “wan’ you creamin’ on me first. gotta hold it, pretty girl. you can do that f’me, right? f-fuck…” he rambles into the dark. 

there’s a burn to backs of your thighs where nagi’s sweatpants have rubbed you raw while he fucks you raw— his shaft and it’s pretty blue veins coated in a white froth from your tight little hole. but you don’t care, you’re too brainless to even think about caring— babbling your praises, blindly reaching behind you for the dip in your boyfriend’s hips to pull him forward, use it as leverage to fuck you deeper like you want. 

so you’re groping at him and he’s groping at you, lost in the twilight zone—fucking languidly against the sheets. the circles on your clit become rougher, tighter just like you do around seishiro who moans loud and proud against your ear, tongue sliding along the skin behind it. 

it’s all open mouthed mewls and wondering hands, fat droplets of arousal running down your thighs and precum against your weeping slit. you’re both messes, passionate and tired and hungry for what you can take from one another. nagi’s moans grow higher and higher in octave until they nearly rival your own and the way he so ravenously pounds into you starts to falter.

“sei, ‘m there…t-there!” you warn him through shaky breaths, the coil in your stomach that threatens to unwind setting you on high alert.  you feel your impending orgasm burn at your pelvis, tickle your spine and it only spurs nagi on— rolling his hips just right, cantering into you from behind with his balls soaked in your juices. 

“yeah, yeah…yeah…i know. ‘m g’na cum for you mhm… angel. d’ya want it? s-say you wan’ it.” whines as if you’ll say no to him but doesn’t give you the choice. his large, lean body anchors you down on his cock as it bullies it’s way through your blistering hot walls to grind against that one special spot that makes you see stars. seishiro doesn’t let up, how can he? when you claw at his ass and his waist and beg him to go deeper. 

your orgasm breaks the surface first, waves of your sweet nectar gushing from your slick sex so fast it almost forces nagi out of you. you squeal and he chokes on a staggered breath, every ripple of your cunt dragging him by the ankle towards his own high as he fucks you through your own. nagi’s load pours into your ravaged cunt as if the floodgates had been opened— warm and viscous as it seeps from your puffy folds, painting you in the shade of him. 

fatigue sinks it’s fangs into seishiro as he grinds the last of his seed into you, making sure it sticks— shallowly thrusting into you until you both come back down to earth. he loosens hold on you, but only just, the weight of his large frame thrown over you as you catch your breath together. 

“w-welcome home sei,” you hum, rolling over to face him, smiling as your boyfriend loses the fight to sleep before reaching up to twirl your fingers through his baby hairs. a gesture that always helps him sleep faster, that you always reward him with at the end of a long day. “missed you.” 

“thanks angel, don’ go missin’ me when ‘m right here.” nagi grumbles, clinging onto you, exhausted— if he weren’t wrecking your shit mere moments ago. “now shh, c’mere sleep ‘n with me.” with that, you’re wrapped in his arms, safe and peaceful once again. 

and there’s nothing seishiro nagi loves more.

I'm not sure if it's okay, but can I request a second part for this precious Douma post you fed us with please ?

If you don't do second part to your post, no problem, anything for him will calm my hunger 🥲

Here it is, the heavily requested part 2 of this piece. Hope you enjoy it!

Barely a week has passed ever since the horrific encounter with Lord Douma.

You recalled someone saying that the stench of death is permanent, that it is something you can never forget once you get a whiff of it.

The smell of rot and decay haunted you both day and night. Sleep became a scarce luxury as you would lay awake in the dead of night, wondering just what other poor soul was Lord Douma going to devour next. It all clicked once you put two and two together, of course he was a demon. His strange reactions, twisted attitude and carefree smiles were nothing but a mask to cover up his true, carnivorous nature. Douma clearly had a preference for women for his meals as you noticed that most of the people who ran amok were women.

Were you next?

Despite him not turning around and even outright saying that he wasn't going to do anything, you simply did not trust him. Why should you? He was a demon, a very clever one at that, clearly. He managed to trick hundreds of people into blindly following him and submitting to his every single little whim. All he needed to do was just say the word and the entire community would execute you without a question - Lord Douma's word was absolute.

You didn't even want to think about the other much more grizzly possibility if he wanted a more hands on approach.

Due to the encounter that you had unfortunately witnessed, your work had started to hinder. You became sloppy and shaky, you couldn't even perform the most basics of tasks. Someone else was always forced to step in for you and others voiced their concern for you.

"Why aren't you with Lord Douma? You always pour his afternoon tea!"

"I thought Lord Douma wanted you close by for the ceremony?"

Many similar statements would ring in your ears on a daily basis that it made you want to bang your head against a wall a pull out every single little strand of hair. Just how blind and stupid were there people?! There was no way that you were the only one who knew what was really going on behind closed doors. To make your living nightmare even worse than it really was, on one fine and sunny morning one little boy came up to you. With a cheerful smile on his face he said:

"Lord Douma wishes to speak with you! Please meet him in his chambers as soon as possible!"

Each step that you took felt more and more agonizing then it should have been. You felt like someone had placed a giant pile of rocks on your chest and chained them there. What were you to do, oh God, what were you supposed to do? Do you play dumb or should you come clean? If you told him the truth he might appreciate your honesty and let you off the hook -

...That was nothing but wishful thinking. There was no point in trying to make sense of a demon.

You arrive to his chambers, the doors closed shut. With a heavy heart you knock and a cheerful "Come in!~" is heard from the other side.

You don't dare look at Lord Douma directly in the eye. You lower your head in fear but do your best to make it look like a sign of respect. He sits on his makeshift throne, chin resting on one hand as the other urges you forward to sit in front of him. With your knees sinking to the ground you feel him reaching out towards you, his fingers were playing with stray strands of your hair.

You still did not raise your gaze.

"(y/n) dear, I haven't seen you in so long! I missed my favorite disciple so much! Why are you ignoring me?!"

Who would have thought that this whiney brat in front of you was a man eating demon? He sounded like a little boy, like he hadn't seen his favorite toy in a long time, which was partially true in a way. You grit your teeth and try thinking of something proper to say but Douma beats you to it.

"Do not ignore me."

Icy chills take over your entire being. Since... Since when did Lord Douma sound like that? You clenched the fabric your kimono, knuckles turning white due to the pressure. Suddenly, a sharp thug forced you to look upward and were met with a rainbow gaze.

"You aren't ignoring me, right, (y/n)?"

You can do nothing but gently shake your head. With his gaze glued to you it was impossible to breathe let alone speak. Feeling the pressure behind your skull lighten your shoulders slump forward as Lord Douma brings you closer and locks you in his embrace.

He knows.

He knows that you saw him. Why else would he summon you like this? Feeling helpless you could do nothing but wrap your arms around the cult leader, returning his hug in full.

Ignorance really was bliss.

You finally understood the beauty of it.

you open your new closet to see numerous short skirts/dresses/booty shorts/sheer tights/thigh highs and ask yan chrollo if he has a thing for thighs or something. he has the audacity to look you in the eye and claim he "hasn't the slightest clue what gave you that impression."

cc x·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ thinking about…reader trying to break up with yandere gojo  

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; dub con; lovesick gojo & he’s obsessive/toxic about it; he’s mean but yummy, okay?; size kink (ish?); gojo showing off his strength; sex without protection

notes: I had this written as an idea right after I wrote my hc’s for the jjk men in their yandere version. twylm readers, please forgive me for not posting the next chapter. I am working on it but I am really struggling - I had the worst burn out after the last chapter, and have been having a hard time trying to get back into the story >.< 

wc: 1,228

gojo plays with the hem of your skirt - the flat expression on his face telling you that he’s listening but appears unbothered by your statement. you can see the annoyance in his eyes, the irritation that you would say something so ridiculous in the middle of a make out session. 

his hands find the back of your thighs and with one swift motion he pulls you over his long legs so you’re hovering above his lap. the imbalance forces you to clutch onto his shirt with frustration, and he mindlessly reaches to undo his belt before tugging your underwear aside with his long, slender digits. 

“toru, are you listening to me?” you whisper in a small voice. 

Keep reading

“i don’t like it”, satoru growls.

he’s sitting next to you, legs crossed, the upper one bouncing nervously in sync with his finger tapping on his knee. the frown on his face is so serious and intense that you’re pretty sure if he relaxed his features a bit you could still see the line marks between his eyebrows from furrowing too hard.

“you don’t like what?”

“the way he looks at you”

“and how does he look at me?”

“dunno. . . like he owns you or something. it’s like the way i look at you. and i don’t like it”

the audacity, he thinks. to stare at you like that while he is sitting right next to you.

“satoru.. it’s just a cat”, you sigh and keep petting the little purring beastie on your lap.

Little Spider- The Princess and The Dragon

This is actually based off of a submission I got a while back that was told from the view point of Baby Spider.

Check it out here!

~~~~~~~~

Everything was quiet in the group of thieves after another job completed successfully. Most members were relaxing and doing their own thing, Shalnark playing with whatever new gadget he had stolen, Uvo taking a nap, Feitan sitting in silence. You were where you usually were; sitting on Chrollo’s lap while he rests against you and reads.

Your little one was six now and had developed quite the curiosity, and as a result, would ask the Spiders countless questions or respond to answers with ‘why’. Currently, Pakunoda was reading to them with a soft tone, going over some kind of fantasy fairy tale.

Truly, you appreciated Pakunoda, who had quite easily stepped up to be the primary nanny whenever you were busy. She would read aloud, teach, and just be an overall wonderful help to both you and your child. There had been a time when you once worried about what may happen if you were to leave your little one alone with any of the Spiders, but now they were crucial parts of your life.

Chrollo had become more jealous and possessive of your time over the years, which meant there were many times that you benefited from the presence of the Phantom Troupe. Where you didn’t always stay in a group, there were still at least two troupe members around at any given time. Mainly Pakunoda and Phinks were the ones who stayed near you and Chrollo outside of heists and jobs, making them the go-to people whenever you needed someone to look after your little one.

“Hey, Mama?”

“Yes, Baby?”

You looked over at your child, who was staring at you with the same intelligent and depthless eyes that Chrollo had. There was a vaguely puzzled expression on the child’s face, as if trying to solve some big problem or question.

“Where is your knight?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re a lot like the princess in a fairy tale, so where is your knight in shiny armor?”

You could tell that Chrollo was intently awaiting your response, having stayed on the same page far longer than he typically did in favor of listening to the conversation. It seemed- to you at least- every member of the troupe was listening for your response. They knew you were technically kidnapped by Chrollo and you knew it too, but your Baby Spider had no clue.

“Well… My knight is your father Chrollo.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Papa isn’t a knight.”

“Oh… What is he then?”

You couldn’t help the nervousness that came from your voice, glancing back at Chrollo who had yet to move or respond. There were times you honestly worried for your little one and their safety, due to the fact that Chrollo had a bit of a temper when it came to his obsession with you and your child had been mostly spared from experiencing that temper.

“He’s the dragon that kidnapped you.”

Your eyes widened with surprise, not expecting those words to come from your six year old child. It was clear the rest of the Spiders- which you now confirmed were listening to the conversation- were not expecting it either. A moment of silence passed as everyone slowly turned their gaze to Chrollo, wondering how he would respond to such a brazen accusation from his own child.

He was smiling.

That smile was enigmatic and almost threatening in a way as he directed it towards your child. He didn’t respond for a moment before slowly bleeding into a chuckle that turned into a laugh. The sound sent chills down your spine as you had never really heard Chrollo laugh like he was currently.

You felt the grip around you tighten and saw the faint strain of his hands clenching to the book he held in front of you as he snapped it shut. The way he seemed to pull you in with his arms winding around you like snakes made you uneasy, familiar with the possessive and dominant physical display of ownership over you. He continued with that slow and terrifying laugh as he rest his chin on your shoulder, entangling you completely in his grasp.

“I am the dragon and your mother is the princess. But, there is no knight capable of taking her away from me. No, anyone that tries will die by my hand. This dragon is keeping his princess.”

the alpha’s trophy | s.rogers

[Warnings] dark!alpha!steve rogers x reader, omega!innocent!reader, reader is the last omega, military!steve to the max, non-werewolf a/b/o dynamics, kidnapping, praise kink, agegap, size difference/size kink, spanking, oral sex (female recieving), forced orgasms, omega heat, domestic!steve, my attempt at politics

A/N: This probably should’ve been two parts but oh well! (model is @enchated_noir)

In which you’re the last Omega and Steve’s the most influential Alpha in the country.

word count: 9k 

taglist:  @cherienymphe @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes  @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose @slutforsebstan​ @doozywoozy​  @oneoftheprettynerds @xoxonotme @winterbuckystan1917​ @simpformarvelmenandwoman @hallecarey1​

main masterlist

Your bare feet padded against the wooden floor of Bruce Banner’s downstairs hallway. It was past your bedtime, a strict nine-thirty, but some nights you got curious what the bumbling man got up to at night. His office was on the first floor of his brownstone, with double doors leading to a spacious but paperwork covered room. You made sure to tip toe as you peaked inside, thankful that he was probably too much in a hurry to make sure it was closed. 

Keep reading

F*ck me stupid.

ꕥ Pairing : Gojo x Reader

ꕥ Synopsis : Your boyfriend seems to wanna do more than just fuck you. He wants to forever make you his.

ꕥ A/N : This was based on a request but it got deleted :/ to the person who asked for gojo x breeding kink. This for you. Sorry.

ꕥ Word count : 0.7k

ꕥ TW : Breeding kink, cream pie, orgasm denial, smut, praise, risky behaviour, vulgar language, perverted thoughts, intrusion (?), sexual foreshadowing, sex, cervix fucking, impregnating, 18+ drabble smut ig.

'Gojo- s too much-' you whined, head falling back onto his shoulder as you were ruthlessly pounded into. Mirror infront of you reflecting the dirty position he held you in right now.

Legs pushed to your body as your back laid flat on his chest, ass sitting neatly on his lap. Every thrust he made has your eyes rolling back. Tight pussy pounded into as he slams you on and off of his cock.

'You can take it baby- I- I know you can-' he says through gritted teeth. Lips moving to kiss at your cheek and neck as your tits jumped up and down. Tongue lolled out on your side as you could hardly look at your reflection.

You looked so pretty right now, gojo wishes he could just engrave the picture in his mind. The way your slick lathered over his huge dick as you were nearing your edge, moans and mewls slipping from you over and over. His hand holding tight against your stomach as he could feel himself thrusting harshly inside you. Smirk lifting on his face at how submissive you looked right now.

'You look so pretty baby- look at yourself.' Grabbing your face he turned you towards the mirror. Eyes connecting onto yours as your fucked out face hardly stared at him back, hooded eyes and drool dripping from you.

'Gojo- m- gonna cum-'

'No your fking not- cum and I'll have you taking me for the next 5 hours. Got it?'

A loud wail ripped from the bottom of your chest at the way he consistently pounded at your g spot, breedable position having your legs aching and breasts sore. Your stomach buldging with every push.

The way his eyes latched onto your breasts, excitement thrilling through him at the thought of you being milked through in and out. Stomach swollen with his seed as you complain about how much it's hurting you. The excess weight making you chubbier as you have to rely on him for everything. The idea of mini you and him running around as you help them, as you stay at home in your pretty apron greeting him with a kiss or a blowjob.

You and gojo had been getting increasingly riskier, no condom, no pill, even him pulling out at the very last second. He loved the thrill, the risk of you maybe 'accidentally' getting pregnant with his children. The idea of him being permanently engraved inside of you forever. The riskier positions, the obedience to his every word. He just loved the idea of you being pregnant with a part of HIM inside you.

'Toru- please-' you whinge, hands attempting to claw back at him, harsh grip on your waist as his eyes remain stuck on your contorted face. His fingers moving to rub harshly on your clit.

'Go on baby show me...'

Your body squirted over him, body pulsating as you ripped out a scream. His fingers still harshly tugging at your fluffy spot as you milked his cock out. White juices spilling onto his legs and some even on the mirror infront of you. Your fucked out face as tired body slumped back on him as he continued to pound harshly inside of you. His release nearing closer and closer, you pulling him in so hard he doesn't know if he can pull out.

'I'm gn- gonna cum-'

'Cum in me please...' you lazily slip out. Your head lazily turning around to look him in his lust blown eyes. Lips quickly attaching onto his as he took in the sight of your pre-pregnancy body.

Soon enough he teared infront of you. Heaps of sperm lapping inside your cervix. Some even dripping back out from your cunt. You looked so beautiful like this, gojo could go on for hours and hours until you finally see those two lines on the pregnancy stick. He loved seeing pretty women like you so obedient for him. Such a pretty house maid you'd be...

And now your finally forever his...

nephilim (six)

you know where the cred goes 💙

cult au, supernatural creature au

yandere! bts x f! reader

warnings: yandere themes, violence, manipulation, death/murder, mentions of torture

a month has passed since you first encountered the Kims, and “deja vu” has never felt quite so fitting a term for your situation. one day you were going through the motions, experiencing daily life, but somewhere along the way, the rhythm changed, and you found yourself dancing to the tune of a different drum. the atmosphere is tumultuous and ichabod is out for blood–no matter whether it’s yours or someone else’s. as the beat pounds faster and faster, you can’t help but wonder; will you conquer the dance, or will you find yourself lost in the movements?

a/n: (casually returns from the dead) hello, all of you beautiful peoples! i just wanted to pop in and thank you all so, so much for all of the love and enthusiasm nephilim has received! i’m so happy y’all are just as excited about the story as i am! every time i get a notification from one of you lovely folks, i am overcome with gratitude. y’all are really sweet and creative, and i absolutely adore reading your messages and reactions! i can’t thank you enough! <3<3

i apologize if the story feel rushed, and i hope that you all enjoy this latest chapter! without further ado, happy reading~ love, ati

——————————————————————

It had been raining all morning.

The only source of light in the living room came from the floor to ceiling windows, the dreary weather casting a grey shadow on everything. The overcast clouds, as a result, gave the space a very dim appearance.

One which seemed to perfectly suit the current atmosphere of the household.

Taehyung sat on the long, gray couch in the downstairs living room, absentmindedly blowing hair out of his face as he watched water slide down the glass.

He and his brothers had been terribly disheartened after the past week. 

So much so, that Moonsik and Eunbyul took extra care to stay out of their way in fear of getting caught and inadvertently facing their wrath. 

In addition to visiting (Y/N) to ensure her well-being, they needed time for themselves to cope with the sight of her laying on her hospital bed, covered in bandages and hooked up to machines.

They needed time to cope with the fact that they almost lost her.

To an Augustus dog, no less.

Even after seeing her and how well she was faring in person, their mood had not changed. Each of them were stuck thinking the exact same thing:

How could I have let others harm her to that extent?

Ever since, they had been stuck in various states. 

They experienced periods of numbness, bouts of overwhelming anger, or misery so suffocating it left some of them unable to speak.

Jimin slumped down the stairs, side-eyeing Taehyung before joining him on the couch. 

The younger brother wordlessly draped himself over Jimin’s lap. The elder lifted his arms to make room for him, then rested his hands on his back. 

He held his phone in one hand, distractedly swiping through some form of social media that could hardly hold his attention, the other busy playing with Taehyung’s hair.

Jungkook came downstairs next, a handheld gaming device in his hand. He spotted the two and situated himself on the other side of Jimin, making himself comfortable on the couch.

And so it went for the next several minutes; one by one, the brothers, previously scattered in several different locations in the house, started to drift to one another.

Hoseok and Yoongi padded downstairs, dejected frowns prominent on their face. They seated themselves on one of the settees across from their younger siblings, distracting themselves with their phones.

Seokjin came downstairs next, his brows furrowed in silent annoyance. He glanced at the living room, then the kitchen, then back to the living room. 

With his shoulders hunched, he ignored his original path and joined them. He picked up a book next to the armchair, probably something discarded by one of his younger siblings, and flipped through the pages with a sigh.

Namjoon descended last, his jaw clenched in frustration, and glanced toward the living room with an icy stare. This look softened, however, when he saw his brothers.

They all looked up at him as he entered. 

Any and all animosity they may have had toward him for his actions, or lack thereof, disappeared after he had healed from Seokjin’s punishment. 

As such, when he joined the eldest on the other settee, the other felt no need to exchange words. He simply wrapped an arm around Namjoon and pulled the younger into his shoulder.

Why they were feeling so despondent, they weren’t sure. They had achieved every thing they aimed to. 

They kept you safe. 

They were days away from reprimanding the Augustuses. 

They had finally captured your attention in the way they aspired to, as well as received your genuine thanks and appreciation.

They had accomplished so much.

Yet they still did not have you or your love.

When the truth of that fact hit them, they could only seek comfort from the people who understood their longing the most.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. They had the whistling wind outside, the soft pitter patter of the rain against the window, and the sound of each other’s breathing.

Nevertheless, as with all good things, the peace came to an end.

“I miss her.”

It was Jungkook who broke the quiet. 

He slowly lowered his gaming console, revealing his weary, brown doe eyes. “I really, really miss her.”

“Come now, Jungkook ah.” Seokjin started, using his practiced, light-hearted tone. “It’s only been a couple of days since we last saw her.”

Namjoon looked up at the eldest through his eyelashes, knowing just how skilled he was with comforting his siblings. For despite his playful tone, Seokjin’s hand trembled a bit where it rested on his shoulder.

“A couple of days too long.” Taehyung grumbled into Jimin’s lap. He lifted his head and turned it to the side, looking at the four sitting across from them. 

“I know we’ve asked this question too often, but how long are we going to have to wait until we have her by our side?” Jungkook continued, moving a piece of hair away from his eyes. 

Not for the first time, the room silenced at this question. 

Usually, Namjoon would be able to use his knowledge and confidence in the plan, his plan, to answer Jungkook’s question. 

That same confidence, however, had been thoroughly shattered after recent events. 

He’d learned his lesson well. 

“You’re impatient. That will only set us further back.” Yoongi answered for him, stating this in a calm, irrefutable tone. 

Namjoon had spent the past couple of hours wracking his brain to try and see where he went wrong.

All he’d wanted was for (Y/N) to choose them willingly. 

Forcing her into their arms would amount to nothing but pain. He could already picture both Jimin and Jungkook’s tears as they clung to each other while she endured her own form of punishment for speaking out against them.

As cruel as he knew he was, he wouldn’t wish that on their angel.

Not unless it was absolutely necessary.

Where did his options leave him, then? Leave them?

The seven sat in their melancholic state for a long while. It was rare moment whenever they were openly vulnerable with one another; still, they couldn’t help but blame themselves for the trials (Y/N) had been through.

They may as well have pushed her off Lorne’s Ledge themselves, and that tore at a piece of each of them.

Consoling one another with their presence, they fell into a contemplative stillness, ears tuned into the drumming of the rain against the window.

A violent chill ran through each of them, however, as their tranquility was shattered by the aggravated screams of a certain teenager, her voice ringing out from several floors below the main building of the Kim family estate.

——————————————————————

You sighed as you sat in your mother’s car, blearily looking at the trees whooshing by.

Your wrists and arms were free of their bandages, but your head and chest still needed to be covered and properly cared for. Your head would be healed in a couple more days, but your ribs needed weeks to heal, at most.

Your doctor and nurses were strangely protective of you, wanting to keep you for more time, but you insisted you felt well enough to leave–you had missed enough school and didn’t want to prolong the pure shit storm that would be your return to classes. 

Thus, the hospital discharged you.

When you handed in your papers, the people at the front desk surprised both you and your mother when they informed you that the bill was completely covered by the Kims.

After you left the hospital, she dropped Mana off at home, and the two of you entered for a short while to greet and catch up with their father.

You almost fell asleep at their house, but they gently shook you awake, claiming your mother had called for you and that it was time to leave.

Now, as you sat in the front seat, the heater was on low and blowing directly in your face, making you incredibly sleepy.

Considering how outside of having people come visit you, all you did was watch TV or sleep, your inner clock needed time to regulate itself on properly functioning in the day time once more.

Unfortunately, no one around you wanted to give you the time you needed.

“We could have come any other day, Mom.” You spoke softly, your voice a little raspy, eyes trailing a water droplet as it made its way down the windows and collected more of its friends. “They would absolutely understand if I wanted to take a day or two off to rest.”

Your mother had decided that a proper visit to the Kim mansion was in order to thank them.

Her fists were white as she clenched onto the steering wheel, and you weren’t sure whether it was due to fear or her own resolve. “And risk them calling us impertinent? Or claim that we took the small liberties and praise they gave us and ran with it? You don’t understand how these people work, (Y/N). I’m not taking any chances. I spoke with Mrs. Kim on the phone, and we’re fine to come over.”

“Ma, I’m tired,” you complained, borderline whining. “The other day, you were ready to sneak me out of town. Now you’re delivering me right to Kim Moonsik’s doorstep.”

“Sleep, then.” She deadpanned, decidedly ignoring the last part of your statement. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

“That’s nothing and you know it.” You muttered. “Besides, I don’t feel like making a habit of sleeping there. That’s already happened more than I wanted it to.”

She sighed. “Listen. I’ll handle talking to Mrs. Kim. After you say your thanks, I’ll ask her if you can excuse yourself to rest. She’s a kind woman, I’m sure she’ll have no problem with it. The visit will be over before you know it.”

She paused for a few seconds, then turned her head to look at you before going back to the road. “…What do you mean make a habit of sleeping there?”

You groaned, lightly hitting your head against the window. “Nothing.”

You couldn’t even bat an eye as she drove through the forest path, the ride so familiar to you now.

She approached the gate and pulled down the mirror above her head, re-checking her appearance. 

A few minutes later, Driver Bin appeared from the garage and opened the gate. 

She greeted him with a nod and smile as he did so, then drove into her usual spot.

You sighed again as she shut the car off and pressed your eyes closed before opening them again.

Hopefully, this visit would be a short one.

——————————————————————

Just as Namjoon was prepared to share his new thoughts with his brothers, he heard the tell-tale shuffling of a pair of slippers making their way down the stairs.

There was only one other person currently in the house, and she had been strictly ordered not to disturb them. 

Clearly, she wasn’t intent on heeding their words today.

The sight of her out the corner of his eye only made him angrier.

The nude slippers Mrs. Kim wore made them all think of your slippers at the door, discarded and untouched for at least a week and a half. As a result, it only made them feel worse.

Seokjin audibly clicked his tongue and Hoseok rolled his eyes.

Their moodiness combined with the sudden appearance of Mrs. Kim would only result in a vicious lashing out, and Namjoon didn’t have the energy to deal with that today.

There must’ve been a hell of an important issue for Eunbyul to be openly defying their instructions. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t care enough at the moment.

Without another word, Namjoon rose from the settee and beelined for the hallway. 

When he reached the entrance, he met his brothers’ eyes and tilted his head in the direction of the room.

Jungkook followed him first, then Jimin and Taehyung, with Hoseok, Yoongi, and Seokjin coming last.

They crowded into the room where you had crashed your first visit there. 

The bed hadn’t been touched since, and Jungkook vaulted onto it, pressing his face into the pillow. Your smell was long-gone, but the memory of you being here made him smile.

Jimin and Taehyung immediately pounced on him, tickling him and trying to shove him out the way to get on the bed. He squawked in surprise and retaliated, and before long, the three were a pile of limbs and laughter on the bed.

The others watched them with small smiles, their mood having lightened considerably, just by being reminded of you.

Once they calmed down, the six turned to Namjoon with inquisitive stares.

“What is it that you were trying to tell us?” Hoseok asked, leaning up against the bedpost.

“I’ve been debating our options,” he stated, palms clasped in front of him as if he were giving a huge speech, “and I’ve come to the conclusion that there may need to be some adjustments made to the plan.”

Half of his brothers’ eyes narrowed and their other half rolled. Before they could erupt into arguments, he lifted his hands placatingly. “That’s a strong hypothetical. However, it should not be discarded as an option.”

“The entire reason for making this plan was to find a way for (Y/N) to willingly choose us, yes?” Namjoon asked. They nodded curtly.

“Perhaps that was the mistake.” He said, his jaw clenching once more.

He went on to continue to explain his thought process and watched as realization dawned in each of his brothers’ eyes.

They continued their discussion for a while, but were interrupted when a soft knock sounded on the door.

The room silenced immediately and Namjoon’s frown deepened.

What did she not comprehend about leaving them to their own devices? Surely, this woman was not trying to end her life today? 

Yet, surprisingly, the knock sounded again.

Taehyung sneered at the door and Yoongi scowled in annoyance.

With a few quick steps, Namjoon swung the door open, prepared to end Eunbyul’s life right then and there, deal or no deal.

Imagine his surprise when he saw you, covered in bandages, standing behind the door.

——————————————————————

The moment Mrs. Kim opened the door, she cried out in shock.

Although she was very happy to see the both of you, she ushered you inside, barely giving you enough time to remove your shoes and toe on your nude pair of slides.

Finally, you and your mother were situated in the living room, and the both of you bowed to express your sincere thanks.

“The doctors at the hospital told us that you and Mr. Kim took care of (Y/N)’s hospital bill. I genuinely can’t thank you enough.” You and your mother lifted your heads.

As always, Mrs. Kim waved off her thanks with a soft grin of her own. “Absolutely no worries, (M/N). We should do all that we can in order to help each other.” She extended a hand out to you and you accepted it, carefully moving from the couch to join her on the settee.

She cradled your cheek in one hand, gazing down at you with a soft smile. “I’m just so grateful Taehyung found (Y/N) and brought her to you in time.”

You smiled slightly as you nodded in thanks.

There you sat, fiddling with your fingers on the couch as the older women spoke. You tuned in and out of their conversation, listening as your mom went over the list of your injuries and everything the doctors had to say. Mrs. Kim covered her mouth in shock, nodding along to every word. Now and then, she pressed you in her side and gently squeezed you in a sympathetic hug.

While you appreciated her and her concern, you felt just about ready to drop. For a moment, you feared that your mother wasn’t going to make good on her promise.

In that case, you would have no choice but to fall asleep on the couch, next to Mrs. Kim, right then and there, out of sheer spite.

Fortunately, your mother noticed the way you were rocking back and forth in your spot and asked if there was another place where you could get some rest.

Mrs. Kim smiled with a nod, pointing you in the direction of a familiar hallway. “We have a guest room available on the first floor. Please, feel free to recuperate there.”

“Do you want me to go with you, (Y/N)?” Your mother asked worriedly, putting her bag to the side. You shook your hands.

“It’s okay, I know the way. I’ll go. Thank you, I hope you both have a lovely chat.” You bowed slightly, then turned, waiting to succumb into the sweet, sweet arms of sleep.

When you arrived at the door, however, it was closed.

Well then.

You couldn’t go around the Kim mansion opening doors as though you lived there. 

So you knocked.

Silence.

You waited for a bit and knocked again, eagerly hoping that the room was empty.

Then, just as you went to turn the knob, the door swung open, and you were met with the irate gaze of Kim Namjoon.

He was not the only one, either. For whatever reason, all seven brothers were stationed at different points in the room.

And they all looked furious.

You jerked your hand back away from the door and stepped back, cursing yourself in your head for being so stupid.

Clearly, you nearly walked in on an important, highly personal meeting.

“I’m sorry-”

You should’ve just fallen asleep in the living room.

The moment Namjoon laid eyes on you, however, his gaze softened. “(Y/N)?”

“(Y/N)?” Several rounds of your name sounded out from behind the door and Namjoon stepped back, giving you room to enter.

You peeked inside.

Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook waved at you excitedly from the bed, trapped in an awkward pile of limbs.

Jin and Yoongi grinned from their armchairs, and Hoseok winked at you from his position leaning against the bedpost.

…Where had all of their hostility gone?

“We didn’t know you were coming over, (Y/N)!” Jungkook cheered. “You should have told us in advance, we could have prepared a bunch of fun stuff for you!”

Jimin, on the other hand, de-tangled himself from his siblings. “What are you doing out of bed?” He asked incredulously. “You’re still covered in bandages–come in, come in!”

He took you by the fingers rather than your injured wrist and gently tugged you inside the room. The moment you were across the threshold, Namjoon closed the door once more.

You smiled at all of them, relieved by the fact that they didn’t seem to be mad at you.

Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jungkook swore they felt something inside of them melt at that moment, relieved by the fact that you were still showing them a genuine smile.

Jin, Yoongi, and Hoseok couldn’t seem to take their eyes off you–specifically, off the jewelry that you still wore.

“Yeah, I just got discharged from the hospital,” you said, following Jimin’s lead to perch on the bed. Taehyung and Jungkook scrambled back to comfortably leave you enough room. “After my mom dropped Mana off at home, we headed here to thank you. For finding and saving me, and for footing the bill.”

“I told you, you don’t need to thank us for little things like that, (Y/N).” Taehyung said. “We’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

His words were followed by a chorus of agreements and you ducked your head in a nod. 

Little things? 

You laughed a bit. “Still, I really appreciate it. I really appreciate all of you for everything you’ve done.”

Rather than the angry, intimidating bunch they had appeared as before, the seven beamed in pride.

They were almost childlike. Your lip twitched at the thought.

The room stayed in a comfortable silence after the statement and you wanted to make yourself more comfortable on the bed. You tried to pull yourself up to the headboard in order to lean up against the pillows, but winced when your wrists throbbed in protest.

Jungkook saw your attempt and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be moving your wrists like that, you’ll hurt them further. Excuse me for a second-”

You yelped as he slid a hand under your back, lifting you and dropping you into your desired position.

“Thanks…” you laughed nervously, looking anywhere but at him.

Jin chuckled. “I think you should go back to the hospital and get some more rest, (Y/N). Your eyes have more bags than Yoongi’s.”

The second oldest made no comment as his brothers snickered. He simply crossed his arms, as if not owning up the statement but not outright denying it either.

You gave a chuckle of your own. “I know…my mother wanted to properly thank Mrs. Kim, though. I came in here to take a nap, but I didn’t know you’d all be here, too.”

“Don’t mind us!” Jimin cheered. “Please, sleep if you need to!”

“It’s not like you haven’t before, right?” Jungkook quipped.

Your mouth gaped open as five of them chuckled. Jin raised his eyebrows, looking at his brothers expectantly. 

“Her first time visiting the house, (Y/N) fell asleep in the car.” Namjoon explained before you could stop him.

The eldest two guffawed.

“It wasn’t that funny. I was really tired,” You spoke in your defense, pouting slightly at Jungkook. You teased him with your tone. “I can’t believe you would use that against me! I thought we were friends.”

His eyes widened and he turned to you, fearful that he did something wrong. “Of course we’re friends, (Y/N)! I didn’t mean it, I was just joking.”

You giggled slightly. “I was just joking too, Jungkook, no worries. Though…”

He tilted his head, waiting for the rest of your sentence.

“…If you want to make it up to me, how about we play some of those video games you suggested last time?” You smiled softly.

No sooner than the last part of the sentence left your mouth, Jungkook was up and racing out the room. You blinked, smiling at how excited he was.

Once Jungkook returned, the eight of you enjoyed the rest of your time together, playing video games well into the afternoon. 

You couldn’t get enough of how competitive they were, and you had all of them worried when you bent over in laughter, clutching your midsection from when Yoongi accidentally tipped the TV over, causing it to shut off in the middle of Jin’s game, and his resulting cry.

You hadn’t even realized it, but at some point in the late afternoon, your body gave out and you succumbed, falling asleep right on the bed. 

The boys tucked you under the blanket, endearing looks etched onto their faces.

Jimin’s heart nearly broke when it was time to wake you for dinner; you just didn’t want to get up. 

When you finally did, however, your confused, sleepy face and actions stole a piece of each of their hearts.

Eunbyul urged your mother into the kitchen and walked into the living room, cleaning up the seats a bit. She didn’t question anything when she saw the eight of you walk out from the hallway into the salon. 

For the first time in a week, none of the boys were threatening her with a glare or physical threat. She would relish in the moment as long as possible, even if it was at your expense.

And you were fine. How could you not be, when you had their protection?

You and your mother enjoyed a lovely homemade dinner at the Kim residence that night, one where the atmosphere was even better because Mayor Kim stayed overtime at work and wasn’t going to be able to make it.

By the time you climbed back into the passenger’s seat of your mother’s car, it was considerably late into the night. You tilted your head against the window, a small smile on your face.

Your mother examined your expression and put the car into drive, turning past the gate.

“So? Was it as bad as you thought?” She hummed.

You looked out the window, watching as the trees and their shadows whisked by.

“No, Mom. I actually don’t think it was.”

——————————————————————

Never had you started a Monday quite like this one.

The day you had been dreading finally arrived.

After nine days of bedrest, you were heading back into the battlefield, but not as a normal, respected citizen. 

This time, you were coming back as a living example. The latest Chance Pierre, if you will, but with more drastic circumstances.

Inside, you felt horrible. Your head injury had healed over the weekend, but you still had hordes of bandages wrapped around your midsection, hidden by your uniform shirt and a practical school-issued crewneck.

As if your injuries weren’t enough to make you feel sick, today made one month since the last town meeting. This had no doubt felt like the longest month of your life, and the thought of seeing Mayor Kim and those bright, purple flames tonight, again, made you ill.

Nonetheless, that was a problem for later. Right now, you focused all your efforts on mentally preparing yourself for school.

People would look at you and wince, whispering about how lucky you were to have survived crossing paths with Aemilia Augustus herself.

You didn’t want their pity. You didn’t want their understanding. You just wanted to live life as you always had: by being invisible.

The smaller, more cynical part of yourself sneered inside you, chiming in that that would no longer be possible. 

You were determined to make it work all the same.

You waved goodbye to your mother, sighing as she pulled away from the curb. You had convinced her to drive in later than usual so as to avoid the rushing morning crowd. This left you standing all by yourself outside the tall, gray walls of the academy in the early morning.

You turned and looked at the squares of light the fluorescents inside cast onto the ashen concrete. With a heavy sigh, you shouldered your bag, lifted your head, and walked toward the entrance.

Right before you went to pull the door open, another hand grabbed yours and you jumped. You shifted to meet their gaze, only to find Jungkook, with a hesitant bunny smile on his face.

“Oh, Jungkook. You scared me,” You sighed in relief, giving him a small smile in return. “Good morning.”

“Morning, (Y/N).” He said, smile slipping as he took in your appearance. “…Are you alright?”

You nodded, taking your hand back. “I’m okay! I’m all cleared. Got approval from my doctors and everything. Still wearing some bandages, but I’ll be fine.”

“That’s great-”

“(Y/N)!”

Jungkook was interrupted by his older brother, running up to the two of you with a boxy grin on his face.

Taehyung looked as though he was going to tackle you in a hug, but then thought better of it and settled for ruffling your hair. “It’s good to see you around school again!”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

“Good morning, (Y/N)!” You heard a familiar voice say as he approached you from behind. You turned and greeted Jimin as well.

“Looks like the whole gang’s here,” you noted, craning your neck and spying Namjoon and Hoseok not too far behind him. “You’re all usually in the building by now—why are you walking in so late? Did something happen?”

“We had to take care of a couple things last minute.” Taehyung said coolly, throwing an arm over Jungkook’s shoulder. “Driver Bin just dropped us off.”

“(N/N)!”

Six heads whipped around at the voice and, in the small space between Hoseok and Namjoon in front of you, you saw Mana skipping up to you all.

They squirmed their way between the barrier the boys had managed to form and gently looped their right arm through your left. “Hey! Thank Wylynne you’re back, this week was so boring without you.”

Praise the moon goddess for your schedule-challenged best friend.

You smiled at them, nuzzling your nose into theirs. “You just didn’t have anyone to copy homework off of anymore, you don’t have to lie.”

They gasped at the accusation. “How could you say such a thing! It’s not my fault my seat mate isn’t as smart as you are.” You burst into laughter.

As they jokingly tore into you, they sent you a knowing look, subtly gesturing to the Kims.

You shared a quick glance with them, assuring Mana that you were fine.

You weren’t, but you would be. It was probably just the nerves.

Yes, you wanted to be a more open person around the Kims in thanks for all they’d done. That did not, however, mean that you or your feelings were suddenly going to change overnight.

It would be a struggle, no doubt, to suddenly open up to those who everyone  actively avoids away from, but you were determined to at least try.

You values are conflicting, the cynical part of you taunted once more. You can’t want to lay low and resume your normal life but simultaneously treat the Kims as friends. Look at where that got you before.

You shuddered, resisting the urge to smack your brain in order to get yourself to shut up.

Interestingly enough, the brothers were too busy sharing glances with one another to focus on the two of you. Their eyes glistened with something volatile, but one sharp look from the eldest and they got themselves under control.

Once your conversation ended, Namjoon opened the door and walked in, Hoseok following behind him. You intended to wait behind them with Mana, but Jimin took the door and held it open with a smile.

“By all means, best friends first.”

“Oh.”

What was that faint exploding sound in the back of your head?

Ah, right. 

It was the familiar, devastating sound of the end of your well-earned reputation and Ichabod Academy’s rumor mill detonating, all at once.

Here goes nothing.

“…Thanks.” You smiled at him and steeled your nerves, then entered the building.

Considering how close you were cutting it to class time, the hallways should have been empty. You should have been able to separate from Mana and the boys, make it to your locker, collect your books, and head to class without a problem.

That’s what should have happened.

Instead, a chilling sight greeted you once you stepped into the main corridor.

A crowd of students stood in front of the school bulletin board, looking at yet another missing poster.

What disturbed you, however, was the fact that it had your name and picture on it.

You took this in with a sharp breath.

Someone even went so far as to cross red x’s over your eyes.

You heard Mana mumbling curses under their breath, but you could hardly focus on them when, all of a sudden, hundreds of the student body’s eyes were on you.

You kept your eyes facing forward, even as you heard the start of those cursed whispers. If Mana heard anything especially unpleasant, they made sure to send the person a nasty scowl.

“She came back from the dead-!”

“They’re probably putting her on special watch for the ceremony.”

“How much do you want to bet that there won’t be much left of her after tonight?”

One look from the Kims, however, and the students silenced in a heartbeat.

Jimin stepped up on your right side, shielding you from their line of sight. He leaned toward you and quickly whispered into your ear:

“Don’t let them distract you, (Y/N). Compared to you, they are nothing.”

He gave you what you assumed was meant to be an assuring look.

Having your suspicions of Jimin and his brothers’ opinions of your peers being confirmed, however, did not work to calm you as he’d hoped. 

In fact, it only made you panic more, and rethink all of the decisions you’d made this weekend.

Nonetheless, you kept your expression blank and kept on walking.

Namjoon and Hoseok took the lead and, without missing a beat, you smoothly stepped forward with Jimin and Mana on either side, Jungkook and Taehyung taking up the rear.

All of a sudden, you were brought back to the feeling of walking to lunch with Jimin that day. The underlying power you felt as students rushed out of your way, communing with one another about you with their hands over their mouths. At the time, it’d been uncomfortable. Volatile. 

Now, however, you couldn’t feel anything. You shut down your senses, not wanting to pick up any of the social stressors the current situation was giving you, or anything any outsider would say about you, only for it to hang over your head for the rest of the day.

That small, cynical part of you returned, making you feel as though you’ve seen a formation like this before.

It wasn’t until you accidentally made eye contact with someone near the crowd of students, that you realized.

Brooklyn Hayes stood a little ways apart from the rest of the student body, Constance Pierre by her side. The blonde still looked slightly skittish, but much better now than she had in the weeks prior. Brooklyn raised an eyebrow at you, and you swore you saw the corner of her lip twitch at the irony of it all.

It wasn’t until you turned your head to the side and caught the gaze of Jimin, who smirked at you, that you felt it.

The hierarchy of Ichabod Academy was shifting.

Keep reading

Room 505

Gojo x Reader, Geto x Reader , Nanami x Reader

summary : Geto and Gojo were the strongest sorcerers to date in Jujutsu Tech College, you looked up to them and wanted to be just as strong as they were. Lucky for you they were so happy and willing to help you. Under their tutelage you bloomed, but Nanami finds your relationship with them suspicious. A three day mission to exorcise a cursed spirit at a resort, reveals more than Nanami expected.

READ CONTENT WARNING BEFORE READING!

cw : dubcon/noncon , f!reader, Virgin!Nanami , threesome , unprotected sex, coercion, voyeurism, characters are of age ( setting is that Nanami and reader are 19 while Gojo and Geto are 20 in college ) , Gojo and Geto abusing their senpai status , slight degradation, creampie, manipulation, reader calls Geto and Gojo senpai, Nanami catches them and watches, implied squirting, face fucking, slight dumbification

wc: 6.4K

a/n: yes it’s been awhile and I come back with a threesome fic. Thank u for waiting if u waited afsgsjjd thank u for your patience. Hope this doesn’t disappoint huhu just ugh I’m down bad for these three. I suck at writing summaries. Gg. Anywhooo enjoyyyvand don’t forget to reblog and if you like scream and fangirl in my inbox or the comments Huhuhu also will proofread more afshsj don’t mind the errors

M I N O R S D O N O T I N T E R A C T

“Why don’t you go get us checked in?”

You were gently nudged to the front desk of the little holiday hotel, not objecting to the powerful jujutsu sorcerer and your senpai by a year in Jujutsu Tech College.

“We’ll look around and see if anything is suspicious, kay?” A soothing voice sounded from your left, the white haired male’s best friend patting your head as the two walked off together to check for any signs of the curse assigned to the team. The team being your two seniors, Geto and Gojo, and you and Nanami.

The blond lingered behind you, hands deep in his pockets and eying the lobby with his slanted eyes, paying you no mind as you checked in for them.

Nanami was usually paired with his best friend Yu on missions, and he wasn’t really enthusiastic about being given any as well. With Nanami, you could relax a little, his presence was soothing to you despite how quiet he appeared on the outside but really, once you strike a conversation that piques his interest he is very sociable.

“Nanamin,” you called out sweetly as you skipped to where he was, watching the people that passed by in the hotel’s lobby.

The moment your voice reached his ears, Nanami felt his ears burn and he met your eyes for a second only to keep his gaze away, opting to look at the beach a few metres out of the hotel.

“We should go check into the rooms,” you spoke, hands behind your back and playing with the hotel keys. “I tried to get three rooms since I knew you wouldn’t want to bunk with Gojo senpai but there were only two rooms left.”

“I can manage,” he reassured you, opening his palm for you to place the room key he was to share with the rest. He’ll probably hold onto it too, if Gojo gets it there’s a 98 percent chance he’d lose it and make you get a new one.

You placed the key on his open palm, his heart skipping a beat when your fingers brushed his skin and smiled at him.

He walked three steps behind you, admiring you a little as you walked ahead and waited for the elevator. The four of you hadn’t come here wearing your uniforms to blend in with the people, you had worn something Gojo had shoved into your hands and pushed you into the women’s restroom in the airport. The white summer dress hugged your torso snuggly, accentuating your curves and the skirt flowed daintily and loose around your waist to your calves. Simple and elegant.

The bell boy followed behind the two of you with Gojo, Geto, his and your bags. The young man eyed you up and down before glancing at Nanami, probably wondering about the nature of your relationship with him.

“Couple getaway?” He asked innocently.

“Huh?” You blinked at the question, your realisation settling in a little late, heat creeping up to your cheeks as you stumbled over your words.

Before the doors of the elevators closed, a foot stopped it from closing, making the doors open again.

“Darling, sorry I took so long,” Gojo’s voice sounded, round dark sunglasses set low on his nose bridge, walking in with Geto right behind him.

Gojo wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side and giving the blushing bellboy a wink.

You didn’t say anything, looking down at your feet instead, your face too hot and sweat collecting in your palms. You could feel Geto’s gentle yet piercing gaze on you, watching in amusement as the much taller male dwarfed you, pretending to be your lover.

Nanami looked away in annoyance, worry blooming deep within his chest as he thought about whether Gojo was making you uncomfortable or not. He was always far too close to his liking, crossing boundaries that you found hard to say no to. Geto usually gets his friend under control but sometimes joins in on the teasing as well.

You couldn’t say no. Not with how you idolised them. Looked up to them and took every praise, guidance and word of advice from them like gospel. It was merely because you believed them to be good people, like Yu, you chose to see and believe the good in people.

Nanami was relieved that Geto would never cross the line nor take advantage of you. He would keep Gojo in check.

“You tell me if our room isn’t to your liking, Hm?” Nanami overheard Gojo , who followed you into your room, still playing the role of boyfriend to fool the bellboy till he left.

“I-it’s fine,” you muttered softly, heart racing to be so close to the Gojo Satoru.

You’ve gotten so close with the two when they offered to tutor you and teach you everything they know, to help you control your cursed energy.

“Don’t worry about Satoru, Nanami. He’s just teasing as usual,” Geto brushed off, taking the middle bed out of the three in the room. He laid down on the bed, hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

“Were there any signs of the curse?” Your small voice broke the silence, Gojo strutting into the room and heading straight to the minibar.

“Not yet. Most of the cases happened after the sun had completely gone down. So we have to wait a bit,” Geto informed the team, Nanami absorbing the information to make sure he’d be able to protect you.

“How dangerous is it?” Your brows knitted together with worry, sitting on the edge of Nanami’s bed.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Gojo grinned with confidence, opening a can of soda. “Besides, you're the strongest right here.”

Nanami let out a deep annoyed sigh while Geto rolled his eyes.

“You won’t even need to lift a finger,” Gojo winked at you, sipping his drink, smirking at how you flushed and stared down at your folded hands on your lap. Oh, how your reactions made Gojo giddy.

“Do not underestimate her, Gojo,” Nanami crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’m not,” Gojo pouted, sitting in his bed that looked out the balcony and the beach.

Before Gojo could say anything to aggravate Nanami, Geto sat up, offering you a warm charming smile.

“How about you and I go take a walk on the beach? I heard some kids talking about the shaved ice treats there. We still have time to kill anyway.”

Your lashes fluttered, tempted by the sweet treat mentioned. Like a child easily swayed, you nodded excitedly, the white bow tied in your hair bouncing as you nodded.

And just like that you and Geto were off to take a walk on the beach, Gojo pouting when he watched the two of you from the balcony, the gentle summer breeze blowing through your hair as Geto’s hand rested on the small of your back, while you laughed at something he said.

Nanami always had suspicions that Gojo would’ve taken advantage of you when you had asked him to be your mentor but it seemed that Geto has always kept Gojo in check, never letting him be any closer than he was now.

He’d be able to rest easy after the curse was disposed of.

But for now, he watched you laugh and smile with another man who might just be carving his way into your gentle heart that he wanted a place in.

The dead of night came too quickly and the curse was disposed of so easily. Nanami was already tucked in his bed, sighing at another day of fighting curses, wanting sleep to take him so that he wakes to a new day. He wanted to fall asleep before Gojo and Geto got back from partying in the beach bar, to avoid the drunken banter the two would have. He could hear the party faintly from the beach but it wasn’t that troublesome to affect his sleep.

He should check on you though. You didn’t go with them, wanting to stay in your room and take some time off to yourself since it was rare for all of you to be able to just lay back and enjoy life like normal people.

Nanami sat up. He’ll just knock and see if you’re awake, and then he’ll go back to bed. If anything sounds wrong he’ll come in with the spare key Gojo asked for safety reasons.

Pushing his hair back, he slipped out of bed, eyes already adjusted to the dark and made his way to the door.

“I-I still don’t know how this is supplemental to our tutoring” you murmured, crossing your arms over your naked chest, pulling your knees closer to yourself as he stared.

“Well since I offered to be your mentor, I need to get to know the way your body reacts,” he explained so believably you fell for it. He only wanted what’s best for you right? “Plus, it’s fun for me and Suguru. And from all the previous times, you had fun too. Remember?” He flashed you a smile, crawling closer towards you on the bed, his long lanky frame taking up most of the space.

“Come on, don’t hide yourself,” Gojo pouted, sapphire eyes glowing.

You glanced at Geto who sat on the edge of the bed, a cigarette between his lips and gave you a look of ‘Don’t worry too much.’ Hesitating, you slowly let your arms fall to yours sides, fingers curling to grip the sheets, heart pounding in your chest.

“Ah, I missed your tits,” Gojo sighed happily, mouth watering at the sight of your uncovered mounds, nipples hardening from the cold air.

Without a warning his fingers tweaked at your nipple, a shaky breath left you, trying to remain calm and collected. But he pinched and rolled them in a way that sent warmth to your core.

“Senpai…”. Your lips trembled, his face close to your chest, ogling your tits. “N-not too hars—ah!”

The way senpai fell so sweetly from your lips made Gojo shiver and take one of your breasts into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your hardened peak and sucking roughly. Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, a weak attempt to keep him away but his other hand was quick to cup and massage your other breast.

“Plus this is a way for you to give us something in return. A little exchange for helping you become a better sorcerer,” Geto mused, white smoke wafting through the air, the smell of tobacco mixing with the fresh scent of cotton.

“You learnt something of value today when I exorcised that curse today right?” Gojo asked, his face now close to yours, your breasts where his mouth had been now glistening with his saliva. He continued to tweak and massage your breasts with his large hands, squeezing just the right amount.

You nodded, biting your lip, your thighs visibly shaking and your breathing uneven. He burrowed his nose in the crook of your neck, licking along the column and pinching your nipples a little harder. You whimpered.

“I-I did.”

“And what do we say when we teach you something new?” Geto drawled with a lilt in his voice, scanning the curvatures of your body and how it was now arching into Gojo’s touch, who was now nipping and kissing along your neck and collarbones, leaving marks.

“T-thank you,” you squeaked out, heat collecting in your core.

This was the only way you could repay them, they said. The only fair way. You didn’t expect that you’d be losing your virginity a couple months back to Gojo and Geto, your body being the thing you paid your gratitude with.But then again, how was this supposed to be supplemental to becoming stronger?

One of Gojo’s hands left your breasts, it trailed downwards, caressing your stomach before tracing the band of your panties.

“Have you touched yourself without me knowing?” He suddenly asked, the question catching you off guard. You tried to squirm away, only to be stopped by the pillows against the headboard. “It’s okay if you did, as long as you were thinking of me.” He winked seductively, fingers skimming your covered pussy.

You shook your head, a trimmed white brow raising with surprise.

“Oh? So you must be extra sensitive then,” he chuckled, pressing onto your clit, making you squeeze his shoulders. He sighed against your neck, rubbing your pussy through the dampening cloth of your panties while Geto watched from the side, still smoking but enjoying the view nonetheless. He’d get his turn.

“You looked so cute in the dress I picked up for you,” Gojo hummed, feeling the throb of your pussy against his fingers that were slowly starting to get wet with your growing arousal. “I bet Nanami thought so too.”

The mention of Nanami had you looking down almost in defeat, embarrassed even. Did Nanami find you cute? He couldn’t. After he finds out what you’d been letting Geto and Gojo do with you…he might ignore you purely out of disgust. You didn’t want that. Your panic manifested into tears, your eyes watery as you wanted it all to stop.

“D-don’t want to do this,” you murmured softly, turning to your side, covering your chest with your arms again and folding your legs into your chest. “It feels wrong.”

You heard Gojo huff in disappointment. His playtime cut short.

But Geto had it all in control.

“What does?” He laid down behind you, pressing close to you, his hand caressing the side of your arm to soothe you.

“This.” Your voice trembled, embarrassed to say your reasons but the tears in your eyes begged to flow freely and soon enough you blurted out, “I always thought I’d be doing things like this with someone…someone I love.”

Your eyes widened when you realised what you had just said, gauging their expressions with panic.

“Love?”

“Don’t tell me…” Gojo’s smirk widened and you covered your face, closing the gaps of your fingers tightly not wanting to see a glimpse of their expressions. It was embarrassing enough as it is to be naked and vulnerable to them but that…

Cold fingertips caressed your thighs and the next thing you knew, you were flipped onto your back with thighs pressed to your chest. Your panty clad pussy exposed to bright sapphire eyes.

“You’re in love with Nanami?” He teased, pink tongue darting out to lick along your slit, the cloth dampening even further as you squirmed in his grasp.

“S-stop,” you tried to push him away but warm strong hands wrapped around your wrists, restraining you so that his best friend could have his way.

“Would you rather Nanami be the one doing all these things to you hm?” Geto rasped in your ear while Gojo pushed the crotch of your panties aside to kiss your clit, your body jolting at the sensation.

“Ah, s-senpai, please st-ah!” His lips latched onto your sensitive nub, tongue flicking furiously against it, electric shocks shooting through your core while a finger prodded at your clenching entrance. “Not there, please don’t.”

“You sure? You’re getting turned on though ,” Gojo quipped, his statement backed up when he dipped two fingers in your clenching hole. “And so wet.“

The moment his digits were hugged by your walls, he didn’t waste time in curling them, fingers that reached deeper than your own would. The lewd squelching sound of him stuffing your cunt filled the room as well as your breathy gasps, all words caught in your throat and all reason melting away.

“S-stop,” you whined, clenching around his fingers that were rubbing your walls so deliciously.

“What’s wrong?” Geto pouted, faux pity in his tone as he settled himself behind you, placing you on his lap spreading your further for Satoru. He pinned both wrists behind your back with one hand, softly humming when your ass rubbed against his stiffening cock. “You were so eager to please us before. You don’t want to disappoint us do you?”

“Ah—n-no,” you admitted, the obscene slurping sounds of Gojo playing with you with his mouth and tongue, starting to feel good. Too good. “But please don’t tell Nanami…d-don’t tell him. Please.” You begged, Gojo’s tongue pushing past your entrance and tasting your insides, the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit.

“He won’t ever know, Princess,” Geto cooed, grabbing your right breast roughly, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “It’s always been and still will be our little secret.”

The wet appendage bullying its way within your walls, wriggled inside you in an unexplainable way. You couldn’t believe that the Gojo Satoru was between your thighs , licking and slurping away at your cunt as if it was something sweet that he’s craved for so long. It felt dirty for him to be so utterly close to your intimate area and that the same lips and tongue that would kiss you were doing the same down there.

But it felt so good. Every time the bridge of his nose ground against your clit when he slurped and fucked you with his tongue had the heat in your belly grow and spark into flames. Your hips would jut and wriggle, the sensations being too much and not enough at the same time. And it didn’t help that Suguru was kneading and massaging your breast, tweaking your nipples now and then.

“Fuck,” Gojo groaned against your heat. “Missed this sweet pussy.” Then he continued his assault, bringing you closer to the edge.

You whimpered out his name a couple of times, mumbling that it was too much, to slow down but it fell on deaf ears, resulting in the uncontrollable shake of your body as you came.

“You taste so good,” he hummed, holding your hips down and lapping your juices that spilled forth, wetting your pussy even more.

“It’s my turn now, Satoru,” Geto spoke calmly from behind you, running his hands along your sides.

Next thing you knew, Geto’s lips were on yours, sweetly kissing you with such care and passion, no time given to you to gather yourself nor process everything. You’d be lying if the way he handled you didn’t make your heart flutter. His large hands roamed the expanse of your body, caressing beneath your breasts before squeezing them and guiding you on all fours.

The cold air brushed against the exposed slick folds of your pussy, your trembling impossible to control you could only grip the sheets and stare at the way they crumpled, the ache within you burning.

With his thumb, he spread your lips apart, whistling at the sight of your pulsing pink hole before rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds. “Why don’t we try something new this time around, hm?” The mischievous lilt in his voice made you heat up further, clenching around nothing.

“You can take Satoru in your pretty mouth while I fuck you dumb from behind. How does that sound to you sweetheart?” He cooed, his flush tip circling around your clit making you moan. You couldn’t take the teasing. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want this, didn’t want to repeat over and over the secret meetings you three would have. You’ve always looked up to Geto and Gojo, admired them, loved them. But the love you had for Nanami was different. The way he made your heart flutter and warm was different from the searing hot heat that Geto and Gojo provided.

“Geto-senpai …” you had whispered, gripping the sheets, melting bit by bit by his hot cock prodding at your entrance, your walls begging to be stretched, to be filled. “N-need you inside. P-please. I promise to be good.” You panted, the greed within you blinding logic.

“Sweet Angel,”Geto sighed, his grips on your hips tightening as he popped the head of his cock inside of you, a moan of relief leaving your lips. “You’ve always been good for us.”

“Too good,” Gojo added, tilting your head up with his thumb, his usually bright electric blue eyes a dark glowing blue. His thumb swiped your lip while Geto slowly inched his way inside of you, stretching your walls deliciously. You couldn’t fight back the moan that left you as you stared at Gojo’s expressions.

“Best fucking pussy,” Geto groaned from behind, sinking to the hilt, the fullness driving you crazy, your walls and clit tingling from it all.

Gojo swiped your lips once more, this time with the tip of his cock, the slit leaking beads of precum that in your lustful daze, made you lick the pink head to taste him. Gojo swore and threw his head back, letting you swirl your tongue around his tip before you let him slip past your lips.

You moaned around his cock when you felt Geto draw back, only to thrust back in languidly before building up the pace. One that was too fast it had you squeezing him tight, where his cock was brushing against your sweet spot inside you, one that Gojo began to match as he held you by the hair and was fucking into your mouth, then deep in your throat.

“Shit, keep fucking her like that, her throat gets tight when you hit her sweet spot,” Gojo moaned, staring at your pretty bleary eyes, darkened with lust, looking up at him so cutely as you gagged and drilled around his cock. Fuck, you were gonna make him cum so fast if you kept looking at him like that.

“Such a good girl aren’t you?” Geto grunted, driving his hips til it slapped with your ass over and over, his eyes catching glimpses of the creamy ring of white forming at the base of his cock. “You’re so hot baby.” He groaned, fucking your harder you screamed around Gojo’s cock.

They felt so good. It was euphoric. All you could think about was how good they were making you feel, how hot and heavy their cocks were inside you, and how their praises fell so sweetly from their lips.

In the darkness of the small hall by the door, dark eyes watched silently. They watched the way the two men dwarfed your frame, how Geto’s fast thrusts made your breasts bounce til your arousal was leaking down and glistening on your inner thighs, and how Gojo’s balls slammed against your chin as he fucked your pretty face, drool dripping down your chin.

His breath was caught in his throat and he was desperately trying to deny the heat that began to bloom within him at the sight of you getting fucked. Trying to control the hardening of his own cock in his boxers. He was supposed to be filled with fury and thoughts to reprimand his seniors for abusing their power over you but instead he was wondering about how warm your mouth was and how hot and tight your walls would be.

This was wrong, he told himself silently, his eyes on you the entire time. And the sight before him, his two seniors fucking you at the same time was something he didn’t expect to walk in on, he was hoping to see you in your bed, fast asleep. Not on all fours taking two cocks as if you were in heat.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” Gojo groaned, hips stilling in one final thrust, his hand tangled in your hair pressing you further down til your nose was pressed on his pelvic bone. You unintentionally clenched your walls as you felt his hot cum spill down your throat, taking all he was giving you. “Good girl.” Gojo praised, grinning as he pulled out, hints of his cum still present on your pink tongue.

Arms trembling, your upper body fell onto the bed, Geto’s grasp on your hips kept your ass up, your body jolting forward from each hard and deep thrust. Your fingers curled against the sheets, moaning at the way his balls slapped against your clit, his name falling in soft chants.

“C-cum…ah—,” you panted against the sheets, broad furrowing as you were getting closer to the edge. “Make me cum, s-so close. Feel so good. I—ah. Please. Please. Please.”

Geto swore at the small pleads, one hand snaking around your waist as he pressed his torso against your back, his hot breath against your ear as his fingers found your clit.

“Fuck, you’re getting so tight around me baby,” Geto moaned in your ear, the silkiness in his voice made you clench around him. “Pretty girl likes to get praised doesn’t she?” He teased, rubbing your sensitive pearl, your moans getting louder and higher, the steady pounding of his cock into your cunt and the pressure on your clit hurling you to the edge.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Geto burrowed his face in the crook of your neck, hips increasing in pace. “Take my cum, baby. Fuck.”

“N-no, not inside,” you gasped, the pressure on your clit making your eyes roll back, your protests ceasing almost immediately as your orgasm hits you.

Geto’s hips stuttered as the pressure at the base of his spine released, pulling out and pumping himself till he came all over your back. The hot spurts painted your skin white and he squeezes your ass in appreciation. you were lucky Gojo wasn’t fucking you then, he would’ve cum inside you and Geto wasn’t that cruel, he still cared for you in more ways than one.

Your head was spinning, the tingling sensation that exploded from your core washed over you like waves. The warmth that painted your stomach heated your skin and with heavy lidded eyes you glanced down to see the mess of his cum, panting as you tried to catch your breath.

“My turn!” Gojo chirped like a boy waiting for his turn at a toy. His large hand grabbed your ankle pulling you to the foot of the bed to carry you, back pressed against his chest and his arms hooked beneath your knees, his tip rubbing on your clit making you whine.

“S-senpai , wait,” you breathlessly spoke up, slumped against him, his strong arms supporting your weight. “I just c-ca—ah!”

His cock easily slipped inside you, splitting your walls apart again so quickly after your orgasm, you squeezed him tight. From where Nanami stood, he could see your pussy so clearly in the dim lighting. It glistened with slick and your cute lips were parted to accommodate Gojo’s lengthy cock, the sight made him even harder.

“How does it feel, Princess?” Gojo rasped in your ear, feeling your slick coat his length and drip down his balls.

“G-good. Feels good,” you admitted shamelessly, thighs shaking as he began to thrust up into you. “S’too much, Gojo.”

“Mhm? Make up your mind, baby,” he groaned, eyes closing at the sweet sensation of your soft walls hugging him. “You’re so fucking wet.” He pistons into you, your whines and moans filling the room once more. “I bet Nanami would love to fuck this pretty pussy too.”

A lump formed in the blonds throat, still stood in the shadows of the hall, the room door behind him closed. Why was his name brought up? Did Gojo know he was here? He should’ve known better. He should turn away now before he gets caught and makes you uncomfortable. It was already bad that he had stood there and watched you get fucked by his seniors, and enjoyed hearing your sweet sinful moans.

“You want that don’t you, Princess?” Gojo pressed on, his pace unrelenting, desperate to finish inside you. “Want Nanami to fuck you just as I do and fill your precious womb with cum.”

Nanami’s fingers barely touched the steel knob, pausing on his way out , his curiosity getting the better of him.

You could only whine in response, core clenching tight, the sensation of Gojo’s cock scraping your walls and brushing your g-spot, bringing you closer to the edge once more. They made you feel so good, it always felt like a dream.

“You little slut,” Gojo chuckled deeply, feeling your walls clamp around him. “Of course you want that. Why don’t you put on a show for him then, hm? Look.”

Panic surged throughout your body, eyes forcing itself to focus on the surroundings of the room, making out the unmistakable silhouette in the dimmed entryway. Your hands immediately covered your face in embarrassment, body growing hotter and hotter.

He was here. Nanami was seeing you like this.

“N-no,” you whimpered when your back met the bed, exposing your front to Nanami’s dark eyes. How much did he see? How did he get in? What was he thinking? A soft pressure on your throbbing pearl had you crying out. Why did it feel so good even when he was here? Why isn’t he looking away?

“Fuck, I’m cumming. Fuck,” Gojo hissed over and over, bliss seeping through his features and his grip on your hips tightening. “Watch Nanami, see how good she takes it.”

As everything Gojo appeared to be, even his moans, the one he makes especially when he finished, were pretty. He stilled inside you, cock pulsing as he shivered at the rippling pleasure up and down his spine. Warm heat flooded your insides, the sensation of his seed pouring into your womb making you softly moan in bliss, mind disregarding the idea that he actually came inside you. You were against it. You were. But it felt so good. The seeping warmth, the heat of his pearly white skin against yours and his breath fanning your neck as he caught his breath. It was all too good.

“N-na…,” you drawled softly, trying to form the syllables of the blonds name who stood by. Your eyes scanned him over, blinking away the drowsiness that came with the high. His face was flushed pink, lips slightly parted and as your eyes trailed lower, you could see the prominent bulge in his dark navy plaid pyjamas.

Did he want you too?

“Fuck,” Gojo hissed, pulling away, cock slipping out of you and bright blue eyes observing the white the seeped out your abused hole. “Shit, that’s hot.” He grinned proudly, getting a good look. “Suguru, look. This is what you’re missing out on.”

The raven haired stole a glance, admiring the creampie that Satoru just gave you.

“There’s always next time,” Geto reminded him, a smirk working it’s way up his lips as he tilted his head still crying your pink heat. He’ll definitely get his turn. But first…

“You know she can help you with that,” Geto’s voice pierced through Nanami’s trance, who almost drooled at what he just saw.

“W-what?” He cleared his throat, fists clenched on his sides, telling himself to resist.

“That.” Geto tilted his head, gesturing to the blonds hard on.

“I-I’m fi—,”

“Kento…”

‘No. Don’t say my name that way’ , his teeth ground against each other. The call of his name forcing his eyes that had been on the ceiling to you. Gojo laid by your side, caressing your cheek and praising you, while you looked at him. Dainty fingers reached out to him, palm up, beckoning him to come closer.

“W-want you too,” you murmured softly, the shyness in your voice evident to his ears. The chosen words made him blush. This couldn’t be real.

And yet, he took a step forward. Then another…and another.

His body moved on its own before his mind could process what he was doing. He chanted the word ‘Resist’ over and over, even when Gojo placed his hands on his shoulders, making him sit on the edge of the bed, telling him that this was his chance.

Even when you had straddled his lap, your arms draped over his shoulders, your lips brushing his nose, your very being just so treacherously close, was breaking his resolve, tearing it down piece by piece so easily.

Nanami winced when your hand wrapped around his length, aligning it to your heat. There was little to no fight in him left, not when the woman he sought after, admired, fell in love with, was taking initiative in the way he could only dream of.

The way you moaned in his ear when his leaking head popped inside your cunt began in him an addiction he never thought he’d have. He wanted to hear those sounds from you again, he wanted to be the reason for your moans, for your pleasure.

“K-Kento,” you whimpered, sinking lower unto his length. “Ah—you’re inside.” You breathed out shakily, walls tightening around him, a soft grunt leaving Nanami at the sensation.

Slowly, despite your tired body, you rocked your hips up and down his length, the heat and the pressure drawing you into a trance, already lost at the feeling of Nanami filling you up.

“She feels great doesn’t she?” Gojo mused, watching you ride the usually stoic man before you.

Nanami could hear the grin on his senior’s face, no quick retort nor remark could leave him. Not with how your walls enveloped him so tightly. Instead his hands found purchase on your hips, guiding you along his cock. He could feel your arousal leaking from you, along his length and down his balls. It was so easy to thrust into you with the mess of your wetness and the previous man’s cum. It was all so dirty.

“A-ah—feel s’good,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing his face to your chest, your body trembling with pleasure.

“Awe, look at our little Princess,” Gojo cooed, watching your cute lewd expressions. “She finally gets the man that she wanted.”

“She looks pretty when she’s fucking like that.” Geto chimed in, lighting a cigarette a he enjoyed the show before him.

“Oi, Nanaminnn. Isn’t this your first time?” The white haired man chortled from behind.

The blond ignored them both. Too lost with the heat of your body against his. Too lost with the squeeze of your velvety walls. Your moans, your gasps, the cute whines of his name on your lips. All of it. It was dizzying.

Gently, Nanami switched your positions. Your back pressed against the bed with him between your legs, and his string hands on either side of your head, pinning you below him as he thrusts into you again at his own pace. Fast and deep, giving you all he’s got.

You cried out at the new position, feeling another orgasm quickly building up in your very sensitive core. But the warmth that enveloped you this time was different. It was like the first morning rays of sun against your skin, comforting and sweet. It was because it was Nanami. As your body rocked from the power of his thrusts, you admired him above you. His blond hair was matte and no longer neatly swept back, bangs falling over his dark eyes, and a pink blush dusted his cheeks, and his lips were glossy and parted slightly as he grunted and panted above you.

Nanami wouldn’t be able to last long. Not with how you were looking at him.

“F-fuck,” he groaned under his breath, pressing his torso against yours and guiding your leg with one hand to wrap around his waist. He was close. And by the way your cunt was tightly sucking him in, you were close to.

“C-cum with me,” you breathed out, wrapping your arms around his neck, his cock drilling into you relentlessly, fat cockhead kissing your cervix with each thrust and brushing your g-spot. “F-fill me up, please. Want you to cum inside me.” You babbled, your words only spurring him on.

“Fuck, she’s so pretty when she begs like that. It’s getting me hard again.” Gojo groaned from the back.

Nanami reached between the two of you, fingers finding your swollen pearl and massaging it in a circular motion, your walls tightening even more around his length.

“Cum for me,” he rasped against your ear. The gruff, deep timbre of his voice made your whole body shiver and melt even further for him.

His thrusts quickened and his fingers continued to rub your clit, your nerve endings becoming more sensitive with each second. You could feel it. The tightening in your stomach, the build up of pressure in your lower belly. Your moans were leaving you without restraint at this point, feeling too utterly good from his cock, til the knot inside you snapped. You came all over him, your sweet release dripping down his muscular thighs and onto the bed, and in a couple of thrusts, his release soon followed, and you basked are the blissful expression on his face.

“I l-love you,” you murmured, against his neck, as he stilled on top of you, cock pumping out his seed into your womb. The warmth welcomed and even making you giggle. You were happy to be connected with Nanami like this. Your heart felt full.

He softly moaned against your ear, your confession making this messed up union, sweeter than it should have been. He could feel you milking his cock, walls pulsating against his length, taking what you could of his cum while the excess leaked out of your abused hole.

“Feels nice to cum inside her huh?” Gojo quipped from the back, cock hard again and hoping for another turn. “Shit, you made me wanna go agai—

“You’ve had your turn dipshit,” Geto grabbed his friend by the ear, dragging him towards the armchair in the corner of the room.

Nanami slowly parted from you, blushing at the sight of your pussy leaking with his cum. He didn’t know what to say. What could he possibly say?

“Are you okay?” He cleared his throat, lying beside you, letting you catch your breath.

You nodded with the sweetest smile on your face.

“You’d be surprised with how much she can take, Nanami,” Geto spoke, the bed dipping in your side as he settled beside you, turning you on your stomach. “The night is far from over. Plus,” he smirked, pushing your puffy lips apart just to get a good view of your cum filled pussy. “I haven’t come inside her yet, and you,” he helped you to your hands and knees, your face perfectly close to Nanami’s cock.

“You haven’t even gotten to try her mouth yet. As you can see….” he lined himself with your cunt, sheathing himself instantly to not let any cum go to waste, only to find your walls greeting him with a gentle squeeze. “She doesn’t disappoint.”

This isn't a request or anything but I had a soulmate AU idea that I think you'd like.... And reminded me of Oikawa. Imagine you find ur soulmate from their name written on your skin on ur 16/18 bday, but.... You're blind. And dating Oikawa. And he /swears/ your name is on his skin... But when your birthday rolls around, he insists you don't show anyone else.... And starts buying you clothes to cover the mark.... And you hear him whispering about his mark to Iwa.... And you begin to worry. 👀

I know it wasn’t specifically meant as a request, but I took the idea and ran with it - I hope it’s okay!! 💕

Oikawa Tooru x Female Reader

TW gaslighting, manipulation, dub con nsfw, blind reader

Part II

Always

“You promise me it’s there?”

Are you sure it’s me?

Rich, warm laughter fills the air around you, and despite the tension gnawing away in your stomach, the corners of your lips twitch into a soft smile.

“You don’t believe me!”

He’s happy. Even gasping in mock indignation Tooru can’t quite manage to keep it from his voice.

He has every reason to be; you’re both home for the first time in a year and a half, settled in the well worn couch at his parents house, your friends sprawled out either side of you. He’s twenty one today and as of five minutes ago the proud owner of his very own soulmate mark.

Or so he tells you. 

“Well it’s not like I can see it,” you tease, nudging yourself closer so that you can rest your head against his shoulder and sighing loudly. “It could be Issei’s name for all I know, and you’re all just too nice to break the news to me.”

The choked snort from your left side makes you giggle, but not as much as the sound of your boyfriend fake gagging. 

“Please, he fucking wishes!”

“Iwa tell her!” Oikawa demands, and you can just imagine the way that Iwaizumi’s eyes must roll before he ultimately gives in.

He always does.

“It’s yours,” he sighs. “Unfortunately you’re stuck with him, Y/N. My condolences.”

Yours. 

It’s hard, even as raucous laughter fills the air around you and Oikawa turns to shout at his best friend, to deny the warm fluttering in your chest. The arm around you eases you closer, a thumb absentmindedly stroking at your side and you allow yourself to relax against him. 

It’s your name on his skin. You’re his soulmate. 

For the first time in weeks, it feels like you can breathe easy. You wonder if Oikawa knew, if he noticed the way you held onto him just that little bit tighter - like you were scared to let go.

You’ve loved Oikawa for as long as you can remember, but you only get one soulmate. Was it really so outlandish to wonder whether his first love would be his last? Whether you could ever be good enough to be his?

The little blind girl, always following at his heels.

For all your faults, you’ve never been naive. You know how amazing he is - Tooru has always been destined for great things and you were just his highschool sweetheart.

A hindrance, one of his very dedicated fans had once taken the time to inform you, clinging desperately to whatever scraps of pity he felt charitable enough to throw your way.

Neither one of you had realised that Oikawa had heard every damn word. 

—

“Can you just…”

Oikawa pauses, the hand he has wrapped around yours squeezes lightly. “Hmm?”

Breathe deep. Just say it. 

Tell him. 

You’re almost at the gate, your flight’s leaving in twenty minutes (and you would have been there sooner if he hadn’t insisted on dragging you through every overpriced store in the damn airport) and in a few hours, you’ll be home again. 

But it isn’t the thought of being back in Japan that worries you. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, your heart thumping unsteadily in your chest. His birthday is in two days, and that’s when he’ll find out who his soulmate is supposed to be. And you trust him, you love him. Even if the name on his forearm isn't yours, it’s not like he’s just going to suddenly toss you aside like yesterday’s trash, but… things’ll change, you know they will. And you couldn’t even blame him for that, because how much effort can you really be expected to put into a relationship if you know they’re not the one you’re supposed to end up with?

The doubts you have, the ones that fester and play on your every insecurity, keeping you up at night long after Tooru has drifted off -  you’ve tried to shut them out and ignore them as best you can, but you just can’t get on that plane without having some kind of reassurance.

What if it’s not you?

“Just promise me that if…” your breath catches in your throat, and you try to force a smile on your face even though you know that it wobbles. “If it’s not- if I’m not-”

Soft lips press against yours, cutting you off. It’s only for a heartbeat, enough to get you to stop the panicked tumble of words you couldn’t quite get out, but for you it feels like it lasts a lifetime. You could lose yourself in Oikawa’s kisses, you think. Lose yourself and be happy for it.

A warm palm cups your face. “I love you,” he says, and it isn’t the murmured declaration first thing in the morning, his voice still thick with sleep as he rolls over to kiss you good morning, and it isn’t the cheesy, throwaway line he gives whenever you save him the last bite of the milk bread that he specifically bought for you (because god knows his coach would kill him if he found out he ate the entire thing himself).

It’s a promise.

“You are my soulmate,” his thumb strokes along your cheekbone, and you can’t help but lean into the touch. “You’re the only one I’m ever going to want.”

Standing on the outskirts of your gate, moments away from boarding the plane that’ll take you both home, you’re not entirely sure if he’s trying to tell you that he’s certain that the name on his arm is going to be yours, or that he doesn’t care if it isn’t.

Either way, it’s enough.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, and captures your lips in another kiss - this one brimming with ardent devotion, a love too deep for either one of you to speak.  

 —

Hours later, Iwa, Makki and Mattsun are all asleep downstairs and it’s just Tooru and you curled up in his bed. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that being back in his childhood bedroom did little in the way of curbing his appetite, but between giggles and breathy moans, Oikawa’s hand clamped over your mouth and his lips at your ear-

‘Shhh, you have to keep it down, cutie. Unless you want the whole house to hear all the pretty sounds you make when you’re about to cum for me?’

- he manages to wring four orgasms out of you before the two of you collapse back against the mattress, all sweaty and panting.

And you think he’s fallen asleep now, an arm slung around your waist, his face buried against the nape of your neck despite the warmth of the balmy summer night. With his chest flush against your back, you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart, lulling you gently to sleep with every beat. 

Soulmate.

This, here, in Oikawa’s arms, this is where you belong, where you’ve always belonged. And yet even with happiness and relief and an overwhelming love singing through your veins - keeping you wide awake - you can’t deny that it feels… strange almost, knowing that out of seven and a half billion people, you’re the one he’s marked for. 

He’d sounded so sure back at the airport, like there wasn’t even the possibility of doubt in his mind that you were the one for him. And maybe he was just saying it to calm you down and get your ass on the plane, but if the situations were reversed and it was your birthday first… could you really say with one hundred percent certainty that you knew it would be his name that’d show up on your arm?

You love him more than you’ve ever loved anybody else (more than you ever probably will love anybody else), it’s just that you’ve always known that the two of you were on wildly different paths. Tooru’s the starting setter for a pro volleyball team, and there’s already whispers of that national squad, Olympic selection.

He’s talented and driven and sometimes you wonder whether you ever would have left Miyagi let alone Japan at all if it hadn’t been for him dragging you along with him. 

You’ve always been so content in your own little bubble. You cling to what’s comfortable, what you know - all your life, you’ve been told that you’re not defined by your disability, but you’ve never tried to push yourself beyond it. 

With Tooru, you’ve never had to.

That girl, years ago - she wasn’t wrong. You do cling to him, like you’d clung to your friends and your family. And maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world, but when you compare what Oikawa has to offer his soulmate compared to what you bring to the table, and-

“I can hear you thinking from here,” your apparently not-so-asleep-after-all boyfriend murmurs in your ear. “Tell me what’s bothering my pretty girl.”

You sigh, rolling over to face him. It’s pointless to lie to Tooru - he can read you better than anyone else - but admitting the whole truth, even here under this little refuge of soft intimacy between the two of you, feels harder than it should be.

“You’re not… disappointed, are you?” 

The harrumph that escapes his lips sounds almost offended, but the brush of his lips against the tip of your nose is sweet. “How long have I known you?” he asks.

Your forehead wrinkles at the question. “Fifteen or so years, I guess?”

You’d only been six or so when your family had moved in the house next door to his, across the street from Iwaizumi’s, and you can still vividly remember the first time you met him - crying in your front yard with a scraped up knee - always too eager for your own good.

“Hmm,” he acknowledges, “and how long have we been dating?”

“Seven-ish years?”

He chuckles, kissing you again, this time on your cheek. “And how long do you think I’ve been in love with you?”

Your whole face warms, and you fight the urge to bury it in his bare chest, especially when he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place back behind your ear. “Tooru-”

He sighs again, the sound tinged with just a hint of fond exasperation. “Give me your hand.”

You oblige, and you feel his long fingers curl around yours, tucking all of your fingers but your index away and drawing your hand closer towards him. It’s only when your pointer brushes against skin that you realise what he’s trying to do. Still, you don’t offer a word as Tooru slowly traces your finger along the dark letters on his skin - his soulmate mark.

Your name. 

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Y/N. You’re mine, you’ve always been mine, just as I’m yours,” he vows, and you almost shiver with the intensity that burns in every word. “Any other name would have been nothing more than a filthy lie.”

Any further protests are swallowed up by another kiss, and your boyfriend takes it upon himself to show you exactly how much he adores you, over and over again, until sheer, utter exhaustion drags you to sleep in his arms.

 —

Your own twenty-first birthday is a vastly different kind of affair. For one, the two of you decide to stay in Argentina - Oikawa’s mid season and can’t afford the time off training to traipse back home again.

Which means that it is just the two of you alone in your villa when you feel an odd burning sensation start to creep through your left arm. It doesn’t hurt exactly, more like a warm tingling sensation that flows along your skin as one by one the letters of your soulmate’s name come to light.

The sharp little gasp that slips from your lips must have alerted Tooru - hovering as he had been for the better part of the day - because his hands are on your arm within a moment, flipping it over and eagerly dragging it closer for him to inspect. His own breath hitches in his throat, his fingers tightening on your soft skin and a tentative smile works its way across your face. 

People have told you before that your boyfriend is handsome - stupidly beautiful, you’d once overheard one of your old high school classmates bemoan. His voice certainly is, soft and pretty and lilting, warm like the first rays of the sun on a cool winter’s morning, though not without its sharpness. Oikawa always has had a wicked tongue. In your head, you picture a face to match, delicate, angular features, warm eyes and a grin that’s just a little impish. Trouble, but the irresistible kind. 

You wish you could see it now, watch your soulmate’s eyes widen with delight, or maybe soften with quiet awe. You want to see him happy, deliriously so, you want to look into those lovely eyes of his and see all the love that’s coursing through your veins right now reflected right back at you. 

He still hasn’t spoken a word.

The slow drag of a breath, shaky and too sharp, had your bright smile freezing on your face. His grip hasn’t relented, fingers calloused from years of playing volleyball digging into your arm almost painfully. The air between you two is still, he hasn’t moved, not so much as a twitch.

Unease creeps its way into your stomach.

Why hasn’t he said anything?

He’s never exactly been the strong, silent type, and you love him for that. Iwa often complains that his best friend likes the sound of his own voice too damn much (half heartedly at best), and maybe that’s true, but he never realised that it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. 

It’s different for you, not being able to see. 

You don’t exactly blame them for not understanding - how could they, really? Without your sight to help you, your other senses have to work in overdrive just to make sense of things. Tooru’s voice builds the world around you, imbues it with a spark, guides you like a hand stretching out through the darkness. It’s a gap in the void, a reassurance you cling to - because without it there’s nothing. You’re alone with only your thoughts to keep you company. 

So when he goes quiet like this, it’s never a good sign.

A lump lodges its way in your throat. Without your sight, his silence is almost impossible to read, but you can sense the sudden heaviness in the air, the tension hanging thick between the two of you. 

You expected dramatics. Tears, maybe, or a burst of affectionate cuddles and kisses. Gushing over your mark just as he had when his own had come through. Hell, you thought he’d grab his phone and take a thousand and one pictures just to prove to the world that you were his as much as he was yours - because you loved each other. Because you were soulmates. 

Is there something wrong with your mark?

“Tooru?” you murmur, the edges of your smile starting to slip as your panic rises. “I-is everything-”

“You’re mine.”

The clipped words are little more than a whisper, hoarse and choked. It takes you by surprise, making your heart skip a beat, the knot in your stomach tighten, yet just as that paralysing apprehension starts to take root, he clears his throat, and a laugh bubbles to the surface.

Slowly, like ice thawing, his fingers relax on your forearm, gliding up over your shoulder to curl around your neck. “You love me, right?” 

Your eyebrows knit together, but you nod anyway. “Always.”

There’s another shaky breath, and suddenly his arms are wrapping around you, drawing you into a tight embrace. You don’t fight it, still bewildered by the sudden whiplash of his tone.

His own heart is racing, you can feel it as he holds you against him. The question burns deep inside of your chest, a thought you don’t want to give voice to, but you can’t seem to stop yourself - it slips out before you even realise you’ve opened your mouth.

“It is your name, Tooru, isn’t it? You’re my soulmate?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Oikawa hums, resting his chin against the top of your head. “Of course it is, cutie,” he chuckles. “Who else’s name would it be?”

He takes you out for dinner to celebrate. You’d originally picked one of his favourite dresses to wear, a strapless white number with a pretty, flowing skirt that fell to your mid thigh, but Oikawa stops you before you can leave, passing you over an old denim jacket of yours.

“It’s cool out tonight,” he says as he eases it over your shoulders before you can protest.

You don’t question it.

—

He fucks you that night, hard, fast and unrelenting, holding onto you so tight that you swear you’ll have bruises come morning.

—

Oikawa likes doing little things for you. 

He likes it when you hold onto his arm and let him guide you around when you go out together (you do have a cane - it sits in the back of your closet for ‘emergency uses’ only). He likes to buy you pretty things, jewellery, clothes, little trinkets that remind him of you - spoiling you with every opportunity he can, doubly so now that he has a salary that affords him that luxury.

It’s not uncommon for him to pick out your outfits. For one, you can’t see so you kind of have to rely on somebody else’s help so you don’t end up a mismatched disaster, and Tooru seems to enjoy doing it. He likes seeing you wear the things he buys for you - lacy, soft and demure. 

He also likes it when people know that you’re his.

So it doesn’t strike you as odd when Tooru insists on you wearing his club hoodie over your dress the next time you go to one of his games. You might not be able to see him fly across the court, but you can hear the cheers, the roar of the crowd as they stamp their feet and chant like a battle cry when San Juan scores. You can taste the excitement in the air, and whenever your soulmate steps up to the plate to serve, you feel the rabid excitement of the crowd thrumming in your veins. 

It’s warm in the stadium with so many people crammed close together, you push the sleeves up without even thinking. It’s not an issue - it shouldn’t be - but when your boyfriend slips his arms around you, fresh from the locker room post match, it’s the first thing he notices. He’s tugging them back down before you can so much as offer a hello, tersely muttering something about you getting a cold when you frown.

There’s a tiny flicker of unease at the odd behaviour, but he’s kissing you before you can linger on it for too much longer. 

And if that’s all it was, maybe it would be easier for you to shove that niggling worry aside. 

But once you start noticing things - little, inconsequential things you would have just shrugged off before - you can’t seem to stop, and that tiny seed of doubt starts to take root, to sprout and grow.

Your friends stop calling by. Back home your social circle was pretty much limited to Tooru, Iwa and their friends - not that you minded at all, you love them all dearly, it’s just that you didn’t really have any friends of your own outside of that little group. When you moved across to Argentina and Oikawa started training for longer hours, dedicating himself wholeheartedly to his new team, you got lonely, sitting in your new home just waiting around for him to come back to you.

And it took a while, but eventually you started to venture outside of your comfort zone and lo and behold - even with your stumbling Spanish, you managed to make a few friends! Though you can tell that your beloved boyfriend wasn’t exactly thrilled by the burgeoning new friendships you gushed to him about, he’s never begrudged you them. If it made you happy, then he was happy. 

Lately though, they’ve been kind of distant. And by distant, you mean… well, nonexistent. They don’t come visit you anymore, when you call their numbers, it just rings out. 

You can’t even leave voicemails - there’s just an automated voice telling you their message banks are full. Regardless, not one of them has made the effort to call you back, and it’s not like you can text them to ask why they’re avoiding you. Life gets in the way, you know that, and sometimes people just drift apart but it’s like all of a sudden they’ve just dropped off the face of the planet. 

But when you mention venturing out into town one day without them while Tooru’s at practice, he seems strangely resistant to the idea. 

“I just don’t like the idea of you wandering around by yourself. It’s not safe out there for you, cutie,” he tells you.

The words are saccharine, as sweet as the kisses he presses against your lips when he coaxes your chin upwards. You love him, you do. And you understand that he worries - even away from the hustle and bustle of the big cities, San Juan isn’t exactly a crime free neighbourhood, but for the first time the strong, muscular arms that wrap around your waist don’t bring comfort. 

It’s like they’re a cage, locked around you and dragging you slowly down to the depths, and it’s driving you mad because you can’t figure out why it feels like that.

Biting back your annoyance, you sigh, forcing yourself to relax against him. You love him - this is normal, couples disagree all the time. “I’m not an invalid, babe. I’ve done it before - I can’t just sit around the villa all day moping all alone or I’ll go crazy.”

He hums noncommittally, his fingers trailing idly across your skin as he draws you closer still, and the conversation is dropped. 

Two days later, you find your cane snapped in two in the back of the closet. Oikawa has some weights stuffed in an old gym bag for when he can’t be bothered leaving home to work out - the bag must have fallen on your cane and cracked it when he put it back after his session yesterday afternoon.

An accident, it has to be. He’d never deliberately do something so petty, right?

And there are moments where you can forget the doubts that gnaw away at your insides. Tooru has always been a caring, attentive lover - the perfect boyfriend. He seems more determined that ever to shower you in love, whether that’s by waking you up with his tongue eagerly lapping at your cunt, bringing you home bouquets of fragrant flowers and cooking the two of you dinner, or just with the tiny gestures of affection - tucking your hair back away from your face, linking his hands with yours, the little kisses and compliments he lavishes you with on a daily basis.

When it’s just the two of you, lounging around on the couch, his head resting on your lap and your fingers carding through his hair, it’s easy to pretend that everything’s fine. The two of you love each other. You’ve been his rock, his biggest supporter right from the early days, and Tooru’s the one who drew you out of your shell, who makes you feel like you’re actually worth something.

That you’re beautiful, and loved.

It’s not until you come home one afternoon from an impromptu trip to the local bakery just down the road that all the little pieces fall into place, and you realise why.

The craving for something sweet was what drew you out. Truthfully, you hadn’t really thought twice about it. It was a short trip, one you’d made a thousand times before, and it wasn’t like the locals didn’t know you, wouldn’t watch out for you if they saw you about to unknowingly hurt yourself or trip over something. 

The alfajores in your hand were supposed to be a surprise, Tooru had been wound up from practice lately, more stressed than he usually was this late in the season, and you knew you weren’t the only one with a wicked sweet tooth. You’d just wanted to cheer him up. 

You hadn’t expected to come home to find Tooru pacing in your bedroom, muttering to himself, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to whirl around at the sound of your approach, snatching at your wrist and all but hauling you inside. 

You certainly aren’t prepared for the snarling, bitter words he hurls at you. 

And yet even as tears fill your eyes, a choked sob bursting free as he berates you for leaving the villa without telling him, Tooru clutches at you so tightly it feels like your arm’s going to snap. 

“You can’t leave me! You can’t - you’re mine!”

He doesn’t stop, barely pauses for breath, but those eight words hit you like a freight train, and everything else fades out into white noise. You can’t for the life of you explain how or why, but in that moment, you know with absolute certainty that the name on your arm can’t be his. 

Tooru lied to you. 

He’s not your soulmate. 

It’s all you can do to stand there numbly while your boyfriend falls to pieces in front of you. The angry yells and screams turn into wretched sobs, and suddenly it’s Tooru collapsing in your arms, clinging to your neck like it’s a lifeline as he sniffles against your chest, and when desperate apologies turn into desperate kisses and he starts to lead you backwards towards the bed, you don’t fight him.

He treats you like you’re made of glass, worshipping every inch of your skin, fervent declarations of love spilling out between kisses like prayers of the devout at an altar. He fucks you slowly, lovingly, moaning your name so sweetly as he searches for absolution within the plush walls of your sex.

And with his fingers coaxing at your clit, his lips dancing against yours you fall off that precipice with him.

You have no idea long the two of you lie there in silence, limbs entangled with one other, but eventually you register the warmth of his hand on your cheek, caressing it with a gentle kind of tenderness that makes something deep inside of you ache.

“You still love me, don’t you?” Tooru’s voice is quiet. Hesitant. It reminds you of the little boy you knew, the one who confided all his fears of never being good enough to you, desperately seeking the validation you always gave so freely. 

Your eyes flutter shut, another stray tear spilling down your cheek, and your heart breaks anew.

“Always.”