w: this blog contains explicit smut, dark romance, minors do not interact.
f: anime, manga, game, visual novel.
l: english, vietnamese.
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
(included both english and vietnamese works. btw, this is just my secondary account created to store my works. visit my main account here. visit my wattpad here venus_suzu).
warning: plot-twist, yandere geto, actually the sequel(s) of this one are nsfw (but i don't know how to write them in english so...)
pairing: yandere geto x teacher!reader x yandere gojo
title: no matter what
summary: ten years had passed since the moment these hands were stained, since this heart lost its way, and yet Geto still held unwavering reverence for the one who had once taught him, guided him, shaped him through the long years.
Why, though? He could no longer say.
Perhaps that feeling was never merely respect, perhaps it was something far more dreadful than that. On countless nights, when the lambent moon drifted across a sky as dark as the condemned man’s own soul, Geto suddenly realized... he had to do something. Immediately. To kill that feeling— once, and for all.
"They said you came here for Okkotsu Yuta."
Pure as the hush of dawn when the human world first stirs, your voice lingers in Geto’s mind, brushing against every tense, dormant thread of thought as though plucking a silence string of an old, broken harp.
And suddenly, he is still. Numb, in a way colder than any winter snow could ever dream to be. Is it wrong, he wondered, that for the span of a breath, he thought your voice as something forbidden— a sacre elixir he should never taste, because it stirs within him… that faint yet infuriating ache he couldn't even name.
That sting of feeling. Dripping, drop by drop, only to melt into the darkness lies deep within his mind.
Perhaps the world would call it… belated remorse?
No.
Geto Suguru has never known remorse. Not on that distant night when he burned an entire village down to ashes. Not as bodies collapsed like brittle stalks beneath his stride. To him, those monkeys are worthless. He has never regretted bearing the weight of justice in a world rotting from within, even if it meant offering up his soul to hell, piece by piece.
“Perhaps so… Y/N-sensei.”
Answered, Geto wondered if those monkeys down there could witness this very moment— on the twenty-fourth floor of an apartment not far from the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, where darkness and light crossed path, a cruel, fleeting union of this filthy world.
Was it the night drawing closer, or was it him stepping forward, while the distant sun couldn’t be bothered to look back his way?
Still, his thoughts lingered on that lone figure. The man didn’t like the way you leaned over the balcony, even though he knew full well that the barrier between you and death was sturdy enough to keep you in this world. And yet… because it was you, simply because it was you that he cared so much.
"Aren’t you afraid of falling, sensei?”
Only a thin wisp of white smoke drifted from your lips in reply. Refusing to let the silence of the one who had once stood beside him for so many years linger any longer, Geto leaned fully against the railing— right there, beside you.
What had he even expected to hear, after everything that had happened?
“The thing I feared most in this world,”
“....already happened ten years ago.”
The night brushed past your bitter smile.
Every word seemed to carry tenderness distilled from all that was once pure in life, and yet, when it reached his ears, it was unbearably cold. Why? The man wondered.
“You smoke?” Since when?”
“Since the day you left.”
He tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, but in the end it was nothing but a pointless attempt, far too obvious to someone who knew him better than anyone else.
In just a moment, he had forgotten just how skilled you truly were.
An accusation, the gentlest one he had ever heard in his life, like the moonlight tonight. It flowed quietly into his mind, washing over every ache and sorrow this world had pressed upon the body of a damned sinner, a cursed soul, the bearer of hell.
Serene.... a hymn amid the mad, blood-soaked grind of endless slaughter, meaningless, hopeless, without an end.
"I taught you that, didn’t I?”
“Never waste a single word on your enemy.”
Those familiar words echoed faintly in his heart, casting a quiet weight over his dark brown eyes. A glance was enough for Geto to take in your delicate frame, hidden behind loose waves of hair, drifting lightly with the passing breeze. Just like the way the woman he had always longed for would let the ashes fall onto a world full of sorrow.
How unfair it was, Geto realized then, you hadn't changed at all.
Your eyes were still distant, were so.. far away. Your hair still tied high, just as he had always wished to touch it.
Always like this. Always.
You were the one he respected with his mind, and with his heart.
Why were you still so gentle? Ten years had passed, had you truly not cared to change at all? It turned out the only one who turned his back on everything was him.
“Enemy?”
"I'm not your student anymore?”
An echo of the past, Geto knew he was still sane enough to tell where the thin line between reality and illusion lay. He only resented himself for carving every word you had ever spoken into a heart long gone cold, so that now he was forced to face them as punishment far harsher than any sentence that could be passed.
He almost laughed. Laughed at himself, for daring to think he had any right to breathe out such meaningless words.
“Didn’t I already tell you?”
“You’ll always be my student no matter what.”
You’ll always be my student no matter what.
No matter what.
By now, the late night had fallen utterly still. The cigarette along with its last fragile ember slipped from your fingers, slowly falling from the rooftop of the towering building. The wind carried away the bitter smoke, the night’s restless chorus weaving over the faces of the two of you.
“Your phone, sensei.”
This silence was killing him.
“What’s wrong, Satoru?”
Night descended upon the human world. Darkness crept quietly into the sinner’s mind, smothering the faint trace of light that flickered in his eyes just the moment ago.
“…Have you confirmed Geto Suguru’s location?”
“Yes. The rooftop. Building 24T2.”
Geto recognized the voice on the other end of the line.
“…Do your best to stall him. Backup is on the way.”
“…Give me exactly thirty minutes. I’ll be there.”
But even so, did it really matter?
After all, the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons was never meant to take Gojo Satoru’s head.
“Just take it easy, Satoru."
Only fools would think his target was Gojo Satoru or the Special Grade Rika.
“I mean it's actually quite relaxi—”
The phone hit the ground.
“…sensei—!”
A merciless kick. The blue screen shattered the moment it collided with the wall beside it. The line on the other end fell silent.
The two figures stood motionless, like twin statues carved from stone.
“Your reflex is still as sharp as ever.”
The wind surged through every strand of hair. Your sharp gaze locked onto him in a silent warning, before dropping onto the thin trace of blood seeping from the cut along your slender wrist.
Geto would have been blind not to notice the wound on your skin. And yet he chose to ignore it just as he had chosen to leave everything behind, to sink himself into that reeking mire alone.
Because there was nothing else he could do.
This was inevitable. Geto could not turn back after everything that had happened. He had burned his memories to ash, buried every remnant six feet under the very moment his heart lost its place of refuge.
There was no salvation. Nor was there any need for it. The demon had shed everything, and had no need for anyone’s pity.
So be it. Let this battle be taken as a meticulous arrangement of fate itself. And should anything go wrong, it would only be destiny cruelly playing its hand.
“Your Nullification Technique is a real nuisance."
In a blink of an eye, the light coat was tossed aside.
“Looks like we’ll have to settle this one-on-one, hmm?"
Geto wagered everything against death, or perhaps he simply didn't believe in it at all.
Either way, he showed nothing but disdain when the gate of hell yawning open before him for he was challenging the very person who had taught him every strike, every movement, down to the instincts etched into his body.
A fight to the death. All or nothing. In the end, there was nothing left for him to lose.
You'll always be my student no matter what.
No matter what.
“Is that really true, sensei?”
“Is it really true…?”
As if he were speaking to the shadow of his own mind, Geto knew he was no longer sane, yet at the very least, he was still aware of what he was doing.
“You were the one who taught me never to let personal feelings interfere with a mission, weren’t you?”
Then what was this?
Why were you the one betraying the very principle you had drilled into him, over and over again?
You were lying.
You didn’t strike, only dodge. That movement alone told him everything, you knew his every step, every instinct, every intention before it was even born. Not once did you attack.
What were you being so stubborn about?
Pity?
“Very well. Very well.”
Or were you hoping he would return and become a "good person" again?
How naive, how foolish.
“Come back, Suguru.”
Those words rang inside his head. Relentless. Inescapable. Gnawing. Geto despised that look in your eyes— the one that planted remorse deep in his chest, and yet he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Perhaps this was the curse people spoke of.
That fragile figure lay gasping in his arms fit so perfectly, so perfectly it felt wrong.
Footsteps echoed against the tiled ground. The dark alley drew closer, and closer and he could already sense the presence of other sorcerers waiting there.
"Geto-sama."
The man didn’t care who spoke, he simply nodded.
“Retreat.”
“I already have everything I need.”
Geto Suguru had everything he needed. And he now knew everything he needed to know.
He trusted you when you said you would never allow personal feelings to interfere with a life-and-death mission.
You lied.
Liar.
And this... this was the punishment.
“You will always be my student no matter what.”
No matter what.
No matter what…
Yet Geto chose to grant you a second chance, just as you had always forgiven him.
Because no matter what may come to pass, his gaze would always return to you, as the moon is but a hollow stone without the sunlight, as grass without rain, is doomed to wither all the same.
warning: plot-twist, yandere geto, actually the sequel(s) of this one are nsfw (but i don't know how to write them in english so...)
pairing: yandere geto x teacher!reader x yandere gojo
title: no matter what
summary: ten years had passed since the moment these hands were stained, since this heart lost its way, and yet Geto still held unwavering reverence for the one who had once taught him, guided him, shaped him through the long years.
Why, though? He could no longer say.
Perhaps that feeling was never merely respect, perhaps it was something far more dreadful than that. On countless nights, when the lambent moon drifted across a sky as dark as the condemned man’s own soul, Geto suddenly realized... he had to do something. Immediately. To kill that feeling— once, and for all.
"They said you came here for Okkotsu Yuta."
Pure as the hush of dawn when the human world first stirs, your voice lingers in Geto’s mind, brushing against every tense, dormant thread of thought as though plucking a silence string of an old, broken harp.
And suddenly, he is still. Numb, in a way colder than any winter snow could ever dream to be. Is it wrong, he wondered, that for the span of a breath, he thought your voice as something forbidden— a sacre elixir he should never taste, because it stirs within him… that faint yet infuriating ache he couldn't even name.
That sting of feeling. Dripping, drop by drop, only to melt into the darkness lies deep within his mind.
Perhaps the world would call it… belated remorse?
No.
Geto Suguru has never known remorse. Not on that distant night when he burned an entire village down to ashes. Not as bodies collapsed like brittle stalks beneath his stride. To him, those monkeys are worthless. He has never regretted bearing the weight of justice in a world rotting from within, even if it meant offering up his soul to hell, piece by piece.
“Perhaps so… Y/N-sensei.”
Answered, Geto wondered if those monkeys down there could witness this very moment— on the twenty-fourth floor of an apartment not far from the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, where darkness and light crossed path, a cruel, fleeting union of this filthy world.
Was it the night drawing closer, or was it him stepping forward, while the distant sun couldn’t be bothered to look back his way?
Still, his thoughts lingered on that lone figure. The man didn’t like the way you leaned over the balcony, even though he knew full well that the barrier between you and death was sturdy enough to keep you in this world. And yet… because it was you, simply because it was you that he cared so much.
"Aren’t you afraid of falling, sensei?”
Only a thin wisp of white smoke drifted from your lips in reply. Refusing to let the silence of the one who had once stood beside him for so many years linger any longer, Geto leaned fully against the railing— right there, beside you.
What had he even expected to hear, after everything that had happened?
“The thing I feared most in this world,”
“....already happened ten years ago.”
The night brushed past your bitter smile.
Every word seemed to carry tenderness distilled from all that was once pure in life, and yet, when it reached his ears, it was unbearably cold. Why? The man wondered.
“You smoke?” Since when?”
“Since the day you left.”
He tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, but in the end it was nothing but a pointless attempt, far too obvious to someone who knew him better than anyone else.
In just a moment, he had forgotten just how skilled you truly were.
An accusation, the gentlest one he had ever heard in his life, like the moonlight tonight. It flowed quietly into his mind, washing over every ache and sorrow this world had pressed upon the body of a damned sinner, a cursed soul, the bearer of hell.
Serene.... a hymn amid the mad, blood-soaked grind of endless slaughter, meaningless, hopeless, without an end.
"I taught you that, didn’t I?”
“Never waste a single word on your enemy.”
Those familiar words echoed faintly in his heart, casting a quiet weight over his dark brown eyes. A glance was enough for Geto to take in your delicate frame, hidden behind loose waves of hair, drifting lightly with the passing breeze. Just like the way the woman he had always longed for would let the ashes fall onto a world full of sorrow.
How unfair it was, Geto realized then, you hadn't changed at all.
Your eyes were still distant, were so.. far away. Your hair still tied high, just as he had always wished to touch it.
Always like this. Always.
You were the one he respected with his mind, and with his heart.
Why were you still so gentle? Ten years had passed, had you truly not cared to change at all? It turned out the only one who turned his back on everything was him.
“Enemy?”
"I'm not your student anymore?”
An echo of the past, Geto knew he was still sane enough to tell where the thin line between reality and illusion lay. He only resented himself for carving every word you had ever spoken into a heart long gone cold, so that now he was forced to face them as punishment far harsher than any sentence that could be passed.
He almost laughed. Laughed at himself, for daring to think he had any right to breathe out such meaningless words.
“Didn’t I already tell you?”
“You’ll always be my student no matter what.”
You’ll always be my student no matter what.
No matter what.
By now, the late night had fallen utterly still. The cigarette along with its last fragile ember slipped from your fingers, slowly falling from the rooftop of the towering building. The wind carried away the bitter smoke, the night’s restless chorus weaving over the faces of the two of you.
“Your phone, sensei.”
This silence was killing him.
“What’s wrong, Satoru?”
Night descended upon the human world. Darkness crept quietly into the sinner’s mind, smothering the faint trace of light that flickered in his eyes just the moment ago.
“…Have you confirmed Geto Suguru’s location?”
“Yes. The rooftop. Building 24T2.”
Geto recognized the voice on the other end of the line.
“…Do your best to stall him. Backup is on the way.”
“…Give me exactly thirty minutes. I’ll be there.”
But even so, did it really matter?
After all, the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons was never meant to take Gojo Satoru’s head.
“Just take it easy, Satoru."
Only fools would think his target was Gojo Satoru or the Special Grade Rika.
“I mean it's actually quite relaxi—”
The phone hit the ground.
“…sensei—!”
A merciless kick. The blue screen shattered the moment it collided with the wall beside it. The line on the other end fell silent.
The two figures stood motionless, like twin statues carved from stone.
“Your reflex is still as sharp as ever.”
The wind surged through every strand of hair. Your sharp gaze locked onto him in a silent warning, before dropping onto the thin trace of blood seeping from the cut along your slender wrist.
Geto would have been blind not to notice the wound on your skin. And yet he chose to ignore it just as he had chosen to leave everything behind, to sink himself into that reeking mire alone.
Because there was nothing else he could do.
This was inevitable. Geto could not turn back after everything that had happened. He had burned his memories to ash, buried every remnant six feet under the very moment his heart lost its place of refuge.
There was no salvation. Nor was there any need for it. The demon had shed everything, and had no need for anyone’s pity.
So be it. Let this battle be taken as a meticulous arrangement of fate itself. And should anything go wrong, it would only be destiny cruelly playing its hand.
“Your Nullification Technique is a real nuisance."
In a blink of an eye, the light coat was tossed aside.
“Looks like we’ll have to settle this one-on-one, hmm?"
Geto wagered everything against death, or perhaps he simply didn't believe in it at all.
Either way, he showed nothing but disdain when the gate of hell yawning open before him for he was challenging the very person who had taught him every strike, every movement, down to the instincts etched into his body.
A fight to the death. All or nothing. In the end, there was nothing left for him to lose.
You'll always be my student no matter what.
No matter what.
“Is that really true, sensei?”
“Is it really true…?”
As if he were speaking to the shadow of his own mind, Geto knew he was no longer sane, yet at the very least, he was still aware of what he was doing.
“You were the one who taught me never to let personal feelings interfere with a mission, weren’t you?”
Then what was this?
Why were you the one betraying the very principle you had drilled into him, over and over again?
You were lying.
You didn’t strike, only dodge. That movement alone told him everything, you knew his every step, every instinct, every intention before it was even born. Not once did you attack.
What were you being so stubborn about?
Pity?
“Very well. Very well.”
Or were you hoping he would return and become a "good person" again?
How naive, how foolish.
“Come back, Suguru.”
Those words rang inside his head. Relentless. Inescapable. Gnawing. Geto despised that look in your eyes— the one that planted remorse deep in his chest, and yet he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Perhaps this was the curse people spoke of.
That fragile figure lay gasping in his arms fit so perfectly, so perfectly it felt wrong.
Footsteps echoed against the tiled ground. The dark alley drew closer, and closer and he could already sense the presence of other sorcerers waiting there.
"Geto-sama."
The man didn’t care who spoke, he simply nodded.
“Retreat.”
“I already have everything I need.”
Geto Suguru had everything he needed. And he now knew everything he needed to know.
He trusted you when you said you would never allow personal feelings to interfere with a life-and-death mission.
You lied.
Liar.
And this... this was the punishment.
“You will always be my student no matter what.”
No matter what.
No matter what…
Yet Geto chose to grant you a second chance, just as you had always forgiven him.
Because no matter what may come to pass, his gaze would always return to you, as the moon is nothing but a hollow stone without the sunlight, as grass without rain, is doomed to wither all the same.
warning: plot-twist, mention of blood & violence, zanka is in his mid 20s here, english is not my first language.
author's note: first time posting my work in english, writing this in my native language was much easier to be honest. btw u can check my pinned post if you wanna read my work in vietnamese.
Perhaps, he's dreaming.
You are here beside him, the two of you lying across a field of lush, velvety grass. The pale sunlight drifts gently over your eyelids, brushing your cheek with a tender kiss, leaving the faintest blush of rose as if it, too, were daydreaming.
He stares at you, then lingers so quietly, that he begins to believe he could fall into the placid ocean of your eyes, surrender himself to an everlasting slumber and let your gaze pull him into an embrace... for so long, so so long that he wished—it could last for a thousand lifetimes.
"Zanka..."
Is his goddess calling him? Zanka suddenly realizes he had let his mind wander somewhere far away, 'til your voice lingers, gentle and lilting, like an autumn breeze idly plucking at the strings of some wandering harp, brushing softly against his ears.
He pretends he didn’t hear it. And he certainly will never tell you that he meant to do so, he will never tell you that he let the moment stretch out on purpose, just so he could hear you call his name again.
"Zankaaa."
"....hmm?"
He replies, as curtly as he always does, even though you’ve reminded him who knows how many times to answer you with something... perhaps, softer...? But Zanka was never the kind of man to spill those honeyed words. Only those bastards with nothing but filth in their minds would whisper the sweetest thing into the ears of a girl as naive as you—hadn’t he warned you of that over and over again?
"...c'mon, quit staring at me like that."
"...."
He answers you with that infuriating little smirk he always wears, followed by a dazed blink, still, in the end, Zanka cannot tear his eyes away from you, not even for a single minute.
“You never listen to me.”
You seem to murmur something under your breath, soft enough that he almost misses it, almost. Every word you breathe slips from one ear to the other, while the eyes of the man who could spend a lifetime loving you and only you, can’t seem to focus on anything else but the gentle curve of your cherry-red lips, and the sunlit strands of hair dancing by your cheek.
"(Y/N)."
"You're not... mad at me anymore...?"
Today feels strange, his heart light as a feather, even though he just remembered something he wishes he could forget. For the past three weeks, the two of you haven’t spoke to each other, not even a single word. There were sleepless nights he lay on a pillow damp with sweat, because he kept aching, silently, helplessly, for the warmth of the one he used to stand side by side.
You look at him, not a word fall from your rosy lips. And in that deafening silence, he feels himself sink, yet his heart doesn’t feel a thing. It simply falls, then caught once again in the spell of your eyes.
He had no words, or perhaps he simply refused to speak in this very moment. Which was oddly... strange, wasn't it? Because Zanka feared your silence more than anything else in this world. That hollow gaze of yours, it bored into him, crashing his helpless soul into a pile of dust. Yet he was the kind of man who would kneel until both of his knees bruised black and blue, bow his head so low before you, and gather the shattered pieces of himself—one by one, if that was what it costs to bring back the tender gleam in your eyes.
“...mad? What are you even talking about…?”
“Mad at you? For what?”
A ringing seized his ears, dense and suffocating, yet Zanka still could not tear his gaze away from you. As if he had forgotten something, something vital—but he just couldn't remember no matter how hard he tried.
"Don’t try to remember. If you’ve forgotten… then it must not matter anymore."
“(Y/N)…”
A strand of hair, fragrant with sunlight, brushed lazily against his cheek, and the man came undone, as if the frantic thing beneath his ribs had slipped and fallen straight through him. Like a pathetic beggar wandering through a winter that gnaws the bone, he clung, desperately, to the tiny flame that belonged to him and only him, when you shyly rested your head against his chest.
His saintess.
Zanka would kneel before you like the most devout of disciples, but he could willingly be a wretched sinner if the only sin he ever carried was you.
“I’m sorry…”
Strange, how those pathetic little words still escaped his lips, even though he knew you’d be upset if you found out he was apologizing for something he couldn’t even know. He couldn’t remember. He had forgotten something…
but what was that something?
Yet this was not a dream.
You were here, curled up in his arms the way you always did. Sunlight dripped gold across the vibrant emerald grass, and the gentle autumn breeze lingered softly against your lashes...
You were right.
Maybe it isn’t as important as he thought. Nothing is, anymore, because you’re here.
Nothing else matters now.
Nothing else mattered anymore when you leaned in and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. Zanka returned the favor immediately, just as the mischievous bastard he was. It would hardly be fair if you dared to toy with him and he let you get away with it. His arms grab around your waist and pressed you close, like a cat catching its prey, he obviously toying with your heart as he pull you in a deep kiss.
“Zanka…”
“…hmm?”
You rested your chin in the crook of his neck, your little nose nudged his jaw playfully. Always a little trickster you were, he thought, as your delighted giggle rang before you bit gently into his shoulder. That cute little cat-and-mouse game you played whenever there were just the two of you.
So he said nothing, letting you playing around and until you were too tired to even speak. His intention, well, was to join the game only when you had worn yourself out... just as it had always been.
“I forgive you…”
“I’m sorry, Zanka…”
Thud.
“It was my fault.”
Thud.
“Pathetic, aren't I?”
Thud.
Thud.
“W–What are you saying…?”
I forgive you.
I hate you.
Pathetic, aren't I?
I don't wanna see your fuckin' face. Ever. Again.
Then leave.
Leave.
I’m sorry…
I…
…love you.
Please... please...
....wake up.
Perhaps he was dreaming.
You were there, beside him. This mind, this heart, raced to find you the moment his lashes parted. You were there, beside him. Resting your head in the crook of his neck, sleeping so peacefully, the two of you lying on the grass, bathed in the warm scent of the sun.
“(Y/N)…?”
His head suddenly rang like a hammer, and he instinctively clutched you, desperately seeking you, like the madman lunging for the final solace he had found. You were still there, beside him... but the sun, the grass, the sky so clear, like the eyes he held so dear… you… you… you…
He froze, staring down at his hands. Blood...? Blood... Blood... everywhere.
The metallic stench clawed through his lungs as the man’s eyes darted around frantically, yet his arms clung to you as if you were the only reason— the one and only reason his heart still bothered to beat.
“(Y/N)…?!”
He sprang up, still holding you. Agonizing pain ripped through his chest, and Zanka doubled over, coughing up gouts of bitter, coppery blood that soon pooled across the ground, thick and viscous like the innards of some slaughtered beast.
Veins of red burned in his eyes as he screamed your name, his blurred pupils seemed as if they could pop from their sockets at any moment, if he kept tearing his own mind apart like this.
“Ah… how heartbreaking, Zanka.”
Silence.
Lurking in the darkness, the demon finally spoke, that terrifying thing with its twisted claws and foul stench, its voice—a death knell that sent shivers down the spine, like a raven croaking at the hour the gates of hell yawn open.
Its eyes, feral and gleaming, fixed upon the prey it had toyed with to the brink of death.
“So? How does my poison suit you?”
“While you were off dreaming....”
“That poor little thing—”
A low, amused click of its tongue.
“…refused to let me get close to ya.”
“Tch. No matter how many times I struck her, she kept forcing herself upright. Though I doubt she’s getting up now.”
Cruel chuckle scraped through its throat.
“Twelve… thirteen… maybe fifteen slashes across her back.”
“Still, she clung to you, how annoying.”
"And you… just lie there. Tsk tsk tsk."
Perhaps Zanka was dreaming.
You were here, beside him, the two of you lying on the velvety grass. A lazy strand of sunlight kissed your eyelids, tenderly brushing your rosy cheeks, dusting them with a dreamy blush that he couldn't dare to take his eyes off. He stared, stared at you as time passed, it felt like he could drown himself into the ocean of your eyes, he could dive head first into an everlasting slumber... so that the very sea within your gaze would entwine him in an embrace, for so long, so long that he wished—it could last for a thousand lifetimes.
Zanka knew he was dreaming.
All he needed was to wake up, and this dream—this nightmare would vanish. You would return to his side, and the two of you would reconcile once more. He would hold you, and… and kneel before you, begging for forgiveness for having slapped you in front of everyone. He would kiss each of your fingers, slowly, painfully, because he was an arrogant bastard, a man unworthy of being called a husband. He would… he would buy you a new wedding ring to replace the one he had ripped from your hand and thrown away in his rage. He would do everything—everything, to prove that he deserved to be taken back by you like some worthless piece of trash… even though he was the one had hurt you.
“(Y/N).”
“Please…”
"Open your eyes."
“Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Look at me."
“I’ll buy you another ring… I will....I—"
"(Y/N)…"
"Look at me...”
You didn’t answer, and Zanka knew he was dreaming.
He knew, of course he knew. You were just mad at him. Just like those nights when the two of you still shared the same bed, but you turned your back to him instead of curling into his chest like you always did. You were mad, that was all.
“One last time… okay?”
“Forgive me. I—I—”
“…N-Never mind. Let’s sleep. We’ll talk in the morning..."
“But you have to promise you won’t stay silent anymore, alright?”
What did the demon think, watching someone so much like him murmuring to a shadow of his own self? Watching a rotten soul held the ghost of the woman he once loved so dearly in his arms...
Whatever the demon felt, it wasn’t pity. And he knew exactly what he had to do.
“Tsk, tsk… lovers’ quarrel, is it?”
A slow, delighted snarl crawl through the dark.
“Then allow me to send this... adorable couple to hell together, so you two can live happily ever after, hm?”
And Zanka knew he was only dreaming—a nightmare that was far too real. All he needed was to wake up, and it would be over. He knew what he had to do, prepare you a new ring to replace the old one… and… and... his apology as well, how could he ever forget that?
A tiny goodnight kiss like ones he always gave you before sleep, it was just that... you had gone to bed earlier than usual. He looked forward to tomorrow, he really did. When the dawn would gently brush your eyelids, Zanka could finally end this cold war. He was tired, after all, he missed your smile, your warmth... he missed you. This would be over soon, Zanka was certain of it. Then he would wrap his arms around you, perhaps you would finally let him in, no longer pushing him away as you had for... for... he couldn't even remember anymore, just knew it felt like... months.
Lingering, he pressed one last kiss to your forehead, ignoring everything, even as the ground beneath him began to tremble. Well, he’d need a new bed after all. And... some strange shadow was slowly creeping closer, he probably ought to have closed the curtains. But… it didn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. You were here, beside him, and that was enough.
❀ summary enjin has a thing for hot women who are smarter than him, with nice curves, are a little naughty and very forgiving. someone who's not needy and childish. he's a simple man and you turn out to be his type and more.
❀ warnings/tags 18+ mdni, enjin is a menace, edging, orgasm denial (kinda), not quite an established relationship but a secret third option, they're secretly down bad for each other, nonjealous reader, enjin lwk wants her to be jealous, dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected sex, p in v, enjin is extremely unserious, missionary, cowgirl, enjin #needsthat, slight age gap (enjin is like 4yrs older)
❀ wc 3.5k
a/n can u tell i've been watching gachiakuta ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ enjin is fine shyttt fr and i hc that he lives to mess w u lol he just cant help but to be a problem in and out the sheets like would totally do stuff just to get a reaction out of u but not in a toxic way in a silly goofy cutesy way. he is my bb boi also this is based off that panel where enjin is talking about his type and cover art creds to @/spendthesummer on x !
Enjin would be the first to admit it—his type isn’t complicated.
He’s a simple man, really. He likes hot women who are smarter than him, with nice curves and sharp tongues, someone who wasn’t afraid to throw him off balance. He also likes women who don’t cling or whine, who don’t make him feel trapped.
But you… you aren’t just his type, you’re above and beyond it.
Smart by miles, sass sharper than his umbreaker blades. Your attitude matches his 6’3” shadow, like you’re his size (or even bigger) and he kinda loves it.
Which is why when you come back from a mission, gear still clinging to your skin, boots scuffed up from trudging through wasteland muck and walk right past where he’s sitting at one of the long tables in the dining room, posture loose, long legs spread wide, not even sparing him a second of eye contact, his metaphorical tail starts wagging like the dog he is.
He ignores the girl sitting in the spot next to him, hand resting on his forearm as she laughs a little too loudly at a joke he makes, a smirk playing on his lips.
He loves the way you carry yourself, as if the weight of exhaustion pressing against your shoulders was light, like you made light of handling what needs to be handled. He also loves (and hates) how indifferent you are towards him when he feels like he knows the truth.
He felt your line of sight burning through him when you entered the room, even if he was sitting with his back towards you. He knows you caught it all in one little glance, the girl brushing up against him, how he doesn’t exactly dodge her advances, and moved on, not showing a flicker of interest as you veer toward an empty table.
He also knows you think he didn’t notice but when it comes to you, Enjin always notices.
He leans back from the girl at his side, jacket hanging halfway from his broad shoulders, moving to his feet, boots heavy against the hard floor. By the time you’re dropping into the bench seat, he’s there, sliding in next to you without an invitation. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles in, frame towering yours even when seated.
“Sooo how was your trip to the polluted zone?” His tone is deceptively casual, but there’s a glint in his eyes, bright with mischief, always searching your face that gives him away. “Didn’t miss me too much, did you?”
Enjin finds himself leaning into your warmth instinctively as you tilt your head, just enough to make eye contact with him, the faintest curve tugging at the corner of your mouth.
“Not as much as you missed me, it seems,” you tease, a hum in your voice.
He gives you a wide grin in response, all thirty-two teeth showing unashamedly. He leans in further, elbows braced on the tabletop, further settling into your space with absolutely no plans of leaving. “Gonna let me show you?” His voice is low, just for you to hear, even with the hum of conversation in the HQ common area filling around you. “How much I missed you?”
You snort in response, rolling your eyes and leaning back from him. “I think your friend over there would rather show you.” Your glaze flicks deliberately toward the girl from across the room.
Enjin doesn’t even glance her way, his smirk growing with shameless confidence. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“Not really, no.” Your response comes out fast and sharp.
He couldn’t lie, your indifference burns hotter than jealousy ever could and it was starting to get under his skin. He kinda wanted to see you bothered, clawing for his attention. And he knows you’re exactly what he wanted. A woman who wasn’t needy and forgiving.
But could he even call you forgiving? You were so not needy that there wasn’t even anything to forgive. It didn’t make a difference to you if he entertained girls who would flirt with him in or outside of Cleaners HQ, if he gets all protective and extra vigilant when you’re assigned missions together here and there, if he ends up in your room again or somewhere else, if he could promise you exclusivity but not commitment. You just simply didn’t mind. Like he could take you or leave you and you wouldn’t bat an eye.
And he can recognize that his fear of commitment was something of a personality flaw of his. He doesn’t know exactly how he feels about it also being a part of your personality. But what’s even worse is that you’ve got this whole grown independent woman vibe about you and it makes him all puppy dog eyed for you, tail wagging and all.
He fears he may be down bad.
-
You would be the first to admit– despite always giving Enjin a hard time– you always somehow end up like this.
Your knees are pressed to your chest, back flat against your mattress, his large frame caging you in. His shirt had long been discarded, tattoos stretching across lean muscle, sweat tracing the dips of his chest, hair hung low as it shags into his face as he hovers over you, mouth open with ragged breaths.
“Fuck–” he groans, low and rough in your ear, voice cracking like he was trying to keep the volume down as if the bedframe wasn’t groaning against the wall with each thrust, a dull thud echoing with his rhythm. You could only hope that no one was around to hear since it was the middle of the day.
You bite down on your lip hard, trying to mask the noise rising in your throat.
You’re very okay with whatever you and Enjin are. You work well together on missions when you do happen to get assignments together. And that synchronization definitely transfers to where you find yourself, more often than not.
Sure, he was insufferable. Way too flirtatious toward anything that breathes. And ridiculously handsome, charismatic, funny– all things you would never admit out loud. But that was the fun of it all. You get to have all of that without the weight of a label, of being something.
You like it like this. It’s better like this. You get to avoid all the nasty feelings that come with a relationship; in fact, you don’t owe anyone anything. Not a response, not consideration in the way that mattered; it was easy.
Enjin’s palm slides up your side until it engulfs your chest. He huffs out a little laugh, “Heh, boobies.” His hand is braced on your thigh, holding you open with casual strength as he continues his thrusts. He gives your chest a light squeeze in his larger hand.
His body ruts against yours, his hips slowly pushing himself into you. You catch him admiring the view, watching himself disappear into your cunt.
Your head falls back against the pillow with a groan. “Enjin-“
He is so unserious. Insufferable. Ridiculous.
“What?” he teases, shamelessly, leaning in to nose at your jaw. “Fuck baby, you’re so pretty— fuck— like this,” he pants above you, hips stuttering as he curses, “when you drop that little don’t give a fuck’ act.”
And because you can’t let him have even the slightest victory, not even when you’re splayed out beneath him breathless and whining his name, “It’s not an act.”
“Oh yeah?” he’s back to hovering over you, eyes low with lust, his teasing tone not once leaving his voice, “My strong independent woman.”
If you thought Enjin couldn’t shut up before.
You roll your eyes at him again.
He hooks your thigh over one of his arms, dipping his head down so his lips are grazing yours and then the pad of his thumb is brushing over your lower lip.
You bat your eyes up at him as his thumb prods at your mouth and you run your tongue over the tip of his finger that brushes past your lip. He catches his lip between his teeth, pushing his thumb further and reveling in your tongue passing over the finger, never breaking eye contact.
He lets out a low groan.
You ignore how the sound shoots directly through your core and opt to bunch the sheets tighter in your fists as he fucks into you, your body jolting in response. You’re so focused on the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, the stretch from his cock more than welcome, that his teasing quips barely make any sense to your foggy mind. The blood rushing to your ears has your head pounding as your orgasm is rapidly approaching.
But Enjin’s mouth never stops. The filth paired with the praise is enough to drive you to your edge and normally, you’d be annoyed but each word is sending shocks through your lower tummy and you feel yourself clenching around him. But you’d never want him to know that.
“Enjin, stop talking–” your protest breaks off with a moan, nails curling into the sheets.
He grins, of course, rutting into you harder, chasing the sound. “Yeah? Why? You gonna tell me you didn’t miss me?”
You roll your eyes in response– because of course right now would be the time he wants to bring up your conversation from earlier– but the annoyed eye roll turns into your vision flickering white, body arching under his lean frame.
“Enjinn–” you whine out, “Fuck, I’m about to–” your voice comes out cracked and in a whisper that’s barely audible to you in your state of mind.
You almost whine when his pace shifts, slowing down, each deep roll of his hips drag a sound from your throat against your will. His body, damp with sweat, sticks to your own as he moves against you, pushing in deep and torturously slow. He’s grinning at you from above, one elbow supporting his weight next to your head, the other arm hooked beneath your leg, securing your thigh onto his shoulder.
Your chest is heaving beneath him and it’s almost unfair that he doesn’t look nearly as fucked out as you do. Your hair is splayed across the sheets, sweat sticks to your skin and you feel desperate at this point.
“Pick it up, old man,” you hiss through gritted teeth, getting a little frustrated with his painfully slow pace.
He doesn’t give you the reaction you want. Instead, he lets out a laugh, deep and warm even through his panting. His mouth dips back to your ear, his warm breath tickles your ear and neck as you feel him place a kiss behind your ear. Bastard. Even in bed, he couldn’t help but to mess with you.
Your head falls back against the pillow with a groan. “Enjin–”
He shifts again, hooking your other leg over his shoulder so he’s trapped between both of your thighs and then he presses his weight down, chest to chest, forehead resting against yours as he drives into you, thrusts sharp and steady. You lift your hips to meet him plunging into you but he has you pinned to the mattress with the weight of his body.
The steady pace is doing sinful things to your body as you whine out his name again. Even though you’ve always been adamant on not kissing him during sex, you like when he’s pressed to you like this. He smells like clean laundry and cigarettes and something else so distinctly him that it makes your head spin. The air between you is thick with heat, breath ghosting hot across your lips everytime he groans low in his throat.
“Enjin, faster,” you mewl, drawing close to the edge. “I’m about to come.”
He hums in response. “But you look so pretty like this, baby.” The pet name does something to you, sends electricity through your entire body and you feel it in your toes as they curl.
His rhythm draws out, cruel and deliberate, each deep slide more torturous than the last. Your frustration curls heavy in your stomach, desperate for release. And then, as if he hates you, his arm moves from under your thigh and reaches around, thumb brushing agonizing slow featherlight circles over your clit. Your breath hitches, body twitching under his.
“Less talking, more making me come.” You force out, head thrown back into the pillow as you stare up at the ceiling.
Instead of obliging, he slows his pace down further, hips grinding into you with infuriating leisure. “Mmmm, I don’t know…” he drawls, tone mock-thoughtful in your ear. It sends chills down your spine. “You’ll have to ask the poor old man nicely, y’know, back pain and all.”
You groan again. He is an utterly insufferable man. “Enjinn… Make me come.” your voice cracks again, coming out higher, softer, the tiniest whine slipping through. “Please.” You add on in hopes he’ll move even the slightest bit faster.
His grin splits wide, teeth flashing in the dim room as he shakes his head. “Hmmm… not quite but I’ll take it.”
His hips snap forward with renewed force, ripping a guttural moan from your chest. You cry out as his pace turns brutal, ramming into you with unrelenting rhythm. The bedframe thuds in protest, rocking against the wall as he drives into you. Your body flutters tight around him in response, thighs trembling beneath him.
You catch your lip between your teeth again, trying to keep quiet as he bullies himself into you, practically splitting you in half. Between the relentless teasing and switching slow and fast pace, you can feel yourself dripping down onto the sheets below. You glance down to where your bodies are connected, watching as he follows your eyes to see the milky white ring around the base of his shaft and he groans again.
You can hardly catch your breath as your body quivers, the feeling of pleasure ripping through you. You’re close again, clenching around him involuntarily and of course, Enjin slows his pace again.
You cry out in frustration, unsure of how much more you can take. He’s hardly hovering over you, so close that you can feel his panting hit the skin on your face. His thumb returns, circling your clit just slowly enough to have you whining as your hips buck frantically, searching for friction. You’ve practically got tears welling up in your eyes as you look up at him and you’re about ready to beg in your desperation until–
Enjin flips the both of you over, any protest melts away on your tongue as you straddle his hips. Your eyes are hazy and the sudden movement has you feeling a little light-headed. His grin beneat you is wicked, back flat against the mattress, tattoos flexing over his chest as he sprawls out on your bed leisurely. He’s got one hand tucked lazily behind his head, bicep flexing. His other hand grips your hip, long fingers brushing the curve of your ass.
God, he looks so slutty like this.
“Make yourself come then,” he says easily as if he hasn’t been torturing you for the better part of the last thirty minutes.
Your chest heaves, a flash of irritation running through the haze clouding your head but you still plant your hands against his chest, using his lean muscle as leverage as you begin to grind down, hips rolling and bouncing shallowly at first as you find your rhythm. A smirk grows on his lips, hand sliding from your hip so he can rest both arms behind his head, elbows bent. His biceps bulge on either side of his handsome face and it gives you motivation to continue fucking yourself on him.
Normally, you’d brush off his nonchalance but seeing him watch you chase your release is doing blasphemous things to your brain. Something that would set back the entire feminist movement decades. Every sound that leaves your throat only seems to fuel him, your whines, broken moans, the slap of skin as you push through the burning at your thighs. You throw your head back, a quiet whine of his name slipping from your lips, as you try to avoid eye contact.
It’s all too much. Seeing him like this alone is enough to drive you to your release. He watches you with hooded eyes, jaw tight, and your eyes trail the column of his throat as he swallows, the knot in his throat bobbing as you move above him, chasing the edge of your release desperately.
Your thighs are trembling as you slam onto him, fatigue faltering the steady rhythm you’ve built. You feel the flush of heat and want climbing up your body, breath catching in your throat. You remove your hands from his chest, collapsing onto him, burying your face into the warmth of his shoulder as you tiredly move your hips. Your chest is pressed to his, slick skin against smooth inked muscle. He looks entirely too comfortable beneath you, broad shoulders relaxed, as you fuck yourself onto him lazily.
“Fuck baby,” he groans, voice low and gravelly. You feel him shift as his hands leave their position tucked under his head. Your breath comes out in sharp bursts as you grind into him, a mix of rolling your hips and lifting them. “You feel so good– fuck– you’re so tight.”
A moan spills from your lips despite your attempts to be quiet. His warm hands snake down your body, leaving the skin feeling cold as his graze travels. His large hands grip the swell of your ass. You continue your slow, tired, grind onto him, body too exhausted from his lengthy orgasm denial.
“You like that? Fuck–” he curses again, voice curling around you like smoke and you allow yourself to get lost in it. “Just like that.”
One hand lifts from you and comes down hard, the sound of his hand marking your ass echoes throughout the room. You whimper in response, low and directly in his ear. The sound drags a sharp inhale from him and you can feel his jaw tightening. His hands settle back on your rear, grip tightening as his strong arms haul you up and slam you back down onto him. The force makes the air leave your lungs in a broken cry.
“C’mon, baby,” he grunts, each word a puff of heat against the air, “Can’t tap out on me yet.” You feel him shift beneath you, forehead tipping back against the pillow, speaking through gritted teeth. You have half the mind to lift your head to see how he looks like this. Hair shaggy in his eyes, damp and sticking to his forehead, the tips of his hair curling. His pupils are blown wide, eyebrows knit together as if he’s the one on the receiving end of the teasing.
He looks so handsome like this.
The bedframe rattles beneath his new rhythm, each thrust aided by the power of his arms dragging you down onto him over and over. You’re so far gone, you can’t even think or speak, just moans tumbling past your lips, fingers tangled in his hair for any kind of anchor.
His name tears from your throat, high-pitched and desperate, body coiling so tight it begins to hurt. You feel his lips attaching to the skin where your shoulder meets your neck, leaving wet, opened mouth kisses. His voice is raspy and quiet in your ear as he groans out your name and it breaks you.
White heat rips through your entire being, body seizing against his. Your release floods so hard it spills out, soaking his thighs and lower stomach. You gasp, nearly sobbing with the force of it as you press your face further into his sculpted shoulder, biting into the skin to muffle your cries.
Everything blurs for a moment, the sound of your pulse heavy in your ears as he continues slamming upwards into you, hands tight on your hips. His grip holds you steady as you tremble, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release.
His voice cuts through the blood roaring in your ears, raw and unfiltered.
“So good for me, baby,” he groans, almost reverent, “Look at you.”
You don’t even process his words as his hips snap up into yours with a harsh rhythm, ragged curses pulling from his throat, burying himself deep in you. His jaw clenches again, eyes squeezing shut as he slowly stills, breath shuddering as he comes undone inside you. You feel him pulsing inside you as he fills you with his release.
You don’t realize you’re holding the tension in your body until you feel his relax under you and you let yourself melt into his frame, bodies meshing together. The room is silent aside from the sound of heavy breathing from both of you.
After a moment, he drags one shaky hand to rest on your upper back, holding you to his heaving chest. The other stays planted on your hip. You feel him shift as he pulls his head back a bit to glance down at you. You meet his gaze.
His grin is lazy now, lopsided, sweat-damp hair falling across his forehead as he peeks down at you through hooded eyes. You’re about ready for him to fall asleep in your bed when you hear him open his mouth to speak.
“I knew you missed me,” he murmurs, voice heavy with exhaustion.
Insufferable bastard.
a/n hope u guys enjoyed ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ srry its not as long as i would like it to be but i just wanted to get sth out while my enjin juices were flowing! i do take requests for all the ppl i have listed in my bio so pls feel free to request ! my brain has been empty lately, no ideas sadly :p also been busy so hopefully this makes up for it & hopefully some ideas start flowing soon ty guys ! see u next time
Upcoming: Kinktober (hopefully), Varka x reader x Flins (longfic).
Warning: yandere.
i,
Nghĩ về Flins và búp bê bé nhỏ của hắn.
Quý ông lịch thiệp và cốt cán của fatui. Hiện thân của khúc bi ai vọng về từ quá khứ rực lửa, cùng thứ vũ khí sinh học vốn được rèn nên chỉ để giết, giết và giết.
Fae thuần chủng và bán Fae. Flins và nữ thần hắn thờ phụng.
ii,
Nghĩ về Varka và "cơn đau đầu" của hắn.
Đại đội trưởng đội kỵ sĩ và biến số không thể giải thích, không thể uốn nắn, càng không thể xoá bỏ. Người phàm và tiên tộc. Công lý và cái chết.
Lòng trắc ẩn và nỗi thương hại. Kẻ sùng đạo với đức tin mù quáng.
iii,
Nghĩ về Varka, Flins, và... chấp niệm của cả hai người họ.
Khi sự cứu rỗi trở thành gông cùm, khi tình yêu trở thành xích sắt.
Lâu rồi không thấy suzu viết marvel, không biết suzu còn viết nữa không ạ???? 🥲🥺
marvel mình vẫn còn viết ha, chỉ là dạo này mình bận và mình muốn tập trung xíu vào vẽ vời để up doujinshi cho các chap truyện mình đã viết trên wattpad.
Không nghe lời Zayne và suýt mất mạng trong nhiệm vụ
Khóc vì tình trước mặt Caleb
Chơi đùa tình cảm Rafayel và cái kết
Khác (comment)
Voting ended onMar 18, 2025
Mình đang có quá nhiều ý tưởng cho nsfw nhưng không biết nên tập trung vào cái nào trước, chap nào cũng như cái bánh cắn dở vậy, cho nên mọi người ưng idea nào thì vote giúp mình ha! Rất khuyến khích comment, ngoài ra mọi người có thể đề cử thêm cả fandom khác hay những chapters mà mọi người muốn mình viết tiếp trong phần bình luận.
