my first fanfic on this blog. i'm a little rusty it's been too long since i've been able to use my brain to come up with a plot. ik we've all seen the movie leaks but i haven't watched it yet. i have seen lots of clips and that was enough to bring back my atla obsession. support the animators and watch it legally when it's released! i hope u guys enjoy. constructive criticism welcomed!!
"come on guys, let's get settled in for the night."
aang and katara unpack their belongings while toph and sokka laze around.
you and zuko were working on setting a fire. throughout the trip, you two had been awkward around each other in the duration of this trip. during your days of traveling with the gaang to overthrow firelord ozai, you had developed a crush on him. you two would sit and chat about your life, zuko's life, and really anything else that came to mind. after ozai was overthrown and zuko had taken his place as firelord, your sweet yet short time with him had to come to an end. you believed that he needed time to adjust to his new position so you slowly but surely distanced yourself from him to the point where it had been years since you two exchanged anything other than pleasantries.
katara had noticed a shift in the friend group. with toph having her own metal bending academy, zuko being a firelord, and you exploring the nations, she decided to plan a reunion. everyone was invited to the jasmine dragon tea shop and from there you would all take a flight on appa to different nations to sightsee. when nightfall arrived, appa landed in a silent meadow for everyone to camp for the night.
"get some sleep everyone. we have a long day ahead of us." katara said.
zuko silently stepped off appa to go help set up camp. you decided to follow him under the guise of helping out but really, you wanted to talk to him again. you two had barely spoken in the duration of the trip. you sensed an awkward tense vibe between the two of you. could he have been upset with you?
"so, how have you been?" zuko asks while placing firewood on a patch of dirt he found.
"I've been well. how about yourself? how has your new role been treating you?"
he looks up at you and its the first time you manage to look him in the eyes. it takes a lot of your willpower to not let your face betray you. his features have matured and his eyes seem to shine brighter. you really take in his appearance, not fully processing his words.
"are-are you alright? is there something on my face?"
"no! sorry. i was just lost in thought. well, i'm glad your new role has been treating you well. you must tell me about everyone. how are mai and ty lee?"
and so you two begin chatting. slowly easing into each others lives again.
aang and katara set up sleeping bags around appa. everyone chose their own sleeping bags before you and zuko have the chance to leave the campfire.
you give katara a glare and she shrugs. she knows what she's doing.
the two remaining sleeping bags were placed next to each other. you glance at zuko and his eyes look uncertain. seems like you two haven't really broken the ice yet.
he gives a sheepish smile before getting up and settling in his sleeping bag. you follow after him. it's not like he's a stranger! everything will be fine. you assure yourself.
as everyone drifts off to sleep, you lay awake, staring at the night sky illuminated by the moon.
"you're still awake?" you hear zuko ask.
you shift onto your right side and see zuko already turned and gazing at you. he looks so lovely in this lighting.
"yeah, i'm just thinking."
"what about?"
you purse your lips before responding, "it's not important."
zuko hesitates before sighing, "i know things have been awkward between us. i didn't know if i did anything wrong so i respected your decision when you distanced yourself. i really like being your friend and i'd like to continue being your friend. if you'd let me."
he has misunderstood your intentions. "no! no. zuko you didn't do anything wrong. i just thought you needed space since you had to take on a big role and i didn't want to be a nuissance to you. i would love to keep being friends with you"
zuko's mouth parts slightly, "you could never be a nuissance to me. you've always listened to me when i needed someone. you've always kept me entertained with your traveling stories and have given me good advice when i needed it. when i need to make a big decision, i ask myself what you would do. i haven't stopped thinking about you and how carefree and happy you made me feel."
zuko brings his right hand out of his sleeping bag and hesitantly holds your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours.
you look at him in awe and smile, "shut up."
he brings your hand close to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of your hand, "please don't stop being my friend."
the look in his eyes bordered adoration and it made your heart contract.
"i'll always be your friend zuko."
he smiles and your heart flutters. you scoot your sleeping bag a little closer to zuko's and let out a content sigh before closing your eyes. all will be fine.
synopsis. some people get drunk calls from their exes, maybe even flowers with hand written apologies. you get a knock on your front door with two random kids and a murder case
length. 3.0k words (once more it was supposed to be short)
contents. exes to lovers, ex boyfriend! suguru, gn! reader, slightly deviated from canon (he doesn’t kill the entire village + doesn’t defect), slightly a fix-it fic, blood, murder, child abuse + neglect (canon events with suguru and the twins), angst to slight fluff with hopeful ending (pretty much happy tbh), mentions of family + kids, suguru pretty much being a broke and depressed lil guy lollll
notes. idk what this is but it was written for me i just wanted to write it so here. take it and look away
right before you graduate, you and suguru break up. you don’t want to, but he insists it’s only fair—he can hardly be there for you the way you need him to be, he says. something’s changed in him, it has since that day last year. but still—you don’t want to break up.
so you argue, he stays firm, you cry, he doesn’t change his mind, you break up, he leaves, and the world momentarily collapses.
it’s the way things work, you suppose. they don’t quite always go the way you planned. you graduate not long after that, leaving him behind to throw yourself into work while you toe into the baby steps of adulthood. real adulthood—the jujutsu world has a way of thrusting you into that faster than normal, anyway.
by the time it’s late summer, you get your first apartment. it’s a rundown place—the bathroom tiles look dirty no matter how much you scrub, the walls haven’t been repainted in what seems like decades, and the thermostat never works properly to feel like what the temperature indicates.
but it’s yours—you leave jujutsu high fresh into the real world, paying your taxes and buying your groceries all while you exorcise curses for a living. barely an adult, barely getting by, barely alive as you get up each day and live.
and then suguru comes knocking on your door half past midnight.
“hey,” he says nonchalantly, like there’s nothing wrong with standing there—but you know him better than that. you can hear that detachment in his voice as he stares between your eyes, but not quite in them.
“you—” you start, staring at him incredulously before you decide to give up. there are no surprises with suguru, not anymore you suppose. you don’t really know him anymore. “suguru, it’s midnight,” you sigh—and that’s when you see them: two small children that can’t be much older than five.
bruises are clear as day on their arms, even while standing in the darkness outside. there’s also the slight swollen curve of their eyes, and you can’t help but notice how they’re practically skin and bone. children who have probably not yet even lived for five winters, and you almost wonder if they’ve been through more than you have in you’re entire lifetime.
suguru clears his throat before you can stare at them any longer.
“this is nanako,” he gestures at the blonde, “and this is mimiko.” the brunette one seems more shy, curls behind his leg further as her name is uttered.
you don’t know what to say, so you settle for smiling—you’re not sure if it comes out too genuine, but you try. it’s all you can offer, really.
“hello,” you hum for a moment. and then you turn back to suguru, “it’s midnight.”
“i know.”
“you should be at school grounds.”
“i know.”
“suguru,” you sigh, eyeing the blood stained on his cheek. you don’t like where this is heading. there’s a sick feeling twisting in your gut, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.
bile. you can taste it. something’s not right.
“where did you find these kids?”
“on a mission,” he says simply, “village heads were keepin’ em locked in a cage like animals. can you believe it?”
again, that casual tone. it almost as easy as humming your favorite tune, as smooth as your skin on freshly washed sheets, as quiet as the first day of snow when the world is still. but something about it is hollow—something’s not right.
“why’d you bring them here? instead of school? shoko should look at them—”
“i told them they’d be safe here.”
they’d be safe anywhere, you think. as long as suguru’s there too. as long they’re under his watchful gaze, nothing could hope to beat down on their youth like it already has their whole lives. but you don’t say that—something tells you he won’t believe you.
maybe not right now.
you don’t look at him. you can’t. something’s not right, but there are children present. so you throw on your best smile and open the door wider, offering them to come in.
your apartment is small, just one bedroom and one bath. there’s hardly enough food for yourself for tonight, you still have to go grocery shopping this week. the missions were lined up back to back to back—but that’s just life as a sorcerer, you suppose. most days you hardly have the energy to eat more than a few apple slices when you return home anyway.
you wave your hand at your place dramatically as you say, “come on in, ladies. your humble abode awaits.”
they giggle slightly at that—it’s the first time suguru hears them laugh. you have that effect, he knew you would. it’s why he brings them here and not there. and…well, there’s a more complicated issue at hand. but that’s for later.
right now…well, for right now, he lets you guide them to the bathroom.
“you have money on you right?” you ask. he blinks, staring at you for a moment before slowly shaking his head.
“spent the last of it on cigarettes this morning.”
great, you think, before sighing and trudging over to grab your wallet as you press a few crisp bills of cash in his hands.
“here.”
“what’s this for?” he raises a brow.
“go buy them clothes,” you look at him like he’s stupid. he might be, in all honesty. just a little. “i’m not putting them back in…those once they’re all cleaned.”
“wha—i’ve never shopped for children before,” he gapes, “and i don’t know what size they are, or—”
“figure it out, suguru,” you say tiredly. it’s half past midnight—by now, you’d be passed out from your mission. he seems to take the hint. “and bring some snacks too. should be enough.”
“fine,” he grumbles—and then he’s walking out the door.
for a second, it feels familiar watching him leave. but then you decide not to dwell on it—there are much more important matters at hand.
you turn to the two girls before crouching in front of them with a gentle smile, “who’s ready for bubbles?”
——————
nanako and mimiko have never had a bubble bath before. you decide to let them taste the first tendrils of youth by splashing in your tiny bathtub while you find suguru for some much needed answers.
he sits on your couch, shirt wrinkled and hair falling loose and blood still staining his cheek as he hunches over his legs, elbows resting on his thighs as he thinks. and thinks. and thinks and thinks and thinks.
you wonder about what—what could be plaguing his mind? a lot you’re sure, but this isn’t suguru. not the one you know, at least.
the one you knew, the voice in your mind hisses—do you really even know him at all anymore?
“so,” you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, curling your legs under yourself as you eye him from the side, “care to explain?”
“i killed them,” he mutters. you go still. “the village heads. i did it without hesitating. that’s bad, right?”
“well fuck, suguru,” you breathe, restless, “that’s certainly not good.”
“i had a reason,” he argues, “all i needed was one.”
“there’s nothing that excuses murder—”
“oh, but we can excuse locking kids in cages, is that right? why? cause they’re sorcerers? they’re not—they’re children.”
“i didn’t say that,” you rub your forehead. this is all too much. too, too much.
being a sorcerer is too much. being in front of suguru is too much.
you finish your third year with a broken heart and graduate in spring—at one point you’d hoped graduating wouldn’t change anything between you and your friends, between you and the boy you loved. everything would be the same, even if you’d leave the place that held you all together—you’d still find a way back to each other, you liked to think. but then it all changes before you can even comprehend.
haibara is dead. nanami is hardly coping. gojo is everywhere but here. shoko is in high demand. suguru is hardly present even when he’s right in front of you. nothing is the same and you don’t think it ever will be. you lose the one thing you count on being yours forever, and now, he’s right here again. but not really here—not with you so much as near you.
suguru has killed people, sitting on your couch with you while the two children he finds are bathing happily in your bathtub.
there’s some irony in that—maybe in a perfect world, suguru and you would sit on the couch, much happier than right now, though. maybe you’d be tucked under his arm and curled into his side as you both chuckle at the happy squeals in the distance. maybe in a perfect world.
but this world is cruel. too cruel, in fact. it forces children to grow up too fast during some times and lets adults continue to be children during others. it’s sickening and all too much.
but this is the world you live in. there’s not much to change in that—not much you can change. maybe sitting on the couch with suguru is what you should be grateful for, whether it’s in this world or another.
“i came here because it’s safe,” he mumbles, quieter this time, “i don’t…i didn’t trust anywhere else.”
something tells you he’s not talking about the kids. you look at him for the first time that night—really look at him. you take in the lost weight, the sunken cheekbones and the bruised under eyes from the lack of sleep. the cracked lips from being chapped and the dry hair that’s lost its normal shine.
something’s not right—you won’t be able to mend it, but you think you can keep it from getting worse.
“it is safe here,” you murmur, nodding in assurance, “but you can’t…i can’t let you do that. not again.”
“what? kill people?” he snorts in dry amusement. it’s quiet for a bit—you open your mouth a few times like you want to say something, but nothing ever comes. he finally decides to fill the silence. “i don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. people shouldn’t kill. but some people shouldn’t live.”
“i think jujutsu is supposed to save people. not everyone will deserve it, but i suppose we wouldn’t be much better than them if we used it for anything other than that,” you whisper. he looks over at you at that, peers at you deep in thought as he contemplates your words.
“that’s funny,” he chuckles, “i used to think that too.”
“what changed?”
“everything.”
“then change it some more,” you shrug, “until you think it again.” he looks at you incredulously at that, eyeing you like you’re crazy.
“you’re an idiot,” he scoffs.
“says the killer,” you scoff back. you look at him this time, in the eyes and full of conviction, full of promises you couldn’t make before but fully intend to keep now. “don’t kill anyone else and i’ll help you. with those kids, i mean.”
“you want to co parent with me?” he chuckles.
co parent—the word makes your stomach twist. even after all this time, after all the hurt and pain, suguru is easy to imagine that with. he’s easy to imagine anything in the future with, really. he’s always been perfect like that, but you’re starting to realize there’s a lot more imperfections to him than you initially thought.
but it’s okay, you think. if you didn’t stop loving him before, you certainly don’t stop now. blood on his hands or not, he’s yours—even if he doesn’t want to be.
“don’t say it like that,” you murmur softly, hugging your arms around yourself, “please.”
you let yourself be vulnerable for just a moment—not because you want to, but because he needs to know. he needs to know how unfair he’s being and how patient you are with him despite it all. you deserve that much.
“sorry,” he mutters—he has the decency to look away and drop his smile.
“you don’t kill anyone, and i’ll look for a bigger place. deal?”
“for us…all?”
“yes. just until you figure it out, i’ll help you out with them. and then you’ll responsibly use your paycheck as a full time special grade sorcerer and maybe send a few checks my way to say thanks to my good will.”
he chuckles at that, shaking his head. “i’ll repay you,” he hums, tapping his foot. he does that when he’s nervous, you still remember—you could never forget anything about him. “i…i owe you, anyway.”
it’s quiet some more. you don’t know what to say, and quite frankly, you don’t want to say anything at all. but once more, he fills the silence for you after a while.
“what if…” he starts, “what if i want to co parent with you?”
“you dumped me,” you point out, unable to hide the bitterness any longer. it cracks from your tongue through your words like honey that went dry. “remember that? cause i sure remember.”
you’re an adult now, just barely, but an adult all the same. you should handle this the mature way—but you’re still young. still hurt. still blanketed in the fresh wave of nostalgia that leaves you aching with grief.
so you let yourself be bitter. suguru can handle that much after he left you to pick up your shattered pieces.
“i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i never wanted to.”
“but you did.”
“i didn’t…you didn’t deserve to see me unstable.”
“you’re not very stable right now either,” you pinch your nose tiredly, “you killed people, suguru. but somehow you can manage to have two kids now. but not me.”
“they need me,” he defends.
“i needed you too,” your voice cracks.
you did. you needed him—and you like to think he needed you too. maybe it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is, especially not when you fight curses and see their ugliness every day. but that’s the best part of having each other—having something pretty amidst the hideousness.
he left you with more ugly than you knew what to do with. it’s unfair, you think for a moment, unfair that two girls who hardly know him at all have more of him than you ever did. he’d never abandon them—that much you know for sure.
you’ve laughed with him, held him and wiped his tears and kissed him under the moon until it became the sun. you’ve seen him with his hair down and his guard lowered. you’ve seen him in every way possible but in the end, he walked away.
they’ve seen him for less than a day and somehow, he’ll be there forever. there’s something unfair about that and you hate that you’re bitter with children but the world in cruel like that.
suguru slowly inches over—it’s cautious at first, and then he fills the gap all at once. you pretend you don’t feel the way your thighs touch.
“i need you too,” he admits, voice small. there’s a small, shaky crack that eats away at your heart, trying to gnaw into the raw part. the easy to reach part. the part you shouldn’t let him see anymore. “i…i always needed you. i’m sorry.”
“we were supposed to need each other,” you sniffle.
“we do,” he slowly slumps his head onto your shoulder. you let him stay there—don’t dare move a muscle in case he pulls away. “you’re the only thing that keeps me stable. i don’t think that’s fair.”
“needing someone isn’t unfair, suguru,” you scoff.
“okay,” he grabs your hand, squeezing. for the first time, he lets it all go. lets tears slowly slip from the corners of his eyes as he slumps into your side. he cries for riko. for kuroi. for satoru and the time he lost him for a moment. for their youth. for haibara. for not being enough even when he shouldn’t have had to be. somewhere amidst all that, your arms wrap around him and he’s pulled into your chest—that familiar feeling of your fingers threading into his hair makes the world start spinning again. “i need you,” he chokes.
“okay,” you say shakily, nodding slowly as you let yourself hope, “as long as you don’t stop this time.”
he buries his face into your chest, and you kiss the crown of his head.
cruelty is an unstoppable force. your love for suguru is an immovable object. neither is going anywhere, but perhaps they can coexist.
“satoru’s gonna have a massive headache when he explains this one to the higher ups,” you snort after a while.
he laughs into your shirt, real for the first time in a long time. “i’ll buy him something sweet. should make up for it,” he hums. and then he looks up, smiles innocently as he asks, “wanna lend me some cash? i’ll pay you back when i’m a responsible handler of money.”
“you’re hopeless,” you chuckle, “but at least you’re here.”
————— BONUS —————
“okay,” satoru starts, holding his hands up in surrender as he stands before the higher ups. damn old geezers, he thinks. “so he did kill a person or two…but—”
“there is no excuse,” a voice hisses.
“he didn’t mean it,” he huffs indignantly, “it was an accident. those can happen sometimes.”
“what—”
“he’s going through a phase, okay? let him work through it, he’ll be fine.”
“that’s not—”
“i’ll let him off the hook this time,” satoru grins, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shrugs, “he’s got a family now, y’know? kids and a spouse, and they’re looking for a home. can’t take that away from them.”
“he’s not even married—”
“it’ll happen eventually,” he insists, “so let’s all just calm down, yeah? great, thanks!”
“gojo—”
“see ya!”
he walks out, flashing an obnoxious peace sign at the higher ups as they hiss at him to return as he’s walking out. that takes care of that, he thinks, as long as suguru doesn’t make his life harder and kill more people, he can handle it—you did promise him kikufuku if he does.
satoru is babygirl defender no. 1 ain’t nobody doing it like my guy 🤞🏽 he would be loyal to you while you were in jail no doubts
“the fortress of meropide takes full responsibility for the beret society incident,” wriothesley states, heaving a sigh. “it was…an unfortunate oversight on my part.”
“it’s not entirely your fault,” clorinde tells him. “don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“thanks,” he grins, slightly surprised by her attempt at comforting him. “never thought i’d see the day—”
“don’t push it.”
“come on, just admit that we’re best friends!”
neuvillette clears his throat, like a parent would before lecturing a child. “what steps have you taken on behalf of those affected? many families of the victims have written to my office, requesting indemnification. it’s been explained that the court of fontaine holds no jurisdiction over the fortress. the matter falls into the hands of the warden.”
“i’ve moved some funds around to properly compensate everyone who was affected.” he answers, handing over a report outlining the details. “i’ve also compensated the doctor you sent to the fortress quite generously, as she’s taken on the responsibility of overseeing their continued care.”
neuvillette chuckles quietly as he reads the report. “is ‘compensate’ new slang for 'intercourse?'”
one beat of silence. then two. clorinde snickers behind her teacup. wriothesley briefly considers swan-diving into the primordial sea.
“why— why would you ask that?” he sputters instead.
the chief justice simply continues on reading, oblivious to the scandalized reaction of his companions. “oh, calm yourself, your grace. i was merely jesting, no need for anyone to be embarrassed.”
“yeah, if you’re him,” clorinde scoffs, jerking her thumb in his direction. “but if you’re the doctor in this situation…”
“okay, your best friend status has officially been revoked. and you, chief justice! since when do you jest?”
“since it’s come to my attention that you both hold great affection for one another. sigewinne corresponds quite frequently with the other melusines here at palais mermonia. we know all about you and the doctor’s whispers of desire.”
clorinde chokes on the pastry she’s eating as wriothesley rises abruptly, his face suddenly hot. he swears the tea they’d been sharing is laced with something. “okay, you have my report, this meeting is over.”
_____
“i got bullied by the chief justice and a champion duelist today,” your boyfriend pouts as he joins you in bed.
you bite back a smile as he pushes his head against your chest, snuggling contentedly against the silk of your chemise.
“i’m having a hard time believing monsieur neuvillette would do such a thing.”
he releases a long, dramatic sigh as your fingers scratch lightly at his scalp. “can you do me a favour and tell him, in explicit detail, just how well i’m ‘compensating’ you?”
wriothesley yelps when you pinch the shell of his ear. “oh, hush,” you laugh, kissing the top of his head.
not one to be outdone, the duke sits up, effortlessly trapping you beneath him and nosing at the column of your neck. you shudder as his teeth graze your ear in retaliation, your hand gripping the soft strands of hair at the base of his neck.
“wait,” you gasp as you feel his lips form the beginning of what you know will be a very visible hickey tomorrow. “do you hear that?”
your boyfriend draws back to look down at you, concerned. “hear what?”
people still calling armin weak really didn’t understand his character at all. unlike eren, he never made a fuss about being an orphan and losing his entire family. unlike mikasa he didn’t hesitate and did what had to be done to protect the survivors from eren. he was often laughed at and faced so many hardships when erwin named him as his successor yet he never complained about it one single time. he became a titan against his will and saw his lifespan being reduced to seven years, but never cried or showed any sign of remorse. armin is one of the strongest characters of attack on titan and if you don’t understand that, then you missed a very important point.
nanami can tell that gojo’s having a hard time holding back his laughter as his student nods enthusiastically. this is the last time he’ll ever let them drag him out for a meal again.
“yeah! and oh man…”
the blond chokes when yuuji gestures vaguely at his chest. this is why he never stays at the school over his lunch hour.
gojo, wisely, pats the boy on the shoulder as nanami coughs. “alright, that’s enough out of you. even though i agree, you better stop before the vein in nanamin’s forehead bursts.”
the conversation grinds to a halt, gojo visibly stiffening as nanami's gaze narrows dangerously. “did you just say…that you agree?”
before gojo can open his mouth to defend himself, yuuji pipes up once more to add fuel to the fire.
“but it’s true!” the boy insists through a mouthful of food. “i’ve never had a teacher as hot as—”
“as hot as who?” you ask, suddenly standing at the end of their little table.
yuuji shuts up immediately, face turning as pink as his hair and he averts his gaze to the table and mumbles no one under his breath.
nanami watches gojo beam up at you, then very bravely lets his eyes drift down to your chest for a split second.
but it’s a split second too long, and nanami is about to reach across the table and knock teacher and student’s idiot heads together when you lean down to press a kiss to his cheek.
“come on, love,” you say, smiling sweetly. “you promised you’d take me to that new dessert shop in the city.”
he’d made no such promise, but he gets up to follow you anyway, stripping his thick, autumn coat off and draping it over your shoulders.
with that, he wraps a possessive arm around your waist, pulling you into his side.
“yuuji,” he begins. “this is my fiancée. she teaches at the school.”
you glance up at him, confused. “yes, we know each other, i’ve taught—”
“we’ll be off,” he cuts in, sending gojo a sharp look before guiding you out of the restaurant.
he doesn’t let go of your waist until you’ve walked at least a block. it’s only then that he exchanged your waist for your hand.
he’s suddenly very wary of any other pedestrians looking at you, wondering if they’re thinking about what’s meant to be for his eyes and mind only.
“at first you looked like you needed saving in there,” you hum, using your free hand to hold onto his arm. “but…it seemed like they did, with the way you were glaring at them.”
“i wasn’t glaring,” he lies.
“you glare, darling. you may not notice it, but others certainly do. shoko calls it resting bitch face—”
“i do not have a resting bitch face. this is my…thinking face.”
“oh? then what were you thinking about?” you inquire.
“you,” he tells you truthfully. “and how lucky i am to have somebody so beautiful to come home to. someone hotter than jennifer lawrence, even.”
you smile into the kiss he leans down to press to your lips, looping your arms around his neck to pull him closer and murmur…
IT'S A KINDNESS, HIGHNESS | gojo satoru + fem! reader | 4,500 words | mdni | royalty au, gojo is the most obnoxious, annoying, charming prince ever <3
⇥ summary: your betrothed is unlike anything you ever imagined. he's improper and brash and delights in embarrassing you - but he wants you. and he always gets whatever he wants.
⇥ warnings: corruption, oral (f! receiving), spit, pussy job, food play (just a tiny little bit), reader is a virgin, satoru is so impatient
for my most beloved char <3 thank you for being so patient and for this super cute request (and also for reading but shh)
You were bred to marry royalty. It’s what you’ve been told since you were old enough to know the meaning of it. You were raised to marry royalty. To sit with your legs flawlessly tilted. To sing like a delicate bird. To speak low and curtsey even lower still. A perfect daughter destined to become a perfect wife.
A resounding click as you close the locket once more. The intricate flowers are warm under your skin, worn out with how many times you’ve run your fingers over them. Clutching it to your chest, giddy with thoughts about the man who looks back at you through the heart-shaped frame. The many nights it has spent tucked under your pillow as you dream of chaste hand kisses and dancing with your betrothed as everyone else looks on.
“Do you think he’s as handsome as his portrait?” You peer down at the now opened heart again, sighing wistfully as you think of looking into those shining eyes.
“Keep your head straight.” A sharp reprimand before you feel another pin scrape at your scalp. And you do your best to swallow an audible wince. “It does not matter if he’s handsome, he’s a prince. And one day, he will be king and you will be queen.”
“But, mother —”
“And you will provide him with as many heirs as he wishes.” Her thumbs press into your bare shoulder blades as she regards you in the mirror. A familiar expression on her face, her mouth taut in a thin line, she levels you with steely eyes. “This will do.” You swallow your questions. “Now go.”
There is a whirlwind of kitchen maids and footmen carrying silver trays overflowing with food, dusting the railing, adding wood to the already roaring fireplace. It all comes to a sobering still at the sound of galloping horses and wheels rolling over gravel and the clamour turns into concealed whispers and feet scurrying away.
Two years since your betrothal. Two years of waiting and wondering. Two years worth of daydreams and fantasies of saccharine words and stolen glances and promises made tucked away behind secret corners. The air lodges in your lungs.
The silence in the room is so heavy that you can hear your heart thumping in your chest, faster and louder as the steps in front of the door grow nearer. A click. Then the thumping stops.
He is just as beautiful as his portrait. And yet, he looks nothing like it. There’s something so brazen about him, how strands of messy, white hair fall over his eyes. How his shirt is too loose and untied, the deep opening showing the pale skin of his chest.
You follow the contour of it. Wide eyes taking in the dip of his throat, the swell of muscle just underneath. It feels forbidden, something you shouldn’t be allowed to see. And still you cannot peel your eyes away. Watching as he draws closer with every long step. Your feet feel like lead sinking into the hardwood floors.
Curtsey. You’re supposed to curtsey, low and steady. You’re supposed to bow your head before the prince.
“Ah, my future wife.” It’s too late. “You look ravishing.”
Before you know it, your hand is in his hand and you can barely breathe. Your chest straining against the fabric of your dress. He looks at you in a way no one has before, like a predator who’s about to devour his prey. Then he brings your hand to his mouth, his lips warm against your skin.
And he looks at you. Impudent eyes burnt into yours for too long. It’s lewd. It makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks heat in embarrassment.
Your head is reeling, hand clutched into fists as you follow the group into the dining hall. You had only read of such behaviour in forbidden books hidden in the depths of your family library. It was inappropriate, a stolen moment of intimacy. Still, you can feel the shape of his lips on the back of your hand, stinging like a brand. Thumb pressing into it as you sit on the table with your hands in your lap and head hanging low.
He sits with his chin propped on his fist, looking around with lidded eyes, the very picture of boredom painted on his fair face. Every word out of his mouth comes drawn out and lazy. But you can still feel his gaze following you, the bob of your throat as you swallow, the tiny drop of red wine sauce on your lips, the nervous fidgeting of your fingers.
The rest of the world feels like noise, blurs, falls away under the weight of his curious eyes until it’s just you and him. And there’s nothing else to feel but how he drinks you in, how he lingers in all the forbidden crooks of your body. Like you’re already his and his alone.
You’re almost afraid to look at him. The way he stretches in the chair, legs spread wide and slouching over the armrests. Every attempt of your father’s to make polite conversation is thwarted with a disinterest that is almost insulting. Current affairs, politics, and tomorrow’s hunt pale in comparison to the way your hands trembles around the fork. How it clatters against your plate when you feel his hand brush the side of your thigh under the table.
“Are you feeling unwell, My Lady?” The conversation halts when the prince speaks, heads turn to focus their attention on you.
“I — I am quite alright.” You feel as though you might choke on the very air you breathe. “You are kind to ask, Your Highness.”
It must have been an accident. You try to reason with yourself that it was an accident. But you suspect it wasn’t. Not when his companion turns to glare at him. Not when his mouth quirks up ever so slightly in satisfaction.
Not when he looks at you as a child looks at a new toy. His new toy. There for his amusement.
Feet patter softly against the floor as you pace around your chambers, watching the sky turn black then lighten again. The pillows feel too warm and your bedding is scratching against the skin of your legs. And every time you close your eyes, you see him, you feel the warmth of his hand on yours, his plush lips on your knuckles.
You press your mouth to the patch of your skin he kissed, you wonder what it would feel like if he kissed you. Would he be loving and tender? Or would he simply take and take some more, leaving you breathless and trembling?
It is your duty to give, give him whatever he asks for. That’s the purpose of a wife. You had heard the same lecture nearly daily for over two decades of your life. But there was never an explanation. What must you give? Which part of you would he want for himself?
There’s a fluttering feeling in your belly. Like a sense of frustration that builds and grows with each new thought. Spreads lower still and your whole body comes alight. Like you might not mind giving as many parts of yourself to him as he may want, even if it’s all of you. It makes your chest heave and sweat bead at your hairline. Persists until you succumb to the mercy of exhaustion.
You spend the next morning avoiding anyone with a pulse — the gossiping servants, your mother, and especially him. Walking softly and peeking around corners until you find refuge in the library. The tips of your fingers grazing across dusty books as you read the titles. None of them particularly exciting. And either way, none of them have answers to the questions swirling through your mind. So you resign yourself to your thoughts, fingers dancing over the spines of dusty tomes.
“There.” Before you even know you are no longer alone, your body is pressed forward into the shelves, a chest flush against your back. “Just what I was I was searching for.”
The sound of his melodic voice makes the blood simmer in your veins. He’s toying with you. You know he has no interest in any book your library could offer. And you’re angry. Angry because you know none of it is an accident. Angry because he is not the man you had imagined.
And all that rage turns to ice in your veins when you turn around to face him, neck craned upwards only to be met with his bare chest peeking out of the crisp white shirt and a wolfish grin.
“Your Highness, you —”
“Did you like my portrait?” His fingers inch towards you, rest on your collar bone as he examines the little silver heart that hangs around your neck. “I sat for it just for you.”
“It is in your likeness.”
“You wound me.” His face is much too close to yours, so close that his breath fans over your skin when he breathes out a laugh. You’ve never felt smaller. “Do you think I’m handsome?”
“Your Highness —”
“Satoru.” He interrupts you again. His lips brushing against your ear. “If you are to be my wife I want to hear you say my name.” Your skin prickles up as he whispers, raw where his words fall over your neck.
There’s an eerie quiet wrapping you together. Like anything beyond those towering shelves falls away. And all that’s left is the sound of his calm breaths and your heart pummelling against your ribs.
“Satoru.” It feels foreign in your mouth, fills it up. Sits heavy on your tongue.
“Good girl.”
Then he leaves you. He walks out of the grand room with a spring in his step and a wave. And you’re gasping for air, one hand splayed over your chest where he had touched you, the other digging into the wooden shelves as a means to keep you upright.
You feel watched, his shining eyes follow your every step. He finds you in the library again even when you’ve tucked yourself away in the most private of nooks. He finds you in the kitchens late at night, sneaking a few bites of cake and milk before bed. He finds you in the garden too as you sit on a bench overlooking the pond, tucked in the thick shade of a weeping willow.
You’ve grown used to his presence in a way. Used to the quickening of your heart at the mere sight of him, at the sound of his voice. Used to the way your tummy coils when he touches you with near unbearable familiarity.
Satoru sits next to you and puts the tray of lemon cakes on his lap. He’s too close again, his knee touching yours. And you allow it. Again.
He shuffles in his seat, taps his fingers on the bench, then sighs deeply — making his presence known, waiting for you to acknowledge it.
You don’t.
The silence only lasts for one brief moment. “Have a taste.” He brings the sweet to your mouth and nudges your hand away when you try to take it. “No, no. Open wide for me.”
That feeling that sits low in your belly comes back, twists your insides. But you do as you’re told and part your lips. You’ve learned by now that he enjoys watching your face twist with embarrassment. Just loves that you will disregard every lesson in proper behaviour you’ve been taught for him.
The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, lingers there too long. The cake crumbles on your tongue, tangy and sweet. And his mouth hangs slightly open as he watches the way the cream sticks to your teeth, his lithe fingers resting on your chin. It’s suffocating, like the air has thickened in the space between you. Like you cannot breathe until he tells you to.
“Why are you squirming?”
The question catches you off guard. “I’m not.”
“Do you like it when I touch you? Does it make you feel strange between your legs?” He leans into you as he speaks. “Is your cunt all wet?”
Your eyes widen in shock. He’s not supposed to say that word. So filthy and unbecoming. And it makes you feel all… wrong. Too aware of how your body preens for him.
“That is not an appropriate way to speak to a lady.” It takes every drop of strength you possess to not trample over your words. To ignore how he looks at you, barely surpassing his amusement. To stand on your feet and stomp away from him.
But still, when you slam the heavy doors to your chambers closed, all you can hear is his voice, deep and sanguine. And all you can think about is how it feels to be so close to him, to breathe in his scent and feel the warmth of his skin on yours. How you sink into every touch and every brush of his knuckles. How you feel dazed and light-headed when he speaks words he shouldn’t.
How you wish to know more.
He finds you again that same night. Walks into your bedchambers wearing a shirt pulled further apart than usual. Feigns innocence as you regard him with stern eyes and your mouth pressed into a disapproving line.
“You really cannot be here.” You fold into yourself, suddenly aware of how he can see you, see all parts of you through the nightgown that’s turned translucent in the candlelight.
“I must have lost my way.” His voice hushed, but you can still hear the insincerity in it. “It’s a big house.”
“I’m certain you’re used to bigger.” You pull your arms closer to your chest. “Now go.”
He doesn’t. You can feel how his eyes rake over you, take in every detail as you stand almost bare before him — how your hair looks when it’s not neatly arranged and adorned with pearls, how your fingers dip into your shoulders, how the tops of your breasts peek from behind your forearms with every heavy breath.
“You’re beautiful.” He takes a step toward you, long fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t want to leave.”
“Satoru, please.”
“Tell me you want me to leave.”
You swallow thickly, throat tight around your words, swallowing them. Your eyes dart away from him as embarrassment climbs up your legs, warms your cheeks.
He reaches out, holds your chin between his thumb and index finger. Tilts your head so that you have to look at his face, so that he can see up close the quiver of your lips as you succumb to him. “I’m waiting.” Because you will succumb to him.
The air between you feels suffocating, sticks to you. You turn your head, desperate to breathe, to escape what feels inevitable. But you’re met with the palm of his hand, searing in its tenderness as it pulls you closer to him.
His lips hover above your own, impatient but still waiting for your resolve to fracture and crumble in his grip. The flicker of your eyes brimming with anticipation is enough of an answer. A shared breath and the distance between you dissipates as he kisses you.
You’re standing on the tips of your toes, your body extending to dissolve into his. Like it knows its place. He’s gentle, his lips plush and soft and oh so warm as they press on yours. And you feel like you might lose yourself to this feeling, to his touch, consumed by his hunger. And when he pulls away you chase after him.
But he stops you with a hand around your jaw. “Don’t be greedy, now.” His thumb swipes across your lips. “You’re such a good girl, yes?” A dazed nod and his finger pushes inside your mouth, runs over your teeth and pushes onto your tongue. He stakes his claim on you. You’re his. Every last part of you. All of you. His to touch as he pleases. To have as he pleases. His and his alone. “And did they teach you what husbands and wives do together?”
You shake your head.
He swipes over the plump of your lips again, coating them in warm spit as you struggle to keep upright, light-headed, feet tingling with trepidation and something unfamiliar. “Would you like me to show you?”
“Y-yes.” It comes out shaky and breathless, like it should have remained in your throat, died there. Like you should have said no. But there’s that feeling in your belly again, starved and growing, and it wants him. And everything that may entail.
He kisses you again. This time it’s different, firmer, he forces you to open yourself up to him, his tongue licking inside your mouth. Holds you in place with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Devours you. Your every sense is alight with the feeling of him, forbidden and yet there in between your eager fingers.
There’s drool dripping down the sides of your chin, so unbecoming, so embarrassing. Yet it doesn’t compare to the sting that spreads to your cheeks when his tongue darts out to lap it up, lick you clean. Then he kisses you once more, even deeper than before and no drop of himself he has so graciously given you goes to waste.
You can’t escape the scrutiny of his crystal eyes, shining with pride at the result of his efforts as they take in the sight of you. From your swollen lips, down your neck, to your chest heaving with every laboured breath, and your arms folded together in a feeble attempt to protect your modesty.
“Let me see you.” His voice trembles just for a moment. As if he, too, is being held together by delicate seams, bursting with want, with the need to have you.
His fingers snake around your wrists and your breath hitches. But you still let him peel your arms off your body, let his knuckles ghost over the thin material, let him undo the bow that holds your nightgown together.
You can hear how hard he swallows, see how his throat bobs with the effort, how his mouth goes slack at the sight of your perky nipples peeking out from underneath the white cotton. “Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
Knuckles ghost over your clavicle as he hooks a finger around each strap of your nightgown. He looks into your eyes as he pulls them over your shoulder. “Don’t be.” And the dress falls around your feet in a rustle.
The look on his face is unlike anything you have ever seen before. Something primal and fierce. Like a starved animal, a wolf about to devour the lamb caught in his paws. He will take everything, carve it out of your core and grind it between his molars. And you will let him. And you will ask for more.
Feverish lips leave a trail down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You hold onto him, nails digging into the base of his neck as he moves further down, watching in awe as he licks a stripe in between your breasts. He’s watching you too, eager to see how your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, how you try to bite back the moans that tumble out anyways.
His hands move to cup your tits and he takes his time watching how the fat spills from in between his fingers. Touches your nipples so lightly it tickles, then latches his mouth onto one. It’s obscene, the prince on his knees, your skin glistening with a thin layer of his spit. And oh the noises he makes, whining as he sucks on the hardened buds, the pop as he releases one, only to move to the other side and do it all over again.
The blissful smile on his face as he looks at you coming undone in his arms.
But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to fill the emptiness that’s spreading inside out you. “Please, Satoru —” Your voice weak and desperate, begging for something, anything that will make you feel whole again.
“What’s wrong, My Lady?” He stands to his feet, curving into you. “What do you want?”
“Satoru…” You say his name like a prayer, like it’s your only salvation.
“Do you want me to touch you —” His fingers dip between the fat of your thighs “— here?”
And you gasp oh so sweetly as his middle finger presses into your folds. Your legs buckle, nails digging deeper into his skin. You want more. And you squeeze around his hand like your body knows what you need when even you don’t. But it’s too late. He’s already holding his finger in between you, dripping with your slick. Then he pops it in his mouth, looks into your eyes as he swirls his tongue around it.
“Mmm, sweet.” It’s like he delights in embarrassing you even now. “I want more.”
He carries you to the bed, sets you down gently before pulling the shirt off his back. He can see you and, at last, you can see him too. The peaks of his chest, drops of sweat running down between the ripples of his abdomen. So broad. Not even marble statues, perfectly carved works of art, can compare to him.
His hands are smoothing over your legs, firm, like he’s trying to commit every dip and curve of them to memory. His kisses start chaste, airy over the bone of your ankles, tickle the back of your knee. Slowly, they turn hungry, demanding as he buries his head between your thighs. He sucks on your soft flesh there, his mouth hot and needy. Then his tongue laves over the teeth marks imprinted into your skin, soothing the sting of it.
He stops for a moment. Desperate eyes taking in the sight of your pussy, wet and sticky with arousal. He runs his fingers over the sensitive skin, listens to you sharply inhale at the contact.
“You’re mine.” The world stops. “Say it.”
You can only manage a strangled whisper. “I’m yours.”
Then you feel it, the warmth of his breath as his mouth hangs just above your core, how wet and thick and hot his tongue is when it licks between your folds. How it curls around that spot that makes you whimper and call out his name. And he wraps his lips around it, sucks on it and you cannot stop the cry that erupts out of your mouth.
Your belly tightens. And you have to hide your face behind trembling hands, hide your panting and the way your cheeks could burst with shame. But you cannot stop how your body leans into him, how your legs wrap tightly around his head, pulling him closer still.
“You’re doing so well.” His voice vibrates against your centre and you moan, high-pitched and strained. “Just let go for me.”
You can feel the sheets grow wetter beneath you, him cursing under his breath about how perfect you are, his tongue all over you, lapping up your slick and dipping into all the perfect places. And that feeling snaps, spreads until your legs are shaking and you can do nothing but wail and scratch your nails across his scalp.
Lips move across your tummy, sloppy wet kisses mix withe the damp of your skin. He kisses you again, cradles your neck, holds you in place. It’s forceful and his mouth is so hot on yours, dripping, covers you in a taste that’s salty and sweet and intoxicating.
His hair is tussled, face shiny with you. And he looks at you with some kind of twisted pride in his eyes. “Have I won My Lady’s favour?”
A weak nod.
“Then —” He starts as nimble hands undo the ties on his breeches, “— I should show you what you have done to me.”
It’s a sight unlike any other. His cock, with soft white tufts of hair at the base, thin veins curving around his length and a blush pink tip leaking something clear and thick. And when he rests it on top of your tummy it feels heavy and it goes all the way up to your belly button.
“When we’re married I intend to have you like this every day.” His eyes are glued to where your bodies connect. “Perhaps more than once. We need heirs, don’t we?” Excitement tingles in your fingertips.
He runs the fleshy tip over your slit so agonisingly slowly. Follows every little movement with such intensity. And he feels like velvet against you, warm and throbbing over your core. Each buck oh his hips catches that sensitive peak between your folds and you feel your insides coil again. Writhe with want, with need to feel that release again.
You reach out to touch him, feel how he ruts into you. And he moans at the contact, a little choked out and whiny. You run your hand over his length, encouraged by how his lips part so prettily. And he feels so thick, so firm in your grasp.
“You’re a fast learner.” His mouth stretches, a picture of satisfaction.
But his tip catches against your entrance, and his eyebrows knot uncomfortably and he grinds his teeth. Knuckles white around the crumpled sheets as he tries to ground himself. Resist. Just for now. But never again.
His thrusts become more erratic, reckless as he surrenders to the tenderness of your flesh. And you follow closely along, hips bucking into him, looking for more friction, more of him. Your name falling from his lips, and his from yours. Like a sacred choir chant, or a cry for mercy, or something no words could ever convey.
He finds his release with his head hung and a low grunt. Spilling all over your belly, white and sticky and hot. He’s spent, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest heaving. You like the way he looks at you, bright eyes dimmed and hazy. Softer. And you think you must have taken a part out of him too.
He clings to you, lets you lay your head on his chest, your ear just above his heart. Its steady beat is oddly soothing. And so is the way he gently rubs little circles into your back, grounds you, binds you to him. Unexpected but not unwanted.
“Do you want to marry me?” He looks so different. Vulnerable and entirely too human, gaze locked onto the carved wood of your ceiling. As if he’s afraid of your answer, the truth in your eyes.
“Hm.”
“Hm?” His chest tightens.
“Only if you promise to sleep in my bed for as long as we both shall live.”
He turns to you with a click of his tongue. “I think they will have to drag me out by my arms and legs.” A wistful sigh. “There might even be casualties.”
thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
୧ synopsis: megumi is sick with a common cold, and gojo is simply lovesick for you.
Gojo Satoru convinces himself that he's not jealous.
How could he feel such a prickling and burning sensation in his lower tummy, slowly rising towards his heart making his blood boil and face grow hot just because you're nursing eleven-year-old Megumi back to health? The same little rascal that he had previously gotten into a spat with over something stupid and it doesn't help that the brat's sticking his tongue out and pulling down his lower eyelid taunting him.
But of course, you're too busy doting over sweet and innocent Megumi to notice. Too preoccupied with fluffing the pillows for the young boy to rest his poor head on, gently tucking him in with a cozy throw blanket, putting something on the platinum screen with the promise of brewing him a ginger-honey tea to make him feel better.
No matter how much Gojo tries to ignore Megumi, his facial muscles twitch and contort on their own in utter dismay and his Six Eyes zeroes in on the couch-ridden boy with his lips curling into a deep frown before sticking his tongue back at him.
"Come on, Satoru. Be nice to him, he's really sick." You say as you start the kettle and reach for a mug from the cabinet. Gojo's forced to acknowledge that Megumi wasn't faking the snotty nose and loud sneezes, but he still doesn't like the idea of losing to one smug child and giving him the satisfaction that he's secured his revenge which is your devoted attention. Maybe Megumi knew that his guardian would go a wee-bit insane being treated as a second thought but Gojo will never admit that it's working.
"Hey honey, you know what? I don't feel so good either. Here, feel my forehead." Gojo takes your hand and places it over his forehead to check if it's warm to the touch and he makes sure to do his best impression of looking pathetically sick—droopy eyelids, jutting his lower lip into a pout, and slumped shoulders to get your sympathy.
"Satoru, you feel perfectly fine. There's nothing wrong with you."
"I swear I'm not feeling well. My throat feels weird and scratchy, my body feels flashes of hot and cold, my head is pounding and it's killing me, and.." Gojo tries to convince you that he's experiencing every symptom he could think of and you knew he was determined to be sick. Between your "uh-huh" and "right" you decide to humor him as you follow his explanation and tried your hardest to hold back a smile when he throws in an exaggerated detail or two.
"Alright, you big baby. We can't have you feeling sick now, can we? Can't have the strongest sorcerer out of commission for long, hm?"
"Nope, that'd be very bad. As long as you drop everything and pour all your attention on me, I should get better in no time. No pressure or anything, but the world does kinda depend on it~" Gojo flashes you a toothy grin then quickly remembers that he's supposed to be sick and feigns a cough or two averting your knowing glance.
"Hmm, okay I'll see what I can do. Now c'mere, let's get you all nice and comfortable so you can get your much-needed rest and get well again." You lead him to your shared bedroom and reflect the covers back for him to climb onto the mattress and ensure he's warm and cozy as you pull the comforter over him. For someone who's supposed to feel horribly ill Gojo sure can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. "You look a little too happy to be sick, don't you think?"
"Just happy that you'll be the one to help me get back my strength is all." Through his fluttering lashes, he sports the most innocent and angelic expression he can muster and you can't help the soft giggle given his stellar performance up until this point.
"Alright, if you say so. I'll get you something to eat, okay? I'll be right back."
As you're turning on your heel to head for the door, Gojo pouts and protests. "Wha- No sweet kiss to hold me over? You might be a while and I'll get so lonely since you're not here to keep me company."
"Aw, I'm sorry baby, but you know there's no kissing until you're all better. Can't get myself sick now that I have to look after you and Megumi, right? I promise I won't be long."
"...Not even a forehead kiss? :(" He murmurs under his breath as he watches your back to him and eventually disappears into another room. Once Gojo's left to his own devices, he wonders how long it would take you to complete your tasks on hand. He fiddles with his thumbs and counts the passing minutes. One minute becomes five, five becomes ten, then ten becomes twenty and he suddenly cannot bear to be apart from you much longer and checks on you.
"Sweetheart, what's taking you so long? I thoug-" And there he stumbles across the answer to his own question. Megumi is being spoon-fed rice porridge by you because he claims that his arms are too weak to do it himself and you couldn't leave him starved in his condition. Gojo appears crestfallen and disgruntled in the throw blanket draped over his lanky body and with a small huff he grumbles, "So that's what you've been up to. Fine, fine I guess it's up to me to take care of myself, huh?"
"What's wrong with him? Is he sick too or something?" Megumi asks nonchalantly as he watches his mentor's dejected form return to his bedroom to sulk. You gently shake your head and offer the boy a soft smile, but you do feel a little bad that your boyfriend has been acting unusual lately hence his needy and clingy tendencies.
"He's just going through a phase, but don't you worry about him and focus on getting better, okay? I'll find a way to make it up to him."
When you enter your shared bedroom with a platter of breakfast in your grasp, you found Gojo hiding under the covers in an attempt of giving you his silent treatment. You place the serving tray of food on the nightstand and situate yourself on the bed beside him, smoothing your hand over his covered shoulder as he's laid on his side with his face away from you. "Satoru, my love, I've brought you breakfast."
With a soft shrug of his shoulder, he responds with a strained hum but you know it's just him being melodramatic because he could never truly be mad at you. "Do you wanna tell me what's on your mind? I'm all yours if you come on out from under the covers."
Gojo shifts his body weight around and tufts of white hair start to peek as he gradually pulls the blanket down until you meet his azure gaze and he receives your sweet smile. "Hey there, is everything alright? Did I do something to upset you?" The tender warmth of your hand finds its home on his cheek with a gentle caress and he sighs contently at the familiar touch. You're patient as you wait for him to gather his thoughts, your fingers moving to his soft tendrils in soothing motions and he inches closer to you.
"You've never done a single thing wrong ever. You are perfect." He starts off slowly, "I just missed you and ever since I got back from my mission you were too busy with the kids (Megumi and Tsumiki) that we haven't really had any alone time together." Gojo confesses as he's playing with the hem of your shirt, feeling a bit vulnerable to look you straight in the eyes. "Oh, and another thing... I'm not actually sick I only said that so you'd notice me more."
"Thanks for being honest with me. And I knew that you weren't sick. For someone who's supposed to be good at anything he tries, I'm glad that you turned out to be a pretty bad liar."
Gojo's face heats up at that and he unceremoniously hides his face in your lap from embarrassment, as muffled words of "Oh, so you knew. I thought I was pretty convincing" managed to reach your ears.
"Tell you what, how about we have ourselves a nice picnic this weekend? Just the two of us, I'll find someone to watch the kids. And I think maybe spending an afternoon in the sunshine will do us some good. What do you think?"
Gojo suddenly lights up at your proposal. "I think you're wonderful for planning the perfect date."
"You're sweet for giving me so much credit." Your soft laughter quickly melts his heart and he returns your affections, feeling a little less lovesick as you're both sharing a beautiful moment together. "I love you."
though the wind may carry everyone's woes, who carries the wind's?
summary: "To be so close to an Archon meant seeing them at their absolute worst."
trigger warnings: blood, hand injury, implied self-destructive behavior (not the reader).
reverse hurt/comfort. venti x reader. 1.4k words.
they/them pronouns for reader.
i dont write about venti enough. hes my favorite ever. anyway of course i decide to write an angsty fic for him when i havent written about him in a while LMAOSHSKGJ also in this oneshot [name] is implied to be related to a major historical figure in mondstadt (like jean, diluc, & eula).
"Venti?"
It wasn't uncommon for a certain windborne bard to worm his way into their bed at night; after a lifetime of being cared for by him, nurtured by the winds themselves to be smart, independent, and strong, they felt it was only right to return the favor when he needed it. Some nights, he'd stumble into their residence drunk out of his mind—they didn't mind much. He was quite touchy and affectionate in such a state. It was cute. As an Archon, his hangovers were much more manageable than some of their other friends' (a certain Cavalry Captain was a nightmare to deal with when hungover), which was an added bonus. However, not all nights were so calm and easy. Some nights were more... difficult. Emotional.
To be so close to an Archon meant seeing them at their absolute worst.
In the Anemo Archon's case...
They tried to remove most mirrors in their home to prevent the very scenario they were now presented with. Still, at least one needed to stay, and that was the bathroom mirror. Perhaps it would have been a wise idea to cover it in some way; accomodating their home to suit the bard's emotional needs was something they'd do in a heartbeat. 'A simple bedsheet should do,' they mused fleetingly.
His mortal name garnered no response, so they tried again:
"Barbatos... please look at me," they whispered softly, hand held out invitingly so that, if he so desired, he could initiate or reject physical contact. Their gaze flickered between his bloodied knuckles to the pieces of shattered glass spread around to the crater in their wall where a mirror had once been in tact.
Certainly, the deity at their feet was much stronger than what people gave him credit for.
Even so, not a single spark of fear ignited in their chest; all they could wonder was how they'd explain the hole in their wall and the mirror shattered beyond repair when getting everything fixed or replaced. Never would they be afraid of someone so gentle. Venti—Barbatos, rather—was not the kind of Archon to bring harm and destruction upon anyone other than himself unless it was completely necessary. After having known him for so long, any fear that they may have felt when being presented with an emotional, heavily worshipped god was gone. He would never so much as think about hurting them. He'd only ever hurt himself, much to their despair. If there was ever any way for them to take away his pain, they'd do so in an instant. Barbatos deserved so much better than how the world treated him; that's what they thought, anyway. Perhaps they were biased.
With the side of their bare foot, they gingerly nudged some of the shards away, careful not to harm themselves.
Upon hearing a barely supressed sniffle, their chest tightened, flicking away the glass with more purpose once they saw the first tear fall.
Once they lowered themselves to the glass-free ground, the bard was quick to shift closer to them, laying his head on their shoulder. "I'm sor— sorry—" he cried between hiccups, nimble fingers clutching their silken nightshirt with suffocating strength. His knuckles throbbed, but he paid them no mind, nor did they to the fresh blood that dripped onto their clothes with the contact. "I didn't— didn't mean to—"
"Shh. It's okay. It's okay. It's just a mirror. I can replace it," they reassured in a hushed murmur, pressing their cheek to the top of his head and wrapping their arms around him. Fingers calloused from years of archery, hunting, and mandatory lyre lessons rubbed little soothing circles on whatever skin they could reach. "Let it out. I'm here. You're okay. Let it all out."
He sobbed harder into their chest at that. All they could do was gently hush him, subconsciously rocking back and forth as if to soothe a child, until he calmed down to coherency. There was no way to help if they couldn't understand him, after all.
(Despite that, they knew him well enough to know what troubled him so terribly. Over time, they learned that it was best to wait for him to talk rather than try to reassure him before they could tell what exactly he wanted them to do. Sometimes all he needed was a shoulder to cry on; sometimes he needed reassurance.)
A cool burst of wind caught their attention. After concluding that it wasn't the god's doing, they looked over their shoulder.
Oh.
There, in the doorway, a small cluster of wind wisps looked inward, chittering nervously at the sight of one of their own crying. They weren't unfamiliar with the little beings; more than once, they've woken up only to find the wisps snuggled in their hair and clothes with Venti laughing at them good-naturedly, telling them that they legally could not move until the wind wisps decided to first. They'd scoff, but abide by his rules anyway. As one would not dare to disturb a sleeping animal, they would not dare to disturb the sleeping winds.
Barbatos showed no objection to the way the wisps slowly drifted in, settling both on and around the Archon and his friend. He absently stroked a finger over one of the little ones, slowly calming down to a more grounded state. A comfortable silence descended, occupied only by occassional sniffles and chirps.
"Would he be mad at me?"
A million thoughts raced through their mind at the sudden question.
Would he? There was no easy answer to such a question, despite how deeply they wished there was. There was no way to know what a long-deceased person would think of the way a friend chose to honor him. If they were to make a guess... they imagined that the bard, the boy who once led the resistance against Decarabian alongside one of their ancestors, wouldn't hold it against Venti.
Shakily, they carded a hand through his dishevelled hair, mentally noting to tend to his wounded knuckles later. A trembling kiss was pressed to his forehead.
With all the strength they could manage, they tried to keep their voice from wavering.
"...I don't know. I didn't know him. I only know you, love." With their freehand, they ran their thumb soothingly over his cheekbone, eyes fixed in the direction of the ceiling. They'd cry if they were to see how wounded and defeated he looked; they knew themselves well enough to know that. "I'd... imagine not, though. He sounds like a very gentle soul at heart. I think he'd understand, Barbatos."
"...Maybe."
"You don't sound very convinced." A deep sigh left their nose as they kissed him again, only now on the crown of his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, darling. I'm sorry the world has treated you so poorly thus far. I— I wish I could help you, but I just... all I can offer you is a safe space. You're safe with me. There's nothing you could say or do that would make me angry with you. I know it must be so hard being immortal, but through the legacy of my bloodline, I am too. You can tell me anything. I like to think you'll always be safe with us, with me."
"...Perhaps so," Barbatos whispered in reply. "Your family was always very kind, to me and that bard and anyone else who needed a secure place to hide in a world of insecurity."
"So I've heard. I suppose it runs in the family."
"...Can we stay like this for a while?"
"Sure."
The silence returned once again. Rough fingertips drew random shapes and patterns on the Anemo Archon's skin. When his weight fell heavier on their chest, theiy dared to peer down.
"Barbatos?" They brushed some of his hair away from his face, heart shattering into a million pieces at the sight of remnants of tears on his reddened cheeks. His chest rose and fell with the newfound peace and solace that unconsciousness offered, and yet, he still managed to look so... sad.
A shaky breath left their quivering lips.
"Celestia above," they choked pathetically, squeezing the sleeping god close to their body in a way that was undoubtedly protective. The wind wisps stirred, some quickly rushing to their face and seeming to try and pat their tears dry. More tears fell down their cheeks at the inherent kindness the winds displayed. "Give him a break. Please, please... he doesn't deserve this. Why do you all hate him so much?"
The gods in Celestia gave no indication of a response.
a/n: reposting from my old account...just now i realised that, it's actually not bad or terrible. i put a lot of effort into this, but i'm just overthinking too much and shutting down everything for no reason ahaha i'm so sorry everyone ! !
"I love you."
You loved him, you love everything about him. It almost sounds like an oath or something. A vow made with an intense feeling of deep affection, endearment knitting each yarn of affirmation.
"I love your eyes, they're always pretty."
"I love your voice, I could listen to it forever."
"I love your hand, it's warm whenever I hold it."
"I love your smile, it makes me really happy to see them."
"I love to be with you, words can't describe how much I feel."
Sometimes you wonder if your significant other is a flower in secret, attracting many butterflies to come fluttering inside your stomach. His sweet tongue strokes your taste bud with each honey dripped word that falls from your boyfriend's lip.
Each sunrise and sunset, the sights of him were reminiscent of your dearest moment. You cherish it, the intimacy of being so close to him in every tender kiss, giggling every time he chases another kiss, starved to explore every part of your lip.
His body curled into yours, hand grasping at your sleeves. Cradled in his arms as if you are the most fragile thing in the world, he keeps your body close, trying to share his warmth, his hand rubbing a soothing circle on your back. It's a shame really, because you can no longer feel any of his touch anymore.
"So please for the very last time,"
He keeps crying, tears dribbling their warmest drop on your cold skin, his voice was hoarse, throat dry as he gently shake your shoulders. His hold on you got tighter with each second passing, he keeps chanting your name as if it was some sort of prayer.
"please wake up."
"Please open your eyes."
"Please say something— anything."
You wish to hug him closer, if that's even possible as if you two weren't close already. "Why you're this cold? Please, wake up now, we can't stay here." How you wish to comfort him, cupping his face and whispering that everything is going to be alright.
He didn't even dare to blink, his eyes hurt way too much. He was afraid, like a nightmare he was scared that you would disappear for real if he try to close his eyes for a mere second. "Please don't leave me too." You would never leave him alone, you already made a promise, you'll always come back to him.
"Please, please, please, at least, please—"
He halted, forcing the rest of his breath to bunch up inside his lungs. His heart was thumping so fast, aching as if something keeps making his wound bleed. He could swear he can hear his own heartbeat, he can feel it, his heart could burst through his ribcage at any moment. While your heart?
He was desperately expecting a reply, any response or touch, just anything from you, hoping you would return his gentle gestures, but you weren't there. You were no longer there, and never going to be.
to love is to betray—at least that’s how scaramouche has always seen it.
and then he meets you.
“this is my bath,” you tease him lightly, and even despite the shooing motion of your hand, even despite the soft glare sent your way, you still make room for him to settle between your legs.
“well, it’s also mine now too,” he huffs.
he leans his back against your chest, let’s his body melt in against yours, let’s the soft trace of your hands fill the empty cracks with something he’s lacked for long time.
scaramouche is almost certain you realize he’s in love with you before he comes close to knowing himself. and it’s funny—even though you fall first, he falls harder.
maybe it’s just the world being cruel once again, just as it always has been with him. it’s cruel, downright evil, really, that something about you makes him forget so easily who he is, who he’s supposed to be. love has always written itself as betrayal—but you make it seem so promising, luring out the softest parts of him, the naive ones that hope and hope…just to crumble in the end, like always.
but then you wash his hair, lathering shampoo into your hands and working through his hair softly, slowly, delicately like he’s fragile.
“admit it. you just like it when i wash your hair, huh?” and you’re still teasing, still using that slightly amused tone when you speak to him. he should be insulted, he thinks, but there’s a smile on his face.
for a moment, he notes that he’s lucky his back is facing you and the smile stretched across his lips is hidden—otherwise you’d have the satisfaction of knowing you’re right. because he does love when you wash his hair, he loves the closeness and the safety and the feeling of being wanted. of being cherished. of being something to someone without having to earn it first.
but he can’t bring himself to admit it, so instead, he scoffs, leaning more weight onto you as he quirks a brow.
“well, why wash it myself if you’re around?”
it’s his way of giving himself the upper hand—his way of convincing himself that love is not the reason why he so desperately chases the tenderness of your fingers against his scalp. no, instead, he convinces himself that mortals such as you were made to serve him like this. to treat him like he’s holy and divine, like he’s the god you’re meant to worship as you kiss his shoulder with a giggle.
“that’s true,” you hum, “why would you do it when i can take care of you?”
but you’re different—and it scares him a little. you don’t worship him like he’s a deity, like he’s all mighty and the answer to your prayers. instead, you simply love him, like it’s a choice, like it’s something you want.
you cover his eyes as you rinse out the suds. love. you cup his cheek and admire him. love. you lean down and press a kiss to the tip of his nose, teasingly grazing over his lips before pulling away. love.
everything about you is completely in love—but to love is to betray, and he knows the inevitable will be soon to come.
so he denies the urge to pull you back in, ignores the almost painful need to feel your lips press against his, turns away every part of him that screams to let i love you spill from his lips.
because every time he loves, every time he so graciously gives every piece of himself—like the heart he doesn’t have, even offering the parts that don’t exist and giving them up anyway—love always tastes like a bitter sip of betrayal.
i love you, he wants to say. but he knows as soon as the words slip, so will you from his fingers. just like the last time—just like the first.
“you don’t need to take care of me,” he grunts, “i’m fine on my own.”
“on your own,” you hum in thought, as if you’re carefully taking in his words. “isn’t that lonely?” you ask softly. by now, your hand has resigned to rubbing slow circles into his chest, pulling him in closer, almost as if proving a point.
i’m right here. you’re not alone.
“no,” he says stubbornly, “i’m above needing—”
“cause sometimes i’m lonely,” you admit, cutting him off. there’s no shame in your voice, not even a trace of hurt or sadness or even hatred. instead, you smile, pressing another kiss to his shoulder, and then the crook of his neck as you murmur, “but i guess not so much when i’m with you.”
“me?”
“yeah,” you nod, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheek pressed against his, “you. cause i love you, you know?”
and once again, scaramouche realizes he’s in love. he’s been so painfully in love for so long—and he thinks you’ve known it for even longer.
and to love is to betray, he thinks—but you’re still here, still holding him tight in your arms as you smile into his skin. so he finds a little hope, a little relief, as he closes his eyes and listens to your heartbeat against his back.
after a moment, with a tight grip on your thigh and wobbly lips, he quietly whispers, “i think i love you too.”
betrayals were so familiar to him, yours were far more special.
⋆ pairing — kunikuzushi / wanderer x fem!reader
⋆ content warning — angst & small fluff, death mentioned, small spoilers for lantern rite & possible spoilers scara's story quests, 0.9k
⋆ rosie's notes — first time writing for genshin, i'm starting with scara!! i kin him lmao
"come on, kuni! the lanterns are fleeting,"
a hand clutched to his, warmly he noted. as you tighten your grip hoping to keep it with yours. confused by your statement about this 'lanterns' you speak of, nevertheless he lets you drag him away from the comfort of your own home.
up to the cliff he's oh so familiar with, the times the both of you have spent there coming to him, as he finally see the lights that float above the sea like the stars of the sky. lanterns from the lands of liyue, a once in a blue moon taking.
your grandmother used to tell you the stories of it, how the anemo archon blows the wind from the city of freedom, through liyue and taking every lights of wishes to other nations, a reminder of those who have passed, it was a message she says, a farewell that has long been said.
"quickly, make a wish kuni!" as you look at him excitedly.
a wish, you say? he doesn't understand humans that well, but the joy in your eyes tells him that it wouldn't hurt to try.
"i wish-"
"don't say it out loud, silly!" you giggle as you poke his cheeks and he looks at you confused once again.
your eyes telling him 'follow me' as you look up at the sky — him copying you, but his eyes still focused on you.
"close your eyes, kuni" speaking so softly, as you followed suit by whispering your wishes into the air. he didn't hear it by any means, but he hoped to catch whatever you had told the wind.
࿐ ·
he has no name anymore, it was long gone; dead and buried with his past.
alas, the memories of a girl who you were once with him stays. the world may have forgotten you and him, but your name stay within him — a secret he had to take from the irminsul tree, the god of wisdom did know, but knowing he had paid the price a new birth gift it was for him.
he will never know what you have whispered to the wind on that day, he had hoped it would be true.
as for him, he had wished for your eternity. falsely, it had never come. as he bore holes to the lights on his hands the traveller has given to him, he couldn't help but still wishes to see you for the last time.
"ah, a wanderer from another nation? say, what does your heart urge you to own?" his clothing in green, a cape that accompanies it — a bard he presumes. how laughable, he doesn't have a heart and yet he yearns for something, like a human.
"tsk, i have no interest in humans stupid traditions, an archon in a bard's clothing how does one dwell in such a foolish occasion?" though, he might have changed, the same venom drips from his lips.
"how cruel! and here i thought i could be of service to the calls of your heart." dramatic, as always. "one that belongs have wished from the past, wouldn't one be curious for the things that last?"
he could've said something, he could've rejected the offer, what was stopping him from doing so? silence fills the air as the bard himself hums a melody.
"i wish to keep kunikuzushi away from any pain."
and there you were like the very first time, in front of him. eyes closed like the memory he had once remembered.
he stayed there, not moving afraid these fragments of your time might break and he'll have to see you go again. isn't your wish ironic? you've been the one to cause the pain, his pain.
aren't you cruel? still beautiful as ever, still the same, it's still you.
he doesn't realize it, his eyes now glittering with tears. the time he has cried again, once when he was abandoned. but, no you didn't abandon him. fate was rather jealous, taking you out of his grasp.
death was inevitable, yours was something he couldn't fathom. you were something so precious and pure, a human who the world doesn't deserve one bit.
as he sees you smile once more, turning to him. he felt like he was himself from years ago, the kunikuzushi who you had showed the wonders of the world.
"i'm sorry, kuni" oh, he remembers this now all too well. it was just a simple thing, so why did it feel like he couldn't breathe and his heart was being stabbed so slow?
he hates how all these years, you still have that effect on him. humans were nothing, fragile and useless. how did such a human like you evoke such feelings from his non-existent heart?
and then, you were gone.
he looked around once more, he was still at the outskirts of liyue, a lantern in hand, the bard was gone. no one in sight, as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands.
you were very fond of the anemo archon, he remembers. always talking about how one day, you'll visit every nation and come to the land of freedom. asking him one time if he'll join you.
of course, he would if he was still the same kuni you've known. he'll say it out loud and take your hand to everywhere the wind will take you.
but, those were all memories from the past and yet, he keeps it like a treasure.
one more wish and he'll never ask for anything again, not the gnosis, not his name, not even his own mother.
nothing but you.
he whispers to the wind, like a fool. but, what can he lose now? like a desperate prayer, he released the lantern to the sky.
"come back to me."
— ♡ is he a little ooc?? im gonna cry lots. likes & rb's are much appreciated!!
Summary: You and Gojo and your not-so-conventional union.
Word count: 2.9k
Tags: Spoilers for Hidden Inventory, Fluff, Slight angst, Elopement (duh), Established relationship, Lowkey parental Yaga, Miscommunication, Set after Hidden Inventory Arc
A/N: my besties bought me a big big big gojo fuwa for my birthday :D
You marry Satoru at the age of 19.
And you don’t really how know it happens. After everything you both have been through, everything that year just… blurred.
Suguru’s betrayal had been a turning point. The four three of you changed. Shoko’s cigarette habit returned, she retreats back into her room most of the time, throwing herself at medical books; you found yourself often standing in the middle of the kitchen, silently recreating recipes Suguru and yourself would make together; and Satoru… Well, Satoru disappeared.
It’s natural that he’s sought after. He’s now the strongest, and not part of a pair. But Satoru checks out. He leaves without warning, and you don’t know what’s happening except that he’s mourning and he’s grieving, too, and you’re with two newly acquired preschoolers, and you were spending your nights coiled up and waiting for him to come home to you, and you were grasping at frayed ends to try and make things work.
Two months of half-hearted conversations on the off-chance you manage to see your own boyfriend in the dorms. Two months of near radio silence. You didn’t know what was his next move. What would he do in his grief? What would you do in the wake of it?
Apparently, the only natural thing for him to do was to return to you one night and silently slip an engagement ring onto your ring finger while you slept.
gojo satoru has had his crushes but he can't explain whenever he's with you, all he feels is pure happiness and silly lil butterflies. you're his first love, and this time he plans to show it.
⊹ gojo satoru x reader | 0.9k words
⊹ tooth-rotting friends to lovers fluff, edited
when gojo first laid eyes on you, he knew you were the first person he’d ever fallen for.
of course, he had his fair share of people who had taken his interest and made him decently happy. but that couldn’t compare to what he felt with you, as if he was in heaven and you were the angel greeting him at the gates to paradise. which was quite hilarious to say, as he often referred to himself as the devil, who causes mischief and havoc within your little world. but, it didn’t take long enough for gojo to find out that you didn’t mind how silly and stupid he was, in fact you enjoyed it. and that was the first time he’d found himself lovestruck over someone.
gojo never tried to hide the fact he loved you, nor did he try to point attention to his little feelings. he just seemed to be a bit lucky that you were oblivious of his intentions. he, himself, didn't expect to find himself buying simple things that reminded him of you.
yet here he was, sliding his card into the skinny slit of the card machine before he thanked the worker, leaving the bakery with a small box of your favourite cake. minutes felt like years before he reached his destination. with a small bounce to his walk and a stupid grin on his face, he walked up to you with electricity of excitement running through his veins.
he towers over you, leaning above you with the same stupid grin his face had plastered since he left the bakery. you look up and make eye contact with him, a soft smile appearing on your face.
“well hello there, bright blue eyed sir,” you tease and watched gojo’s eyes roll. he took a spot beside you and set the cake down on your lap before wrapping his arm around your shoulder.
“hi sweetheart, did i make you wait too long?” he hums and tilted his head at you with playful eyes that hide his adoration for you. you shake your head, reaching to open the box of cake.
“who would’ve thought that gojo satoru would remember what flavour of cake i like,” you reached for the fork inside, taking a piece before putting it in your mouth. you felt the icing melt in your mouth and your eyes closed in enjoyment.
gojo stares at you attentively, his heart warming up while he watches you eat the sweet delight in your hand. he doesn’t waste the opportunity to take his thumb and swipe it across your lips, wiping off the leftover icing. his motions bring your attention to him, seeing him place his thumb into your mouth and humming at the taste. you immediately look away, a flustered expression appearing on your face.
he lightly chuckles, not being able to get over how adorable you looked while blushing. “y’know, i think this is starting to be my favourite type of cake,” he comments.
you nod and hum in agreement, finishing the last bit of cake. “didn’t you tease me for liking it?” you raise an eyebrow, only for gojo to shrug in response.
“i have a habit of changing my mind,” he replies.
you laugh and look at him, “and is that why you decided to ditch your students to hang with me?” his lips pursed before shrugging once more.
“perhaps, what is it to you?” he challenges, not expecting your face to move closer to his.
“i simply think it’s cute that you make time for me,” you smile innocently, his cheeks burn a light pink and he reaches to flick your forehead. you whine as he looks away, muttering how cute you were before turning back to you.
“you deserve that,” he points out while you aggressively rub your forehead in hopes that it would soothe the pain.
“for what ‘toru? i didn’t do anything,” you huff, trying to flick gojo’s forehead as revenge. he clearly saw what you were doing, moving away from you but instead you continuously moved closer. gojo grabs your wrists as you stare at him, realizing the position you were in. he smirks slightly, giving you a playful look as you continue to stare at him, cheeks red and your body starting to warm up.
gojo takes the chance to pull you closer, centimetres away from your face while you both make intense eye contact. he observes your facial expressions, watching for any discomfort. he came to the conclusion that there was none besides fluster and he couldn’t help but laugh.
you narrow your eyes at him, giving him a glare and he immediately shuts up, giving you a smile full of mischief. “what are the chances that you’re gonna slap me if i kiss you,”
“what do you mea—” gojo cuts you off by pressing his lips against yours, letting go of one of your wrists to cup your cheek. you melt into the kiss and close your eyes, leaning into his cheek slightly.
your lips molded together, unable to pull away. you move to snake your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. you eventually were the first to pull away, softly panting to gain some air into your lungs.
gojo’s face was flushed, cheeks a dark red as he focused on your face, looking for any discomfort again. you give him a quick kiss as if you were reading his thoughts. “it’s a low chance, but a definite high chance that i’ll kiss you back,” you mention, gojo twirling the ends of your hair with his finger.
“then i guess it’s a high chance that i’ll kiss you once more,” he softly said before kissing you once more.
he could’ve never guessed that a kiss could feel so magical with the person he loves the most.
scaramouche is awkward the first time he lays beside you, rigid and hardly relaxed when his body slides under the covers—you’d almost think he doesn’t want to be near you if you didn’t know him any better. you keep a small distance between you both when you see the way he seems to stiffen the closer you get, whispering a soft goodnight before closing your eyes.
what you don’t seem to see, however, is the way his eyes wander to your figure every few seconds, lingering over your face and raking over your features. you don’t see the way his eyes soften when you curl into the sheets for warmth. you don’t see the way his hand reaches out as you sleep, a little shaky at first—hesitant. he brushes a finger against your cheek as if testing the waters—and then he retreats almost immediately.
because you look delicate like this, soft and fragile, too easy to disappear suddenly, like you were never there to begin with. he doesn’t think he should be here beside you—but then you crinkle your nose in your slumber, and despite his better judgement, he smiles a little at the sight. his fingers run over the swell of your cheeks and brush over the bridge of your nose, delicately tracing the skin as he maps your features.
it’s not until you nibble on his fingertip as he traces your bottom lip does he realize you’re now awake.
“what are you—”
“how romantic,” you tease, grinning cheekily as your eyes flutter open, “and here i almost thought you didn’t like me for a bit.”
“that’s because i don’t like you,” he grunts, pushing you away (though gently) as you scoot closer and wriggle your brows.
“if you wanted to cuddle, you could just ask,” you giggle, and he glares.
you’ve always been bold, far bolder than he should let you get away with—but you throw him the bright grin you always do, and somehow he finds himself softening the harsh edges, like the glass is rounded so he doesn’t cut you as you reach your hand out.
“i don’t,” he huffs, “now go to sleep.”
there’s a slight pout on his face—though, you don’t think he realizes as much, and pointing it out would only sour his mood more. so you smile to yourself, taking in the way his hand falls limply onto the mattress beside him.
if he craves to reach for you again, to feel the warmth of your skin press against the tips of his fingers one more time, he makes no indication of it. scaramouche never reaches first—he simply tolerates your back hugs and linked arms, let’s you follow him around and maybe even hold his hand if he’s in a good mood. there’s always a disgruntled protest, however weak it might be, but just like always, he never pulls away.
and something tells you he doesn’t want to—something about the way his expression breaks for a swift moment before it’s hardened again tells you that maybe he needs your touch more than you need his.
so you flick his forehead, make his brows furrow and his chest ache with that smile you shoot him, the same one that soothes over the cracks the world has left in him over the years and fills them until he’s whole. “i would be asleep, if someone didn’t wake me.”
he hates that you’re right—but more than anything, he hates how easily you trust him. he hates how easy it is for his harsh glares to go ignored, how easy it is not to care about his bitter words and cold resolve, how easy it is to give and give when you get nothing in return. and because you never seem to care just how hard it is to love someone like scaramouche, you wrap yourself around his arm, making him stiffen with a scowl.
“hey, get off,” he says—but even as he pokes your shoulder to make a point, he makes no moves to pull away. it tells you enough, you think, it tells you everything you need to know.
please don’t ever let go.
“are you sure you want that, kuni?” you hum, reaching to poke his cheek, “you sure seem to like touching me—”
“i’ve had enough,” he grunts, “you can go sleep in another bed.”
“this is my bed,” you snort.
you’re right again, which only makes him ten times more irritated, but maybe…maybe he’s also ten times more in love. he wonders for a moment—thinks whether or not someday he can really bring himself to admit it.
so for now, he doesn’t pull away—and he hopes that’s enough to make you keep reaching out.
“whatever,” he mutters, and almost too swiftly, as if he wills himself to do it before he can change his mind, his arm tugs you closer against his side, letting your head fall to his chest. “i’d say it’s ours now,” he says quietly.
you grin, reaching a hand out to grab his, squeezing gently as your fingers lace with his.
and when you whisper, “goodnight, kuni,” with a kiss to his chest, he doesn’t pull away.
Story Content: Fluff, Slight Angst, Established Relationship, Mention and use of blades and razors (to shave), Tired Gojo, Gojo Satoru needs to rest, We hate the higher ups
A/N: Hi! This is my first time ever posting my writing publicly ^-^ Might not be your cup of tea but that’s ok! Just scroll on :>
I’m not new to tumblr but I am new to posting so if you read on, forgive me for any formatting issues haha I’m still ironing out the creases (◕ᴗ◕✿) i legitimately have no idea how this post will look like when i post it but i guess i’ll learn how tumblr works instead of studying for my exams WOO
Likes are welcomed! Reblogs are also appreciated :>
“Shit, babe.”
A grunt.
Big hands grope at your hips, your waist. It’s getting hard to concentrate when there’s heavy breathing against the lobe of your ear, a body squirming under your touch…
You pull away with a sigh, and watch your boyfriend jerk when you land a resounding (but light) slap on his bicep.
“Owwwww!”
Cerulean blue eyes stare at you, in both shock and faux-sadness.
Summary — Aki gets a little handsy with you while driving to work, and suggests you both take it to the back seat.
cw — car sex, pwp, vaginal fingering, sex while driving, masturbation, cream pie, pet names, lowkey public sex?? High key wants you to depend on him, squirting, pussy slapping. Idk what else lmk
wc — 4k
Aki has to resist the sigh threatening to exhale from his mouth while he watches you rummage around the room in search for your black suit tie in a haste, not remembering that he told you that he had neatly folded and placed it on the bedroom dresser, ready for you to grab in the morning with no problems. He guessed that was useless.
He knows he shouldn't have let you sleep those extra five minutes you had begged for, because with your adorable, sleepy face and cute morning voice— he had caved in and left you alone to attend to some early house chores, like aggressively waking up Power and Denji before preparing everyone breakfast.
Because those five minutes turned into ten when you had pulled him down by his shirt collar and kissed his lips so sloppily when he had returned to awaken you again so you could come eat— resulting in him leaving the room with a cute pink tint on his face and saying he'll reheat your food when you're up.
Those ten minutes turned into fifteen when you sneakily reached out from under the blanket and wandered your fingers up and down his thigh while he stood over you, trailing them up further and further until he had snapped out of his love sick daze and grabbed your wrist with ease— stopping you before you had the chance to grab onto his groin.
He left the room with a roll of his eyes— saying something along the lines of 'you'll make up for that later' as well as his now painfully hard cock bulging against his trousers in an almost unbearable way, fighting his urges to turn around and crawl back into bed with you and relieve himself. The sight of you looking up at him with half lidded eyes, the sultry look you sent him made his head spin in circles and his dick twitch painfully in his pants. That was, until Denji had walked out of his room wearing Aki's brand new underwear he had just brought himself— instantly killing the lewd fantasy in his head and making his lust contort into anger.
Finally— at the twenty minute mark, and with not long left to spare until you all had to leave for work, he had enough. With your breakfast sitting on the table getting colder and colder by the second and Power's constant whining, begging to eat it, he had rose from his seat and made his way back to the bedroom, promising himself he would not let your tempting advances get the better of him this time.
Aki didn't spare your sleeping figure a single glance when he stalked in— instead, he marched towards the curtains and had mercilessly ripped them open, letting the blazing sun shine into the room and directly onto your face. Ignore your agitated groans for him to close it, he had also pulled the duvet off your body and placed his large, cold hands on your bare legs— keeping them in place while you kicked and thrashed around.
"Sweetheart... you could end this if you promise to get up, I won't take no for an answer." He grunts, leaning his lower body away from you as your foot almost came in contact with his privates, shuddering at the thought of Denji doing something similar the day they met.
"Okay! Okay! I will, just get off of me!" You only calm down when he removes them, finally sitting up from your laying position and sending a glare towards his amused face. He nods in approval, dismissing your angry look and pulling up his sleeve— checking the time on his watch. "Okay, you have four minutes until we leave. I know you need more time then that to get ready, so... you better start rushing."
Your eyes widen in panic— a reaction he had anticipated, before watching you spring up out of bed and scramble around the room, searching for your work attire while also trying to tame your frizzy bed hair in the process. He lightly chuckles at the string of curses falling from your lips when you almost trip over your own feet when jumping into your pants, but still gets up from the bed to help you button your shirt.
"Last times punishment for being late wasn't enough, was it?" He teases, and you send him an annoyed look, rolling your eyes while throwing on your blazer. After the last incident of you arriving almost thirty minute after the scheduled time, Makina did not excuse your tardiness and instead, made you take your tasked mission alone, resulting in your ass getting handed to you. You weren't sure what was more scary, the number of devils you were up against— or the no emotion look she had sent you when you stumbled into her office.
"Don't even joke like that." You mumble, eyes following Aki as he reaches up to grab your tie off the dresser after watching you hopelessly search for it. Lifting your neck up for better access, he gets in close to tie it around your collar— his skilful hands binding it up in no time before patting down the wrinkles in your shirt, barely listening to you as you complain about how he 'had the power to pull things out of thin air'.
With both of you now dressed and standing right in front of each other, you take your chance to softly grip his own tie— not enough to undo the knot— but enough to pull his face down to level with yours and place your lips on his. Aki does not waste a second before closing his eyes, guiding his hands to your hips and kissing back with all the passion that he has for you.
"Mmhm." He hums into your mouth, gently swaying both your bodies in circles around the room like you're dancing even when there's no music. Soft moments like these makes Aki realise just what he's been fighting for his whole life. Love, your love. It's you, always has been and always will be. He just hopes his desire to kill the gun devil doesn't bring you anymore harm then it has done.
Although reluctant, Aki has to pull away from your embrace, placing his hand over yours to release him from your hold— he stands up straight, fixes up his uniform and straightening his tie. He nods his head to the door way. "Better get going now, Hm?"
Grabbing your hand, your boyfriend pulls you along and around to house, narrowly stepping over meowy when she comes over to rub against his calf, dragging you away before you had the chance to bend down and pet her. "I knew after the second time I let you sleep in, we'd be late. So I made you breakfast to go and it's on the bench, go grab it." He lets go and makes his way to the front door, grabbing your shoes before bringing and placing them on the ground in front of your feet.
"You're over here... treating this human like royalty for just breathing while I get put in time out for not flushing the toilet?!" Power snarls, and Denji has to hold her back when she lunges at you for lovingly, giving her the middle finger. "Why you—! Topknot, control your women!"
Aki rolls his eyes, swatting away Denji's grubby hand for you before he got the chance to steal your lunch before leaning down to tie up your laces. "My women is not the one who needs to be on a leash, you are, disgusting fiend."
The blond and peach haired duo watch in annoyance as Aki places his hand on the lower of your back and guides you towards the exit, sending them a look of distaste over his shoulder while turning the door knob. "Due to the stupid prank you had pulled on me this morning, I will no longer drive you to and from work, so you best pray to god that you have the funds for a buss ticket."
With that, he shuts the door behind him and drags you down the stairwell towards his black, shiny car, opening the passenger door for you to climb in and gently caressing the flesh of your ass as you do so, chuckling when you start whining for him to hurry up and start the engine because the leather seats are too hot for you to handle.
After hoping in the drivers side— Aki looks over at you expectantly, waiting impatiently for you to strap in your seat belt. You groan. "M' too old for seatbelts. Plus, I trust your driving skills more than anyones." You filter your eyelashes up at him, but he just shakes his head with a sigh.
Adjusting his seat backwards so he can lean over the center console to pull the buckle around your waist, Aki clicked the lock in before pulling on the strap so it'll tighten around you "M' flattered, but it's not my driving that I'm worried about, there are some real nut cases on the roads lately."
Putting his hand on the back of your headrest, Aki waits for you to put the car in reverse for him before pulling out of the car lot and driving towards the devil hunter HQ. The drive is not that long, but he still passes you the aux cord early on so you don't ask for it later, half way through.
It's somewhat silent, the only sound being the quiet wind entering in from the small crack of the window and the soft tunes coming from the radio. Aki takes this moment to use one of his hands to leave the steering wheel and rest comfortably on your upper thigh, his thumb circling on the fabric of your pants.
Occasionally— he would divert his eyes from the road and let them linger on you for a second longer then he should, watching while you stare out the window in a daze and mumble along to the lyrics of the song currently playing. It's peaceful, just how he likes it. No Power yelling in his ear to brush her hair faster, no Denji jumping down his throat to hurry up and cook dinner. Just you and him, how it always should be.
Coming to a red light, Aki's now unoccupied arm comes up to rest on the window sill, his hand running over his face and stopping over his mouth comfortably— his eyes once again, finding there way over to you and trailing up and down your figure.
"With all this traffic, we're definitely going to be late." He jokes, patting your knee in a teasing manner before rubbing it softly. "Don't worry though, I'm sure I'll be able to convince Makima not to punish you this time. Only if you behave for me."
You turn your head to him, and he takes note of the clear confushion swimming around in your eyes. You tilt your head to the side, "Behave? I like to think I'm always, well behaved." You state matter of factly, staring back into his eyes with a confident grin.
He shakes his head, dismissing you in a way before using his thumb and pinky finger to separate both of your thighs apart— pushing against them firmly when you tried to squeeze your legs shut "Oh? Baby, you don't think I forgot about before, did you?"
He has that glint in his eye— a glint you know all too well, one that makes your smile slightly falter and your fingers twitch against the door handle. "I— that was all in harmless fun, Aki. No need to get so worked up." You mumble, his eyes watching your nervous ones trail down to his crotch and onto the fabric that is now noticeably tightening around the base outline of his semi hard cock, which was getting bigger and bigger as the seconds go by.
"I told you didn't I?" He questions, using two fingers to trail up from your thigh and land on your clothed pussy, sensually circling around your clit in hopes to excite you. And by the way your hand wraps around his arm, it seems to be working. "Told you that I'd get you back for it."
"R-really, Aki? People can see us, y'know." You look off to the side— out the window and, very awkwardly, wave to the old women who sends you a warm smile from her small car before turning your head down to your lap, where Aki is now skilfully unbuckling your belt with one hand.
"Lift your hips, dollface." Your mind tells you no— tells you to swat away his hand and wait for the traffic lights to turn green. But, of course, your body says other wise, it tells you to listen and comply with no complaints, so without knowing, you do exactly as he says and raise your lower body, pushing your hands down onto the seat so he can easily slip your pants to the floor.
He doesn't bother to remove with your underwear- instead, he uses one of his sharp rings to rip a tear through the fabric, right over your clit. You softly hiss out when the cold breeze from the air conditioner hits your now bare cunt, and from natural instincts— you squish Aki's hand between your legs after you close them.
He tuts disapprovingly, mockingly shaking his head before giving the skin of your thigh a harsh squeeze, his nails digging so deep into your flesh that it hurts. "A-aki, not so hard." You stutter out, though it falls on deaf ears while he continues to play around with you.
"Come on, open 'em" He retracts his hand for you to abide his request, putting the car in park so he can take his foot off the accelerator and rest them on the floor comfortably. His hand quickly coming back to cup your whole pussy in his palm when your legs are apart once again. "That's my girl."
Aki's uses both his pointer and index finger to teasingly rub in a circular motion over your folds, staring at his hand intently with sharp eyes as a slick started to gather around his fingers. He almost groans out loud at the sight of your cunt twitching against him.
"Please, Aki. Please, put it in." You mewl, you hand going up to grip his bicep and try to pull him in closer if not the the console separating you. He hums in thought, playfully slapping his hand against your clit a few times.
"I don't know... should I? People can still see us, after all." He brings your former words back, sending you an unamused look when you narrow your eyes and send an annoyed look back up at him. "Aw, c'mon, don't go getting angry now... though you do look adorable, trying to act all tough."
You're about to try and voice your concerns about when the light will turn green when his fingers are suddenly plunging inside your clenched hole, not wasting time before their thrusting in and out of you— with loud and wet squelching sounds echoing throughout the car. "Oh— Aki!"
"Yeah? This what you wanted, baby?" He doesn't stop when your nails dig deeply into his arm, instead speeding up and adding a third finger to the mix, his thumb pinching your flesh while his pinky nail scrapes along your wet pussy lip.
His other hand leaves his side and starts to undo his own pants, push them down his thighs just far enough so he can pull his aching cock out of his boxers. Grunting when it springs up and lays hard against his abdomen, staining his white shirt with the pre cum that formed due to his arousal.
"Ngh, fuck... you see this? Look at what you've done to me." He groans, rolling his head back and shutting his eyes tight while he wraps his hands around the base of his cock— squeezing it and feeling as his his warm cum dribbles down his length and pools on his hand. "M-making me so hard, only you, baby."
While the fingers on his left hand are thrusting into your cunt mercilessly— he starts to pump his right hand up and done his twitching dick, his thumb running over the slit of his head to smear his sticky cum all over him to use as some sort of lube.
By now— you're both moaning messes, Aki's breathing becomes heavier as he nears his orgasm as your cries of pleasure edge him on further. He looks over at you, your eyes screwed shut with your knees against the dash board— rutting your hips up to match Aki's fingers. And he almost cums at the erotic sight— if not for a loud car horn sounding behind him.
He was too lost in the pleasure that he forgot just who he was, where he was and what he was supposed to be doing, which was paying attention to the road, something he was not doing.
Aki whips his head to the front to see the car that was previously ahead of his, was now many meters away. "Oh, shit." He mumbles, his hand reluctantly leaving his cock to move to the side and roll down his window— waving an apology to the car behind with his cum covered hand before putting his in drive.
His cock lays hard against him, twitching out in the open while he turns a corner— away from your destination and instead down a somewhat empty street, all the while still finger fucking you from the side.
"Get in the back and strip." He demands, finally pulling away his hand from your crotch, ignores your whining and wipes your lewd juices onto his jacket, his eyes searching for a scheduled place to park.
You do as he says— unbuckling your seat belt and crawling out of your seat and over the center console, yelping in surprise as Aki lifts his hand from the wheel and smacks your ass, hard.
He turns onto different streets until he finds one that suits his taste, one with no people, no cars or no houses— and pulls into a spots on the grass and under a large tree that provides shade.
You hear the click of his buckle just as you finish pulling off your shirt— your jacket, ripped underwear and shoes lay forgotten under the seat when he too, crawls over and pushes you down, hovering over you with eyes filled with lust and cock standing tall.
It's crowded, and he's very tall so it's not the ideal spot to make love. But Aki thinks that it'll do for now, he'd just have to wait for you both to go home so he can enjoy you properly.
You stare up at him while he undresses, and it's like he's teasing you at the slow pass he's using to shed his clothes. One of his hands quickly fly to his dick to start jacking off again while the other grabs the back of the head rest as he leans down closer, the only item on clothing he's wearing is his black suit tie which you hastily grab onto to stabilise.
"Have you been a good girl? Should I put it in?" He taunts, pumping his cock rights against your entrance, making sure that his knuckles rub against your clit. You nod frantically, grabbing on his arm.
"Yes, Aki, I have, swear!"
"Mhm, you're such a dirty girl. I guess I could humor you." You lay there impatiently as Aki lifts up one of your legs and hauls it over his shoulder, granting his eyes the full view of your wet cunt all prepped just for him. Your other leg kept in a tight grip of his hand and against his thigh. "Ready, Baby? You want all of me, yeah?"
But he doesn't even let you answer, instead he quickly aligns the head of his dick to your hole before slowly pushing it all the way in. Your load moans overwriting his own. "Oh, shitttt... always fit so nice around me, like your pussy was made for me."
He slowly pulls out of you, only to slam his hips forward and all the way back in— his balls slapping loudly against your ass. He repeats this, a small pause after each thrust until he feels you're that ready for him to speed up, which he does after the fourth thrust.
His hips don't stop, his cock relentlessly pounding into your warm, sloppy cunt at an inhuman speed that has you reaching up and gripping your nails into his toned back, trying to be as close to him as possible. "Oh— Aki! S-so good, faster, please!"
"Fuckkkk... M' going as f-fast as I can't, sweetheart." He groans, tilting his head back— the feeling of your hole sucking him in makes his cock twitch inside of you, his unobtainable orgasm from before slowly creeping back up his nerves.
It's not long before the car starts smelling like sweat and sex, the hot aroma of your scent filling his nostrils and sending him over the edge. It's noticeably rocking side to side, and he's one hundred percent certain that if anyone were to see, they'd know just what was happening inside.
"You like that, huh? Fucking you in the back of my new car?" He leans down in close, his head nestling into the crock of your neck while you reach up to grip his hair— pulling out his hair band so his black locks can fall down onto his shoulders and be more easy to grab onto. "Want you to squirt all over my expensive seats, baby. Make a mess of 'em for me." His hot, ragged breath fans your collar bone before he latches his mouth onto your skin.
"M'gonna! G-gonna cum, Aki!" You mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm nears— and with a final thrust, Aki pulls out and quickly reaches down the ferociously rub his fingers against your swollen clit, watching intensely as you squirt all over his naked stomach and legs. "That's it, there you go, such a g-good fucking girl—!"
He groans, hurriedly inserting his cock back inside your cunt so he can release his cum inside you, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip and closing his eyes when he does. "Oh god... fuckkkk." He draws out, pulling out and letting his cock spring up so he can watch his cum leak from your twitching pussy.
Aki rubs a hand up your leg soothingly, watching you try to calm your breaths as he does his own. You look so erotic, hair a mess with vibrant hickies starting to form along your collar bone. The sight along made him want to go another round, and another, and anot— if not for the sound of his phone ring tone entering his ears, it's connected to the Bluetooth so it was pretty loud.
Reluctantly, he leans over and presses the answer button located on the steering wheel after the third ring, and brings a finger to his lips and shushes you so you don't make a sound. It's Makima's voice when the call connects.
"Aki? I took [name] for someone who was never on time, but here you are— the last one to arrive. Though, I guess I could excuse you this one time if you do me a favor." He has to hold back the chuckle when you roll your eyes at her words, lightly tapping your pussy as a warning and mouthing a 'be nice.'
"Yes, I apologise. You see... I came across a devil to sort out this morning. I can assure you, it won't happen again." He replies.
Makima hums from her end of the call, and he can faintly hear a pen clicking and some paper shuffling. "Oh? A devil, what kind?
His eyes widen, he didn't think she'd ask because he didn't think she'd care, so he didn't have an answer ready— without his mouth having any sort of filter, he responds with out knowing,
