uwuggio

Star // they/she // 18+ content

[uwu-woo]

to my all but seven followers:

I’m reworking this account to just be my space to enjoy x reader content. Still in love with wolfwood obviously, but I have also discovered Olruggio from WHA and I WILL be posting thoughts about him :3

[heartkaji]

18+ slight angst. meet footballer!gojo & his cheerleader fwb !

1. CHEERLEADERS ARE FOR CHEERING—NOT FONDLING!

“girl… isn’t that your man?”

your first mistake is letting your eyes follow shoko’s gaze to the bleachers. your second mistake is making eye contact with golden boy gojo satoru, still in his jersey & ‘hiding’ behind a skinny pole with a very annoyed geto suguru by his side.

you don’t bother correcting shoko. instead you ignore the grin satoru flashes you, taking out the water bottle between your lips with a pop! “is he supposed to be hiding?”

shoko shrugs, turns on her heel. “dunno, ask him. he’s clearly waiting.”

you roll your eyes with a sigh, but you’re already moving.

shoes clicking against the wood gym floor, skirt swishing between your thighs. gojo satoru has long come out of his hiding spot. he’s slumped against the pole now; hands in his pockets, grin lazy, blue eyes glimmering in the orange sun. beside him geto suguru is there, jaw tight in an expression that says he’d rather be anywhere but here.

you still have your bottle in hand when gojo reaches for your hips. “hi, baby…”

you barely murmur back a hi before he’s tugging you in by your skirt. his head dips to kiss your neck, then your cheek, then somewhere else your brain doesn’t register because his hands glide up to squeeze your ass cheeks underneath your skirt. a soft noise slips past your lips as he sucks on your neck.

“mm,” he murmurs, “missed you.”

geto clears his throat.

you let satoru do as he pleases, threading your hands through his hair as his hand dips between your inner thighs. he hums into your neck when you scratch his scalp. “suguru,” you breathe, “how’d you two even get here? coach toji’s gonna kill you guys.”

“kiss,” satoru interrupts. you tilt your head towards him, eyes still on suguru as gojo presses his lips to yours.

suguru’s face twists in disgust, but he doesn’t comment. “satoru bribed him. paid him a couple hundreds to see you for five minutes.”

“right—” your voice strains when gojo gropes your ass once again. “and you followed him because?”

geto is already looking away. “he bribed me too.”

you snort, but it turns into a shiver as satoru sucks on your earlobe. he hums, pleased, when your fingers tighten in his hair.

“mmh… got an away match,” he kisses your jaw. “wanted to see my girl first.”

you’re not his girl, you know you’ll never be, but you still laugh when he squeezes your waist & presses hurried kisses to your cheek. you shove him away & his grin is cocky.

“gonna score for you,” he tugs you back, dipping his head to your ear. “and then you’ll treat me, yeah?”

you hum when his arms snake around your hips once again.

“only if you score the winning goal.”

2. POST MATCH SEXCAPADES !

satoru comes back too late.

you’re not sure exactly why—maybe overtime, maybe the team stopped somewhere to celebrate their win—but you don’t let the thought plague you. you’re more concerned about the fact that it’s nearly evening & you can hear a ball kicking against the gym walls. you’re still in your cheer uniform, tiny skirt & sheer top, standing at the metal doors as you watch gojo dribble on his own.

he stops dribbling to catch his breath, wiping sweat off his chin. and then he’s off to sit at the bleachers, letting water slide down his neck as he chugs from a bottle.

you take it as your cue.

you have your hands behind your back, padding all slow, steps soft as you make your way to him. gojo keeps his bottle pressed to his lips but he sees it. how your skirt clings to your thighs. how your breasts ripple under the thin material. he lets out a low hum as you sit yourself on his lap.

you loop your hands around his neck. “hi.”

his lip tugs. “hi,”

he squeezes your waist as you press yourself into him. your tits smush against his chest, nipples hardening, and his fingers are already tracing the hem of your skirt & gliding up your thigh.

“how was the match?” you mumble.

“was good,” he mutters, but his thumb has already found your panties underneath your skirt. he rubs a slow circle over the bud. “you miss me?”

“no,” you sass, but he presses his thumb into your clit & your hips stutter. satoru laughs.

“i know what you like now,” he hums, left hand gliding up your side as the other rubs slow circles over your panties. “know it only takes a little.”

his thumb finds your nipple through your thin shirt. he rubs a circle over the pebbled peak, slow, but then he raises a brow. “no bra?”

you can’t respond. your breath hitches as your head falls into his shoulder.

“so cute,” he murmurs softly. he lets you press against him, leaving your panties to grope your heavy tits in his palm. he squeezes and fondles, pressing light kisses to your cheek as you make pretty noises in his ear. your hips buck into him.

“needy,” he scoffs, but his hands come up to guide your hips as you rut against him. he’s already hard and your panties are soaked thin and you let the material cling between your folds as your clit rubs against him. he flips up your skirt to find you drenched & slobbering. he bites his cheek.

“fuck, baby,” he rasps, sliding your panties over your aching cunt. you’re still humping him. “why’s your pussy so fucking wet?”

you only whimper as he presses his thumb to your sticky clit, rubbing hard circles over the bud. his other hand gropes your hip, guiding you faster over him. your breathing shudders as his thumb circles your clit faster and harder, until your hips are stuttering & he’s cupping your pussy so you cum in his palm.

you whimper, tears pricking at your lashes as you come down from your high. satoru kisses your cheek slow. “mmh, good job, baby.”

he’s still rubbing his palm over your pussy, massaging your warmth all slow & lazy. your eyes drop to his bulge, his cock practically twitching in his shorts. you reach a hand to glide over it, palming him so his hips twitch. he inhales sharply, “fuck—”

“not in my uniform,” he steals your hand, kissing your jaw. “gonna be a nightmare to clean.”

you glare at him through your lashes. “it’s already dirty, idiot.”

he laughs at your pretty face glaring up at him. your cheeks are still flushed, lashes wet, and your lips are in a frown but satoru swears you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. he folds his hand over yours and dips his head to kiss you warm & slow. you gasp as his tongue pushes in, a soft moan leaving your lips as his tongue grazes yours.

“another time,” he murmurs against your lips. “no pouting, yeah?”

you pout anyways, and satoru kisses it off.

3. NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND !

satoru is driving too fast.

his jaw is tight, knuckles white against the steering as you clutch your seatbelt beside him. your heart hammers against your ribs but the engine soon slows, his foot easing down on the breaks as the car comes to a stop at a traffic light.

today’s match went bad, really bad, so bad to the point that afterwards you’d tried to console him and he’d simply walked past. you try not to let it get to you. you know how men are when it comes to losing in sports.

but satoru’s breathing settles beside you, so you try once more.

“you played good today.”

silence.

"i know you're upset," you continue, voice soft. "but it's just one game, and you'll get them next time.”

silence again. his jaw only ticks, face illuminated by the traffic light’s red glow. the seconds seem to stretch into minutes, and you fumble with your skirt.

“you did your best,” you turn to him. “that’s all that matters—“

“can you stop?”

you freeze.

satoru doesn’t look at you. his fingers tap against the steering as he lowers his foot to the gas pedal. he’s not speeding anymore, but the silence stretches & you can feel a lump clawing at your throat.

you bite your lip. and satoru’s mad, yes, but he’s got no right to talk to you like that or take his anger out on you. so you suck in a breath, try to correct him. “i was only trying to help. you don’t have to take it out on me—“

“do you ever get tired of talking?”

“what?”

but satoru continues. “you always have something to say, don’t you? you’re not my fucking girlfriend. and i don’t need your fucking comfort.”

you blink. the words don’t register at first, but soon your throat is closing up, and you’re nodding obediently before you can think any better of it. your skirt bunches in your hands as you try to keep your breathing steady. god forbid you give him a reason to snap at you once again.

“you’re right,” you try for sass but it fails. “and i won’t act like it again.”

but satoru sees you through the rearview mirror. your eyes are on your lap, like you’re still trying to process what just happened, your thumbs fiddling with the hem of your skirt. satoru only swallows, glances away. if he ignores you long enough, you’ll be just fine, right?

your breath hitches beside him and he crumbles immediately.

he’s already pulling over, unbuckling his belt to reach over the console. “no baby, i’m sorry,” he pleads, and maybe he shouldn’t because it only makes tears fall from your eyes. “shh baby don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry.”

he smushes your face into his chest, carding his fingers through your hair. you try to push him away but he takes your hand and presses it to his chest.

“didn’t mean to snap at you,” his breathing is ragged as he cups your face. “don’t cry baby, you know i hate it when you cry.”

you sniffle as he swipes a thumb over your wet lashes. “then what are we?”

satoru doesn’t answer. instead he presses his lips to yours, slow and warm, head tilting to deepen the kiss. “you’re my girl,” kiss. “my baby,” kiss. “my everything,” kiss.

he doesn’t say my girlfriend. but he doesn’t need to, right?

footballer!gojo doesn’t do relationships. and cheerleaders like you don’t make good girlfriends anyway. so you swallow the lump growing in your throat & let him part open your thighs.

SCORE, end

© HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload.

[kiaafterdark]

[uzumakiramen]

Can we get an endocrinologist doctor! reader x doctor gojo 👉👈?

absofruitly u can!! I like the way you think🙂‍↕️

senior emergency room attending physician!gojo satoru x endocrinology specialist!reader

in which the most unserious couple works in the same place

cw — smau, established relationship (they’re married :p), non sorcerer au, co-worker au, they’re both lowk freaks so read with a tiny bit of caution

a/n — I’m so happy yall fw doctor gojo the same way I do🫶🏾

© 2026 copyright. all rights reserved. @uzumakiramen.

[mamashima]

I WANNA BE YOUR DOG!

❤︎ SYNOPSIS: that guy keeps talking to you, and satoru doesn’t get what’s so funny.

❤︎ CONTENT: f!reader, alternate universe - modern setting, childhood friends, friends with benefits, jealous!gojō, recovering fuckboy!gojō, but he’s whipped so it’s okay, like semi-pathetic, baby!petname, light worship, lowkey make up sex, fingering, cumming untouched (gojō)… 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.

❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: i will be reusing this song for another fic, i love it too much. and when i do, i don’t wanna hear SHIT—

❤︎ NOW PLAYING: i wanna be your dog again, duckwrth.

read on ao3 | 2.4k words | masterlist.

SATORU GOJŌ IS a professional cockblock, and he’s very proud about it.

“Hey, Baby.”

He also hates clubs—they’re loud, over-packed, overstimulating, and most importantly, you get too much attention.

The kiss he leaves on your cheek burns his lips, but the guy you entertain burns brighter. Satoru hasn’t looked away for a second—not when he crosses the expanse of the club once he catches sight of your face, not when a girl that looks familiar enough corners him with her lips, not when you laugh too loud and clutch that random’s bicep like you do with Satoru, just for Satoru. Or, so he thought.

But, that’s the issue, isn’t it? That it isn’t just for him. That you’re not his.

Ah. Whatever.

“Having fun?” He drops his voice until it’s low and quiet, and ideally, seductive. You don’t give him anything though, save for a glare, and a scoff when the guy you were talking to walks away. Good fucking riddance.

“‘Toru,” you warn, turning to him with grit teeth, and arms crossed over a chest he would very much like in his mouth right now. “Why.”

He clicks his tongue, leans against the wall beside you, and fights a grin. Because, finally, he has you all to himself.

“You act like I don’t do this every time.”

“Yeah, and every time, it’s a pain in the ass,” you shake your head. And, Satoru—Satoru doesn’t even care if you’re mad at him, not really—he still gets what he wants. He always gets what he wants. “I don’t interrupt you when you talk to people, now do I?”

“I don’t talk to people,” Satoru chuckles, tucking hands in his pockets. No, the issue is that people talk to him—and sometimes he entertains them, and sometimes he doesn’t. There’s a difference, and it’s wider than the Mariana Trench.

You look at him like he’s stupid. He’s not stupid.

“You were literally just shoving your tongue down Stacy’s throat!”

Satoru blinks.

“Who’s Stacy?”

You groan, and tug hands down your face, but leave it at that. Seriously, though—who’s Stacy?

“Anyways,” Satoru shifts his legs, until his back rests more comfortably against the rattling wall. “He was kind of ugly, so.”

“‘Toru! You think every guy is ugly! That’s not you!” You’re exasperated at this point, but he doesn’t mind. When you notice a smile fighting the most serious face he can muster (read: not that serious), you just groan and shove a hand in it, making him stumble a foot to the right.

“I hate you,” you grumble, unruffling your top. “No sleepover tonight.”

“Wait,” Satoru straightens, because it’s imperative that Saturday Sleepovers occur every Saturday—and have, since you guys were ten. And now, since this relatively new…um…development, it’s even more important that they happen. They have to. Satoru laughs it off, but he’s panicking—a little, not a lot. “C’mon, Baby. That seems a little extreme.”

“Mm…no,” you hum, pushing away from the wall and through the crowd. Satoru is right behind you, adjusting his glasses. “I’m tired. I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”

“That—that’s fine!” He stumbles over his feet in an effort to keep up, shoulder checks someone on accident, but he really doesn’t care—are you deadass? Like, deadass-deadass— “we do that all the time! It’s not like-like that’s gotta change because we’re…yknow, now, y’know?”

“I dunno,” you sigh, and it isn’t until you hang left that he realizes, oh, you mean right now, you’re leaving right now. “Sometimes, it feels like that’s all you wanna do now, ‘Toru. Fuck.”

“I can be good, I-I—I mean—I c—w-we can—that’s not true.”

You walk through the entrance, propped open by a chair and a security guard. Somehow, the club feels warmer outside of it than inside. His palms are sweating, so he tucks them back into his pockets, and grabs ahold of his tongue before he can say anything incriminating.

You hum in consideration, like you’re debating, but you’re not—you can’t. Saturday Sleepovers are a fact. The sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, and sleepovers happen on Saturday's. Fact.

“You can—literally go right to bed, and I-I can just sleep on the couch, or like, the floor—”

You start walking to the car, and Satoru trips as he crosses the street. He looks down to expect an untied shoelace, but finds nothing. You’re walking fast—how are you walking so fast?

“You won’t even know I’m there! I’ll be, like, so quiet, just—c’mon Baby, that’s not fair—”

By the time he catches up, finally, your stood by the passenger side of his car with a self-satisfied smile. Oh. Oh, you’re not—

“Unlock the car, ‘Toru.”

“Oh! Yep. Right, yeah, let me just grab the keys—”

Satoru does not do what he said he would. He was lying about half of that, anyway.

“So pretty, Baby…and all for me.”

You roll your eyes, but your legs don’t close, which is, like, key if you want him out from between them. Your skin is soft, slightly damp from the shower you just took, and while Satoru mourns the prospect of inhaling a days worth of you, beggars can’t be choosers.

You lay flat on your back, head comfortably nestled in a pillow, while he hikes your leg and kisses an ankle. The towel wrapped around your torso shifts up your hips. He drags his mouth to your calf as you speak.

“Yeah, no thanks to you.”

“Mm—you don’t wanna know how much I love hearing that,” he grins against your limb, and you kick it, wholly annoyed.

“You’re insufferable,” you huff aloud, like this is your first realization of it—like you haven’t been calling him insufferable since it became a vocab word in early high school. “And I hate you, and I’m really trying to figure out who cursed me in a past life—”

“Or maybe, I’m just extremely blessed,” he says into your knee, and you shiver as his breath ghosts the spot. “Maybe, in my past life, I saved the world a bunch of times, or something.”

A beat—he presses a kiss to the base of your hamstring, and then, you snort.

“Yeah right,” you shudder, because he places a heavy hand over your stomach and runs it to your chest. Satoru’s a little disgruntled—fabric is rough under his fingers, wholly unlike the smooth warmth of your skin. But, he wants to feel you, even if you refuse to take that damn towel off. “I’d bet my apartment that you’re a egotistical bastard in every lifetime.”

Satoru exhales quick at that, a quiet laugh, before he drags his tongue up your inner thigh, because fuck it, he’s getting impatient. You torture his ego with a grunt, just a grunt, and a shaky breath as you relax further into the pillows. He ends the long lick with a kiss, much closer to the oasis between your thighs than he was before—at least halfway there. And he’s so, so thirsty.

“Mhm, ‘n I bet you’re stunning in every one of yours.”

“Alright,” you brush it off—in that tone you use when he aims a compliments, fires, and it lands a little too close. The hand on your chest shifts, runs over a mound until he can feel your heartbeat jackrabbit under his fingers. “Calm down—it’s not that serious.”

“Oh, I think it’s very serious,” Satoru nods, resting your leg on his shoulder. His eyebrows fold as he slides a hand down, down, down to where he wants it most. Your towel clings to your hips for dear life, the hips he currently sits between. Entrance is easy. He runs a thumb over soaked folds and groans, tucking his face into your knee to gather himself.

“What’d you say about hating me, again?”

“Shut up, we’re literally friends, obviously I don’t actually hate you,” you defend, but its rushed and airy, and just makes Satoru impatient for the part where you can’t say anything other than his name. He dips a thumb into you, before pulling it out and up to your clit, and holy shit, how are you this wet already?

“Obviously.”

You kick again, and this time, he doesn’t even feel it. He will—in the morning, you’re not weak—but all he can feel is you, the buzzing on his skin, and the ache of his dick. He rubs slow circles into your clit, and you suppress a mewl. Satoru clicks his tongue.

“Don’t hide from me, Baby,” he huffs, pulling at the bottom lip you tuck between your teeth with a free hand. “Wanna hear you.”

“No, fuck you,” you say through a scowl, trying to look as unaffected as you possibly can—but Satoru knows you’re affected, he can see the shudder in your chest every time he presses his thumb a little more to the left. “You pissed me off today.”

“What?” Satoru whines, very faintly remembering earlier. But, it’s hard when he can see you, feel you, smell you. “Wha’d I do?”

He pinches your clit, giggling as your body seizes, before returning to his regularly scheduled programming. “You can’t just make-out with someone right in front—fuck—of me, and get all pissy when a guy approaches me.”

“But, she kissed me,” he pouts, pushing past your folds with an index finger. God, you’re fucking tight. A shiver runs up his spine as his body cools and heats, all at once. “I didn’t kiss her.”

“’Toru, you had your tongue down her throat.”

He whimpers for two reasons: because, yeah, he kind of did—and because holy shit, he needs to be inside you, like, now. But, he can’t—that’s the deal, right? You get the pleasure of creaming on a pair of fingers that aren’t your own, and he gets the pleasure of getting to watch.

“Force of habit,” he tries, melting into the leg sitting on his shoulder. His attempt doesn’t succeed—you run a hand down your face.

“You’re a hypocrite.”

And—yeah, maybe a little, but that’s, like, his only character flaw. So.

“Didn’t like the guy,” he shrugs, and adds another finger. You hiss, and he watches your body bend around him. His mouth salivates, but Satoru can’t talk with his mouth full, and he has things to say.

“Why?”

“Personal reasons.” His neck quirks with something petty, and you roll your eyes.

“Just say you like me and get it over with, Idiot.”

And, Satoru’s fingers falter at that. He finally looks at you instead of the beauty between your legs, and—mistake. Mistake, mistake, mistake—

“I do like you,” he huffs, looking back down and where his eyes should be, should always be, for shit like this, “as a friend.”

“Uh-huh.” You sound unconvinced, and frankly, Satoru hasn’t convinced himself either, but he’s willing to lie for a little longer. And, maybe, a little longer than that. “So, you just ruined my **possible hook-up for the night, because…?”

“Because,” Satoru pants, and why is he out of breath? He blames your pussy for the reason he’s out of breath. He crooks his fingers up, just the way you like, and he knows you’re getting close from the way you tighten. “Because, I didn’t like his face, an—and it’s personal.”

Which, is the truth, technically. A truth hidden behind words and walls and a few more words. It is personal—everything is personal when it comes to you. And, he didn’t like the guys face—it was too small for his body, his shoulders were disproportionate and probably built by steroids, and he gave this smile like he wore Axe Body Spray and liked it. No. No, no, no—if you don’t end up marrying the prince of Egypt, or something, Satoru won’t be satisfied. Suguru, at least.

Or, like, maybe—

“’M gonna cum, ‘Toru.”

Satoru’s eyes shoot back to your face, because this—this he always has to watch.

He braces a hand on the pillow beside you, getting close enough to feel your breath on his lips, but not close enough to kiss—never close enough to kiss. You don’t kiss, but he indulges himself with the prospect every time, sufficing to feel the ghost of what would be—could be—your mouth on his. It isn’t, but it could be, and he feels himself leak by the second. His hand speeds up and into something unrelenting, something he’d fuck you to if given the chance. And, that’s all he needs, really, one fucking chance—

“Awh, Baby,” he coos, but it’s false and dripping with condescension, and not a reflection of what he feels at all. “Talking all that shit, and you’re gonna cum that quick?”

“Shut. Up.” You hiss between grit teeth, but his smile simply widens, “You are lit—I told you I was tired, ‘Toru, I—”

Satoru shushes you with a hand to your forehead, fiddling with raised baby hairs. “’S okay, Baby—I got’chu. C’mon, I wanna see it.”

Apparently, that was the push you needed. Your hands scramble to grab at his shirt with a quickness and your body arches into his chest. Your eyes struggle to stay locked on his, but do, just the way that he likes, and Satoru finds himself gasping for air in a sea of you. You’re the one moaning, the one writhing, the one with fingers in her fucking pussy, and somehow, Satoru feels like he’s the one having an orgasm.

Oh.

Oh, that’s because he is.

“Holy shit, wait Baby—fuck—”

He bites into your shoulder, a little harder than he means to. Satoru groans, eyelids fluttering as his boxers fill with a feeling he hasn’t felt in a minute. He feels warm, and high, and thinks he might be shaking a little—and when he blinks through the multi-colored spots in his vision, he watches you watching him, jaw loose in shock.

“…Did you just…?”

Satoru clears his throat. Where is he, again?

He scrambles off of you with a huff, tugging at the bottom of his shirt like it’ll do something. It doesn’t—but it does make him feel better.

“Did I what,” he asks with pursed lips, pursed because he can feel the ramble on the tip of his tongue—the ramble that slips out anyway, because he sucks, and his dick is his number one enemy. “Do—I didn’t do anything, in fact, you did something, like cum all over my fingers like a slut, so, like—

“’Toru,” you purr, sitting up to place a hand on his dick—his very spent dick, mind you, that’s twitches in interest regardless, because it’s never been in your hand before, you don’t do this. There’s a darkness in your eyes that betrays that thought, and that, maybe, while you don’t do this, you might, today. ”That was really hot.”

Satoru gulps.

Oh boy.

© mamashima/pumaya. do not edit, translate or copy my work without my permission. do not use for ai. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

taglist; @tokkushin, @kamislop ...

[oreobites]

Gojo Satoru; you asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend but he takes it a little too seriously

When your mother had phoned you three weeks ago to remind you of your cousin’s lavish, high-society wedding in Kyoto, she had spent a full ten minutes subtly interrogating you about your lack of a companion.

“A beautiful person like you shouldn’t always be sitting at the singles table,” she had sighed, her tone dripping with that distinct brand of parental pity. “Even a temporary friend would do.”

Out of sheer, panicked spite, you had told her you were bringing someone.

And then, in a moment of profound cosmic stupidity, you had turned to the man currently balancing three empty strawberry milk cartons on his forehead while lying across your office couch.

"Satoru," you had said, rubbing your temples. "Are you busy on the twenty-fourth?"

The cartons had tumbled to the floor as Gojo Satoru slid his dark sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, his bright, sky-blue eyes gleaming with instant, dangerous amusement. "For you? Never. Are we finally assassinating the higher-ups? Because I’ve got an entire itinerary prepared—"

"I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for a wedding."

The room had gone dead silent. Satoru had blinked once, twice, before a massive, blinding grin broke across his face. He had sat up so fast his white hair went wild.

"An undercover mission? Domestic espionage? Oh, this is the best day of my life. I’m going to be the greatest boyfriend this world has ever seen. I'll make your exes weep. I'll make your ancestors proud."

"I don't have any exes attending, Satoru. And it’s just a game," you had warned him, pointing a finger at his chest. "Keep it simple. Don't go overboard."

You should have known right then. Gojo Satoru didn't do simple. He didn't do restraint. He treated the entire world like his personal sandbox, and you had just handed him a shovel.

Later, you stepped out of the Kyoto bullet train station.

You had expected Satoru to show up in his usual dark Jujutsu High uniform, maybe with a slightly cleaner jacket. Instead, he had materialized in a tailored, charcoal-gray three-piece suit that fit his towering, six-foot-three frame so perfectly it felt like a direct assault on your nervous system.

His hair was down, falling softly over his forehead, and he had swapped his dark blindfold for a pair of lightly tinted round sunglasses that allowed his lethal eyes to track every single movement you made.

"Well?" he had asked, spinning a silver car key around his long finger, a smug, devastating smirk playing on his lips. "Do I look like husband material?"

"We're dating, Satoru. Not engaged," you had muttered, your heart doing a violent, uncoordinated flip against your ribs. "And where did you get a car?"

"Borrowed it from Ichiji," he shrugged carelessly, opening the passenger door for you with an elaborate, sweeping bow. "Only the best for my darling."

By the time you arrived at the traditional garden estate where the reception was being held, Satoru had fully lost his mind to the bit.

The moment your mother approached us, her eyes wide as she took in the literal god of a man standing beside her child, Satoru didn't just polite shake her hand. He glided forward, wrapping his massive arms around her in a warm, enthusiastic hug.

"Grandma!" he had cheered, instantly spotting your elderly grandmother sitting in a wheelchair nearby, sweeping over to her before you could even open your mouth to correct him. He dropped to one knee on the gravel, taking her frail, wrinkled hand between both of his large, calloused ones.

"I've heard so much about you. Their childhood stories are my absolute favorite. Especially the one where they got their head stuck in the banister."

"Oh, what a handsome, polite young man!" your grandmother had beamed, her face flushing pink as she patted Satoru’s silver-white hair. "You must look after our little one."

"With my life," Satoru had murmured, looking back at you through those tinted lenses, his smile softening into something so warm, so terrifyingly tender that your lungs entirely forgot how to extract oxygen from the air.

He spent the next three hours systematically dismantling your family's defenses. He helped your uncles carry the heavy multi-tiered dessert trays; he took hundreds of group photos using his phone, his long arm wrapping naturally around your waist to pull you flush against his side for every single shot.

He was so charismatic, so seamlessly woven into the fabric of your family, that your cousins were already pulling you aside in the restroom to ask when the wedding bells were ringing for you.

"He keeps talking about our future," you muttered frantically to yourself in the mirror, splashing cold water on your face. "He told my uncle we were looking at properties in Sendai. He's insane. He’s taking this way too seriously."

It was the cocktail hour now.

Satoru had been dragged away by your father to discuss a specific brand of sake, leaving you standing near the koi pond with a glass of plum wine. Within minutes, a distant acquaintance of the groom, a wealthy, sharp-tongued young businessman from Tokyo, had slid into the space beside you.

"So," the man had said, his eyes scanning your form with a slow, predatory interest that made your stomach turn. "I see you're sitting alone. A beautiful person like you shouldn't be left unattended at a celebration like this. Let me get you something stronger to drink."

"I'm fine, thank you," you said politely, taking a step back. "My boyfriend is actually—"

"Oh, the tall guy with the flashy hair?" the businessman scoffed, stepping closer, effectively blocking your path back to the pavilion. "He looks like the type who likes to be the center of attention. Probably doesn't know how to appreciate what's right in front of him. Why don't you let a real adult take you out tonight?"

Before you could formulate a response that wouldn't cause a scene, the temperature around you dropped by ten degrees.

The air grew heavy, the faint, invisible hum of Infinity vibrating against the back of your neck a split second before a heavy, unyielding arm locked around your waist.

Satoru hauled you back against his chest with a single, effortless tug, his massive frame completely bracketing you from the stranger.

"Is there a problem here?" Satoru asked.

His voice wasn't carrying that cheerful, annoying pitch he used when he was playing a character. It was low, dangerous, and carried a jagged, Special Grade edge that made the businessman's smile instantly vanish.

Satoru didn't have his glasses on; they were tucked into his breast pocket, and his bare, sky-blue eyes were fixed on the man with a freezing, unblinking glare that felt like a death sentence.

"No, I was just... introducing myself," the businessman stammered, taking an involuntary step backward as his face went pale.

"Great. Now you've met us," Satoru rumbled, his grip tightening around your waist, his thumb anchoring itself against your hipbone with a possessive, territorial force. "My partner and I were right in the middle of an important conversation. Lose yourself."

The man practically ran away.

You stood there for a long beat, your back pressed against Satoru’s tailored vest, your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm. You could feel the heavy, rapid thud of his own heart against your spine.

"Satoru," you whispered, your fingers clutching his forearm to loosen his grip. "The guy's gone. You can drop the act now. You're squeezing me."

He didn't release you. Instead, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his white hair brushing against your ear as he let out a long, ragged exhale.

"I'm not acting," he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin, rough and entirely devoid of his usual playful theater. "I really hate when people look at you like that."

But it wasn't enough. Your emotional ruin arrived during the traditional reception events.

The bride had gathered all the unmarried guests in the center of the courtyard for the bouquet toss. You had tried to hide behind a pillar with a plate of crab cakes, but your mother had forcibly shoved you into the center of the crowd, right at the front lines.

"On three!" the bride called out, turning her back. "One... two... three!"

The flowers sailed through the air in a high, arc trajectory. You hadn't even intended to reach for them, but a sudden scramble among the cousins caused someone to bump into your shoulder, and your hands instinctively shot out to stabilize yourself.

Thud.

The tightly bound bundle of white roses and eucalyptus landed squarely in your palms.

The entire courtyard erupted into cheers and wild applause. Your mother was practically vibrating with delight, and your uncle let out a booming laugh from the bar, cupping his hands around his mouth to yell across the garden: "Looks like you're next, kid! Better start saving up for the venue!"

You felt your entire face turn a brilliant, agonizing shade of crimson. You opened your mouth, ready to laugh it off as a statistical anomaly, ready to say something self-deprecating to break the tension.

"Works for me," a clear, loud voice echoed from the stairs.

The courtyard went dead silent.

You froze, your fingers tightening around the flower stems until the thorns nipped at your skin. You turned your head slowly. Satoru was standing on the wooden veranda, a half-eaten skewer of dango in his hand. His sky-blue eyes were wide, fixed on you with an expression of profound, unadulterated shock.

He hadn't meant to say that out loud. For the first time in his entire life, Gojo Satoru had lost control of his filter because his subconscious had answered the universe before his brain could construct a joke.

Your mother looked at Satoru. Satoru looked at you. You looked at the bouquet.

"Well," your grandmother chirped into the suffocating silence, her wheelchair squeaking as she turned toward the buffet. "I always did want a autumn wedding."

The evening drew to a close, the traditional lanterns had been dimmed, casting the stone paths in long, indigo shadows. The older relatives had retired to their rooms, leaving only a few lingering guests drifting through the garden as a slow, melancholy jazz melody began to float from the speakers near the pavilion.

You were sitting on the edge of the wooden deck, your heels discarded beside you, staring out at the dark water of the koi pond. The white bouquet was resting in your lap, its scent heavy in the cool night air.

A soft rustle of silk announced his presence before he even sat down.

Satoru slid onto the deck beside you, his long legs dangling over the edge. He had discarded his jacket and his tie, the top three buttons of his white shirt undone, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbones.

He looked smaller like this, less like the strongest sorcerer alive and more like a man who had spent the day carrying the weight of a secret he didn't know how to keep.

"We survived," you said softly, trying to inject some of your usual lighthearted banter into the space between you. "My mother already added you to the family group chat, by the way. You're stuck forever."

Satoru didn't laugh. He didn't even look at his phone. He just turned his head, his brilliant, bare eyes searching your face with a quiet, devastating intensity that made your breath hitch.

"Can I have this dance?" he asked.

His voice was a low, velvet whisper. There was no teasing edge, no smirk, no arrogant tilt of his chin. It was just Satoru.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before setting the bouquet down on the wood. You stood up, your bare feet cold against the smooth timber, and stepped into his space.

Satoru rose to his full height, his massive form instantly shielding you from the rest of the world. He didn't place his hand on your waist with that theatrical, exaggerated flourish from earlier.

Instead, his palm came down against the small of your back with a soft, reverent pressure, his other hand gently lacing his fingers through yours, locking them securely against his chest.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, letting the scent of his cologne and the steady, heavy rhythm of his heart wash over you as you swayed to the slow music.

"Satoru," you murmured into the fabric of his shirt. "The wedding is over. You don't have to keep the act up anymore. Nobody's looking at us."

The hand on your back tightened, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer until there was no space left between you, his chest rising and falling against yours in a ragged, uneven pattern.

"You know..." he whispered, his chin resting gently against the top of your hair, his long fingers pressing into your palm with a desperate, quiet certainty.

"What?"

"If you ever wanted to do that for real," Satoru murmured into the dark of the garden, his voice completely devoid of his usual armor. "I'd be available. Permanently."

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his face. For the first time since you had known him, the invincible Gojo Satoru looked entirely vulnerable, his blue eyes holding yours with a raw, terrifying honesty that left no room for doubt.

He wasn't playing a game anymore. The sandbox was gone, and he was standing before you, entirely unraveled by his own collateral damage.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your hand moving up to gently cup the side of his jaw, your thumb brushing against the smooth skin of his cheekbone. "You're an idiot, Satoru."

A small, breathtakingly beautiful smile touched his lips, his eyes softening into something eternal as he leaned down, closing the remaining distance between you. "Yeah," he whispered against your lips. "But I'm your idiot now."

..............................................................................................

Thankyou for reading. You can follow me on tiktok @/oreobitees xoxo

[rush-the-stars]

sadist sub reader and masochist dom gojo……………..

[rush-the-stars]

@saintshigaraki VIC THIS ONES FOR YOU KING!!!

cw: scratching, biting, one slap that gojo kinda likes, gojo not listening to "let me go", gojo says "that's my girl", dom masochist gojo, slightly yandere but like wouldn't he be always?

***

The first time he gets atop you, slots his waist into the crux of your hips, you fuss and fight and snarl like a wild thing.

You squirm and kick, growling, trapped.

He’s so strong.

Well, he’s the strongest, but even without his techniques, without the cursed energy and divine calling, he is strong.

“Settle down,” he hushes and it makes you fight harder, the tone of his voice, the way it kindles warmth in the low parts of your belly. 

When you can’t seem to wriggle yourself free from his grasp, from beneath him, you cry out. You struggle harder, fingers lashing and digging into skin, nails embedding themself to drag as viciously as you can down his shoulders—

He hisses, back arching, muscles flexing beneath your claws. 

And you realize very suddenly that he is not entirely in pain.

You make a frustrated sound; a whined out growl and twist harder.

“Let me go!” you cry.

“You’ll tire yourself out before I let go.” 

There’s devotion in that, you think.

Enough that when your palm connects with his cheek, his face still cracks to the side sharply. 

He hasn’t put up his Infinity. 

His cheek smarts. Your hand stings.

And he doesn’t let you go. 

“Satoru—“ you hitch, “let me go, please, please, let me go—“ 

“Not letting you go, baby.” He says and his voice is darker, and when you go still only for a moment to look at his face, your eyes clash with his—

Dark ice. Pupils blown wide. Oh, his cheek is so red.

Lips so pink. His tongue darts out, swipes along the plush bottom one. 

You realize with a start that he’s—he’s—

With renewed strength, you fight again, kicking and squirming and turning in his arms, hips arching into his, away from his.

Let me go, let me go, let me go, you gasp and cry and snarl. 

Your nails dig deep into his flesh, until his face presses into the crook of your neck and he groans.

“That’s it,” he says roughly and you don’t think you’ve ever quite heard him this way, felt him like this, “that’s my girl—” You can feel his heart rabitting in his chest, pain blossoming into another gasp as you turn your face into his neck and bite;

 “Just take it all out on me—“ He gets out and it sounds half reverent. 

And all too devoted. 

[followkira]

PAIRING: Suguru Geto x BunnyHybrid!Reader x Satoru Gojo (Non-Sorcerer au)

CONTENT: Suguru is your gentle and strict owner while Satoru loves to get you all riled up [tw: Hybrid reader, non-con/dub-con touching of hybrid features, rough manhandling, spanking, humiliation, polyamory/shared ownership setup]

Suguru remembered the exact way you used to look in the university library. You were always tucked into the furthest corner of the archives, practically melting into the woodwork, your eyes wide and focused entirely on your books. You never spoke to anyone. You barely even looked up.

He had been utterly fascinated by you.

He used to choose tables just within your line of sight, watching the quiet, precise way you turned pages, the soft sweaters you buried yourself in, and the way you’d nervously bite your lip when a concept was hard to grasp. He’d never found the right moment to approach you because you looked like a fragile bird that would take flight at the mere sound of a heavy footstep. So, he had contentedly kept his distance, letting an obsession quietly simmer beneath his calm exterior.

Then, you abruptly stopped coming to campus. Days bled into weeks, and Suguru’s quiet world felt irritatingly empty.

Until tonight.

A sudden, freezing downpour had forced Suguru into a narrow, covered alleyway to shake out his umbrella. That’s when he heard it, a tiny, fractured gasp, followed by the wet, frantic rustle of a cardboard box tucked behind a row of industrial dumpsters.

Suguru froze, his sharp eyes cutting through the gloom. "Who's there?" he asked, his voice a low, smooth rumble.

A terrified squeak answered him.

Stepping closer, Suguru knelt, keeping his movements deliberately slow. He pushed aside a damp flap of cardboard, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

But you were different. Shivering violently, stripped of your oversized sweaters and wrapped only in a threadbare, oversized shirt, you looked impossibly smaller. Curling out from your messy hair were two long, velvet-soft, snow-white rabbit ears, pinned flat against your head in sheer terror. A tiny, fluffy tail twitching against the brick wall completed the picture. You were a hybrid. In this world, freshly turned hybrids without registered owners were prey, hunted, abused, or sold.

Your wide, tear-brimmed eyes locked onto his. You recognized him from the library. He could see the faint spark of familiarity in your gaze, but it was quickly drowned out by your instinctual urge to hide. You buried your face in your knees, trembling so hard your teeth chattered.

"Hey," Suguru murmured. The sheer rush of possessiveness that surged through his veins was almost dizzying, but his expression remained perfectly serene, a mask of pure gentleness. "Hey, sweetheart. Look at me. It's okay."

"P-Please," you whispered, your voice a tiny, breathless thing. "Don't hurt me."

"Never," he promised softly, extending a warm, broad hand, palm up, leaving it a few inches away from you. He let you sniff the air, letting you catch his scent of rain, sandalwood, and safety. "You remember me, don't you? From the archives. You're safe now. I'm going to take you home."

You stared at his large hand. The cold was biting into your skin, and your bunny instincts were screaming at you to trust the large, warm predator who was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, hesitantly, you nudged your forehead against his open palm.

Suguru’s heart thudded. He closed his fingers gently around your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Good girl. Such a brave little thing."

Without another word, he shed his heavy, insulated trench coat and draped it over your trembling shoulders. It swallowed you whole, smelling heavily of him. Before you could even process the warmth, Suguru gathered you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly against his broad chest. You let out a soft gasp, your small hands automatically bunching into the fabric of his shirt as you hid your face in the crook of his neck.

His apartment was warm, smelling of cedar and hot tea. The moment Suguru set you down on his plush sofa, you tried to curl into a tight ball, acutely aware of your new ears and how terrifyingly exposed you felt.

Suguru didn't press you. He disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a basin of warm water, a soft cloth, and a fresh, incredibly soft sweatpants-and-hoodie set.

"We need to get you clean and warm," Suguru said, kneeling on the floor in front of you so he wouldn't tower over your small frame. "May I?"

You gave a small, submissive nod, your long ears drooping forward shyly.

Suguru was agonizingly patient. He gently wiped the grime from your face, your hands, and your scraped knees. When his fingers brushed against the base of your white ears, you let out a tiny, sensitive whine, your shoulders twitching.

Suguru paused instantly. His dark eyes softened, melting with an affection that ran terrifyingly deep. "Sensitive?" he asked, his voice a soothing purr.

"Y-Yes," you whispered, blushing furiously, your ears burning hot. "They... they feel a lot."

"I'll be very careful, I promise," he murmured. He didn't touch them again, respecting your boundary perfectly, though his gaze lingered on how incredibly soft they looked. He helped you into the oversized clothes, gently pulling the waistband of the sweatpants low enough so your fluffy tail wouldn't be squished.

Once you were wrapped up like a cocoon, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of warm, lightly sweetened oatmeal and a cup of chamomile tea. He sat right next to you, his large thighs brushing against yours, offering a grounding weight that your anxious instincts desperately craved.

"Eat, sweetheart," he commanded gently.

You picked up the spoon with trembling fingers, but your coordination was shot from exhaustion. A bit of oatmeal smudged onto your bottom lip.

Before you could wipe it, Suguru’s thumb was there, catching the stray bit of food. But instead of pulling away, his thumb lingered, gently pressing into your bottom lip, forcing your mouth to part slightly. His gaze darkened, a flash of his strict, possessive nature breaking through his gentle facade.

"You're making a mess," he whispered, his tone dropping into a low, firm register that made a shiver run straight down your spine. "Look at me."

You looked up, completely frozen, your pulse fluttering like a trapped bird.

"From now on, you belong to me. Do you understand?" Suguru said, his voice entirely devoid of malice, but heavy with an absolute, unshakeable authority. "No more running away. No more hiding in dark alleys. You stay where I can see you, where I can take care of you. If you are good for me, I will give you everything you could ever want. But you must listen to me perfectly. Understood?"

The strictness in his voice didn't scare you. It did the exact opposite. It drew a boundary line around you, keeping the cruel outside world out. It meant someone was finally in charge of keeping you safe.

You let out a soft, submissive sigh, your long ears flopping completely flat in surrender as you leaned your cheek heavily into his hand. "Yes, Suguru," you whispered, using his name for the first time. "I'll be good."

A blindingly sweet, genuine smile broke across Suguru’s face. The intense predator vanished, replaced instantly by the doting, caring man who had watched over you for months.

"Such a perfect little bunny," he cooed, wrapping his long arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. He began to stroke your back in slow, soothing lines. "Rest now. You're home."

The transition from solitary confinement in a damp alley to the suffocatingly sweet safety of Suguru’s apartment had completely rewritten your internal wiring. Months had passed, and under Suguru’s strict, doting care, you had blossomed into a thoroughly spoiled, utterly dependent creature.

Suguru liked you soft, compliant, and perfectly taken care of. He set strict rules: you ate what he made, you wore the clothes he bought, and you stayed inside where the world couldn't touch you. In return, he treated you like glass. You had learned that submitting to him brought absolute peace.

But it also made you incredibly lazy when he wasn't around to command you.

On a quiet Tuesday afternoon, you were sprawled across Suguru’s plush living room rug, laying flat on your stomach with your ankles kicked up in the air. Your white rabbit ears twitched lazily in sync with the rhythm of your chewing. You were eating strawberries straight from a bowl Suguru had left on the coffee table, letting a bit of the sweet juice sticky your fingers, completely ignoring the "no eating on the rug" rule because you knew he’d just sigh and clean it up for you anyway.

The click of the front door lock echoed through the quiet apartment.

Your ears shot straight up, pinning back for a fraction of a second before flopping forward in pure excitement. Suguru was home early from his university lectures. Abandoning the strawberries, you scrambled to your knees, a bright, eager smile breaking across your face as you scrambled toward the entryway. "Suguru, you're back..."

The words died in your throat.

The man standing in the doorway was entirely too tall, his broad shoulders practically blocking out the hallway light. He was casually tossing a spare set of apartment keys in the air, catching them with a metallic clink. He wore a heavy leather jacket, and slung carelessly over his eyes was a pair of dark sunglasses, though the blinding blue gaze piercing through them was unmistakable.

Satoru Gojo.

The university’s resident golden boy. The untouchable, impossibly popular, notoriously arrogant bully who used to track terror through the campus hallways just by walking down them. You had spent semesters actively hiding behind bookshelves to avoid even being perceived by him.

Your bunny instincts spiked into absolute red-alert. The cozy, warm apartment suddenly felt like a cage with a predator inside.

"Huh," Gojo voiced, his hand freezing over the keys. He tilted his head, his gaze sliding down from your wide, terrified eyes, over your trembling shoulders, and locking onto the long, snow-white rabbit ears twitching on top of your head. A slow, incredibly sharp grin pulled at his lips. "Well, well, well. So this is the little pet Suguru’s been keeping locked away. I thought he was just hiding a mountain of contraband, but you're way more interesting."

Panic made you stupid. Because you didn't feel the absolute safety of Suguru’s presence, your submissive facade completely shattered, replaced by a defensive, spiky wall of pure fear-induced attitude.

"Get out," you snapped, your voice trembling but laced with an uncharacteristic venom. You took a sharp step back, your fluffy tail twitching aggressively against your sweatpants. "Who gave you those keys? You can't be here."

Gojo’s grin only widened. He didn't look offended. He looked like a cat that had just watched a mouse pull out a tiny switchblade. He kicked the door shut behind him with his heel, strolling into the apartment with an agonizingly slow, confident stride.

"Oh, a feisty one," Gojo cooed, his tone dripping with mock delight. He stepped right into your personal space, forcing you to look up at his towering frame. He reached out a large hand, his long fingers aiming directly for your sensitive ears. "Let me see..."

Smack.

You slapped his hand away with a loud crack. "Don't touch me!" you hissed, baring your teeth slightly, your chest heaving. "Suguru is going to kill you if you touch me. Leave!"

Gojo froze, staring down at his backhanded knuckles. For a second, the sheer audacity of a tiny, fragile hybrid striking the most powerful guy on campus hung heavy in the air. Then, Gojo threw his head back and let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed off the walls.

"Oh, I get it," Gojo chuckled, pushing his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to reveal those piercing, electric blue eyes, completely unbothered by your hostility. In fact, his gaze was dark with a sudden, intense fascination. "Suguru thinks he bought himself a sweet, quiet little rabbit. But you’re a total brat, aren't you?"

"I am not!" you yelled, your ears burning hot with a mix of fury and terror as you backed away until your spine hit the living room wall. "I'm good! I'm good for Suguru!"

"Yeah, because you're terrified of him," Gojo reasoned, taking a casual step closer, completely trapping you against the drywall. He leaned down, placing one hand on the wall right beside your head, invading your space so completely you could smell his expensive cologne. "But with me? You're a little monster. I like that. I really like that."

"I hate you," you whispered fiercely, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your face away, your rabbit ears pinning flat against your skull.

"Keep talking like that, sweetheart," Gojo whispered, his voice dropping into a low, teasing gravel that sent an entirely different kind of shiver down your spine. He leaned in close enough that his breath brushed against your cheek. "Suguru isn't going to be home for another two hours. And I think you and I are going to get to know each other real well."

The shift from terror to pure, unadulterated irritation happened the moment Satoru Gojo refused to leave. Under Suguru’s roof, you had forgotten what it felt like to be challenged, and Gojo was pushing every single one of your newly defensive boundaries.

"Get out," you snapped again, your voice shaking but sharp. "I mean it!"

Gojo didn't move an inch. He let out a low whistle, his piercing blue eyes tracking the way your long, snow-white rabbit ears twitched with aggression.

"Holy shit," Gojo murmured, a slow, realization-filled grin spreading across his handsome face. "No wonder you suddenly stopped coming to school. The whole campus thought you vanished off the face of the earth." He tossed the keys onto the kitchen counter with a loud clatter. "And here I thought Suguru was just losing his mind. Every now and then during lectures, he’d smirk and mention he got a 'bunny' to take care of at home. I thought he bought a literal pet, not you."

The mention of how Suguru talked about you made your cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. Seeing the smug, knowing look on Gojo’s face pushed you entirely over the edge.

Thump! Thump!

In a sudden burst of pure, instinctual frustration, you lifted your leg and brought your foot down hard against the hardwood floor. It was a loud, aggressive double-stomp, the exact behavior of a wild rabbit warning a predator to back off. Your entire body was tense, your fluffy white tail twitching violently in a display of angry defiance.

Gojo actually blinked, his smug grin faltering for a split second. He stared down at your feet, then up at your flushed, angry face, completely caught off guard.

"Did you just... stomp your foot at me?" he asked, a look of genuine, shocked amusement washing over his features. The utter absurdity of a tiny, fragile girl trying to intimidate him by acting like a literal forest creature was the most hilarious thing he had ever seen. "Are you serious right now? Wow. You really are a brat."

"I told you to leave!" you cried out, completely humiliated by his laughter.

"Yeah, not happening," Gojo chuckled, his shock instantly melting back into pure, predatory delight. "In fact, now I definitely have to see what Suguru is dealing with."

Before you could scramble away, Gojo moved with terrifying speed. His large, heavy hands shot forward, catching you by your wrists. With zero effort, he spun you around and pinned your back flat against his broad chest, trapping your smaller frame securely against him. He used one arm like a steel band across your waist, lifting you just enough that your toes were barely brushing the floor, completely neutralizing your ability to stomp or run.

"Let me go! Suguru!" you shrieked, wriggling frantically in his iron grip, your ears pinning flat against your head in a panic.

"Suguru’s not here, princess," Gojo teased, his voice vibrating directly against your back. He shifted his weight, forcing you down onto the plush living room sofa, effectively pinning your lower half under his heavy thigh so you couldn't kick. "Stop squirming. I just want a look."

"Don't touch me! I'm not a toy!" you bared your teeth, turning your head to try and bite his sleeve, a total bratty display of defiance because you knew you couldn't physically overpower him.

"Feisty," Gojo hummed, thoroughly entertained.

With his free hand, he reached up and deliberately brushed his long fingers against the velvet-soft skin of your left rabbit ear. The moment his fingers made contact, a violent, sensitive shiver tore through your entire body. Your gasp was cut short as a warm, heavy sensation flooded your lower stomach, your ears burning bright red.

"Oh, wow," Gojo whispered, his tone dropping into something much darker, completely fascinated by how intensely your body reacted to the touch. He stroked down the length of the long white ear, his thumb gently rubbing the sensitive base. "They really are super sensitive, aren't they? No wonder Suguru keeps you hidden away."

"S-Stop," you whined, your bratty attitude melting into a breathless, shaky plea as the overwhelming sensation made your knees go weak, even while pinned.

Gojo didn't stop. His hand slid down your spine, his large palm smoothing over the fabric of your oversized sweatpants until his fingers brushed against the fluffy, round bundle of your tail. He gave it a firm, teasing squeeze.

You let out a loud, high-pitched squeak, your hands clenching into the sofa cushions as your whole body arched against his hold.

"Look at you," Gojo murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed the crown of your head, right between your twitching ears. He could feel your heart hammering like a piston against his chest, a mix of pure bratty outrage and physical overload. "You're a handful, sweetheart. I think I'm going to start visiting Suguru a lot more often."

For the next ten minutes, Satoru showed you absolutely no mercy.

To him, you were the ultimate toy, a tiny, furious ball of fluff and attitude that he could bend to his will. Every time you tried to claw your way out of his grip, he would simply laugh, catch you by the waist, and effortlessly shove you back down onto the plush cushions. He spun you around, roughly pinning your wrists above your head one moment, only to release you and watch you try to scramble away, just so he could grab you by your oversized waistband and drag you right back across the sofa.

"Come on, princess, you can do better than that," he teased relentlessly, his voice deep and breathless with amusement.

You bared your teeth, swinging a wild fist at his shoulder, but he caught your forearm with agonizing ease. With a sharp tug, he yanked you forward, his other hand coming up to firmly grasp the very base of your snow-white ears. He didn't hurt you, but the heavy, unyielding pressure on your most sensitive spot sent a violent jolt straight down your spine. You let out a ragged, high-pitched gasp, your legs instantly turning to jelly.

Before you could even recover, Satoru's large palm slid down, roughly gripping and squeezing your fluffy tail, pulling your hips back against him. The sensory overload was dizzying. You wriggled, you hissed, you tried to bite his leather jacket, but Satoru just handled you like a whirlwind, completely dominating your space until your muscles ached and your lungs burned.

Finally, the fight completely drained out of you. Your bratty defiance crumbled under the sheer weight of his stamina. You couldn't breathe, your throat felt dry, and your sensitive ears were burning a bright, furious crimson from how much he had touched them. With a soft, defeated whine, your body went entirely slack.

Satoru let out a low, satisfied chuckle, sensing the exact moment you gave up.

He slid back on the couch, making himself comfortable against the armrest, and hauled your limp, exhausted body right along with him. He hoisted you up by your hips, forcing you to straddle his lap. Your legs fell to either side of his broad thighs, and because your spine was completely tingling and spent, your back arched weakly as you collapsed forward. You buried the side of your face directly into the crook of his neck and shoulder, your hot breath fanning against his skin.

The silence in the apartment was heavy, broken only by your shallow, ragged breaths.

"There we go," Satoru murmured, his voice finally dropping the mocking edge, replaced by a deep, possessive purr. "Look at you. All worn out."

He didn't let you go. Instead, his large hands settled into a rhythmic, almost hypnotic motion. One of his long-fingered hands reached up, gently cradling the back of your head while his thumb and forefinger lightly stroked and flicked the tips of your velvet ears, soothing the ache he had caused. His other hand slid down to the small of your back, his broad palm cupping your fluffy tail, his fingers mindlessly swirling through the soft fur.

You let out a tiny, pathetic whimper, too tired to be angry anymore. You hated how good it felt, and you hated how safe his massive frame felt, even though he was a total menace. You just melted against him, your small hands weakly bunching into his leather jacket, entirely at his mercy until Suguru walked through the door.

Satoru didn’t stop moving his hands, and he certainly didn’t stop talking.

For nearly an hour, you remained hopelessly pinned to his chest, your body completely spent. He kept up a steady, low stream of murmurs right against your ear, a dizzying mix of condescending praises and sweet nothings that made your face burn.

"Look at how quiet you are now," Satoru whispered, his thumb lightly flicking the tip of your left ear, making it twitch. "So sweet when you're not trying to bite my head off. Such a good little bunny, resting so nicely for me. You like being held like this, don't you? Even if you're too stubborn to admit it."

You let out a soft, exhausted whine, your face burying deeper into his shoulder. You hated how the steady rhythm of his fingers stroking your fluffy tail was making you drowsy, completely clouding your judgment.

Suddenly, Satoru’s fingers went still against your tail. His head tilted slightly toward the entryway.

You were too dazed to notice the faint sound of a key turning in the lock, but Satoru's sharp senses caught it instantly. A slow, deeply amused smirk spread across his face. He didn't move an inch, keeping his large arms securely wrapped around your waist.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Satoru called out, his voice loud and dripping with mischief. "You're late, Suguru. Your pet and I already got real cozy."

The mention of Suguru’s name acted like an electric shock. Your eyes snapped open, your rabbit ears instantly shooting straight up in panic. You tried to scramble off Satoru’s lap, your heart hammering against your ribs, but Satoru’s grip tightened like a steel vise, anchoring your hips firmly against his thighs. He wouldn't let you budge.

Suguru stepped into the living room, his coat slung over his arm. His dark eyes swept over the scene, you, flushed and breathless, straddling his best friend's lap, while Satoru casually fondled your ears and tail.

Suguru wasn't angry with Satoru. The two men understood each other too well for that. Instead, Suguru’s gaze locked entirely onto you. His eyes narrowed, a cold, dangerous strictness replacing his usual gentle warmth. He noticed how relaxed your body had been just moments prior. He noticed the slight glaze of sensory pleasure in your eyes.

And it irritated him deeply.

For months, Suguru had treated you like the most fragile porcelain doll. He had intentionally avoided handling your ears or your tail with any real force, terrifyingly aware of how sensitive hybrid anatomy was, terrified of hurting his precious, shy little girl. Yet here you were, completely melted into another man's touch.

"Get up," Suguru commanded. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a terrifying, heavy authority that made your entire body freeze.

Satoru finally chuckled and loosened his grip, allowing you to weakly scramble off his lap. You stood on the rug, trembling, your head bowed and your ears drooping completely flat against your skull in pure submission.

"Suguru, I-I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice cracking. "He wouldn't leave, and he..."

"I don't want to hear it," Suguru interrupted smoothly, walking over and placing his briefcase on the table. He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves with a slow, deliberate precision. "I leave you alone for a few hours, and I come home to find you completely disregarding my rules. Not only did you let a guest touch you, but you look like you thoroughly enjoyed it."

"I didn't! He forced me..."

"You didn't fight him hard enough," Suguru countered, stepping directly into your space. He reached out, his fingers catching your chin and forcing you to look into his dark, unyielding eyes. "I have spent months being agonizingly gentle with you, treating your little bunny features like glass because I didn't want to overwhelm you. And this is how you repay my patience? By letting Satoru handle you however he pleases?"

From the couch, Satoru propped his chin on his hand, a thoroughly entertained smirk on his face as he watched the drama unfold. "Don't be too hard on her, Suguru. She put up a decent fight at first. Total little brat."

"Which is exactly why she needs to be corrected," Suguru said softly, his tone dripping with a strict dominance. He let go of your chin and sat down on the armchair across from the sofa. He tapped his thigh. "Over my lap. Now."

Your heart stopped. Your eyes darted to Satoru, who merely winked at you, enjoying your utter humiliation.

"S-Suguru, please," you begged, tears immediately welling up in your eyes. You were a submissive creature by nature. The threat of his genuine displeasure was enough to make you weak, but the thought of being disciplined in front of a witness was agonizing. "Not in front of him..."

"You should have thought about that before you let him treat you like a toy," Suguru said, his voice entirely devoid of pity. "Do not make me repeat myself."

Knowing there was no escape, you walked over with trembling steps. You lowered yourself over his lap, your stomach pressing against his thighs, your hands gripping his knee for support. Your fluffy white tail twitched in absolute anxiety.

Smack.

The sharp, loud crack of Suguru’s broad palm landing against your sweatpants echoed through the room. It wasn't meant to injure you, but it carried the heavy, stinging weight of his absolute authority.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat, and a fat tear rolled down your cheek.

Smack! Smack!

"You belong to me," Suguru murmured rhythmically, delivering the firm swats with a steady, unhurried pace. "Every part of you. If those ears are going to be handled, they will be handled by me. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes!" you sobbed, burying your face in your arms as the stinging heat bloomed across your skin.

Satoru watched from the couch, his blue eyes flashing with amusement, entirely unfazed by the display. If anything, seeing you cry and squirm under Suguru's strict hand only made you look more delicious.

After a dozen firm swats, your soft sobs filled the quiet apartment. Suguru finally stopped, his hand resting heavily on the small of your back, letting the heat settle. He let out a soft, heavy sigh, the strict disciplinarian instantly melting away, replaced by the deeply doting, caring savior who adored you.

He hooked his arms under your armpits and pulled your crying, shaking body up into his chest. He shifted you so you were sitting sideways on his lap, tucking your face securely into the crook of his neck.

"Shh, it's over. I've got you," Suguru murmured, his voice incredibly sweet and gentle now. He wrapped his large arms around you, rocking you slightly as you cried into his shirt, your tiny hands gripping his collar desperately. He reached up, his long fingers finally brushing against your sensitive ears, stroking them with the exact, perfect amount of gentle care you had been craving all along. "Such a sensitive little thing. You're okay. Suguru’s got you."

The room was dead silent save for your shaky, hitching breaths as you hid your face in Suguru’s neck. The sting from his palm was already fading into a warm, thrumming heat, but the heavy comfort of his arms around you made you feel entirely secure.

From the couch, Satoru let out a low, appreciative hum, shifting his weight as he leaned forward. He wasn't leaving. In fact, his intense blue eyes were fixed entirely on the way your white ears were twitching under Suguru's soothing strokes.

Suguru caught the look. He didn't pull away from you, but his hand paused on your back as his dark eyes lifted to meet his best friend's gaze. A heavy, silent understanding passed between the two men. Satoru loved a challenge, he loved the sharp, spitfire attitude you had thrown at him. And Suguru? Suguru loved your absolute surrender, the way you melted into his rules.

"You're looking at her like you want to take her home, Satoru," Suguru said, his smooth voice cutting through your quiet sniffling.

Satoru grinned, pushing his sunglasses up into his white hair so his piercing eyes were fully on display. "Can you blame me? She’s a total menace when you’re not around, Suguru. A little brat. I think she needs someone to rile her up every now and then so she doesn't get too lazy on your rug."

You stiffened slightly against Suguru's chest, your ears pinning back. You wanted to snap at Gojo to shut up, but the lingering warmth of your discipline kept you completely quiet, your fingers tightly bunching Suguru's shirt.

"Is that so?" Suguru murmured. He tilted his head down, kissing the crown of your head right between your ears. His grip on your waist tightened, a possessive finality settling into his posture. "Well, she isn't going anywhere. She belongs right here. But... if you’re going to be coming over here and making a mess of my hard work, you’re going to help keep her in line."

Satoru’s grin widened into something wicked and delighted. He slid off the couch and sank onto his knees on the rug right in front of Suguru’s chair, bringing himself down to your eye level.

"Look at me, princess," Satoru cooed, his tone dropping into that teasing, gravelly register that made your tail twitch.

Slowly, hesitantly, you turned your head, peering out from the safety of Suguru’s shoulder. Your eyelashes were still wet with tears, your cheeks flushed a deep, embarrassed pink.

Satoru reached out, and this time, his large hand was incredibly gentle. He used his thumb to carefully wipe away a stray tear from your cheek, his touch surprisingly warm. "Look at those big, sad eyes. Did Suguru hurt you? Such a dramatic little bunny."

"Behave, Satoru," Suguru warned softly, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his broad chest anchoring you from behind while Gojo hemmed you in from the front.

"I'm always good," Satoru lied smoothly, his fingers sliding up from your cheek to lightly, playfully pinch the tip of your rabbit ear. You let out a tiny, involuntary squeak, leaning back directly into Suguru's solid frame. "I'll be back tomorrow, sweetheart. And you better have a better attitude for me, or we're going to have a repeat of today."

"She will be perfectly behaved," Suguru answered for you, his hand sliding down to firmly cup your fluffy white tail, offering a grounding, strict reassurance that you were entirely theirs. "Won't you, my sweet girl?"

Exhausted, completely surrounded by the two most powerful men on campus, and thoroughly overwhelmed by the intense, dual weight of their attention, you let out a soft, defeated sigh. Your ears flopped forward in total surrender as you nodded against Suguru's neck.

"Yes, Suguru," you whispered.

Satoru chuckled, leaning in to press a quick, teasing kiss to your hot cheek before standing up and pocketing his keys. As the front door finally clicked shut, you let yourself sink completely into Suguru's lap, finally safe in your warren, knowing your quiet life in hiding had just become a whole lot more chaotic.

[zestivivi]

The sensei💫✨

[angstandhappiness]

Nice

[forevermorgue]

@p00pdev1l

[misosouplvur]

⤷ munch Olruggio x fem!reader

⤷ contents include ⋮ ⌗ ┆ eater olruggio ; pet names — lassie, sugar, atta girl, honey, princess ; pussy eating ; squirting ; pussy talk ; meanie olruggio kinda ; Qifrey cameo + cock block! ; this was really self indulgent

⤷ a/n: happy pride! i have no excuse this was very self indulgent.. wrote with my clit not my head 🙂‍↕️ saw a biiiiiig lack of olly x reader and didn't like it so here's my contribution!

── .✦ MDNI

nsfw below the cut

You swore Olruggio hadn't come up from between your legs for hours.

His tongue pressed flat against your soaked seam, running up and down your slick folds before going to tease your already puffy clit.

"Olly—" you'd whined, fingers digging into his scalp and tugging hard. He didn't even stop, not caring that the girls could possibly hear you two, not caring that his door had been left just a crack open.

"Hush, lassie. Let me have my treat." He grunted against your thighs, his mouth attached to your pussy like it was stitched to it. "Taste so sweet…"

You whimpered, feeling his wet muscle curl into your drooling cunt, more and more slick gushing out of your tight orifice as he licked and sucked and ate at you like a starved man.

"Olly, stop— the girls—"

"I said hush, didn't I?" He growled, reaching up to press two of his thick, calloused fingers into your mouth, coating them in your spit. He barely gave you another moment's warning before he was pulling his fingers out of your mouth and pressing them past your sopping wet entrance.

You cried out, slamming a palm over your mouth to stifle your noises. If any of the girls saw you two, Qifrey would never let you live it down.

"Easy, sugar.." You heard Olruggio's thick, yorkshire drawl command out, his free hand splaying out on your hip to keep you from bucking wildly. "So wet already. All f'me?"

You nod frantically, your hands flying to claw the sheets. "You— Yes, yes, all for you—"

"Atta girl." He praised, his low baritone making your walls squeeze around his digits. "Aye, someone really liked that, eh?"

Your cheeks burned flaming hot, but you didn't have time to feel embarrassed — not when his fingers were pressing juuuuust right into your sweet spot and his tongue was lapping at your sensitive button.

Olruggio only chuckled at your silence. "Witch got yer tongue?"

You glared at him, though rather half-heartedly. "You haven't had enough? It's almost past midnight."

You see his shoulders rise and fall quickly in a simple shrug, before his head lowers once more and you're being brought back to the throes of pleasure. His fingers seem to know your insides like a map, pinpointing every last sensitive spot and bullying each one just to see tears pool in those pretty eyes of yours, to watch the quiver of your lower lip as you whimper and mumble his name into your own palm.

"Yer getting tighter and wetter, sugar. Are ya close?" Olruggio smirks, his tongue dragging little zigzags back and forth over your poor clit. You jerk uncontrollably, a whine tearing itself from deep in your throat as your eyes flutter.

"Gosh, I could stay here f'hours. Taste ya like breakfast, lunch, and dinner." He groans, doubling his efforts as he dives back in. His fingers are quicker, the thick pads jamming upwards over and over into your sweet spot, the same spot making you whimper and sob and twitch against the sheets. Nothing you couldn't hit yourself, but Olruggio's hands were just so much thicker and longer than yours…

A mean flick of his tongue against your swollen clit brings you back down to reality. "Y'gonna cum, honey? Poor girl and her sweet pussy can't handle a bit o' teasin', can ye?"

You whined yet again, shaking your head. "You're just— you're just mean!"

"Me? Mean?" Olruggio gasped playfully, one hand rubbing soothing circles into your hipbone. The other still moved inside you, reaching and pressing as deep as it could physically go. "I dunno what ye talkin' about. She clearly wants it."

She..? You wonder, and then it hits you — he's talking about your pussy. Making out with her like his life depended on it. You couldn't pull him off even if you tried.

Olruggio sees the way realization clicks in your head, and he cooes mockingly. "What, yer pussy wanted it. She's talkin' t'me sooo sweetly, jus' like this."

He curls his fingers up again, and an embarrassing amount of slick gushes out. His thumb moves to your clit, rubbing insistent circles into the bud, making your body jerk and squirm. You can feel the hot coil of pressure building in your gut, and you fist the sheets harder. "Please, Olly—"

"Please what, princess?" He grunts, not letting up for even a second. Just torturing you through it.

You whimper again, one hand latching onto his dark hair. "Please let me cum, Olly."

"Eh?" He smirks, feigning deaf. "Wha' wazzat?"

You growl, biting your lip. "Please.. Please let me cum."

Olruggio's grin widens, and he leans back in. "Not so hard, was it? Are ya goin' t'be good?"

In the blink of an eye, his tongue licks and laps at your juices, nose bumping into your clit with every hot press of his tongue on your pussy. His fingers speed up, hitting your sweet spot with terrifying accuracy — over and over and over.

A cry spills past your lips, and your back bows off the sheets in an almost perfect geometric arc. "Please— I'll be so good. I'll be really good—"

"Mm, atta girl." He murmured, pressing a soft little kiss right over your pussy lips, before his palm is adding pressure on your abdomen and that tight, hot coil is unraveling like string—

You're squirting before you know it. Hot streams of liquid bursting from your poor, sensitive cunt and making a mess over the sheets and Olruggio's face. He doesn't let up, his tongue licking up every bit of your juice he can get. He groans as he pulls his fingers out of you, pressing them past your kiss-swollen lips. "Clean."

You obey with a moan, tongue swirling around his digits coated with your salty-sweet cream, tasting your release and spit.

He doesn't let you get a breather as he shucks his belt and pants off, large hands already wrapping around your thighs and hauling your pelvis in line with his hips.

"Need t'be inside her.. fuck." He hissed, fisting his erection as he guides the tip to your quivering hole.

Just as he's about to feed the tip in, the door creaks open and shut. The soft click of the door locking rings out in the sudden silence.

And standing in the doorway, arms folded, single azure eye glaring murderously, is Qifrey.

thanks for reading 𑣲⋆ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

find more of my works here!

[deltamel]

leaving this ask for later whenever you wanna get to it. i want to know anything you'd care to divulge about a certain nicholas d. wolfwood.

nico's canonical oral fixation never leaves my mind !!!

the low, broken groan you'd feel reverberate against your own chest as you slip your fingers into his mouth. the lidded eyes fixed on yours as you pet his tongue and feel along his teeth. the way you're sat in his lap but he still wants more, still houses a bone-deep desperation to have his mouth on you, always.

[bunni-v1]

Since we got Qifrey can you do Olly next💖

Olruggio SFW & NSFW Relationship Headcannons

🍓I did it. A day late, but I did it. Congratulations on your anime debut Olruggio. Your English voice makes me weak in my knees and wet in my panties, but whatever. There's like no Olly content on here or on Ao3, and I think that's such a shame because this ugly Englishman is so fucking fine and appreciating his ass is an art form. Please God, enjoy this, I beg of thee. I stressed about these more than I should have.

TW: Breeding kink (yes, even if you can't get pregnant); voyeurism; exhibitionism; Orufrey tension, so thick, and I'm not sorry; Choking; rough sex; mostly edited?; MDNI below the cut

Word Count: 5.5k

SFW

-Olruggio likes to give the impression that he’s a recluse, a total shut-in only focused on his work with no need for deeper connections. I mean, how else would he have been so successful if he wasn’t focused on his work?

-He’s the biggest fake idgafer ever.

-Olruggio is probably one of the biggest social butterflies you’ll ever meet. You just have to meet him when he’s either A) not preoccupied with a commission or B) has had a full night's rest. If you meet either of these conditions, he’ll probably be pretty amicable, if not friendly.

-Or you could just, like, get him drunk. Alcohol usually works wonders for his mood when he gets to it.

-Despite the prickly exterior he has, Olly’s actually a total sweetheart on the inside. How else would he be able to put up with Qifrey’s bullshit, or handle four girls that aren’t technically his responsibility with a smile still on his face?

-What makes him so closed off, really, is that he’s just passionate about what he does. He loves to create magic, loves to help people, and when he gets to, he just loses himself in it. Forgetting to eat, forgetting to sleep, just focused on doing what he loves more than anything.

-His selflessness is both something to be desired and chided.

-Still, it makes him difficult to approach. Even in adulthood, Olruggio is a genius with magic. The prodigal son of Ghodrey, a bright, blinding star in the sky that might make you hesitate to reach out and touch it.

-Stars burn, vaporize. But Olly’s warmth is approachable; closed off as he may be, he can’t stop the kindness he has in his heart from showing.

-Olruggio’s philosophy seems to be if it will happen, let it happen, so long as it doesn’t hurt.

-In the world of romance, the same applies. He’s not the type to open his arms and herd you into them, or serenade you to win you over. But he lets you approach, and that is a sign in and of itself.

-He’s got a complicated relationship with loving and being loved. He’s used to being adored for what he can offer, for the abilities he has; it's always been that way since he was young… but loved for just being Olruggio? Well, there’s really only one person who's done that, and that person is always just out of his reach.

-It’s not as though he’s hung up on what people think of him; he couldn’t care less about those kinds of things, but he… he wants more genuine connections. Connections that are reciprocated without a canyon carved between them, one he has no idea how to cross.

-He hesitates at the idea of forming one, though, because it’s not Qifrey. Somehow, it feels like a betrayal of his long-time friend to be branching out a little. But you’re just so… wonderful.

-You don’t leave him nervous or stammering or lost for words, but you do so much more. You make him smile. You appreciate the warmth he has to offer only for the warmth.

-For the first time in his life, he has to consider that, maybe, being a shut-in has held him back from meeting good people. People like you, who leave him breathless just by being nearby. A… peaceful distraction.

-It’s strange to feel any type of way about anyone who wasn’t Qifrey, but it’s not a terrible feeling at all. You’re bright, just like everyone says you are, but he can really see the way you shine. The sparkle in your eye, the wideness of your grin, the crinkles from your smile. If this is what people see when they think of him, he understands why they’re so obsessed.

-The light you offer is nice. Really nice, warm, and comforting to his tired mind, but he still won’t reach out for it. It’s not his to reach for, and besides, he’s done enough reaching for the unobtainable… if the gentle caress of your sunshine is for him, then it will reach him when it does. No need to force things to a conclusion that simply won’t fit.

-Everything falls into place with him. It is so simple in comparison to Qifrey. While they have the same tendency to sit by the side and wait, Olruggio is more receptive to your kindness.

-He finds himself happy to reciprocate your heartfelt deeds, only for the fact that you smile at him for doing so. The soft ‘thank you’ that you offer is enough to leave him energized for weeks on end, replaying the plain words over and over in his head until it’s all he can think about.

-And, he should be more freaked out about that fact. He should be worried that he’s become so smitten with you. What, with his personality and his work and his responsibilities to Qifrey and the Atelier? 

-His guilt for falling in love with you – love? Yes, that’s right, he does love you.

-All of this should make him so unsettled and uneasy, but there’s something beautiful in the simplicity of it all.

-He is allowed to love you, openly, gently, as any regular man could. No secrets, no uncrossable chasm. Just you and him. He and you.

-He’s not good with words, but he doesn’t need to say anything for you to know. You just know, and gods is he endlessly grateful for that.

-One day you aren’t lovers, and the next you are. Both of you know it.

-It’s in the way Olruggio simply does for you without being asked. He spends sleepless nights working on solutions for things that trouble you, presenting the new spells catered to your liking as if they are completely regular things.

-He’ll sit with you quietly when you cannot sleep – not that he could either – and allow you comfort in his presence because it is the least he can do.

-It’s how he’ll say things, sweet things, as if they are little more than observations. How much he appreciates your smile, the way your voice sounds like a melody, or how much he enjoys the magic you create – simple or not, your lines are like little marks of perfection in his eyes.

-He fusses, as well. Always worried about you and your well-being, no matter how hypocritical that is coming from him.

-When you are cold, you will find yourself quickly warmed up in front of a fire with a cup of herbal tea, to ensure you do not catch a cold. If you come back from a commission drenched and dirty, he will dry and bathe you – no arguments allowed. You will catch your death if he does not help you out (not true), so just behave a little for him.

-I suppose that also brings up the fact that Olruggio is fond of nakedness, between the two of you, of course. Non-sexual intimacy is something he holds dear to his heart.

-Knowing in his mind that you trust him so much as to be bare around him makes his heart flutter. Many men in the world would take advantage of trust, but you know he wouldn’t. And he knows you wouldn’t either.

-To touch your skin, solely for the act of touching, not to derive pleasure, makes his head light and airy. To clean and care for one another is an act so impossibly bonding, he’s unsure how he went so long in his life without it.

-Of course, what is so precious about it all is that it’s reciprocated the whole way through. Whatever Olruggio does for you, you are allowed to do for him. Not expected, but appreciated.

-When you do something kind for him, just for the sake of doing it, he’s surprised. Yet, he doesn’t comment on it. He’s only happy to take what he is given, and what you give is a love he hasn’t been afforded before.

-Excuse him, though, if he begins to come off as greedy. After so long neglecting his own emotional and physical needs, he’s hungry for what you give him.

-He would never demand, but he will take until you stop him when it comes to the more physical aspects of your affection.

-You might not expect him to be so physical, and he isn’t to start. He’s reserved when you first begin to get into things together, but the more you grow into one another, the more he opens himself up to touches and things like that.

-Now, he rarely does these things in public – though, if you’re at a party with him (drunk or not), he’s quite the affectionate man – but private, he’s practically glued to you.

-He respects your space and autonomy, but he can respect it with you pressed into his side, alright?

-You’ll often find that a short hug will become you beneath his arm, working separately but together. Or a quick kiss turns into a messy makeout session because he simply cannot get enough of you. And worse yet, when you call him out on it, he smiles and laughs all shyly as though he were innocent!

-Sometimes, he might even find himself pinching your rear, solely because he likes hearing you squeak and curse at him for it.

-It’s pleasing to have someone with whom he can be a bit mischievous. Never anything harmful, but enough to get you wagging your finger at him. And trust me, he so loves when you tell him off – even when he’s actually in trouble.

-Not having to be the responsible one is a relief only you can afford him. Won’t you?

-He’s a rascal even in his older years, but that’s what you love about him. Your idiotic, romantic Olruggio.

-Ah, but he does not consider himself romantic; heavens, he believes he’s more of an oaf than a romantic.

-To him, these things he does aren’t romantic; they’re just what he should do. Because he loves you, and because you deserve it.

-And, it’s not as though he isn’t aware of the special treatment he gives you. He’s as bright as he was when he was young, but he only sees it as something you are deserving of. Not only as his partner, but as his dear friend.

-Speaking of dear friend, shall we address the Qifrey-shaped elephant in the room?

-As implied, Olruggio’s relationship with Qifrey is complex. The two of them mean the world to each other, and you simply cannot have one without the other (quite literally, thank you for the tears, Master Qifrey).

-Qifrey has always, and seemingly will always be, an unreachable object for Olruggio that he so desperately wants to grasp onto. Yet, he cannot. And he cannot figure out or remember why this is.

-He worries that it will be an obstacle to loving him, which is part of why he avoided being in love with anyone else (else huh?) for so long. Yet… you understand.

-He believes he’s truly found a saint, because the strangeness in the air whenever Qifrey is around should make you turn and run for the hills, but you do not. You stay, and you smile, and you tell him that it is okay.

-You also love Qifrey, maybe not in the same way, or maybe exactly as he does, but you understand where he is coming from. You make a connection with Olruggio’s longest friend, not for his sake, but because you want to.

-Like with Olruggio, being friends with Qifrey feels natural. There isn’t a strain on either end, and Qifrey welcomes you into their lives with open arms and a warm heart.

-There is an indescribable tension in him that you nor Olruggio can place, but Qifrey is kind, and he is good at pretending.

-It’s not as though you need Qifrey to like or approve of you (though his not liking you would cause quite a bit of strain on all parties), but it is nice. Qifrey is pleasant to befriend, and there is the added bonus of being allowed to eat his cooking whenever you please. (As Olruggio’s partner and an addition to the Atelier, it is Qifrey’s job to ensure you are happy and well fed, of course.)

-In addition to Qifrey, there are his apprentices. Four little girls whom Olly likes to pretend he doesn’t enjoy being responsible for, but he does. He loves those four girls like life itself, even when he tries hard to disconnect from them.

-Those same girls come to adore you as well, being that you’re a fairly constant presence in their lives. Whether you act as a third teacher or not (though you most likely do), you’ll find yourself spending a lot of time with them when Olruggio is busy.

-They’ll ask you questions about your relationship with their watchful eye, curious and nosy as any children might be. Indulge them a little, exaggerate different details to get them to giggle and chatter, and you’ll find yourself having fun when Olruggio accuses you of spreading lies about your relationship.

-You cause him trouble when those girls pester him for details now, because when he won’t give an answer, they know you will.

-You’ll have him complaining to you about keeping your private life private, but honestly? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

-There is something so comforting about how easily you’ve slotted into his life, how all the people that matter to him have accepted you with open arms and loving gazes. He’s lucky to have this little life with you; he only hopes the two of you can keep it up for the rest of it.

-Now, as for more general details… Olruggio is a fairly simple man.

-His love languages (unsurprisingly) align similarly to Qifrey’s love languages, though Olruggio is more willing to share these with you, and he doesn’t hold himself back unless you seem to dislike them.

-Firstly, as I think has been made clear, Olly is big on physicality.

-I think, maybe, people might disagree with me on this one, but I truly do believe that he’s someone who craves touch from his partner. People from Godhrey weren’t all that “affectionate”, but closeness is valued in the cold climate there. In the great hall, and with people like Qifrey, touch is a rarity.

-He gets some kind of affection from the four girls on occasion, but you are the permanent outlet through which he can seek comfort without judgment.

-See, when you hold him, it is an instant melt into your arms. He doesn’t hesitate to lean into you and allow himself to soak in your warmth, because he knows that it is his to take in.

-When his energy is low, he goes to you because he knows you will provide, and the same goes for you. Skinship is key to loving Olruggio.

-He is also big on kissing you; whenever he can do so quietly without any interruption, he is convincing you to indulge yourself on his tongue.

-He tastes like a bitter tea, something fruity lying beneath the bitterness as well. Alcoholic, almost, and addictive as the substance as well.

-Another part of his love language is his observance of you. He is as observant as Qifrey, and he’s not afraid to let you know this fact. He knows before you do when you’re getting sick, he knows when you’ve been working for too long, and he knows exactly what you want before you think to want it.

-He’ll pull you away and have you take care of yourself, even doing so himself if he must, because he will not have you falling to pieces when he is right there to stop it.

-He is protective as well, being that he has to be protective by virtue of his position of watchful eye, with you, it's as though it's increased tenfold. He’s always there to step in when you’re in a rough situation, and usually, he’ll stop you from being in said situation before he has to step in to stop it.

-However, in the rare case he isn’t there to help, he’s distraught at his inability to do so. He wants you to lean on him, even if he knows you’re able to handle yourself. Few people he cares for rely on him, so the fact that he can do this thing for you is rewarding.

-He finds himself scolding you more than he probably should, but you worry him immensely. Perhaps he comes off as a mother hen, but he’d rather you know he cares than shut you out entirely.

-He’s a rather odd man to love, but a good one all around. He is balanced and at ease; nothing comes as a strain with Olruggio, even the difficult things, which is what makes him so easy to love, and what makes it so easy for him to love you.

NSFW

-I think Olruggio has had a few sexual partners over the years, not many, but more than Qifrey has, for certain. Purely for sexual gratification and a bit of quick fun, nothing serious at all, and most of the time, he was drunk.

-It’s not as though sex is a must for him, but Olly enjoys it quite a bit. He’s transparent about the fact that he’s sexually attracted to you, but he’s not pushing you any further than you’d like to go at any time. You say no, and he listens good and well.

-Sex is fun only when both parties have fun, and he isn’t about to lose the best thing he’s had in a while cause he can’t keep his dog on a leash… ahem.

-Like pretty much everything else, you get to that point naturally. You start with makeout sessions, then heavy petting, touching beneath the clothes, until eventually you’re copulating without having to try.

-There’s no conversation about it, and it isn’t planned, nothing with Olly is in this regard… but it’s nice. Fun, actually!

-There's no room to be nervous (though Olruggio is sweating bullets the whole time, not that you can tell), you’re too busy laughing at the little mistakes.

-And, goodness, is he gentle with you. Perhaps more rough than he would like, if he had a choice, he’d take more time with you, your first time together. It’s still exceptionally soft the way he handles you, like you’re something to be worshipped.

-He figures for the first time, it’s alright to be a little more wild. You’re figuring each other out still, and he’s always been a fan of discovery by doing, so naturally, letting the flow of each other's bodies guide you is how he handles it.

-It’s later on that he decides to take his time to map you out, and I mean really map you out.

-Those fingers of his miss not a nook or cranny of your body, gliding across planes of your skin, each dip and curve carved into his memory so his muscles will react to your pleasure without having to think.

-He memorizes the taste of you, thinks of it more like an aphrodisiac than your flesh. He truly believes he can get drunk just from the smell of you, and trust me, he knows your smell. To the point he, at times, finds himself incredibly worked up just from a whiff of your perfume.

-(It is embarrassing for him to admit he has handled himself countless times with a spritz of your signature scent into his pillow. Yet, he still admits it if you push him on it, because sweet Olruggio could never lie about how weak he is for you… even if he wishes he could.)

-And your sounds are like heaven sighing. Each whimper, each sigh, each moan he knows by heart.

-The soft squeak you give when he squeezes just so, the airy hum that wafts through the air as he kisses feather light, each an indication of what you like without needing to say it. That brilliant brain of his catalogues each sound like it’s a spell he must remember, otherwise he might die without it.

-Truthfully speaking, Olly is easy to work up and just as easy to satisfy. Brush his shoulders gently, whisper in his ear, call him yours, and he’s gone. On cloud nine. Ready to drop to his knees and do what you say, like the whelp he is.

-He could go days without cumming, if that's what you so please. Please don’t do that to him, though; he’s never bratty, and he listens well to what he’s told. No need to torture him when he’s so well behaved for you, right?

-He only hopes you will pursue him as much as he pursues you. He’d feel a bit awkward if he were the only one who was trying to get below the belt, after all.

-If it’s not already clear and plain, Olruggio is a complete and total servicer, just like he is out of the bedroom. It doesn’t matter if he’s bottoming or topping, he is pouring his all into giving you what you want, even to the detriment of his own pleasure.

-He can be soft, and he can be mean, whichever you seem to prefer. He’s also willing to switch things up on the fly if you want to; sex should be as fun as it is meaningful. It’s a stress relief and a sign of your trust in one another. Keeping things shaken up is just one way he shows that he cares, even if it’s unconventional.

-One thing he loves is seeing you on your knees for him. While there’s little in the world that brings him satisfaction like your thighs trying to break his skull between them, your lips wrapped around his dick is a pretty close second.

-It's a combination of many things that makes it so titillating for him.

-The feeling, to start, is wonderful. Warm, wet, tight if you can get him far enough. You know how to utilize your tongue along the sensitive underside of his shaft, and when you hollow your cheeks to suck on him, he swears the stars localize themselves behind his eyes.

-The sight is another thing, particularly when you are overly cheeky or overly shy about it. Your eyes tell a million words you can’t say in the moment, the flutter of your lashes tells him you’re having fun teasing him. The way they dart away when he looks down warns him that you’ll have none of his own teasing. It’s cute how much just a look can tell him…

-Then there is the sounds of it all, a sloppy wet sound that he can only find between those lips of yours. Slurping, sucking, slobbering as you try to get just a little more in there. You try hard not to gag when he touches the back of your throat, and the sound of it makes him dizzy.

-Enough about that, he could go on all day about what he likes about receiving from you.

-Olly is open to experimenting quite a bit, and he has a lot of conversations about wanting to try new things with you both in and out of the bedroom.

-There are a few big no’s, like he won’t be sharing you with most anyone (except a certain someone), and he doesn’t want to hit you so hard you bruise or leave marks that will last for more than a few hours. But you hear yes considerably more than no, to be quite frank.

-While it’s established that Olly can be soft, he quite prefers it rough. He likes it when you’re a bit mean to him, push him around, bite at him, tug at his hair, and scratch his back. Leaving physical evidence on him makes him glow with pride.

-He’ll show off said marks (around appropriate company) like points of pride. When others ask him where he got those horrible scratches from, he merely smiles and shrugs. Those hands of yours are his, and his back is yours to carve your mark into however many times as you please.

-And inversely, if you’re alright with it, he’s a bit of a manhandler when it comes down to it.

-Olruggio isn’t known for his class and refinement, though he can wear it if he must; he’d much rather allow himself to be as harsh with you as he likes.

-Flipping you onto your stomach, pushing your head into the pillows, and fucking you until you can’t think to snark at him is a well-enjoyed pastime of his. The view from behind is something that should be in art galleries across the country… though… he’d probably burn the paintings before others could see them.

-Of course, he is quite the giver during sex, and the manhandling is only done if you want it… But he likes it a lot. Like, a lot a lot.

-See, Olruggio is very selfless in nearly every aspect of his life. He is so quick to give and give and give that he often forgets that he can take until he is allowed to do so.

-Sex with you is the one time he can be completely and totally selfish when he is allowed, and trust me, he makes miles out of the inches you give him until you tell him to stop.

-So, of course, he likes to bend and stretch you this way and that. He loves to see what you’ll give him, loves to see what he can draw from you, and importantly, he loves the way that it feels to have such control over the situation.

-As much as he loves being bossed around by you, he also loves to boss you around and put you in your place when it's his turn to be the one in charge. Don’t make it too easy for him, though; that won’t be fun.

-Oh, he does this thing when you’re sassing too much, where he’ll draw his thumb over your lip in warning. He doesn’t have to tell you to be quiet because he believes that will be enough to hush you up. If it isn’t, though, you best believe that thumb is slipping into your mouth to hold your tongue down until it learns to be still.

-The other way he likes to shut you up is through a little bit of friendly choking. Nothing too harsh, god forbid you ever bruise or seriously struggle to breathe against him, but a patient and steady squeeze to siphon off the oxygen. Just enough to make you gasp for air when he releases you, just enough to make your blood burn with red-hot pleasure.

-Another thing he’s found himself liking, surprisingly, is when you pleasure yourself while he’s in the room.

-Working on a new spell, a commission, something important… and hearing your pretty sighs in the background, it’s surprisingly helpful in motivating him to get things done. When he’s too burnt out to think, he can simply turn around and get a show to relax to.

-He never touches himself when you do, either, and you’re not sure what the reason for it is. He just refuses himself the opportunity to do so, like a punishment for not finishing his work first.

-It’s easy to coax him into bed with you, if you really want, but his voyeristic tendencies leave you feeling flushed and excited.

-Sometimes he’ll even, shyly, ask you to do specific things for him. Play with your nipples, turn around so he can see it from behind, hump a pillow, and a variety of other things.

-He’s also a fan of thigh riding, which should come as no surprise. The closeness of it all, the way he can really focus on your expressions up close, he can’t help but be enthralled by it.

-He’s also a bit of an exhibitionist, but he’s very careful about where and when you’re having sex around the Atelier. He’d rather the girls never have to find either of you in a compromising position, and while Qifrey finding the two of you wouldn’t be much of an issue, the scolding he’d give after the fact would be.

-Outside of the Atelier, however, is a different story.

-Of course, he still doesn’t want you being caught, voyeurs are not invited for a show… but he doesn’t mind bending you over in a dark alley or grazing fingers across your crotch beneath the bar.

-He’s very careful about how he goes about it, and you’ve yet to be caught by a single soul he doesn’t want peeping, so it's safe to say Olly’s got the whole public sex thing down pat.

-Then, of course, I must address the obvious, which I’m sure we all know: Olruggio’s horribly hidden breeding kink.

-I’d describe it a bit more like his need for a family of his own type thing, but it manifests as a breeding kink naturally.

-He wants nothing more than to build a small family of his own with you. While he tries his best to ignore the nagging voice in his head, muttering endlessly that you would look wonderful holding his babies in your arms, it’s difficult to ignore when you interact with the youngins around the atelier.

-Those girls love you, and you love them to bits and pieces. There is little a sight sweeter in the world than you on their level, teaching them about some spell, smiling wide as their eyes glitter in excitement at the new information.

-He loves it, how could he not? It is only so bad that there are already four children in the atelier, and Qifrey doesn’t seem fond of adding a fifth any time soon, let alone an infant who is so vulnerable.

-A man can still dream, can’t he? And, oh, does our Olly dream. 

-Every night, he hopelessly wishes he could fill you up to the brim. Prays to gods he doesn’t believe in that it will stick and he’ll be allowed to see you teetering around with your swollen belly and those four sweet girls giddily surrounding you.

-It doesn’t matter if you can get pregnant or not; it doesn’t matter what anatomy you have; it’s his dream, goddammit, and he wants you pregnant!

-God, he’s a pervert, isn’t he? You never shame him for it, not when he’s babbling like a madman about how beautiful you would look stuffed up with his kin.

-You should shame him, he thinks, but you like it just as much as he does. Nonsensical or not. Maybe someday in the future, the two of you will find yourselves with children of your own, but not any time soon. (Unfortunately for him.)

-Now, aftercare with Olly is simple compared to his silver-haired friend.

-He much prefers cuddling and pillow talk over any strict regimen that he must follow. The two of you just fucked like rabbits, and he’s expected to get up and clean himself? Nice try.

-No, Olruggio will just lie here with you in his arms and talk, or maybe you’ll bask in the afterglow quietly. So long as he gets to hold you there, he’s satisfied as can be.

-Often, the care comes in the morning after the two of you have snuggled up in the warmth of the sun for a little while longer.

-He always helps you to your feet, and acts as a rock to lean on as the two of you go about taking care of yourselves side by side. He doesn’t like to overstep on what you do, but he does like to do it with you.

-If you need help with anything, you can ask, and he will respond with eagerness, happy to be of service one more time.

-And if you want to help him, he’ll allow you to do so with a smile. There's no reason for him to deny either of you such a connection, so why bother?

-He’s as simple as he always is, and that’s how he likes it.

-Now, to end, let's talk about Olly himself, yes?

-Olruggio lands in the general average for a man of his age, around 5.1’-5.3’ in length. Though I imagine he’s just slightly thicker than other men. More around 4.7-4.8 inches in circumference, a nice stretch, but not so bad that it hurts terribly.

-His head is darker than the rest of him, and it only gets darker the harder he is. Rounded off and uncircumcised, which he hopes isn’t a problem.

-He’s scruffy down there like he is upstairs. Not as though he has a jungle or anything, but it’s more wild than the average man. If you ask him, he’ll clean it up a bit, but he doesn’t want to be bald down there, and the most he’ll do is some trimming.

-He also prefers you with more hair than less down there; something about it just gets him going. Bald is fine, he won’t complain, but the hairier the better for him.

-Anyway, overall, he’s a funny man. His sexual preferences fit his appearance more than his personality does, but even though he’s a bit rough, he’s still utterly smitten with you.

[foresttdreams]

Is there something more to us?

chapter 1

Summary: You're happy. You have a lovely home, a wonderful husband and four bright girls. So, why does Olruggio suddenly make your heart race? And why does Qifrey not seem to mind? Pairing: Poly!Qifrey/Reader/Olruggio Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort Tags: qifrey is a freak and olruggio has a panic attack; multichapter, Established Relationship, polyamory, love confessions, major character injury, accidental love confessions, angst, hurt/comfort, original characters used as plot devices, cross-posted to AO3, no beta cause i post for fun and for free Word count: 4,377 Rating: T/M

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

The atelier was as it always is, comfortable, safe, and warm. The sun flooded the living room with beams of sunlight and the smell of fresh morning dew seeped inside, soaking into the fabrics of the couch and sinking into the wooden floors. 

You were kneeling in front of the record player that sat between the hearth and the stairs. It was a gift from Qifrey, years ago, tuned especially to your tastes. Rich, beautifully polished walnut, with gold faceting and a blooming curved horn to match. It was a masterpiece. Something you had never directly expressed that you wanted but had mentioned it enough that your husband thought it appropriate to buy one. Qifrey has always refused to tell you how much he got it for. 

Now, after years of near regular use, a few of its parts were, unsurprisingly, starting to fail. And no matter how much you tried to repair it at home, you couldn’t. You knew that all you needed was a new lever and to rework the spells tattooed on the grain but you needed to understand the sigils first. That was hard to do when they were steadily disappearing. When you’d ask Qifrey if he remembered what they were he bashfully said no and you when tried to redraw them, your hand would always miss something. 

They would glow for a slip second before dimming, nothing would follow. They were more complex than you had anticipated and were rooted in a speciality magic you didn’t know. 

You sighed as you watched the lever fall for the 20th odd time. With every crank it would play for a few seconds before puttering out expectedly. 

“Mama?” You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of a new voice. You staggered, the crouch you were in suddenly off kilter from the interruption. 

Richeh stood innocently to the right of you, watching you work carefully. 

“Richeh, darling, you’ve got to stop startling me like that.”

She was always so quiet. A soft voice, paired with soft steps and an even softer temperament, left her not forgotten but easily camouflaged. She could slip in and out of a room without being noticed, even with that bright hair of hers. 

“What are you working on?” She asked, tilting her head. 

You reached for her and she stepped forward. You brought her between your legs, leaving your knees to hover near her hips and you jerked your chin over her shoulder. You pointed at the lever and Richeh, fully immersed in your explanation, pressed her palms into your knees as she leaned back. 

“Your music player from Master Qifrey?” Her small hands plucked at your skirt.

You hummed in acknowledgement, “It’s broken, look,” you reached around her and turned it, the player sputtered. Richeh tried it herself, “we can fix it.”

“And do you have an idea of how?” You asked.

She hummed, her lips pursed as she leaned in to examine it, “…no.” 

You chuckled, ruffling her hair, “well if you come up with anything, let me know, okay?” Richeh seemed rather engrossed in trying to repair the thing. With her chin on her hand, she studied the smudged sigils that lined the side of it. Volume, speed, and time related spells that kept the thing going without much human interaction. That was as much as you were able to decipher. You weren’t sure if she would understand more, but who knows? She was bright.

“Let’s not ponder too much,” you said, fondly placing your hand on her head, “We’ve got somewhere to be.” 

As if on queue you heard incoherent hollering from the girls' rooms. You both looked up and watched as Tetia trapeze down the steps with a bag in her hand and a grin on her face. 

“Give that back!” Agott yelled. She came rushing after her, face flushed. 

“But I wanted to see!” Tetia cried out as Agott descended upon her. “It’s so pretty, you never make stuff like this! Coco was making one similar yesterday, right? A little ink bag.” The statement only made Agott flush. Coco came stumbling after them, her hands shaking placidly as she tried to calm the two.

“Tetia, that’s Agott’s,” she looked nervous, eyes darting between the girls. You raised your brow curiously. While they did fight, it was extremely rare. Families always had their quarrels and if you knew anything about sisterhood you knew that sometimes they were something vicious. Even if it was just over a little ink.

Tetia, thinking it was better to cause more of a ruckus than end it, darted to the opposite side of the table to avoid Agott, the meager ink pouch held in her hand. From what you could see it was decently constructed if not a bit uneven and patchy. 

“What is going—” You tried to gather their attention but their bickering drowned you out. 

“Give it back, Tetia!” 

“But it’s cute! I want to show Master Qifrey.” Agott’s face was lit aflame.

“Children.”

“Tetia!” Coco squeaked. Now the pink haired girl was pinned between Coco and Agott and she simply found it amusing. Your voice fell on deaf ears and you sighed as you felt an oncoming headache. “My lord, childr—” 

“Girls, enough.” All of the children froze, including Richeh who clutched your skirts silently, as Olruggio’s voice commanded them from afar.

“What is goin’ on?” He asked. He moved casually from his perch, descending the stairs and approaching you with a basket in hand. You thanked him appreciatively, it was a woven piece you’d often used for groceries and had broken just a few days ago when you were lugging herbs in from the garden. You’d tripped over a rouge brush buddy and stepped on the handle, cracking it right in half. 

You thumbed the newly woven wicker as you watched him. 

“N-nothing, Master Olruggio.” Coco started, trying to keep the peace. “Tetia just—!” 

“Tetia took my things and won’t give them back!” Agott accused pointing at the girl. 

You always admired how Olruggio handled the girls. Both you and Qifrey had a bad habit of letting them get away with things. You were stern but when they looked up at you with those big puppy dog eyes you tended to buckle, and it worked on Qifrey more often than it did you. Olruggio though, the girls had to work to get him to side with them. Olruggio didn’t put up with the bickering and the pouting, he made them stand tall and speak confidently when they wanted something. While he disciplined them far less often, respecting how you and Qifrey were raising them, when he spoke up it meant the children were uncharacteristically out of line.

He ignored Agott’s yelling and Tetia’s whining as he tied his cloak around his shoulders. He nodded towards the two who weren’t creating chaos, “Richeh, Coco, go get yuh coats an’ caps.” The two scurried off obediently. 

“Rain shoes girls, the ground is still soft!” You called after them.

Olruggio reached for your cloak, where it lay draped over the banister. He approached you while addressing the girls that remained. 

“Tetia, should yuh have taken Agott’s things withou’ permission?” He asked. He shook out your cloak and unbuckled the front clasp before stepping in front of you and swinging it around your shoulders. Your immediate reaction was to tell him he didn’t need to do all of that, but Tetia interrupted you. 

“N-no, but—” 

“There are no ‘buts’,” Olruggio said, he brushed away the dust at your shoulders and adjusted the fabric that draped over your front. “Tha’ is not yours.” Tetia handed the small pouch back to Agott who quickly shoved it into her pocket. 

“Agott,” Olruggio said, as he placed your cap in your hand. It’d been sitting on the coffee table. “Do we yell like that when there’s a problem?” 

“...no, sir.” 

“What should we have done?” 

“Get an adult…” she kicked her toe against the hard wood, gaze low.

“Good, now apologize t’one another an’ go get yuh things. We’re leaving shortly.” 

You smiled softly as you watched the two girls offer each other defeated apologies before they left to go gather their cloaks and caps. You looked at Olruggio, “thank you.” 

He shrugged, “they’ve been testy lately. Bein’ cooped up in here has done ‘em no good.”

This spring season has been wrought with storms, and you all, more often than not, have had to stay indoors. Today was one of the only clear days the atelier had seen in weeks and thank god, because you were down to your last loaf of bread and a block of cheese that was starting to grow a second life. You needed to head to Kalhn…for both home goods and your sanity.

When the girls were ready and the carriage was secured you all piled in. The wide seats accommodated the children comfortably. You and Olurrgio sat directly across from one another, while the girls split themselves into two beside you and him. When Olruggio tapped the roof, the pegasus jolted and the carriage soared through the sky. The girls spoke amongst one another, much calmer than they were moments ago while you struggled to un-twist the embellishments of your cloak. You sighed in frustration, the tassels had some how managed to hooked themselves carelessly to the buckles.

Olruggio’s large hands settled over yours and gently pulled at the threads.

“Where is Master Qifrey?” Agott asked. 

“Meetin’ with a client, he’ll catch with us in Kalhn,” Olruggio said, not looking away from his work. When the tassels fell away he mumbled in satisfaction. The sound made you pause and your eyes caught his as they lingered on your skin that poked out of your collar. When you adjusted your shoulder, the image of your flesh falling away, he cleared his throat and moved to look out of the window. You observed him for only a second before smiling at the girls. 

“Now, would we like to play our game this trip?” 

Tetia cheered, “Yes!” 

You laughed and pulled a set of lists from your pocket, handing each child a page. “Remember, you should all work as a team.” You gave Tetia and Agott a pointed look, “and?” 

“Whoever finishes the list first gets to pick something from the Starry Sword!” Coco said cheerfully. 

It was a simple game, the girls would race against each other in groups of two to gather all of the items on their list with a limited amount of money. There were never penalties for ‘losing’ but there were rewards for finishing first. You only ever did this when they were willing to. It was a fun activity that taught them time and money management along with speaking and navigational skills. They’d have to talk to vendors to get the best deals, keep track of their cash, pick the right produce and work together to do it all in a decent amount of time. In the future, when they started working with their own clients, they would be far more prepared to negotiate with the more…stubborn ones of the bunch. 

“Tetia and Agott,” you started “you will work together today.” Both girls nodded, expecting it. 

“That leaves you and me, Richeh!” Coco said. 

“Yes.” Richeh replied. 

A little game never hurt anyone.

The market was packed, nearly shoulder to shoulder, clearly you weren’t the only ones who thought it was a good idea to take advantage of the nice weather. Olruggio helped you down from the carriage and just as the girls were about to disappear into the fray, he whistled, “Oi, yuh have two hours and we meet at the park. Understood?” They saluted him, all grins and giggles before ducking into the sea of people. 

You chuckled and thanked the man, “a bit of peace and quiet?”

“With this crowd, hardly.” He grumbled. He stood close to you. Heat radiated off of him like a furnace but it was surprisingly comforting in this atmosphere. 

“How much money did you give those kids?” He asked as you weaved in and out of the masses. The front stalls were the most crowded but it started to calm as you got closer to the city center. 

“Hm…enough.” You said playfully. You always gave them a little extra cash to buy themselves something. You knew what each of them would come back with. Tetia would be carrying a small bag of chocolate. Richeh with a new trinket. Coco with a little accessory for her brushbuddy and Agott would come back with nothing. She hoarded her cash until she saved enough to get something big. 

“Yuh spoil ‘em,” he said. 

“As if you don’t?” you countered, he looked away. You see what he does for them. It’s often small. Extra servings at dinner, letting them get away with things that Qifrey wouldn’t, offering them contraptions that solve problems that are unique to each girl. He tried to act aloof but he loved seeing them smile and he loved seeing them safe.

You opened your mouth to tease him further but a young man crashed into you nearly sending you to the ground if it wasn’t for Olruggios fast reflexes, “Oi! Watch where you're goin'!” The boy didn’t stop but you figured he wouldn’t. You patted Olruggio’s arm as he balanced you back on your feet. 

“Y’alright?” You hummed in response. You were a little startled but not harmed. You heard annoyed cries from the crowd as the kid continued his race. Crowded, indeed.

“Let’s just get off the street,” you said, searching for a stall you recognized. Ah, the repair shop! You grabbed Olruggio’s wrist and tugged him along. He followed without any protest. When you pushed back the curtain you were greeted by a portly man with oil stains on his forehead and an unruly beard.

“Hi, darlin’, what can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for a crank, for an old record player.” 

“Ah,” he wiped his greasy hands on his apron, “let me see if I have some, it's been awhile since I’ve sold any. You know how big it needs to be?”

You grimaced, “uh, no, unfortunately.” 

He chuckled, “that’s alright just give me a sec.” He disappeared behind the counter, tucking into a room that was piled high with gear and gadgets. 

Olruggio observed a cuckoo clock in the corner, it chimed at the 30 minute mark. “What do you need it for?”

“The record player in the living room broke, I’m still trying to figure out the spells used on it but the manual crank needs a replacement. It only plays for a few seconds before it dies.” Olruggio hummed, “ah, an’ do you know what yer doin’?” 

You chuckled, “no but I was gonna guess until something worked.” Olruggio chuckled and the sound made your chest ache. 

The older man slipped back into the room, digging through a rusted bucket of spare parts, “I don’t think I have what your looking for, must have sold the pieces and forgot. I’m sorry darlin’”

You wave your hand casually, “it’s alright.” 

“Try Louis at the end of the street, he’s got parts for instruments. He may have it. Don’t tell him I sent you through.” You smiled and nodded offering him a gentle thank you for his time before stepping back to it into the market place. Bummer, you’d simply have to wait to fix it then. Something was bound to crop up eventually. 

“Off to get the food then,” you said, Olruggio used his body to carve you a path. You didn’t really notice but the crowd did, they parted for him like water.

“Are you alright with stew this week? It’s been awhile.” You’d wanted to make some during the rain storms but you didn’t have the ingredients. You needed bones for the broth and the last time you cooked a full chicken was weeks ago. 

Olruggio grunted, “you know I’ll eat whateva’ yuh cook.” 

You smiled and held up a head of cabbage, “if I get some bacon will you make those things again.” Olruggio rolled his eyes, “yeah, just put'em in the basket. I’ll buy.” You silently cheered. You were a well enough cook and actually did most of it out of everyone in the household but there were some dishes that only Olruggio and Qifrey could make. Not because they were difficult but they always tasted so much better made by their hands. 

You tapped your chin as you continued down the line, greeting familiar vendors with a warm smile and waving at the little ones that sat stationed in the back. The produce looked divine, surprisingly. The wet weather did little to deter their growth. You plucked tomatoes and carrots from one stall, apples from another. Your favorite flour for dough and some spices for seasonings. You bartered with a gentle tongue and made enough deals to save you some cash.

“Y’okay if I step off for a second. Want to check that place out.” He nodded towards a newly opened contraption shop, run by a younger woman and her father. They made easy to cast contraptions readily available for the public. Olruggio had talked about wanting to visit a few weeks ago. 

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be here.” 

When you reached the end of your list you spent a moment looking over the wine at Mrs. Hannah’s stall. She was an interesting woman with only one eye and a pesky cat but she did make the best liquor in Kalhn and you knew the boys were running low. 

Qifrey doesn't drink as much as Olruggio does but you knew he liked to partake every so often. You turned the bottle over in your hand, a little to expensive. 

You wondered when Qifrey was. He left the atelier much earlier, before the girls even woke. You'd seen him just long enough to get a kiss good morning and a kiss goodbye before he slipped out the door. Him taking a client is extremely rare given his obligations to the girls but he said it was an opportunity he simply couldn’t pass up. When you tried to pry the information out of him, he smiled sweetly and told you not to worry.

Which, honestly, made you worry. A little.

While you were examining a bottle of rich apricot wine you felt a tap on your shoulder. Your head turned. At first you thought it was the boy from before, coming to apologize for the ruckus he caused, but it clearly wasn’t. 

“Name's Senaka.” He said confidently. He was a few years older than you based on the smile lines that decorated his face, but still relatively young with warm brown eyes and slightly crooked teeth.

You offered your name politely but didn’t say anything else. 

“So, Hannah’s homemade wine?” He mused, “the stuff’s strong.” You caught Mrs. Hannah taking a long drag of her cigarette as she watched your exchange. 

“Um, I don’t really drink. It wouldn’t be for me.” You said.

“My girls love a good drink,” he laughed, his smile was charming but that’s all you would give him credit for, “the two of them can put me under the table with how much they can gulp down.” You paused, ah. You knew where this was going. “They’ve even hoping for another drinking buddy, since I can’t keep up.”

He was trying to recruit another wife.

It wasn’t unusual for witches to take more than one partner. It’s an old tradition that can be traced back to the end of the war, where witches would tie themselves to multiple families to ensure the security of their legacies and the safety of their practice. While many of those unions still existed and were legally recognized, they were significantly less common. 

No one really wanted their marriages to be treated like a trade. Your hand for mine. His hand for hers. The magic stays in the family, the power comes with the name. The lifestyle does attract a manipulative lot who often took advantage of the system to gain things for themselves. Whether it be more money, more power, more sex, there was a benefit to the exchange that was almost addictive.

While you'd never thought about adding a third to your marriage and Qifrey has never brought up the possibility, you wouldn't be against it if it were the right person. 

“Are you married?” He asked. 

“Yes.” You said, picking up another bottle. Peach, delicate, sweet, light. Discounted. You reached for the cash in your breast pocket and handed it to Mrs.Hannah. A small black, yellow eyed cat popped up when she went to take it, his tail caressing your wrist, blessing the exchange.

“Hm, children?” 

She handed you your change, it’s twice what it should be but from the glint in her eye you knew she did it on purpose. For your troubles. 

“A few.” 

He whistled, “wow, must be a happy marriage.”

“Very.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he chuckled “so I’m not surprised that you—ah.”

You squeaked when a hand slid along your lower back and settled on your hip. 

“Everythin’ alright, honey?” You looked up and nearly choked. Olruggio observed you casually, as if approaching you like this was the most normal thing in the world. His fingers were stretched across your hip; they didn’t press or poke, but they felt like lead weights. Have they always been that big? 

“O-oh,” play along you thought to yourself, play along. The ring on your finger glints as you point at your basket. “Look at what I found, your favorite!” Olruggio casually reached for it with his other hand, making sure to pull you in a bit closer as he examined the label thoughtlessly. 

Senaka tried to speak again, Olruggio cut him off. “The good stuff, thank you.” He brushed his chin against the side of your head in such a way that the angle looks like he kissed you. His narrowed eyes catch Senaka’s over the crown of your head.

“Can I help you?” He asked but before Senaka could reply he’s interrupted again by your actual husband. 

“Darling, there you are! I’m sorry it took so long, I meant to join you all much earlier. But, look at this pen set I found. It’s adorable, perfect for the girls. Do you think—” He paused when he noticed how Olruggio clung to you, how you were tucked carefully into his side as the dark haired man looked at him over his shoulder. 

“There y’are,” Olruggio said, “come here. Our wife has a bit of stuff t’carry.” 

…our wife? Qifrey blinked. He looked between you and Olruggio. You knew he wouldn’t suspect anything untoward about the situation but you couldn’t help but be nervous under his careful eye. When he noticed Senaka, his face relaxed in realization. 

He stepped forward, slipping the package into your basket and grabbed for the handle. He pulled it away delicately and kissed your cheek. 

“It’s okay,” you tried to take it back but he held it out of your grasp.

“Let ‘im take it, honey.” There that nickname was again. You shivered. 

They slipped into this shared roll a little too easily.

Qifrey’s shoulder brushed yours and for the first time in your life you’re intimidated by them. Not in a way that caused you to fear or made you feel like you needed to cower. It was just…intense and the sensation that filled the pit of your stomach was something you wouldn’t even be able to share in a confessional. 

Olruggio’s grip on your waist tightened when the man in front of you examined you like you were a freshly purchased center piece. You felt Qifrey’s hand twitch against the back of yours. 

There was a sudden gasp and the tension snapped as you craned your head over your shoulder to find the source. 

A middle aged woman clutched her collar as your four children slid around a group of people, nearly toppling into a stray vegetable cart. You winced. No one was hurt and they missed the cart by a hair but the near crash made your heart skip. When they spied you, they rushed forward, crashing into the backs of one another as they skid to a halt. Agott, then Tetia, then Richeh followed by Coco, yelling and waving their purchases like victory pennants. 

Olruggio quickly dropped his hand and casually stepped away.

Qifrey smiled crouching to their level. He's well acquainted with their race, he's the one who created it. “and who won?”

“We did!” Both pairs yelled. You laughed, reaching over and prying them apart. You brushed the dust from their cloaks and smoothed down their wild hair,  “Oh, a tie?” 

Senaka was forgotten as you spoke, standing to the side of the family like a ghost. 

“Oh hello, sir. Did you need something?” Coco asked, ever observant. She greeted him kindly and he seemed to receive it well. He opened his mouth to speak but paused when he caught sight of her bright hair and cap. He looked back at Qifrey and then to her. “Nothing, my friend.”

Senaka’s gaze lingered on Coco. She tilted her head, inquiring silently as to why he was there. She doesn't recognize him and it doesn't seem like the adults did either. 

“No, he was just leavin’ weren’t yuh?” Olruggio said.

Senaka blinked, prying his gaze away from the girl and looking at you. “Yes, right, well…have a wonderful day.” He bowed with his cap in hand before turning, his cloak billowing behind him as he disappeared into the crowd. 

“Curious, I’ve never seen that pattern before.” Qifrey hummed. Most witches recognized each other’s cap designs. It was a calling card, an identifier. You knew what atelier they were a part of, who their teacher was, where they lived. But Senaka’s was unknown to the both of you. 

“Neither have I,” you said, watching the man leave.

“Master Olruggio, look what we got!” 

“You girls cause nothin’ but trouble.”

“It’s this contraption that Agott found,” Richeh said, “got it from the new store.”

“Let me see that.” 

"Alright everyone," Qifrey said, catching the group's attention, "I think it's time we head home."

[staampede]

cw: not technically cheating but could be read as such.

you go out to the bar one night.

vash pushes you to do so, really. ushering you out of the house dressed in your...well, more or less best, with him promising he'll feed the cats and refill your humidifier and everything. he's even learned how to cook after watching the stacks of takeout boxes begin to pile up outside in the trash he takes out.

he's far too domestic.

and all you want to do is stay inside with him, all the time.

but no, he doesn't let you. and it makes sense. you haven't gone out with your friends in ages, honestly, and as you walk down the road into the main strip you live near (which somehow manages to not be loud enough to disturb you—your city isn't massive though, not by a long shot, so you guess it works), you kick a rock.

wonder if he'll be there again.

because deep down, it's not the fact that you like being around vash. you do, but that's not it. no, you avoid going out because you know exactly whose going to be at your local watering hole and your usual places, lurking around and watching you as you chat up new guys. tall, dark, and handsome.

nico and you may be exes, but he really doesn't do that well.

neither do you.

so when the door to the bar opens with the bell ringing above it, your eyes land on one person. and for once, there's no stomach dropping feeling upon locking eyes with him. there's no fear, or concern, or plain annoyance you're used to. no, it's an entirely different feeling squirming around in your veins as you slip into a seat at the bar, ordering your usual.

butterflies.

your thighs clench together.

"y've been missin' from here a lot, you know."

he made his way over faster than usual. you look over at him anyway, the crumpled cigarette hanging out his mouth. it's a shock the rolling papers he uses hold any of it together, like he just shoves the sticks right into his pockets instead of the box they came in. or in a damn holder, at least.

you snatch it from his mouth to take your own hit, and nico lets out a noise of irritation as he slides into the seat next to you. not enough to deter you, but enough to show he's mad. but it's clear, as you side-eye him, that he missed you. why else would he say that to you? you twirl in your seat.

"maybe i met somebody."

"bullshit."

his answer is quick. fast. you tut. "not very good of a man of the cloth to say, hmm?"

he snorts. "i quit that. not long after you stopped coming."

it's been...two years, you think? time blends together, the edges softened by the weed and the depression. but you're still surprised, stopping so you're fully facing him. nico doesn't look any different; maybe a little more grizzled, his shirt unbuttoned a bit to show some of his chest hair. a silver cross sits nicely in the empty gap. you've seen it in other scenarios, when he's leaning over you with the point dangling in your face. swinging above you like a pendulum, hypnotizing you to its movements just as he—

you shake your head. "why?"

he shrugs. "couldn't make myself go anymore. felt guilty. ironic, isn't it?"

small talk ensues after that. he's been working around at a car mechanic locally, picking up shifts at the orphanage too. your heart, every second that passes, melts just a bit more. but knowing a pretty white collar isn't adorning his throat...your relief is palpable, and even nico can tell. he can tell everything about you. being together for almost a decade will do that to you.

he gave up the cloth because of me?

you don't get the answer, but you do end up with your head pushed against the linoleum of the bathroom wall in the handicapped stall as nico presses you up against it. the chill feels like singes against your warm skin, beer hot and heavy in your stomach as you moan at nico's kisses pressed to your throat.

"yeah? y'missed me?"

your leg pushes in between his own as you feel him steadily growing harder. he was always massive, but it feels worse. throbbing. how long had it been since he got laid? had he waited for you this whole time? why would he do something like that? you weren't worth all of that, but there was still something sickening in your chest that found an appreciation there anyway.

"yeah, 'course i did."

the growl he lets out against your skin is fucking primal. your legs clamp around his thigh as you shudder against him. vash is so much sweeter, kind and caring and takes his time. but god, nico is all hands and movements and aggressive and just...

"let me take you home."

your eyes snap open. "your place."

nico shakes his head. "legato's there. you hate legato."

you snort. "i don't hate legato. i just hate the way he looks at me like i'm a piece of meat, that's all."

nico snorts. "what's wrong with your place? got something there you don't want me to see?"

you don't answer.

he looks at you with a...strange sense of understanding. "it's fine, y'know. i know i haven't earned going back there. it's okay."

jesus, what happened to him?

you let him take you to his place. your phone stays silent for the rest of the night. you're guessing vash expected this. and you guys weren't a thing, anyway, at least exclusively that you knew of. and honestly, maybe it was worse that you felt no guilt in crawling into nico's bed.

none at all.

(the next morning, nico makes you pancakes. legato is nowhere to be found. you don't question it.)

[newtsnaturethings]

i'm back in the fucking building

[akiratrimochi]

WELCOME BAAAACK......i guess

[slavhew]

handsome princess