#...then you go away from it and you discover the rest of the world and sometimes you come back to that first person anyway”.

[kenyummy]

✰ 01. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 01. sparkless life.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: guys i couldnt resist posting criesssss . also master is used as a gender neutral term!!!! couldn't be bothered to put master/mistress every time so

prev. ✰ masterlist. ✰ next.

When you wake up, your eyes are permeated by a hard light. Your eyes are squinted hard and you're having a difficult time getting your eyes to focus.

Your brain is fuzzy and feels like melted candy in your head. What was going on, again...? This bed... it's really comfy. It's like laying on a bed made of clouds, fairy dust, and your hopes and dreams.

(Nothing like your lumpy mattress back home... May told you it built character.)

You reach your hand up, to try and block out the harsh glare directed right into your retina. It dims in a second, and for a moment—you think you've finally developed mutant powers of telekinesis. You sit up—only to discover you were not actually the one who turned off said lights.

"Apologies, Master [name]." An older man with a distinct British accent stands in the door—a few feet away from the bed you're resting on. "I did not realise you had awoken already. I would've turned down the lights, if I was aware."

You blink, surveying the room around you. It's big. Unfamiliar, as well. Modern. Really big. Wait, did he just call you—

"Master [name]?" Your mouth moves faster than your mind, and your brows furrow deep. "What... where am I?"

The older man looks genuinely puzzled at how defensive your stance is. "Oh dear. Perhaps you did end up getting lead poisoning. Or a concussion. ... No matter. This recent amnesia is common within traumatic injuries."

He clears his throat with strict elegance and straightens his posture, "[name]. I believe you were attacked in an alleyway, when your brother found you. You were in the hospital for a few days, and brought back here—back home—this morning. You're currently in one of your father's guest rooms. The doctors said you were healing miraculously fast."

You hiss lowly. You really hope they hadn't gotten a blood sample—you haven't had the best of experiences with people getting your blood.

"You seem to be alright now. A bit..." He looks at your exposed, scarred shoulders. "Scuffed up—but better than when Master Jason had found you."

Your brother... Jason...? Who even...?

What's going on here?

Your heart seems to skip a beat as the calculations start going off in your head. A world you had never heard of... a place you'd never seen before—perhaps you weren't on a different world, and like you had suspected... it was definetly some multiverse shenanigans again.

You knew you should've made Jess take that mission instead of you. Damn. You and your dumb rivalry with Doc.

But you couldn't understand why this random man knows you. He speaks as if you've lived a life with him—like he's known you since...

You chew down on your bottom lip. "... This is... my home. I live here, don't I...?"

You play with words cautiously, speaking slow and methodical. It only serves to confuse the man even further.

"Yes, you... do? Master [name], perhaps you should go back to the hospital. You're sounding rather frazzled—"

You almost jump up, out of the sheets, "Uh—no! I... I'm fine. My head's just a bit... messed up right now. Sorry."

It's not—after that flashbang, you're feeling fine. Your shoulder only burns with a stretch whenever you put too much pressure on it—but you're completely okay otherwise. But you don't think you should let him know that just yet.

"If you insist, Master [name]." He bows his head. "Do you require any further assistance?"

You blink, considering your choices.

Eventually, you land on the safest option. Search your surroundings. Find out what's going on here before going all Spider-ham on them. For all you know—they're super skrulls waiting for the right moment to strike. You need to be smart about this.

"Yes... I would like to go to my room... could you... walk me there?" You don't meet his stern gaze. "I'm not sure I'm able to walk on my own two feet just yet. I'm sorry."

You don't see how his stare softens at your words. "Of course, Master [name]."

He walks over to the edge of the bed and steadies you with a hand on your shoulder as you shakily stumble out of the bed. It's bouncy enough to launch you forward slightly—and it takes every muscle in your body to stop your Spidey-instincts from taking over and jumping backwards.

He slips your arm within his and steadies you as you both slowly walk out of the large guest room. If this was a guest room—you wonder what your room looked like.

The hallways weren't anything to sneeze at, either. Decorated with contemporary art pieces—sleek and so shiny you could see your face in the tiles below your bare feet. You felt so out of place—the civilian clothes you sported since you got here still dressed your body, and it wasn't even close to fitting in.

As you stumble down the halls with a bit of overdramacy, a man suddenly appears from around a corner. Deep black hair and the brightest blue eyes you'd ever seen. His smile is wide and he waves enthusiastically, "Hey, Alfred! I got back from Blüdhaven after uh—I heard what happened."

"Hello, Master Dick. It's lovely to see you back home again." Alfred nods his head. The man in question—Dick, apparently, which makes the immature teen in you giggle—gives you a sorrowful expression.

But... doesn't say anything past that. He continues small talk with Alfred—and you're left propped up in the older man's arms with a lost expression.

Did he... just blow you off?

One—that was pretty rude. Two, did he not just say he came back after he heard what happened? Not to toot your own horn or anything—but you'd assume being shot kind of counts as a "what happened".

You press your lips firmly together. This was getting awkward for you, especially seeing how comfortable this huge Dick (yeah, you're taking it and running with it) seemed to be with leaving this sickly, wounded (maybe you're being a tad dramatic) person to stumble like a baby fawn, in silence.

Alfred, however—catches sight of your one-sided tension, and abruptly ends his conversation. "My apologies, Master Dick, but I must help [name] to their room. I would love to continue this conversation at a later date."

"Oh yeah, no sweat, Alfred." He gives the older man a gleeful thumbs up. Then, his eyes meet yours. "Get better soon, okay?"

You avert his stare and only nod in response. Well, at least he noticed you were there. You're still in mild shock, but you somehow manage to keep a pleasant expression. With one last small smile, Dick walks away—where, you don't really care about.

Alfred slowly helps you up a flight of stairs. He only breaks the silence after you find yourself standing in front of a room with a faded name on it. Your name. "... All these years, and only now, you've suddenly changed. I wonder..."

His words are cryptic, but his expression even more so. What was he talking about? "... Huh?"

A small smile fades on his face. "Ah... no. It's nothing. I was thinking out loud. Call me if you need anything else, Master [name]. I am at your service. And please... get better soon."

Somehow, it sounds nicer when he says it. You smile a little, and give him a nod.

"Thank you..." You test out his name on your tongue. It feels natural. "Alfred. I'll try my best."

He leaves with a curt nod and not another word. You finally slide the door open, and take a look around.

You step inside, and it's like you've entered a whole new world, again.

It's... small. Not by regular standards—it's almost double the size of your room at home—but compared to a guest bedroom in this overly massive home... it's rather small. Like a closet, more than a bedroom.

It's empty, too. Your room at home is decorated with posters and trinkets of your favourite shows, pictures of you with Harry and MJ (sometimes even the four), and memorable items you've collected with your friends and family over the years.

Memories. You had memories.

There is nothing here.

It's like you're standing in a blank slate—in a world where you are nothing and yet everything you've ever had. It sends a chill down your spine.

You walk barefoot across cold wood and take a seat on the bedsheets. Bare white with a unicorn print. Something a young child would use. It looks pretty scuffed up. Old. The mattress creaks under your weight and you wince.

There's a bookshelf just opposite to you. There's not much in it—in fact, it's smaller than small and is almost completely empty. There's nothing but school textbooks and thick novels. And...

It catches your eye almost immediately. A little pink slip in the midst of deep black and brown colours. You stand up—ignoring the creak that follows—and walk over to the shelf.

You slip the book out, and immediately take in its cover. Pink, and with your name in wonky cursive. It's rather dusty, as if it hadn't even been touched in years.

You flip open the cover. Big bubble letters spelling out My diary flash you and you quickly flip the page before the glitter sears into your eyelids.

The first entry is there. Exactly seven years and two months ago. It's nothing like those entries you've seen on those corny 2000's TV shows for tweens—nor is it like those aesthetic journaling girls on Pwinterest.

It's something, familiarly, you. A short clunk of text about your day, on days that had some sort of exciting event going on—something you'd undoubtedly do. It almost makes you grimace.

This whole multiverse thing might be worse than you thought.

Two days ago I moved into a new house. My mom said she couldn't take care of me anymore, and I had to live with my dad. I've never seen him until today, but he's really busy, so we don't talk much. Alfred is nice to me, and his cooking is really yummy.

There's a little sketch of a baked dinner—and despite your pre-tween art skills, it does seem rather tasty looking.

You flip the page. The next entry is a week after the last.

I still haven't talked with dad yet. But I did meet two new people. Alfred said that they're my new brothers. Mom never wanted any more babies, so I was very excited to meet them! Jason is fun to play with. He's really bad at hide and go seek, though—I always win! Dick is fun too, but he's busy a lot, like dad. But he always makes time for me and Jason. I really like it here.

There's a small picture of three stick people holding hands. One is significantly short than the other two—labelled with your name above. The one on the left to you is Jason, with black curls and a wide grin. The one on the right is labelled Dickie, much taller than the other two and with shaggy black hair.

The drawing is innocent. Cute. Wholesome, if you will. There's even heart stickers pasted (and peeling, by now) between each of your heads.

You flip the page with a small, fond smile. The next entry is three days after that one.

Dad played with me, Jason, and Dickie today. He was really bad at hide and go seek too—but Dad and Jason chased each other all around the house before I caught both of them. I was so happy I won today! Dad took us all out for dinner, even Alfred. Alfred said he only came because I always look very happy when we're together. The dinner was really yummy!!!!

The drawing underneath is a picture of what looked like a smaller version of you, standing triumphantly with a little tiara on your head.

You flip the page. This time—there's a significant gap between the dates. This was a whole 5 months after you last wrote in your diary.

I don't know where Jason is. Dad and Dickie look really sad. They've been really busy for a long time, and we don't play much anymore. The only times I see Dad is at dinner. But we don't talk. Sometimes he doesn't eat dinner, either. Alfred still puts my drawings on the fridge, and he says that Dad and Dickie are just sad now, and they'll be better soon. I miss Jason. I want him back home.

There's no silly-looking drawing to go underneath this entry. This Jason—apparently the man who saved you—seemed rather fun-loving, despite whatever happened to him. You wonder what it was.

You flip the page, again. This entry was 3 months after the last.

I miss Dad, and Dickie. Dickie told me he had to go away for a bit, because he has something important to do somewhere else. Dad is busy all the time. I haven't seen him in 4 days. I don't play with anyone but Alfred now, but he's not that fun to play with, because he's so serious all the time. Dad tells me to go on my iPad and not bother Alfred when I'm bored, but I miss them.

Next one is 2 days after.

I met a new boy today. Dad told me he's my new brother. I was pretty excited because he's my age. But he didn't want to talk to me. He said he was too caught up in important stuff, and that I should just come back later. But he looked real annoyed when saying it—so I didn't come back. He didn't say anything, so I don't think he cared.

A week later.

My dad is Batman, and my new brother is Robin. I'm freaking out. He never told me—I saw them sneaking out one day and I got really mad. Why didn't he tell me? Did Dickie and Jason know? Was I the only one who didn't? Tim got mad at me when I started yelling. I felt really sad so I hid in my room to get away from them. I've been here since. Alfred brought me dinner, but I'm not hungry.

So... this Batman who you saw before, is actually your dad? In this world, this is your father? You almost drop the diary in shock, but you can't tear your eyes away. You can't stop reading.

The next few entries don't catch your eye—it's all teen angst about how you're sick of how busy your dad is, how annoying Tim can be, how Dick won't even visit your room anymore—until something else catches your eye.

3 years later.

Jason is back. He's back home. I don't know why, but he's back. I was so excited to see him again—everyone else has become so busy and won't even talk to me. Nobody else has time for me, but Jason did. But he looked different. He's way older than me, now. He won't even look at me. I tried to hug him but he just put a mask on and walked away. Why is everyone doing this to me? What did I do? It's not fair.

Your writing grows into chicken scratch near the end—as if conveying your frustration. You skim through a few more entries. More teen angst. More about how you can't even hold a conversation with your siblings anymore.

Some were sweet, like how you met some people, unnamed, and treasured their friendship so deeply, but they were few and far between.

I met a girl today. She's my sister now. Her name is Cassandra, and she has very pretty eyes. I tried to talk to her, but dad got pretty mad at me because apparently she doesn't like to talk much. How was I supposed to know that? She didn't even look at me as dad pulled her away. Who even is she? Why does my dad like her better than me? It's not fair.

You're bitter. You're upset, and so, so bitter. It's so abundantly clear that as time went on, you became progressively more and more spiteful. It was rather sad to watch.

This stupid little kid tried to kill me. Claimed I was unworthy. I couldn't give less of a shit what he thinks—but my family couldn't give less of a shit about me. They said he's troubled, that he needs patience.

The new few words were less than family friendly. Unkind? Definitely. Deserved? Possibly.

I can't believe this. I'm so sick of this. I want to get out. I can't take this anymore. Jason kills people now, but Bruce still loves him. Even Steph and Babs get more love from Bruce than me. They're not even in the family, but they're better. Because they're superheroes, they're better. Maybe I'll be a hero myself. Maybe then, they'll see me.

You flip the page. That's the last entry. The last page of the book—but behind it, there's a page made of sticky notes on the back cover. Your eyes widen in shock at what you see.

It's all...

"Spidey," you read out the name atop this pasted page in a low whisper.

Your fingertips trace over the detailed drawings. Your costume. Though not made of nanotech—the suit was intricately designed with spider patterns falling all around your arms and legs, with a large spider torso. It looked somewhat like Silk's suit.

Web shooters, with thorough calculations on how much you'd have to bulk up to swing without taking your arm off (which, by what you're reading, was humanly impossible for a regular you), and detailed explanations on what the web fluid was made out of.

More environmentally sustainable than your ones. You'd have to take these notes back home.

It wasn't like your family would go looking—you can't help but think, chewing on your cheek. This was incredible. You must've been a real genius to figure all this out.

Back home, you had Reed and Tony help you with all your spider stuff. Sure, you were the one who came up with all the base ideas and constructed it all yourself—but they helped out a lot with all the technicalities. But to come up with something like, from what you can tell, all on your own...

It was nothing short of incredible. And your family had no idea.

You snap the book shut, eyes narrowing down at the ground. Your Aunt May never would've treated you like this—and if you were correct, this other you must be with your aunt right now.

Good for her, you think. Maybe she'd be happier there, anyway.

A sudden knock at your door brings you out of your stupor. You slip the book away quickly as Alfred opens the door, bowing his head slightly. "Master [name], dinner is ready. If you're feeling better, please come down."

The prospect of a family dinner leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, especially after all you've read from this diary. No matter. You don't know how this you behaved before, but you have bigger issues to deal with than becoming a copy of this sad child.

But despite everything... Alfred really did seem to care for them—for you. You nod, smoothing out your cami. "Thanks. Let's go."

You and he both head down the stairs, and you finally come face to face with the family you've heard so much about.

They're all grinning from ear-to-ear, laughing about something that "happened on patrol" as you take a seat at the end of the table—beside a blonde girl who you think was called Stephanie—chewing on the food.

It was good. Really good. Almost as good as Aunt May's meatloaf. The thought makes you feel a little homesick, but you persevere. The hard glare given to you across the table by this small kid (definitely Damian) isn't helping, though.

Dick catches the look and follows his little brothers gaze to you. He doesn't say anything about it—only ruffles the boy's hair, chuckling, and asks why he seems so glum. The child hisses and starts trying to stab the man with a steak knife, to no avail—of course.

That was the last time you were even glanced at for the rest of the dinner. You almost can't believe it. How could somebody really fade into the background like that? How could such a family let it happen?

How could they be so ignorant? You lose your appetite soon enough, and stand up. The chatter dies down for a second. Stephanie—being the closest toward you, gives you an uncomfortable smile, "Are you not going to finish? You were out for a while... you need energy to get back up and do..."

Whatever it is you do at home, you guess that's probably what she was thinking. Who said you hadn't gotten a telepathic mutation?

She doesn't finish her sentence. You'd just met these people and already you were sick of this. Seriously, you don't think you could get any more uncomfortable if somebody strapped you to a chair and tossed you down a dark well.

You miss the most fantastic of fours you know. They'd never do this to you. Sue was far too sweet.

You shake your head, plate held tight in your hand. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. There's much more important things out there in Gotham, isn't there? Besides—I have more than enough time to heal. Not like I'm doing any hero stuff, huh?"

Your laugh lacks any kind of humour, and you walk out in your typical Spidey fashion. The chatter doesn't spike up for a good ten minutes until after you leave.

You meet Alfred in the kitchen, and he's doing countless dishes alone. There's a stack of plates almost as tall as he is. You roll up your sleeves.

He gives you a confused look. "Master [name]? I have told you before, you—"

"I don't care what you told me." You say, suddenly—but you backtrack when you realise how flat your tone was. Cheeks flushed, you correct yourself, "Ah—sorry. I meant... I don't care what you told me, because it doesn't matter if you don't want help... I'll offer it anyway, you know? I can't help it. It's how I am."

It's why I'm Spidey. Not because I have powers. Not because I'm good at swinging around. Not even because the costume is awesome.

It's because you can't help but help others. You have the power to do so—now it's your responsibility.

You take a sponge, and douse it in dishwashing liquid. You scrub down a porcelain plate beside Alfred in silence.

The pensive look on his face was now replaced by a small, fond smile.

we getting into the typical diary entry stuff okokokkkk but. love interests next chapter. smirks let me cook!!!@

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms @1abi @yhin-gg @insideoutjulie @bluepanda08 @omnivirgo @vanessa-boo @dind1n @welpthisisboring @lunaetiicsaystuff @marsmabe @atanukileaf @findingjaxx @4mrplumi

if you asked to be on the taglist but aren't there, your account couldn't be tagged for whatever reason. im not too sure how tumblr works, but if you manage to fix it, ask me again!!!

[narcissistshandler]

what about gentle morning sex with afab!chigiri? 🤤 (please I beg you)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚

pairing. chigiri hyoma x male reader

warnings. afab!chigiri, amab!reader, top!reader, bottom!chigiri, vaginal sex, the words pussy, cunt and clit are used, cumming inside, chigiri wears panties, consensual somnophilia, morning sex

a/n. Hmm begging really is my weakness, how did you know? hope you like it

The world comes back in pieces to him. First, the weight of an arm draped over his waist, heavy and familiar. Then, the distant hum of morning, the quiet creak of the ceiling fan, the soft rustle of sheets as he shifts under the heavy blanket. The air is warm; the drowsiness dragging his senses.

Chigiri doesn’t open his eyes yet. There’s no rush. Instead, he stretches his legs under the blankets, the fabric slipping against his bare thighs, his breath slow, deep. Comfort comes with the feeling of your chest rising and falling behind him, steady and pleasant. It's an intimate domesticity that pushes Chigiri back to sleep, his entire body sinking into the bed.

Fingers twitch against his stomach. A lazy pull, as if to keep him from slipping away. He lets out a quiet hum, pressing back into the warmth, into the weight of the morning. But instead of you hugging him, holding him against your strong form and letting him go back to sleep, he vaguely hears, like a murmur, your voice in his ear.

He makes a sound in response, a little grumpy. Let me sleep, he tries to say, but his mouth doesn't move.

Your fingers slide to his waist, finding the soft cotton of the panties on his hips. You rock against him and Chigiri then feels your erection pushing against his ass. He vaguely realizes then that you were already awake and talking softly to him for a while now, not really expecting an answer. Despite the fog almost carrying him away, he feels heat prickling beneath his skin. This had been something you had talked about before. After teasing you about your morning habits, always ready to start the day when he needed all the rest he could get, Chigiri discovered that maybe he wasn't so against the idea of letting you have him while sleeping. Since he could return to dreamland, full and warm, he liked the thought.

Chigiri was already a little wet between his legs when you slid his panties to the side. Enough to be an uncomfortable sensation; feeling the slick build up inside him sometime during the night. Chigiri buries his face in the pillow, trying to go back to sleep despite the anticipation wanting to keep him awake.

Your fingers slide between his folds, spreading the wetness as far as you can with his position and his panties getting in the way. From his tight hole to his sensitive clit. Chigiri orders his body to move, to spread his legs and give you more room to move, but the thought barely forms in his mind. His body doesn't react beyond the growing excitement.

He doesn't need to though. The fat head of your cock press against him, kissing his plump folds, pushing into his already soft entrance with an smooth stroke. It's an easy, slippery glide. It feels even tighter because of his thighs pressed together, and Chigiri feels the entire path of your cock pushing and pushing inside through the accumulated wetness, making space inside him in a way that only you could do. You breathe against the back of his neck, sleep-heavy voice talking to him. Chigiri is so drunk on drowsiness and pleasure that he barely registers the actions: the touch on the curve of his waist, the tear in his panties when you tug insistently, your fingers stroking his hair as your hips move forward.

His muscles contract and his walls clench sweetly around the invasion, the feeling of you stretching him open is almost too much to bear. Chigiri is slightly aware of you talking to him nonstop, "You're already so wet, what have you been dreaming about, hm?... No, no, don't move, just like that, baby, relax for me... My perfect princess, always ready for me." He barely processes the entire conversation, the gentle sway of your hips, sweet as honey, undulating in and out of him commands relaxation in his muscles. His entire body melts beneath your hands, boneless, his pussy warm and soft like velvet around you.

The heat grows thick and pleasant between his legs, without alarm, driven by the pleasure that turns his bones to liquid. In a few minutes, without even thinking properly as the pressure builds, he feels himself getting hot and wet around you. Cumming softly, like a warm up, for you.

Chigiri registers a pathetic whimper, only later realizing the sound comes from his own throat, protesting when you pull back and your cock slides out of him, leaving him empty while his cunt convulses around nothing. The desperate need to feel you inside him again is almost enough to disturb his drained mind.

You shush him, “Hush, darling, you are okay, go back to sleep." Before lining yourself up once more, sink easily into the slick folds of his pussy with a single thrust. You don't start fuck him hard though, caressing his hair and kissing his shoulders and neck lulling him back to sleep. You just lay there for a moment, still inside him without moving, letting him squeeze and flutter around you as the weak tremors pass through him. Normally, fucking him while he was still coming down from his orgasm would be too much stimulation for him, but this time, it pushes him back to that safe place.

Only when his breathing slows and the protest dies down do you start moving again, your cock filling his needy pussy, taking your time, savoring the tight heat surrounding your member. Taking advantage of the looseness of his body to get what you need to start your day.

At some point, Chigiri's mind goes black.

He stirs what could be minutes or hours later, restless under the sheets that have become too stuffy. He kicks them off and when he does, feels the wetness sticking between his thighs and a pleasant warmth inside him where he clenches around the cum you filled him with. Heat rushes to Chigiri's face as he reaches between his legs and pushes two fingers inside his full cunt, pushing the fluids back inside himself.

[sunsetmade]

Taking Chances

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: The pouges take pleasure in locking Rafe away, all except for one.

She had felt bad for him. Why? She wasn’t really sure. Yes, he had done some… not-so-good things, but in her eyes, everyone deserved a second chance.

So, every time she saw him, instead of groaning or rolling her eyes like the other pouges, she would give him a soft smile. It was so subtle that she never thought he would even notice. But he did. Her kindness confused him, and sometimes angered him. Why was she so nice to him?

But over time, he grew fond of her soft nature, even though he’d never admit it. And any time he would insult the pouges and give them a hard time, she was always left out of the berating.

This dynamic between them, though, became more complicated as treasure kept getting discovered. She was out regularly searching for the treasure with the pouges, and he was out hunting them.

The hardest time was when they locked Rafe in the tiny closet on a boat they had stolen. His screams to be let out were loud and torturous. She closed her eyes, resting her head on her arm, hoping to drown him out.

“You okay?” Pope asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. She could tell he thought she was becoming seasick, which wasn’t entirely false. She looked up, giving him a weak smile, and nodded. His screams rang out again, and she couldn’t bear it any longer.

“I’m going to bring him some food,” she said quietly, hoping not to seem suspicious.

They nodded, and she grabbed some spare snacks, taking them down to the tiny closet. When she reached the door, she hesitated, his pleads to be let out having stopped. His heavy breaths could still be heard. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

His bloodshot eyes met hers, hard and guarded. She bit the inside of her lip. “I brought you some food,” she said, her voice softer than she intended.

Rafe’s gaze didn’t soften, but he didn’t look away either. He just watched her as she slowly placed the snacks in front of him. After a long silence, she sat down beside him, her body tensed, and eyes scanning his beaten-up clothes and exhausted face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

Rafe’s eyes snapped to hers, confusion flickering in them. “Sorry?” he repeated, his voice hoarse, raw. “For what? For locking me in here?” His voice was rough, raw, his throat clearly sore from all the screaming. But his words weren’t directed at me—they were more like a challenge, testing the waters of whatever this... this strange connection was between us.

She flinched but didn’t look away. “For everything,” she said quietly. Rafe’s eyes flickered for a moment, the hard, defensive exterior cracking just a little as he saw the raw sincerity in mine. The silence stretched between us, the tension heavy and thick, like the air before a storm.

I wasn’t sure what I was doing there. I wasn’t even sure why I was apologizing to him, of all people. He didn’t deserve my sympathy—he was cruel, dangerous, and had made it clear more than once that he saw the world in black and white. But there was something in his eyes now, a vulnerability, that made my heart ache. Maybe he was always like this, underneath the arrogance and bravado, but no one ever bothered to see it.

I had learned a long time ago that Rafe’s anger wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about anyone, really. It was just the armor he wore to shield himself from the world. I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to steady my nerves.

“They just want to be careful. Assuming you’re going to trick us again.,” I said softly, but intending for him to listen. “I know that.” He responded. The words tasted bitter as they left my mouth, but it was the truth. The pouges didn’t trust him—hell, I wasn’t sure anyone did. But I also knew that Rafe wasn’t beyond redemption. I could see the flicker of something better in him, if he’d only let himself feel it. But he wouldn’t. Not yet at least.

Rafe turned his gaze toward me again, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not like them,” he muttered, almost to himself. His voice was so quiet, I almost didn’t hear it, but the weight of it lingered in the air. There was something fragile in his tone that caught me off guard.

I blinked, surprised by the admission. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, I wondered if I had imagined it. But then he sighed, rubbing his face with his hands, a weary gesture that made him seem older than he was. “They think I’m the bad guy. They always have. But you—” He stopped, as if unsure how to finish the thought.

“I don’t think you’re the bad guy,” I said before I could stop myself, my voice soft but sure. The words felt too honest, too raw, but I couldn’t take them back now.

His gaze held mine for a beat, and something shifted in his expression. It was so fleeting, so quick, that if I hadn’t been watching him so closely, I might have missed it. But there it was. The smallest hint of vulnerability, the barest hint of hope.

“You’re crazy,” he whispered, but there was no malice behind the words. Only disbelief.

I let out a shaky breath, standing up slowly. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. That somehow, I was walking a dangerous line between kindness and betrayal. But I couldn’t walk away now—not when I finally understood that Rafe Cameron was as broken as everyone else. Maybe more so.

“I’ll see you later,” I said, my voice quieter this time, unsure if I was speaking to him or to myself. He didn’t respond, but his eyes followed me as I turned to leave, his gaze lingering long after the door clicked shut behind me.

As I walked back to the others, my heart was heavy, my mind swirling with thoughts of Rafe. I wasn’t sure what I had done, or if anything would change. But for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of him. I wasn’t afraid to see what was underneath all the hate and anger.

And maybe, just maybe, I was starting to believe that he wasn’t beyond saving.

[iangallagherisadeadman]

paul by big thief (masterpiece, 2016)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ thank you @fionnagallagher and @shamelesscreencaps for the screencaps ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[torchwood-99]

Eomer and Eowyn only talk to each other once in the films

but they communicate so much.

When Eomer first returns with a wounded Theodred, an entire dialogue is shared between Eomer and Eowyn without a single word passing between them.

This mutual look of concern, they're both on the same page.

Eowyn then goes on to look at Theodred's wound. It's interesting that Eomer now looks curious above all things, he's waiting on Eowyn's judgement.

Eowyn looks at the wound and grimaces. It's bad. Theodred isn't going to survive this.

She looks to Eomer, who looks back at her in grim resignation.

They go to Theoden to inform him of the situation. As Eomer walks by Eowyn, he doesn't speak to her or interrupt her, but he puts his hand on her back as he passes. Even when the focus is on other things, he is giving her that gesture of support and fondness. That it is done without fanfare shows that this sort of affection is commonplace.

They both stand before the throne, both of them united in their attempt to reach through to their uncle. They're a team, a unit.

Eomer throws down proof that Saruman, who Grima is trying to portray as a friend to Rohan, is sending his soldiers to terrorise their people.

Eowyn gives Grima a death glare, challenging him to refute her brother's accusations. She's on Eomer's side, Eomer's team.

Eomer sees Grima looking at Eowyn, and knows what he wants. It fills him with fury.

Eowyn sees her brother choking Grima against the wall. She looks on in cold silence, then walks away.

When Aragorn reveals that the beacons have been lit, Eowyn rushes into the throne room, drawing to a stop at Eomer's shoulder. They wait together for Theoden's judgement.

When it comes, and Theoden sends Eomer to muster the troops, Eomer bows, but even before he has fully straightened up, his eyes go to his sister.

Again, no words exchanged, simply a look of common understanding. They both know what the risks are, they both know what is at stake, for the world, for their country, for their family.

Before Eomer leaves, he touches Eowyn's arm, before walking away.

With Eomer gone, we see a steely determination come into Eowyn's eyes. Now there's something Eomer's missing, now Eomer's back is turn and there's something about his sister that she's keeping from him. She's riding to battle.

The one time they speak to each other, they're in opposition. About Merry, about Eowyn, about war.

The words are harsh. Eomer is stern, Eowyn is defensive.

But Eomer puts his hand on Eowyn's shoulder. He doesn't say "I don't want you to get hurt, I don't want you in battle", but that hand on her shoulder, tells the audience that's exactly what he's saying.

Those small moments of physical affection culminate in one great moment, when stern, stoic Eomer discovers Eowyn on the battle field, and breaks down in tears, cradling her and rocking her like she's a child.

And his devotion to her is ultimately shown in him sitting small and hunched, tucked in on himself, crouching down in armour for what seems to have been a lengthy space of time, as he sits by her side, waiting for her to be healed.

This is such an effective way of showing to an audience that two characters love each other, when there is a limited time window. The movie needed to crack on to cover the ground it needed to cover, and with so many important dynamics to reveal to the audience, the creators needed to be time effective. Eomer and Eowyn don't share much screen time, but the looks exchanged, the passing moments of intimacy, tells us clearly that these are two people greatly fond of each other, and have been fond of each other a long time.

The lack of spoken dialogue almost enhances it. Little is said between them because little needs to be said. They already know. The one time they do speak, it's when they're quarrelling, because that's the only moment when they need to use words. The rest of the time, a gesture, a look, is enough.

[wroetolando]

𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where lando crashes during a race, and you’re the first person he calls from the hospital, leading to the world discovering your relationship and realizing just how much you mean to each other

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: control - halsey

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: crash?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The moment Lando’s car spun out, your heart dropped into your stomach.

The race had been tense from the start—too many close calls, too many drivers fighting for positions that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Lando had been holding his ground, P4 with only a few laps to go, when suddenly—disaster.

One second, his car was stable. The next, the rear tires lost grip, and the McLaren was skidding sideways at high speed. The impact with the barrier was sickening, the sound of carbon fiber shattering ringing through the speakers of the live feed.

Your breath caught in your throat as the commentators fell silent for a moment before scrambling to process what had just happened.

“Big crash for Lando Norris!”

The camera panned to the wreckage—his car sat crumpled against the barriers, front wing completely destroyed, one wheel hanging at an unnatural angle. But you weren’t looking at the car. You were searching for movement. Searching for Lando.

Seconds felt like hours.

Then, finally, relief—Lando’s helmet moved. His hands gripped the steering wheel before he slowly, painfully, started to unbuckle himself.

“He’s moving,” someone in the McLaren garage muttered, but it wasn’t enough. Not for you.

You needed to see him walk away. You needed to hear his voice, to know he was okay.

Marshals and medical staff were at his car within moments. The camera showed him trying to get out, but something was wrong. He hesitated, gripping his side as if in pain. That was when the medical team stepped in, helping him out of the cockpit and guiding him toward the ambulance.

Your phone buzzed with messages. You ignored them all.

All that mattered was getting to him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and stress.

You practically ran through the halls, only stopping when you spotted the familiar papaya-colored jacket outside one of the rooms. McLaren’s team principal looked up, eyes heavy with concern.

“He’s okay,” he said quickly, holding up a hand to stop your panic. “Bruised ribs, mild concussion. They’re keeping him for observation, but he’s stable.”

The breath you’d been holding finally escaped, but it didn’t stop the shaking in your hands. “Can I see him?”

“He asked for you.”

That was all you needed to hear.

Pushing the door open, you found Lando sitting up in bed, looking far too smug for someone who had just been pulled from a wrecked F1 car. His hair was messy, a cut visible on his temple where his helmet must have pressed too hard.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite emergency contact,” he teased, voice slightly hoarse. “Took you long enough.”

You didn’t say anything. You just crossed the room in three steps and wrapped your arms around him—gently, careful of his injuries, but firmly enough that he knew just how scared you had been.

His breath hitched. Then, his arms circled your waist, holding you just as tightly. “Hey, I’m okay.”

“You weren’t moving,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I thought—”

“I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

He grinned, despite the exhaustion in his eyes. “No promises.”

You smacked his arm lightly, making him wince. “Ow. Injured man, remember?”

“Then stop making jokes and rest.”

Lando just sighed, leaning back into the pillows. “Stay?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

Climbing into the narrow hospital bed beside him, you carefully curled up against his side, mindful of his bruised ribs. His hand found yours, fingers lacing together as his breathing evened out.

For the first time since the crash, you felt like you could finally breathe too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The world found out about Lando’s injuries almost immediately. Social media exploded with concern, fellow drivers sent messages of support, and McLaren released official updates.

But what people didn’t expect was the blurry photo of you curled up beside Lando in the hospital bed, posted to his Instagram story with a simple caption:

“Best medicine.”

The internet lost its mind.

Until now, your relationship had been private—close friends and family knew, but the public had been none the wiser. That changed overnight. Suddenly, fan edits, speculations, and messages flooded in.

Carlos was the first to text.

Carlos: “So this is how I find out you have a girlfriend? After a crash? Dramatic.”

Lando: “Now is not the time, Sainz.”

Oscar wasn’t much better.

Oscar: “At least tell me you scolded him properly.”

You: “Oh, he got an earful.”

And then, of course, there was Max.

Max: “I knew it. Only someone special would put up with his nonsense.”

Lando read the messages over your shoulder, laughing even though it made him wince. “I think they approve.”

You rolled your eyes. “They’re lucky I didn’t strangle you for scaring me like that.”

His expression softened. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “Just… be more careful, okay?”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I promise.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Two Weeks Later

Lando had never been one to enjoy sitting still. Recovery was torture for him—forced rest, limited movement, no racing. But if there was one upside, it was that he finally got to spend uninterrupted time with you.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he grumbled as you forced him to stay on the couch, a blanket draped over him.

“Enjoying making sure you don’t injure yourself further? Absolutely.”

He huffed. “I feel fine.”

“You’re still bruised, your concussion isn’t fully healed, and you wince every time you try to move too fast,” you listed off, arms crossed. “Sit still and let me take care of you.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “You like taking care of me?”

“I like making sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

“Same thing.”

You sighed, exasperated, but he just pulled you down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For being here. For worrying. For everything.”

You smiled against his lips. “Always.”

And in that moment, as he pulled you closer, you knew—no matter how scary the crashes, how stressful the races, you’d always be right here, waiting at the finish line.

Because loving Lando Norris was always worth the risk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[s4kura-tr3]

the jjk men reaction to their wife without their wedding ring ?

Gojo satoru — Gojo Satoru strolled into the living room, humming a cheerful tune as he casually twirled his sunglasses between his fingers. It was a rare moment of downtime for both of you, and he had been looking forward to lounging around with his beloved wife. His sharp eyes, however, immediately zeroed in on you, sprawled out on the couch with your phone in one hand and your other hand resting lazily on the armrest.

At first, he didn’t notice it. But as his gaze lingered—because, honestly, you looked stunning even in sweatpants—it hit him. Something was… missing.

His blue eyes narrowed slightly, and the grin on his face turned into a playful smirk. He crossed the room and plopped down dramatically next to you, making the couch shift slightly.

“Darling,” he began in a tone dripping with mock severity, leaning closer to you as if he had discovered the secret to the universe.

You glanced up briefly, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for your left hand, gently lifting it as if it were a delicate artifact. He examined it closely, turning it this way and that. That’s when he saw it. Or rather, didn’t see it.

“Oh. My. God.” he gasped, clutching your hand with both of his. “Where is it? Where’s the ring? Our ring?” His voice escalated into a melodramatic pitch, and he looked at you as though you’d just committed the ultimate betrayal.

You blinked at him, utterly unbothered. “I took it off while I was washing the dishes earlier. I forgot to put it back on. Relax, Gojo.”

But Gojo wasn’t about to let it go. He sprang to his feet, one hand pressed to his chest as if your words had physically wounded him. “Forgot? You forgot the symbol of our eternal, unbreakable love?” He pointed dramatically at your bare ring finger. “Do you know what this says to the world? That I, Gojo Satoru, am unclaimed! Unwanted! A free agent!”

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Satoru, nobody in the world thinks you’re unclaimed. You’re too loud for that.”

But he wasn’t listening. He began pacing back and forth in front of you, gesturing wildly. “Do you realize how many people out there are just waiting for a moment like this? They’ll think I’m single! Do you want people throwing themselves at me?” He spun around, his eyes wide with mock horror. “What if Nanami hears about this? Or worse, Gojo’s fan club?!”

That finally got a laugh out of you. “You have a fan club?”

“Of course I do,” he said, puffing his chest out. “I’m Gojo Satoru. But that’s not the point!” He dropped back onto the couch beside you, leaning in close so that his face was mere inches from yours. His eyes, bright and intense as always, locked onto yours. “The point is, you, my dearest, most beautiful wife, have forgotten our sacred bond. And I, as your loving husband, must now remind you why you married me.”

Before you could protest, he scooped you up in his arms as if you weighed nothing. You let out a startled yelp, laughing despite yourself. “Satoru, what are you doing?”

“I’m making sure you never forget again,” he said with a grin that could melt anyone’s heart.

He spun you around once, his laughter mingling with yours. You tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held you firm, his warm hands steady and strong.

“Put me down, you lunatic!”

“Not until you swear to never, ever leave your wedding ring behind again,” he said, his voice playful but with a hint of mock sternness.

“Okay, fine!” you managed between laughs. “I swear! I won’t forget again!”

Satisfied, he set you back down on the couch, but not before brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face and planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Good,” he said, his tone shifting to that softer, more genuine one he reserved just for you. He sat back, crossing his arms as if he’d just won an important battle. “By the way,” he added, smirking, “your wedding ring is on the counter by the sink. You’re welcome.”

You groaned, throwing a pillow at him. “You knew this whole time and still made a scene?”

“Of course I did,” he said, catching the pillow effortlessly and flashing you a smug grin. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t take every opportunity to shower my wife with attention?”

You rolled your eyes again, but the warmth spreading in your chest betrayed how much you adored him—dramatics and all.

Geto Suguru — It was late in the afternoon, the golden light from the setting sun spilling through the windows of your quiet home. You were seated at the kitchen table, sipping tea while flipping through a book. The peaceful silence was interrupted by the soft sound of Suguru’s footsteps as he entered the room, his long, dark hair tied loosely behind him, and his expression calm as always.

“Hmm,” he hummed as his sharp eyes immediately noticed you. His lips curved into a faint smile. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you replied with a playful grin, not looking up from your book

He walked over to you and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. Everything about Suguru exuded calm, but there was something sharp about his gaze as he straightened, his attention drawn to your left hand resting on the table.

“Where’s your ring?” he asked, his tone casual but with a slight edge of curiosity.

You blinked, glancing at your hand. “Oh,” you said, realizing the absence of the small band. “I took it off earlier while I was washing the dishes. I must’ve forgotten to put it back on.”

Suguru’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a faint flicker of something in his dark eyes—amusement, perhaps. He moved to the chair across from you and sat down, resting his chin on his hand as he regarded you.

“Forgotten, hm?” he murmured, his voice low and smooth.

You tilted your head, sensing the subtle shift in his mood. “It’s not a big deal, Suguru,” you said, brushing it off.

His smile widened ever so slightly, though there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “Not a big deal? My wife walking around without a ring, making it look like she’s unmarried? How scandalous.”

You snorted, closing your book and setting it aside. “Oh, please. Nobody is going to think I’m unmarried, Suguru.”

“Hmm,” he hummed again, his gaze locking with yours. “Perhaps not. But it’s the principle, isn’t it?” He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushed over your bare ring finger in slow, deliberate strokes. “This little band means something, doesn’t it? A reminder of the vows we made.”

You rolled your eyes, though his touch was warm and soothing. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone still even, though the faint smile on his lips betrayed his amusement. “But I quite like seeing you wear it. It suits you.”

“Well, it’s sitting on the counter,” you admitted. “I just forgot to put it back on.”

Suguru sighed softly, standing up from his chair and walking to the kitchen counter. He picked up your ring, holding it delicately between his fingers before turning back to you. His movements were always deliberate, almost graceful, as he returned to your side and crouched down next to you.

“Hold out your hand,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

You quirked an eyebrow at him but complied, holding out your hand. Suguru took it carefully, his fingers warm against yours.

“You know,” he began as he slipped the ring back onto your finger, “this little thing is more than just a piece of metal. It’s a claim, a promise, and a reminder of the fact that you belong to me, just as I belong to you.”

His words were soft but carried a weight that sent a shiver down your spine. When the ring was back in its rightful place, Suguru raised your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles

“There,” he murmured. “That’s better.”

You shook your head, your cheeks warm. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk, standing back up to his full height. “But I’m your ridiculous.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed how much his little gestures meant to you. Suguru wasn’t always loud in his affections, but moments like this reminded you of just how deeply he cared for you—and how much he loved to remind you of it.

Nanami kento — The quiet hum of the apartment greeted Nanami as he stepped inside, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly now that he was home. He loosened his tie as he glanced around, his sharp eyes immediately landing on you sitting at the dining table, your laptop open and a mug of tea beside you.

“Welcome home,” you said, looking up with a smile.

“Good evening,” he replied, his voice calm and steady as always. He moved toward you, setting his briefcase down with practiced precision before leaning in to kiss your temple. “Busy day?”

“Not really,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “I spent most of it cleaning and catching up on emails.”

Nanami nodded, his gaze briefly scanning the room before settling on you. As you reached for your mug, his brow furrowed slightly.

“Where’s your ring?” he asked suddenly, his tone even but with a hint of curiosity.

You froze for a moment, glancing at your hand. Your wedding ring was missing from its usual place, and you let out a small laugh as you realized. “Oh, I took it off earlier when I was cleaning. I guess I forgot to put it back on.”

Nanami’s expression remained calm, but you noticed the slight tightening of his jaw. He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, resting his hands on the table.

“I see,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to your hand again.

You tilted your head, sensing his hesitation. “It’s not a big deal, Kento,” you said lightly. “I’ll go grab it in a second.”

He sighed softly, his eyes meeting yours. “It’s not that I doubt you,” he said, his voice calm but carrying a subtle weight. “It’s just… that ring isn’t just an accessory to me.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

Nanami reached across the table, gently taking your hand in his. His thumb brushed over the bare spot where your ring should have been. “It’s a symbol,” he said after a moment. “Of us. Of everything we’ve chosen to share. When I see it on your finger, it’s a quiet reassurance that, no matter how chaotic things get, we have something solid.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a pang of guilt mixed with affection. Nanami wasn’t one to dramatize things, but his quiet honesty carried more weight than anything else ever could

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” you said softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m not worried,” he replied, shaking his head slightly. “I know where we stand. But… seeing it missing felt strange. Like something wasn’t quite right.”

Your lips curved into a warm smile. “You’re such a sentimentalist, you know that?”

He exhaled through his nose, his expression softening as he gave you a faint smile. “I’d argue I’m just practical. But if it makes me a sentimentalist to care about something that reminds me of you, then so be it.”

You chuckled, standing up and leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I’ll go grab it now. I don’t want you to feel off balance.”

As you walked to the kitchen to retrieve your ring from the small dish by the sink, you couldn’t help but feel touched by how deeply he cared about even the smallest details.

When you returned, the ring back on your finger, Nanami’s eyes immediately dropped to your hand. He gave a small, approving nod and reached for your hand again.

“Much better,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the ring.

You sat down beside him this time, leaning into his solid presence. “You know, Kento, you’re a lot more romantic than you like to admit.”

He huffed softly, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, resting his hand over yours.

Toji fushiguro— The heavy thud of boots echoed through the entryway as Toji walked into the house, his presence impossible to miss. You looked up from the couch where you were scrolling on your phone, catching the sharp glint of his green eyes as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair.

“Hey, you’re back early,” you said with a smile, sitting up as he crossed the room toward you.

He gave a small grunt of acknowledgment, his version of a greeting, before plopping down beside you. “Work wrapped up faster than I thought,” he said, leaning back and stretching an arm over the back of the couch.

As he settled in, his eyes flicked toward you, and they instinctively scanned over you with the same sharpness he applied to everything. They lingered on your hand for a beat longer than usual.

“Where’s your ring?” he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity.

You blinked, looking down at your bare finger. “Oh,” you said lightly, “I took it off earlier while I was washing dishes. I guess I forgot to put it back on.”

Toji raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sly smirk. “Forgot, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, already sensing where this was going. “Don’t start,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s not like I lost it or anything. It’s on the counter by the sink.”

“Mm,” he hummed, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked at you with that unreadable expression of his. “Funny. I didn’t think you’d be the type to forget something like that.”

You huffed, narrowing your eyes at him. “It’s just a ring, Toji. Don’t make it a big deal.”

“Just a ring?” he repeated, his tone laced with amusement. He leaned back again, draping an arm across your shoulders. “That’s not what you said when I gave it to you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the memory. Toji wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, so when he had proposed—ring and all—it had been one of the rare moments where he let his guard down. The ring symbolized more than just a commitment; it was his way of showing you that you were the one person he trusted enough to hold onto.

“Okay, fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not ‘just a ring.’ Happy now?”

Toji chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Damn right I’m happy. You’re lucky I’m not one of those guys who gets all pissy about this stuff.”

“You literally just called me out for it,” you shot back, giving him a playful glare.

“Yeah, but I didn’t yell about it,” he said, smirking as he reached for your hand. He turned it over, his calloused fingers brushing against your bare finger. “Guess I just like seeing it on you, that’s all.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. Toji wasn’t one for flowery words or grand romantic gestures, but when he said things like this, it was impossible not to feel the depth of his emotions.

You softened, resting your other hand over his. “I didn’t mean to make you feel weird about it,” you said. “I’ll go grab it right now.”

As you stood up to retrieve your ring, Toji leaned back and watched you with a lazy grin. “Don’t keep me waiting, princess. Gotta make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, but there was no real annoyance behind it. When you returned with the ring on your finger, Toji reached for your hand again, his thumb brushing over the metal as his grin widened.

“Now that’s more like it,” he said, tugging you back onto the couch beside him.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help but smile.

“And you love it,” he replied easily, pulling you closer until you were leaning against his chest.

Sukuna ryomen — The air was heavy with the scent of incense and sakura blossoms, the grand halls of Sukuna’s domain illuminated by the flickering light of oil lamps. You sat on a low, ornate platform, your fingers absently tracing patterns on a delicate porcelain cup as you waited for Sukuna to return.

The sound of his footsteps was unmistakable, his commanding presence preceding him. When he stepped into the room, his twin sets of eyes found you immediately, piercing and intense. Dressed in his ceremonial robes, Sukuna looked every bit the fearsome king he was rumored to be, his aura suffocating yet magnetic.

“Wife,” he greeted in a low, resonant voice that sent a shiver down your spine. “What mischief have you been up to today?”

You smiled, setting down your cup as he approached. “Nothing that would trouble the great Ryomen Sukuna,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him.

He chuckled darkly, the sound laced with amusement and menace. “Good. I’ve had enough annoyances for one day.”

As he lowered himself to sit beside you, his gaze swept over you, sharp and all-seeing. His attention lingered on your left hand, resting idly in your lap. His expression darkened instantly, a storm brewing in his crimson eyes.

“Where is it?” he demanded, his tone suddenly sharp.

You blinked, confused. “Where is what?”

“Your ring,” he said coldly, his jaw tightening as his eyes bore into yours. “The one I placed on your finger. The one that marks you as mine.”

Realization dawned, and you glanced down at your bare hand. “Oh,” you said lightly. “I removed it while preparing the tea earlier. I didn’t want it to get dirty.”

Sukuna’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it grew more severe. “And you thought it wise to leave yourself unmarked?”

You frowned, sitting up straighter. “It’s just a ring, Sukuna. It’s not as though I’ve forgotten what it means.”

“Just a ring?” he repeated, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He leaned closer, his four eyes narrowing as his hand shot out to grab your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You insult me with such carelessness.”

You held his gaze, refusing to flinch under the weight of his presence. “It was not meant as an insult,” you said firmly. “I was thinking practically. Surely you don’t think a piece of metal is the only proof of my loyalty to you.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a wicked grin, though his eyes still burned with displeasure. “No, but it is a visible declaration. One that tells the world you belong to me. You will not cast it aside so lightly again.”

You sighed, reaching up to rest your hand over his. “It was not my intention to ‘cast it aside,’ as you put it. But if it matters so much to you, I will retrieve it immediately.”

“Do that,” he said, releasing your chin with a flick of his wrist. “And do not make me repeat myself on this matter.”

You rose gracefully, moving toward the chamber where you had set the ring aside. Sukuna’s gaze followed you, his eyes dark and watchful, though you could sense the simmering satisfaction beneath his displeasure.

When you returned, the ring once again adorning your finger, Sukuna reached out and caught your wrist, pulling you closer. He inspected the ring as though ensuring it hadn’t been damaged in your absence.

“Better,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the metal. He glanced up at you, his expression softening slightly—though his grin retained its edge. “Do not forget, wife. You are mine. Always.”

You smirked, leaning down so your face was close to his. “And you are mine, Ryomen Sukuna. Do not forget that either.”

He laughed, a deep, reverberating sound that filled the room. “Bold as ever,” he said, his voice dripping with approval. “Perhaps that’s why I tolerate you.”

[chuluoyi]

✎ daddy-to-be

- gojo satoru x reader

in which you're worried about how he'd react to you carrying his baby

genre: fluff and comfort, mentions of pregnancy and dizzy spells

note: i feel soooo warm writing this *sigh* thank u anon who asked this!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Gojo-sensei! Must we do this?"

"For real?!"

"Okaka..."

"Yoohoo! Hehehehe~"

You sighed at the sight of your tall paintbrush of a husband. Satoru was supposedly teaching his first years—Maki, Panda and Inumaki—and yet, from where you were standing, it looked more like he was bullying them into following his whims more than anything.

A kind reminder that… this silly man is the father of your unborn child.

He didn't know that you were pregnant yet, because you had discovered it just a few days ago and chosen to keep it a secret for the time being.

In theory, this was normal. You two were married and engaged in a high level of sexual activity—something Satoru made sure of—and therefore, conceiving a child was bound to happen sooner or later.

Admittedly, accepting the fact that you were carrying his baby wasn't as easy as you thought, even knowing that. You hadn't seriously talked about having kids, and sure, your husband might have just taken a young cursed boy Yuta into his care—and way before that, Megumi, but it wasn't the same with your own child. It can't be the same.

And not to mention that you two were jujutsu sorcerers. Where would raising a baby fit in this bloody, cursed world you lived in?

...and above all, as things stand now, does Satoru even want a baby?

You released another sigh as you walked away, but then your vision tipped and you had to grab the wall for support. Right, you hadn't even been feeling well these past few days. You got queasy easily, and you experienced sporadic bouts of vertigo too.

"Sensei?" Yuta's worried voice greeted you, and you forced yourself to remain upright. "Are you okay?"

"Ah, yes, I'm fine," you assured him with a smile.

"Should I get Gojo-sensei? You seem pale..."

"No, no, that's—"

"Ooh~ Wifey!"

You cursed his impeccable timing as the striking white hair of your husband came to view. A mischievous grin adorned his face, a bundle of sunshine and trouble as always, as he wrapped an arm around you.

"Don't you have to teach the second years? My pretty wife, you can't be slacking—"

His smile abruptly fell when you subconsciously leaned on him and he noticed your shallow breaths. Satoru promptly tightened his grip on you.

"Yuta," his tone had taken a sharper turn. "Go to the training grounds and train with the others. Class ends after that."

As Yuta nodded and proceeded on his way, he immediately turned to face you. "What's wrong?" he asked with genuine concern. "Are you not feeling well? Can you walk?"

"I'm fine," you insisted, even though the edges of your vision started to blur.

Satoru pursed his lips, and you could tell even with his blindfold on, he was staring at you hard. "Don't be stubborn. Come on, let's get you home."

In an instant, he teleported you back to your shared home, his arms securely under your knees. You didn't know when the dizziness started to ramp up, but you were sure to fall if he didn't have a secure grip on you.

"How long have you been feeling unwell?" he inquired as he carefully lowered you onto your bed.

Realizing there was no point in hiding it any longer, you squeezed your eyes shut as your head rested on the soft pillow. "...since this morning."

Satoru expressed his dissatisfaction with a grunt. "In that case, you shouldn't have gone to school. From now on, you're on leave."

He fussed over you—removing your shoes, fine-tuning the air conditioner, and ensuring you were snug in bed. "What is causing you to feel this bad? Is it something you ate? We had dinner together, and I feel perfectly fine..."

You raised your gaze to him just as he tore off his blindfold, his eyes locking with yours. The blue of his eyes scrutinizing and assessing you, and suddenly, you felt insecure as he quirked an eyebrow, seemingly suspecting something. “Is there something you aren't telling me?”

This is it. You couldn't keep this from him any longer. This was his child as much as yours, he had to know for you to be able to decide on the next steps.

You exhaled. "I'm… pregnant."

Silence. For the next five seconds, you could've sworn that Satoru held his own breath.

"Pregnant?" he repeated, stunned, widened cerulean marbles blinking several times. "You...?"

You sat up, reaching for your nightstand and retrieving the five pregnancy tests you had stashed in the drawer, handing them to him.

Satoru fixed his gaze onto the two red lines on the sticks, examining them and then shifting his eyes between you and them several times. You didn't dare to look at him, feeling your hands starting to shake and your gut twisting.

But contrary to your dread, before you could blink, he pulled you into his embrace. Your heart melted as he softly murmured, "Dummy, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I... I was worried. I didn't think I..."

He nuzzled into your neck, breathing in deeply. "Silly... I'm supposed to be your safe space. You can and absolutely should tell me these kind of things..."

A lingering fear persisted in your gut as you croaked out, "Are you... okay with it?"

Satoru snapped his head so quickly, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean—of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

You didn't know why, but his impromptu and steadfast declaration brought tears to your eyes.

"Stupid," he chided, his voice tinged with slight giddiness and overflowing fondness, and doubled with the wide grin on his face, you were starstruck. Holding your hand, he pressed a tender kiss on your knuckles, and then on the wedding band resting on your ring finger.

His sincere, warm eyes spoke volumes as he said, "You are my beautiful, lovely, and amazing wife. And now you're about to make me a daddy. Why wouldn't I be thrilled about that?"

You had given him love that saved him in countless ways, some of which you might not even realize. And now, you were about to gift him another piece of you to love—his own family to cherish. Satoru was convinced he couldn't love you more than he did in this moment.

You cried even harder, wiping your face sloppily as you pouted at him, voice clogged with tears, a mixture of relief and happiness overwhelming you. "Why are you so s-sweet? You're u-usually... such a menace..."

"Hey! That's slander! I'm always nice to you!" he protested with a mock frown, trying to lighten the mood.

Satoru brought you into his arms again, affectionately stroking your hair. His excitement was palpable as he chuckled gleefully at the very idea of becoming a father to a mini-him or you in a not-so-distant future.

With that sentiment in mind, he genuinely meant every word of what he softly uttered in your ear:

"I love you, sweetheart. And mark my words—with everything I have, I won't let anything happen to you or our baby… I swear it."

[rin-may-1103]

The Disappointment.

This may or may not have multiple parts, depending on whether I feel like writing more. (dcxdp, demon twin au.) also based on some post I read a while ago... can't remember for the life of me who wrote it but if any of you guys do, let me know.

"This way," Mother hissed, snatching Danny's wrist tightly. Damian lagged behind, twisting his head this way and that, keeping an eye out for anyone following them.

"Quick now, we must hurry." She hissed again, her eyes darting back and forth, eyeing the small nicks and scratches she had left previously to lead them away.

Danny glanced back at his brother, watching as he scowled and defiantly lifted his head. His baby brother would die before he allowed anyone to see him defeated.

Glancing back to the path, Danny watched as Mother took down anyone who was in their way, killing without hesitation. As he watched another body hit the floor, Grandfather's muttered words from when he left dinner, ran through the back of his head, "Bring the disappointment to me after sundown. I've seen enough."

There was nowhere in the world they could hide that Grandfather wouldn't follow. They would be hunted for the rest of their short lives, hiding in fear like cowards. Grandfather would not rest until he drew blood.

"In here, Habibi, quiet now. Quickly, both of you." Mother finally let Danny's wrist go, darting across the hall to open the secret door. Danny moved to the side, signaling to Damian that he would keep watch. His brother nodded his head and quickly made his way over, ducking into the small, dark, and eerie corridor.

Mother crouched next to Damian, running her hands over his face like this would be the last time she would see it. knowing her, she probably expected it to be. No one went against their grandfather without severe consequences.

Glancing over his shoulder, Danny studied the shadows; there was a lookout patrol moving closer, which meant they only had a minute before they were discovered. Gritting his teeth, Danny darted across the hall, but instead of joining his mother and brother in the dark corridor, he pushed the wall back, leaving only the missing brick his mother had initially taken out.

"Danyal!" his mother hissed, her voice full of stern panic.

"Apologies Mother, but I can not let you do this," Danny replied, glancing to the side to see how much time he had left. Forty seconds. Crouching down, he picked up the brick and looked back at his mother. Damian stood next to her, his brows furrowed in confusion. Obviously, he hadn't figured out Danny's plan, otherwise he would have started shouting at him.

Mother stared at him for a second, her stern eyes wavering for the first time in Danny's life that he could remember. "Take care of him for me, keep him safe when I can not," Danny asked, grabbing the hood hanging around the back of his neck.

Mother's eyes teared up, but she straightened her back, her black hair framing her pretty face. "You've made up your mind then," she said, her voice low and steady. She rested her hand on Damian's shoulder, giving Danny a nod of understanding. "You are like your father, his love makes him weak."

"But," she continued, kneeling down in a bow, "You are of the demon's blood, it runs in your veins just like mine. Your actions will not be forgotten, nor will they be for nothing. You have my word, tifl alqamar. I love you, Habibi."

Danny nodded his head, unable to voice the thoughts clogging his throat. Instead, he took a silent breath, pulled his hood and mask into place, and shoved the final brick into place. Sealing off his precious family just in time to hear the guards around the corner.

Turning around, Danny silently stalked forward, drawing his shoulders back. The group rounded the corner and stopped, watching him in anticipation. Pitching his voice just slightly to the left and rolling his tongue, Danny spoke in a neutral voice, "take me to grandfather."

The two guards in front shared a look, but the ones in the back straightened up and moved aside. Marching forward, Danny passed the two hesitating guards and with a quick slice, brought them to their knees. He needed this to work, there was no room for mercy, no matter how much he hated it.

"I am the grandson of the demon head, you will respect me as you respect him. there will be no next time." Danny continued walking, pretending to not care if the two managed to follow or not. the remaining guards trailed behind him, silently observing him.

Danny was glad Mother had insisted on them matching today. otherwise, his plan would have failed long before he made it to his grandfather's door.

Stopping in front of the painted carved wood that was grandfather's door, Danny idly studied the carvings and statues around the grand hall. He remembered all the stories of how grandfather had collected them over his lifetime; grand stories of bloodshed and cunning manipulation.

His eyes settled on the one farthest away, with the least interesting story. It was considered ordinary, placed next to art worth billions. But it was Danny's favorite. It was a simple green crystal, carved like a crescent moon.

so simple, yet the most beautiful piece in Danny's opinion. He had always hoped he would die beneath the stars and his ever-faithful friend the moon. Maybe, instead of beneath them, he could die amongst them.

He would take it with him, he decided.

Turning sharply, Danny marched over to the small pedistal and plucked the crystal into his hand. Wrapping his fingers around it, he shoved it into a side pocket and returned back to his position.

They only had to wait for another minute before the door opened, grandfather's servants clearing a path for Danny to walk through.

"I see your mother did not drag you away," Grandfather mused, sitting in his large chair. His dark eyes studied Danny's form, taking in the katana on his back, and the hood and mask concealing his face. He was dressed like he would for a mission; no discernable features, no sign of who he was or wasn't. The perfect image of an assassin.

"at least you aren't a coward," Grandfather hummed, standing from his seat. He slowly pulled out his own katana, aiming it at Danny in a challenge. "no, just disappointing. but you are my blood and that earns you the right to die an honorable death. Draw your sword child, and fight like the warrior you are."

Danny bowed like he had been taught, then without another moment of hesitation, drew his sword and lunged.

He wished he could say it was a drawn-out battle of strength and minds, but it was not. for Danny was only ten years old, and his grandfather had hundreds of years of training and discipline behind him.

he gazed up at his grandfather as his knees hit the ground, his katana dropping to the ground as his hand reached up to the sword impaling his chest. Grandfather's eyes were filled with nothing but contempt, contempt for the useless boy he had just sentenced to death.

but his contempt did not bother Danny, no instead it drew a smile to his face. As much as Grandfather lorded his sharp mind over them, he had never been able to stop Danny from surprising him. So, with a burst of adrenaline, Danny allowed the small shuriken he hid in his sleeve to drop to his left hand and buried it deep into his grandfather's chest.

grandfather lunged back, pulling his katana with him, removing the only thing keeping Danny upright. Danny's body hit the ground, and with the last of his strength, he twisted his head so he could listen as his grandfather cried out in anger.

Grandfather's breath was heavy, the sound of him removing the dagger filling the silence. the shuriken was dropped to the ground with a sharp clatter, falling just a few feet from Danny's face.

"you," Grandfather huffed, "aren't such a disappointment after all. I'll grant you one last honor and keep you in the family tomb. Rest now, Damian, you have fought well."

Danny smiled, the cold feeling of blood loss crawling through his body, but not fast enough to block out the pressure of the moon crystal still in his pocket. He hoped Mother had gotten Damian out in time, and he hoped Damian could forgive him for what he had done.

[hyunebunx]

˖˙ ᰋ ──  our firsts (the one in which hyunjin can't wait to kiss you)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: i've had this one stare at me for months until i finally got around to finishing it recently. i feel kinda rusty but i hope you'll still enjoy it <3

The thrill of a new relationship was exhilarating, full of euphoria and colorful, restless butterflies that seemed to have materialized out of thin air. Your relationship with Hyunjin was fresh, in more ways than one. You’ve never experienced such intense feelings before, a bond so genuine and invigorating.

You were taking it slow and steady, discovering more of each other with every interaction. How he smelled, how he smiled when he was truly happy, eyes turning into two crescent moons, how he hugged you in greeting, a little tighter each time.

Hyunjin was made of layers you had to contain yourself from peeling all at once, afraid your eagerness would scare him off for good. Kind, compassionate, and with a heart of gold, your new lover was everything you could ever ask for in a partner.

Every new side of him, you haven’t experienced before, was endearing. How his fingers held onto yours, leisurely, before intertwining them when he needed to feel you closer, palm to palm. How his touch lingered on your cheek, slowly trailing down your jaw and neck, almost like he was preparing to kiss you. Which hasn’t happened yet, unfortunately, almost a month into your relationship.

A part of you was disappointed, there was no denying it. But at the same time, you knew his affection was going to be worth the wait. After all, there was no rush, you had all the time in the world.

Tonight was another one of your firsts – the first movie night at your apartment. A comfortable date night spent by the TV, with some good food, a great show, and even better company. An amazing plan in both of your books, your introverted natures meshing together quite lovely.

“Hi, beautiful.” He greets the moment he’s let in, voice soft and tender, smiling brightly as he leans down to kiss the side of your head, spreading his warmth throughout your whole body.

You watch him remove his shoes, placing them neatly by the door before you pull him into a hug by his opened hoodie. Your arms go around his middle while your head rests on his chest. “Hi.”

Hyunjin relaxes in an instant, returning the embrace and squeezing you tighter, as expected. “I – “ You can hear the hesitation in his voice, mulling over his next words as if letting them out would somehow change everything. “I missed you.” He whispers, shy as his face finds solace in your hair.

Flowers bloom in your chest, heart pounding against its enclosure at an alarming pace he was sure to feel resonating through his body. But that was okay because his own was responding in kind. “I missed you too.”

“I’m glad.” Hyunjin says with a little more confidence, finally pulling away and allowing you to see his beautiful face.

You weren’t usually this straightforward, navigating this relationship with as much care as possible, so his boldness was a little surprising. But not unpleasant, if anything you couldn’t wait for him to open up more, to fully bloom into himself around you.

Taking his hand in yours, you then lead him into the living room that has been awaiting his arrival with bated breath, everything set up for your comfort.

You make small talk, asking about each other’s day and what the other has been up to since the last time you met, a week ago. It’s peaceful, the atmosphere light and comfortable as you drift toward one another without much thought, sides pressed together as you browse the selection of movies.

“What do you feel like watching?” You ask, facing him.

Hyunjin shrugs, leaning back into his seat, one of his arms thrown over the couch behind you. “Whatever your precious heart desires.”

Said heart flutters, thumping a little too loudly at being acknowledged in such a way. “The Notebook?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling into two crescents. “Do you want to see me cry? Is that why I was invited over?”

“We can cry together.” You offer, smiling. “I’ve been wanting to watch this one with you for a long time.”

“Why?” He tilts his head, eyes full of fondness as his ears gradually redden. You both knew what the movie was about and the passionate scenes that were sure to have you squirming in your seats, too shy for your own good.

“Because it’s the epitome of romance and true love!”

Hyunjin is beaming, chuckling lowly at the slight pout on your lips that has him give in instantly. “Alright then. Can’t wait to have my heart ripped out of my chest!”

You shake your head, passing him the remote before standing up to get the food you prepared in advance. “That won’t happen while I’m here.”

“Why? You’re going to put it back together?” He teases, neck craned to look after you like a man enthralled.

“Always.”

You don’t notice the surprise that takes over his features as he’s already sporting a smile when you return, handing him a plate before settling next to him, farther than before to ensure there’s enough space to make eating comfortable.

With the lights dimmed, your movie night starts uneventfully, with little to no talking since you’re both too focused on your food to multitask. But little by little, you’re scooting closer, wanting to feel each other’s warmth and hear the unspoken words of affection neither was brave enough to say out loud.

“I’ve drawn this scene before.” Hyunjin murmurs just as you move to snuggle into his chest, instantly accommodating you with one arm draped over your shoulders bringing you closer as if he’s been waiting for this moment. You settle into his embrace like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and not your actual first time cuddling with him like this. Another milestone in your new relationship leaving its mark, a welcomed guest whose sole purpose was to ensure neither strayed away from the path of true love.

“Really?” You tear your gaze from the television just as the characters begin playing around with their ice creams, laughing and being silly before it quiets down as their lips meet over and over again. “You’ve drawn them making out?”

Hyunjin is mesmerized by the faint sparkle in your eyes as he looks down at you, the light from the television caressing your side profile tenderly while not concealing any of your beauty. He’s silent for a few seconds more before his eyes drop to your glossy lips and he can’t help but lick his own, inhaling sharply. “No.” A laugh escapes him against his will, still distracted. “The scene right after.”

You quirk an eyebrow, bravely reaching out to trace his sharp jawline, just as distracted. “What’s so great about that scene? Wouldn’t you have rather captured the climax?”

He leans into your touch, eyelids suddenly heavy as they struggle to keep blinking and not give in to his desires. With great difficulty, Hyunjin feels around for the remote, subsequently pulling you closer as he fast-forwards the movie to the scene of interest, your chest brushing against his while both of your legs slip into the space between his.

Then, with the utmost gentleness, his fingers settle on your chin and move your head towards the screen, silver rings cold against your heated skin. Hyunjin paused the movie at the perfect time—the girl is smiling from ear to ear while her boyfriend nuzzles her cheek, smothering her with endless affection.

“I wanted to capture the genuine happiness on their faces. People are even more beautiful when they’re in love. Just look at them – they’re glowing.”

But by now, you’re back to looking at him, burning the image of his side profile with all of his beauty marks to memory for safekeeping. “So are you.”

Slowly, Hyunjin meets your eyes, releasing your chin. “What?”

“You also glow when you talk about something you’re passionate about. Something you love.”

He’s taken aback, you can tell by the way his eyes widen slightly, mouth parting as he searches for the right words to respond. You’re so close you can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he shallows, memorize the way his chest moves up and down with every breath that hits your face.

In this moment, the only ones who matter are you and him.

“You think so?”

“I know so. After all, I’m always watching you when we’re together.”

Hyunjin stills, and so do you as the meaning behind your confession hits you both at the same time.

“That’s impossible.” He eventually shakes his head, tucking some hair behind your ear as his voice drops. “I can never seem to be able to look away when you’re nearby. I would have noticed.”

“Like I notice everything about you.”

His touch is tender, so featherlight that if you weren’t hyper-aware of everything involving him, you wouldn’t have felt it. Hyunjin leans closer, brushing his nose against yours and smiling once your breath hitches. “The way your whole face lights up when someone tells a joke.” Nimble fingers caress your face, eyes staring past your exterior in search of the heart you’ve already presented to him on the shiniest silver platter.

“How you hold my hand a little tighter whenever you’re really happy.” He continues, said hand moving to cradle the back of your head.

“I only get that happy when I’m with you.” You breathe out, allowing your hands to rest on his chest, not looking away in fear of missing the feelings showcased all over his face, ones he still hasn’t found the courage to speak out loud.

Hyunjin looks like he wants to continue, but his eyes keep dropping to your lips, his own inching closer but not close enough to meet yet, silently waiting for your next move. For your approval, your comfort above anything else in the world for him.

When you do the same, your arms wrapping around his neck, he finally caves in.

It’s soft, his plump lips enveloping yours in the sweetest kiss you’ve ever tasted. The ever-patient man takes his time, melting against you as his other hand gently grasps your chin to keep you in place, bringing you close almost like he wants to merge souls.

The only thing you can hear in the quiet apartment is your heart pounding – or maybe it's his? Nobody knows where you end and he starts anymore, intertwined as you get lost in each other. You’ve wanted this for so long, daydreamed about it for hours on end and you’re happy to realize it’s so much better than anything your mind could ever come up with.

A little too soon after, Hyunjin pulls away, blinking as if he just woke up from a daze. His hand drops from your chin, finding solace on your waist as your eyes engage in a silent conversation your mouths couldn’t keep up.

Unfortunately for him, you’re impatient, so after making sure his lungs are filled with the needed air, you make your move, kissing him again. A quiet gasp escapes him as he falls backwards on the couch, cushioning your fall with his strong body, the corners of his mouth curling into an uncontrollable smile against your lips.

Kissing Hyunjin isn’t like anything you’ve experienced before. It’s electric and warm, something out of a movie, like fireworks going off on new years or witnessing flowers bloom for the first time in spring. An out of body experience that transports you to cloud nine the moment you touch him, the moment his hands make contact with any part of your body and leave behind sparks meant to keep everyone else that isn’t him away.

On top of him, you try to hold yourself up with your hands on his chest but he refuses, his arm around your middle keeping you flush against him as his lips teach yours a new dance. You have two left feet but somehow, Hyunjin makes it all seem easy, comfortable, and right like kissing him is an activity you’ve been doing for as long as you can remember.

When you pull away to breathe, he comes back to peck your puffy lips, one, two, and then three times before he’s grinning from ear to ear, the sight blinding your eyes that have gotten used to the darkness around for all of these years.

“Sorry.” He giggles sheepishly when it dawns on him his arm is still preventing you from moving. “I’ve just been waiting a lifetime to do this. I didn’t want it to end so soon.”

By now, your poor heart is nothing more than a puddle, leaking through your whole body and painting your insides in the color of the love that always seemed to overwhelm you, the feelings you could only thank him for. The love that had his name written in every nook and cranny of your existence, the one that marked and has changed you for the better in such a short amount of time.

You could spend a lifetime loving Hwang Hyunjin. And that’s exactly what you planned on doing.

[voidhope]

The Other Woman

—

Synopsis: Where Miguel leaves Y/N to go back to a different version of his old wife found in another universe.

Pair: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!Reader

Tags: ANGST!!, long term established relationship, heartbreak, marriage, cheating, mental health, cold/distant Miguel

—

A/N: Hi! I don’t really write at all!!

I have been a silent reader on tumblr for years but this idea has been playing in my mind so much I had the urge to write it. I have been down so bad for Miguel been on his tag like 24/7 indulging in all the content creators have been putting out. So I’m excited to join in giving content, however keep in mind I kinda suck! Apologies for any mistakes, anything confusing, or it not being well written enough. Honestly could have made this into multiple parts with better details but nah. Tried my best ^^ since it’s my first time, any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Honestly tbh we all don’t have a solid grasp how the whole canon thing and multi universe works yet so!! A lot of what is written is made up to suit my storyline so please don’t get mad about the inaccuracies.

I love a good angst and today’s story will be EXTRAAA angsty!!! As well kinda long!!

—————————————————

The moment that changed your life was while working on an experiment during your college finals. You were a proud and gifted physics major that was so passionate about discovering and exploring what the world didn’t know.

You had snuck into Alchemax late at night. You wanted to show your professors just how much you could do with the right tools. Next thing you know, playing with their machines, you had spawned a spider right in-front of you. The glowing vibrant red spider had sunk its jaw into your hand.

Your life did a complete turn and you spent the rest of that week freaking out while changes to your body were happening. Causing you to fail your semester after missing exams. Things felt like it could only get worse when a massive blue suited masked man showed up out of nowhere in your dorm interrogating you.

“Where’s the spider?” He had a strong grip on your shoulders. You couldn’t focus while trying to process why this man had what seemed like claws sticking out of the ends of his fingers.

“I don’t know, it like died after it bit me!” You exclaimed nervously at the freakishly strong man. Trying to reach for anything behind you to use as a defense weapon.

“Dios mío no me digas eso…” He groaned loudly letting you go. Having the opportunity to grab something, you threw a sanrio plushie at him. Only causing him to wave his arms in annoyance. “That spider is from my earth and somehow you brought it here. Now you’re a spider-man.”

And the rest is history…

—

You learned that the man was Miguel O’Hara and when he found you he was just starting his missions with the multiverse. You being the few of the firsts to join his team.

Your situation was quite bizarre and he called you an anomaly for a long time, spending hours studying you and also training you. You ended up being the one case that can’t be explained no matter how much effort was put into monitoring you.

Almost like it was meant to be. Your universe remained perfect with its current spider-man doing fine. No big collapse of a black hole or anything. When you got bit by a spider from Earth-928 your DNA merged with that universe making you fit in perfectly. You were one of the only spider-people with an uncertain timeline with new canons being created depending on what universe you were in.

What changed from you being just a piece of research for Miguel is when he then realized that maybe you were a gift from the multiverse. After all the grief and pain he’d went through the universe had given him this person that worked out perfectly no matter how hard he tried to push them away. You fell head over heels for him and vice versa, all while canon events were being created with both of you together.

You were there as his team grew, slowly turning into a family. Then both of you getting married finalizing that this was your home. Everything felt perfect. Although a relationship with Miguel could have its up and down days, nothing could ever tear you both apart. Or so you assumed.

—

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Miguel couldn’t look at you.

“When did this start? Please be honest with me. Did I do something wrong?” You begged at him. You knew he was acting off recently but never did you think it would result to this.

You watched as he exhaled deeply staring at the ground. You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you studied his face trying to grasp onto any emotion he was showing. The atmosphere in his office felt so cold. You so badly wanted to catch his gaze and find the warmth and love his red irises used to give you. He was doing everything to push you away. He was abandoning you.

“You did nothing wrong. I met her during a mission 4 months ago.” Was all he replied.

“Who is she?” Your heart kept breaking. His face hardening as the question slipped through your lips. You knew Miguel wouldn’t leave you for just anyone. Deep in your heart you knew what this was about. He never responded but he didn’t need to when you saw his eyes flicker over to his monitor screens. You followed his trace and saw the photo of Gabriella in the corner.

“Does she have another version of your daughter?” You tried again. This is what made him look directly at you. Miguel kept opening and closing his month unsure how to tell you the truth. You weren’t stupid and he knew that. After everything he couldn’t just walk out on you with a lie.

“No.” He paused thinking of how to finally share the truth without it ruining you. There was no way out of this. “She is a younger version of herself. There is no Miguel in her universe and she’s not important to the timeline. She lives a regular life. I-it’s a chance for me to start at the very beginning.”

You felt your heart being ripped out of your chest. You processed the words carefully. She doesn’t have a child yet… Not only was he leaving you for her but he was going to fall in love with her all over again and start a family with her. A family you wanted so badly to have with him.

“What about with what happened last time you tried to live a life in a different universe?” You didn’t understand how this was happening.

He was always so carful he would never do anything to cause that again. Everything you had witness Miguel work so hard for to keep safe for years. Sleepless nights, returning bruised and beaten, frustrations and constant stress. Was it all for nothing? Is he throwing all his work away?

“This is different.” He turned away from you. “I pushed myself then into an already established life. This time I am creating that life. After all the research we did on you…” He knew that this was going to tear you apart. “I learned that if done right I could have a child from two different universes that won’t disrupt anything.”

It clicked to you then that all the research he was doing on you lately was for this. The research he did on you that time was different, personal, intimate even. As he was testing your DNAs together and seeing the outcomes. He mentioned a child and you were foolish enough to assume he was doing research to see what it would be like if you both had one together. You were giddy even as you watched him work. You had both spoken about having a family together in the past but had been too busy with spider activities. You thought it was a sign of him getting more serious about it, knowing how badly he wanted one. You would have never thought he was doing it to see how he could get back his previous child. The one you could never give him.

You had truly believe that Miguel had recovered from his obsession that his grief gave him. He accidentally destroyed a whole universe needing that life back so badly. You had spent late nights watching him re-watch clips over and over of what he had lost. It slowly stopped once your relationship blossomed with him and you thought he was ready to move on and start new. Why would you have never thought that with such a perfect opportunity presented to him that he wouldn’t drop everything for it.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” He spoke with a soft tone. As if not looking at you any longer will make the problem go away. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how he was just throwing you away like this. As if he wasn’t making you dinner, giving soft kisses, whispering I-love-you’s not so long ago.

You felt too choked up to ask anymore questions. Your throat tight and painful as you held back tears from escaping in-front of Miguel. You just nodded and headed straight out the door not being able to handle another second in that room. Your knees and hands were shaky as you speed walked into the nearest bathroom and let it all out.

—

It didn’t take long for everyone else to know something had happened. Everyone had gotten used to seeing you and him sitting together at lunch. You would make him cute lunch boxes and everyone would gag a bit while watching the two of you smile together. Some cringing seeing their scary boss being so soft around you. It was a big surprise when Miguel started to eat alone with a bag of take out food and you no where to be seen.

His teams he sent out for missions were all confused when you weren’t assigned to anything. Knowing you were one of the best, one of them slipped out a “Call for Y/N!” In the middle of fighting an anomaly too strong for them. Miguel only looked away.

It wasn’t until a new woman showed up in Miguel’s office with a grip around his waist. That’s when the spider-community realized that this was way worse than they thought.

—

You on the other hand had spilled everything to Hobie when he caught you that day leaving the bathroom with puffy eyes. You had been staying with him in his universe until you could gather yourself together to return to HQ. You knew you were going to leave for good, but you needed to go back to retrieve all your things. You couldn’t stay with Hobie forever. Worse that you weren’t from there.

You still had some hope that Miguel would come looking for you and tell you that he was all wrong. However almost two months had passed and not a word from him… That’s when you knew it was time you should return to what you once knew.

Stepping into the portal Hobie followed close behind you. He told the few others who were once close to both you and Miguel that you would be visiting. Stepping through the portal you were immediately greeted by Jessica and Peter B Parker.

“Oh, Y/N.” Jess sighed your name sadly while pulling you into a hug. You felt like you wanted to cry all over again. Missing your friends so much. Peter B came behind giving you a hug on the side.

“He’s on a mission right now.” Peter spoke up. “It might be a long one too but don’t waste anytime just incase.”

You nodded pulling away from them. Looking up around the headquarters building faintly smiling at the past memories you had here. You started heading to different areas gathering all the little things you had left around. Hobie had stitched for you a cute backpack with different scraps of patterned clothes and covered in patches of punk band logos but made with hammer space technology. Making it fun for you to fill endless of your things in the bag.

The last stop was in Miguel’s office. Doubt started to fill your mind; maybe he already threw out all of your stuff. Why would he even keep it after all of this? What no one could warn you of was the other person sitting on his platform.

“Hello!” She chirped at you. It felt like the air in your lungs had just been punched out. You knew her too well. From all the photos and videos you had seen peaking over Miguel’s shoulder. However seeing her in person was something you had never expected. You knew it wasn’t the original her but it was a copy paste image for sure.

“Hi.” Was all you managed to choke out. She was beautiful, stunning. You could see clearly now the similar features she shared in another universe with her daughter. The parts that Miguel didn’t have. She kept smiling kindly at you, almost in a graceful way. You started to feel all your insecurities start eating you up from the inside. How could you have ever compared to her.

“What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” Getting off Miguel’s platform she walked closer to you. The room started to feel suffocating.

“Y/N.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you! It’s nice to meet other girls around here.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you realized she had no reaction to your name. So Miguel never told her about you… Or that the fact was he was still even legally married to you.

“My boyfriend isn’t here right now but, if you want, I can tell him you stopped by.” She continued as you stayed silent.

“Oh, no it’s okay. I just came in here to get some stuff.” You rushed as you really wanted nothing to do with Miguel at all. You almost worried that he might even get angry knowing you got to speak with her. If he already dislikes you this much you couldn’t even imagine how he would feel if you got in the way of this for him.

You started heading over to the familiar drawers around the room. Grabbing your old hoodies and shirts finding your most comfortable of things here. You treated this place as one of your safe spaces as you used to spend so much time here.

“Oh I didn’t know these were all yours! I was wondering why this was all around. When I came here I wanted to do some spring cleaning but Miguel wouldn’t let me touch anything.” She followed besides you. “It’s so mind blowing seeing all this technology. We don’t have any of this where I live-“ She continue rambling but you started to zone her out. You felt like you were about to have a panic attack any minute. There was one question that kept burning in your mind.

“Are you and Miguel already planning to have a child?” You blurted out. Your eyes widened a bit as you surprised yourself. She let out a loud laugh.

“Oh dear no! We have only been together about 6 months. You must be new around here so you must not know much about us.” She chuckled.

In some cruel way you were hoping she would have said yes. You had that twisted hope of maybe Miguel just keeping her to have a kid and ditching her after he gets Gabriella and run back to you. In reality he was playing the long game, he really meant it when we said he was starting over. “He’s never mentioned kids anyways. I’m not even sure if he’d like them or do well with them.”

With that statement she made you looked at her appalled. Anyone could see in Miguel how good of a father he could be. Just in the way he takes care of the society he built here. You started to realize that she really has been left in the dark. She doesn’t know anything. She probably doesn’t even know that she’s a replacement of another self. You wondered why Miguel was doing this. It felt like he didn’t just toy with you but with her as well. A man you came to love for how selfless he was, to realize now everything was for his own personal gain. Suddenly you started to feel bad for her. You couldn’t dislike her, she wasn’t doing anything wrong and she doesn’t even know.

“I got all my stuff. Nice to meet you.” Was all you could say as you zipped up your bag and turned straight around out of there. Not giving any glance back at her, you left to one of the empty training rooms to recollect your overwhelming thoughts. All of the self healing you tried the past month thrown in the garbage.

It wouldn’t be too soon that news of you going around the building was returned to Lyla. You had cut out all coms while you were gone so she immediately popped up on your watch when she found out.

“AH-“ You jumped as the tiny AI was suddenly in front of your face.

“It’s so wonderful to see you Y/N. Oh my god!”She started. Then she went on rambling about how she knew everything and had seen everything. How she didn’t agree with what was happening and was doing everything she could to convince you to stay. After 5 minutes of her rambling you stopped her to let your emotions out.

“Lyla, Lyla It’s okay. Just stop. It’s all complicated I know, but this didn’t work out. I wished Miguel just cheated on me like all the other fucked up normal men out there. That I walked in on him deep in another random girl. Though painful I could have tried fixing and fighting for us. But instead what I got was him emotionally cheating on me and chase after something he knows I can never give him.” You felt yourself choke up. “I can never ask him to give up what he longs and dreams for just for me to be happy. I lost this battle the moment he laid eyes on her.”

Finding comfort in the AI your husband made. You’ve created a bond with Lyla that Miguel found cute but you knew now this might be the last time you’ll be speaking with her.

“You can give him a family y/n… you guys have been married two years now. I know you’ve both set the thought aside until the multiverse issues are better but you can fight for him. You have to snap him out of his fantasy. He still thinks about you.”

“Lyla you know deep down truly he never just wanted a family. He wanted exactly what he had. What he lost. Which should be impossible but being by his side seeing how insane the multiverse is… Good for him for believing in something so hard he’s found himself even a third chance to do it.”

“I hate that you’re being too kind about this situation.” Lyla paced around you.

“I love him so deeply Lyla. You know that very well. It’s so hard to suddenly hate him. I am angry, but I’m also emotionally drained I can’t do this.” You let out a deep sigh. “I’ve watched him long for this family when we just met. For some stupid reason when things worked out for us I thought I would be enough… When we got engaged and he would spend some days at home with me not even coming to HQ. I thought he was finally moving on not just from his grief and past but from the weight of his work. I saw a bright future for us.”

“You can still have a bright future with him! You moving here gave him a new canon event, another chance at life in his timeline. Here in his own universe! He’s just too obsessed and he’s lost himself in that.” She exclaimed with her hands up.

“Our canon event was our wedding.” Your frowned deepened. “But the universe didn’t say anything else after. It doesn’t say our canon event means we are suppose to live happily together forever I guess.”

“I’m just trying my best to be optimistic. I rooted so hard for you and Miguel when you joined the team. I know you can remember the amount of times I would force you both in rooms.” Lyla recalled.

“And I’m grateful for it… Even if this didn’t work out. I was given precious memories, not just working with you and being on this team but falling in love with Miguel. I know I’m being all depressed and hopeless but I feel like even if I move on I’ll never be able to replace him and find a relationship like this again. However he threw me away so easily and maybe he never valued me as much as I did to him.” You felt your emotions bubble. “I became who I am here. I’m going to miss everyone so much.”

“You can still stay here and work with us.” She edged on.

“I can’t just sit around here begging at his feet to return to me or moping around doing missions while watching him with someone else. I want to hate him so badly. I know he’s your boss and you’re basically hardwired to do everything for him and you’re trying your hardest to fix what you think is his right path. But think of me a little more and how miserable it’ll be. I’m the only one hurting here.”

Lyla paused and stared at you with an almost glossy-eyed look. While she worked she could see the inner term-oil Miguel was hiding and the emptiness he was turning to since trying to start new in the other universe. It just wasn’t her place to hold this conversation and he was the one who needed to get a grip of himself and really think and talk with you. She can’t be the one trying to mend the pieces for both of you together. What Miguel did was so wrong. She knew you were right and she didn’t want to see any more damage be caused to you.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She looked up at you sincerely. “I hate this outcome for you. Not only are you loosing your husband but your home. When was the last time you’ve even been in your universe?”

“Like a year ago for a mission…”

“Exactly! Even if things are over with Miguel, you have all of us here! I wish you could stay. I understand you leaving, I really do. I know a lot of us will try visiting you but I’m tied to Miguel…” You started to see how it clicked for her too that it’s most likely you might not see each other for a long time. “Even if a spider-person is visiting you I can’t just show up on their watch… It’ll go back to him and I know you wouldn’t want that. I know I’m an AI and I can’t hold real emotions but I mean it when I say I’m going to miss you.”

Tears poured down your cheeks as her words hit you. Going back to your universe is going to be a struggle. You have nothing there now. However nothing can compare to the pain of the outcome you’ve had with Miguel, and you needed out of here ASAP. Your mental health getting worse the longer you stay. Even the other spiders you have come to love can’t bring that spark back right now. You needed genuine time for yourself, even if it’s self destructive, instead of putting on a fake smile everyday here.

“Bye, Lyla.” You whispered. She nodded and waved her hand goodbye at you before disappearing. You took your watch off your wrist placing it on a nearby desk. With it you pulled the divorce paperwork out of your pocket neatly sealed and already signed on your half. Opening a portal you took your last glances at the place you spent so many loving memories in.

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped through the portal. Once your legs landed on a rooftop of a building in your dimension, you racked out full sobs falling to your knees.

You were always just the other woman.

—————————————————

Thank you so much for reading!! I know it was a longer one ~

would anyone like a part 2? If so anyone want a angsty or happy ending? I think it’ll be more in Miguel’s perspective as well!

EDIT: You can now read PART 2 here

[shehungers]

CARNAL

werewolf husband x reader | 18+ | 3k

your husband is a painter who makes a meager, but comfortable living for you both creating portraits for nobles. his love of painting stems from his adoration of the night sky and the moon. he disappears one night and returns three days later—changed, distant, aggressive, and ravenous. not long after, you discover the reason for his behaviors and face the consequences of curiosity.

story warnings; dead dove do not eat, dubcon, explicit sexual content, explicit details of genitalia (werewolf), breeding, knotting, kinda cockwarming??, mentions of feeling "bloated", cumshot on body, brief piss kink mention, size difference, brief handjob, mc gets head a few times lmao, classism, mc is kinda a shitty spouse in this, detail + prose heavy (extreme), roughly proofread — you are warned.

so, this all started when I was talking to @/peachdues about her fic and idk, knotting has just been in my head since. awesome. now it's out of my system, I hope 😭

this is also my first official new piece of writing on this blog! everything before this has been reposts of older work. hopefully it doesn't disappoint!!!

would love, love, love to hear your feedback! reblogs are so tremendously appreciated!!.🙏🏻❤️

note: this is not my personal canon interpretation of werewolves. this is just a werewolf fic, y'know?

He was the wretched thing you kept behind locked doors with the rising of each full moon.

Once, the pale moonlight had been a thing of beauty to you both; an exquisite, lustrous pearl which seemed so small pinched between your fingers, squeezed and blurred through narrowed eyes. He, on the other hand, admired it differently from you by staring adoringly at its craggy features and the wan, white halo it emitted.

By trade, he was a painter and made a meager living for you both from it. His portraits were most popular as nobles found his style palatable, brushwork concealing of all flaws that showed in their faded clothes, their tarnished jewelry, their ravaged flesh and inbred faces. He knew what they'd wanted in a painting and created these fabrications as they wished because it meant more than old bread and leathery meats for dinner.

For you, he endured such mundanity if it meant you could eat well and dress warmly and in an enviable way to the neighbors. He enjoyed your simple delight; how little it truly took to keep you happy, how easy your marriage had been up until that point. You loved him and you loved the things he provided for you.

When it came nighttime, far into the blackest hours where the world seemed seized in so forceful a hush, you made no objections when he pulled you from bed to go outside with him to view the sky. There, he painted by the orange embers of lantern light and tried to capture all the likeness of the night sky with its misty moonlight and glittering, starry veil.

Sometimes you held the lantern for him, sometimes you did nothing but sit on his side holding the paint palette and lean into his hip, leaching away warmth from his body. Most nights, you were a handsome fixture and most beloved companion, trying to squash the moon like a grape with your fingers while speaking every thought out loud.

But, one night he went out alone and did not return for three days. He had left with his easel and stretched canvas and precious paint board, yet had come back to stand in the doorway with none of it.

“Darling,” you hesitated, starting out firm in case he was inebriated, altered aggressively in some way. You looked at him as though he were some strange person. “Where are your things? Your paints? Your canvas? My love, where have you been?”

“I—I don't have much of an answer to that. I'm sorry.” Then, he strode past you to the bedroom, shuttered the windows to muffle light and sound, declaring he needed rest. “Please, let me be. I'll look for my things another time.”

Later, he was ravenous at the dinner table and ate more than you thought it’d ever be possible for one man to do. You sacrificed your own portion in hopes he'd be sated, but he only turned irritable and mute, as if he were aware nothing good would come of his words to you. At the time, you'd feared that you had upset him in some way, perhaps no longer thought you lovely and fashionable or dependable as his partner and wanted to do away with your marriage.

That would mean you could only return home to rural hardship, or to the slums in the neighboring kingdom. The world would know your unwanted status, how much of a disappointment you'd been to satisfy your own husband, and you would never know another moment of quiet luxury again.

You couldn't accept such a fate, so you bathed him carefully that night. Purposeful with how you dragged the soapy sponge down along his back, fingernails a featherlight graze between the valleys of muscle and flesh protecting his spine. You kissed the back of his shoulders, lips a smouldering touch against his neck.

Then, you felt from stomach down to his hips, swirling your fingertips against the bony protrusions and in the fragrant water before wrapping your hand around his cock, stroking him to hardness. He still said nothing as he kissed your lips, tongue relentlessly pursuing your teeth to get inside your mouth, and pulled you into the tub with him fully clothed.

He fucked you deep and hard that night bent over the edge of the tub, hips pistoning up against your ass, skin slapping raw, thrusting into your wet walls at an angle that had you writhing with a face warped in equal parts exquisite bliss and agony. It wasn't until one of his hands gripped you around the neck, levering you against him, that you noticed a wound on his forearm right below where purple and green veins pulsed under his skin, translucent.

They were tooth marks—two rows of them. Crooked and sharp, arranged in a way that reminded you of the jagged spears wetted by sea spray at the base of a cliff. They looked deep, like whatever had bit him held on, yet hadn’t the intention to tear his arm off of the rest of him. The punctures were purple-red and abyssal as you studied them, vision jarred by his cock ramming you, his panting in the crook of your neck, and the bruise surrounding it bloomed a concentration of colors resembling an inkspill.

How had you not noticed it before?

“I fear what may come on certain nights from now on. When I ask it, lock the bedroom and shutter the windows from the outside. Don't ask me questions for I have no answers to give you.” He did not offer you the reassurance you had wanted, but it was enough to help you confidently stride through the days, knowing that your marriage wasn't in crisis.

Afterwards, it became imperative for you to act as someone educated because you needed to understand what was happening to your husband some nights.

It started days before a full moon: he became impatient, easy to displease, indignant upon any perceived blunder you made. He did not gorge on wine, but whatever meats were preserved in storage and what you could afford now with his inconsistent employment. You tried hiding these poor portions in thick stews with vegetables that had been infused in simmering beef stock for hours, but he was never fully sated by it.

At the same time he started to demand distance from you, he ravaged you at strange hours in your shared bed, tearing at your clothes to suck on your nipples, lap the glisten between your legs. New was his biting to leave marks and sup the blood mixed with his own saliva. More than once, he came on your body with hot, thick ropes and squirted piss on you like an animal marking territory.

When the night of the full moon arrived, he was transformed and horrifying. You had heard furniture crashing and shattering in the bedroom where he'd barricaded himself. Even his yowls throughout the evening had changed, no longer sounding like agony in the cries of the man you'd married, but something far more beastal. It came from within the chest, in the lungs behind the ribs, and was not human.

You had made the mistake only once to check in on him during this point in his shift, as you hadn't known any better. Your voice was a panicked flutter, a whisper of fear that something else might have broken through the fortress of wooden boards nailed against the windows from either side of it.

“My love? Darling, are you alright?”

He was there. You thought he was there because of the silhouette clambering across the broken remains of your shared dresser and vanity. The difference was that this thing was enormous. A creature with a bristling back, hair or spines standing out like a porcupine threatening with its quills.

It stood and was forced to hunch from the low ceiling of your house. A canine-like countenance glowered at you, red eyes partially obscured by patchy fur. Raw skin shined in the barren spots in the lantern light you'd forced into the room, and that hair didn't fully cover his abdomen nor his groin.

He was as much still human as he was this ugly beast. You'd thought to take another step into the room when he snarled and lunged towards the door. A shrill shriek pulled from your throat as you fully withdrew from the room, bolting the door shut with an iron key. He never made a ruckus against the door, and you left for the neighbor's right after, claiming that your husband had wanted space after an argument.

The next morning, your husband had somehow managed to escape the bedroom and sat in the kitchen clothed from the waist down, disoriented by the sunlight and his placement at the table. He didn't remember his transformation into the beast, but he did remember you.

Perhaps that's what gave you the courage to try to enter the bedroom the night of yet another shift. His yells of anger and pain had cooled after several hours, quieting to beastal groans and his heavy footfalls endlessly pacing the floorboards inside.

The door squealed, a call out to the darkness and creature within, and that creature responded with a growl—low, reverberating in darkness, a warning that you wouldn't be tolerated. You invaded the space carefully, meat and fish and other morsels for offering in a basket you'd woven yourself, that he had told you he thought was particularly artful at completion.

“Darling, I've brought you something. It's food. I've put fresh milk inside, too.” You caught sight of him near the boarded window, massive back rounded as he crouched low into a posture which looked as unnatural as when he tried to stand on his bent legs. “I know it—I know it won't ease your suffering, but you must still eat.”

He approached you, but it was unlike times before where he'd jump at the door to scare you away. This time he crawled towards you instead of intimidating you with his height—he wanted you to stay, and tried to appear small by dragging his long tail across the floor. The fur sounded like coarse bristles on a broomstick.

“Oh, my love. My love. My love. What has happened to you?” You moved away from the coverage of the door into the dark space, using your body to close it behind you so that he couldn't get out. You couldn't be sure how he'd behave if he could leave the house. “I'm here. Oh, you're so sweet. Look at you.”

You'd placed the basket aside neatly, making your movements obvious so as not to inspire ire, and didn't react when his long snout pressed into your abdomen. Stubble and whiskers pulled back to reveal long, stalagmite teeth which chewed mindlessly at your clothes. His damp nose nudged under your layers, pressing flush to your skin, startling you with a nasally gasp.

It was the instance where his nose left your stomach and went lower, pushing between your legs to lick you through your pants that you tried to cower, sidle out of his reach. He must've retained some semblance of himself because his arms rose to flank you at the waist, claws digging to the grain of the door, his strong snout pinning you, tongue knowing your shape even through cloth.

The fabric between your legs was wet, sticking flush to you, giving him as much nearness he could achieve without stripping off the layers separating him from your taste. The luscious imprint of you was unfulfilling, not even a teasing drop of what he instinctively knew he could have.

Your pants were removed unkindly; ripped at the waist, torn through impeccable artistry and threads and delicate fabric he had once paid for. Neither complete fear nor anger kept you silent, motionless for him to do as he pleased by yanking the pants off of your legs, but swelling curiosity. You wondered how much of your husband still remained inside this beast when the full moon was high.

The same unkindness followed him shredding through your underwear with his strange teeth, gnawing the fabric to a thin, sopping string before he could finally have you. Inhale you. Taste you with the paddle flatness of his tongue and make you squirm when his teeth skimmed that part.

“O-oh—” this wasn't like when he did it with his human tongue, as masterful as it was. He licked you with fervor you'd never felt, like he was reaching for something deep inside your viscera and blood and gore. Every subtle change of his immense nose and tongue was white heat behind your eyes, jostling pulses of electric, immodest moans, your hips driving forward on their own accord to help him find the treasure he sought within you.

Then, he stopped and hauled you to the floor with a single arm twice the thickness of that of his human counterpart. He knew no gentleness even now, dropping you onto your knees and palms against splintery floorboards which vented cool air up through the gaps, into your skin from the draft rising from underneath the house.

That cold reached deeper, seemed to lift off the ground to meet you as your husband—the beast—thrust your chest against the stiff boards and spread your legs apart with his mass. His claws sank around your hips without piercing your flesh, though their sharpness was undiminished to you regardless.

You knew agitation would not serve you here, neither would bursts of courage to escape. He would catch you with those talons, eat your insides with them and fuck you all the same.

He mounted you clumsily, then.

Enormous, coarse-haired hips grinding against your bare ass, prickling you, making you wince from where your face was nearly pressed into the wood below. You shivered at the first pass of his cock between your legs. Stiff and girthy, arched so well that you felt the moist tip drag across you, catching on spots he'd licked to flinching sensitivity, eagerly prodding at you.

The beast made a sound; a suffering groan with the tremble of his hips before he was thrusting inside of you. The sheer viciousness of his hips hammering against the globes of your ass and his heaviness forced you flat to the floor, where you reached out from the sides of your body for something to hold and grip for comfort. It was barren everywhere you touched.

Your walls were still tight around his cock even as the moments passed, growing no closer to accommodating his size than before, strokes animalistic and messy. While his fur muffled the friction of your skin, the airless dark of your bedroom was compacted with lewd squelching and moans you'd never known you were capable of making. Your noises were high-pitched and vile, paced with his hips, the curve of his cock stroking your velvety insides, and the wet suction releasing when he'd partially withdraw.

Above you, he panted with his long tongue lolling, dripping strings of saliva onto your back where they cooled upon contact and made you feel filthy. Your body ached from his weight pinning you to the inflexible floorboards, cold numbing your skin, hardening your nipples, grinding them down with each of his thrusts.

The enclosed space held an unusual smell, one apart from what you knew was sex. How sweat and salt and cum clung to the mustiness of old places. This was more pungent; earthier and heavier as it filled the room and leaked out of your hole, oozing down your thighs like nectar from a weeping peach.

You continued to let the beast—your husband—fuck you into the wood, the grain, to become an impression in the floor as nothing else could be done. But you were sore now and sure to be swollen, as you were an uncomfortable fit for him again; virgin tightness which gripped every vein and ridge in his cock.

The grinning beast bared even more of his teeth, clicking them together as he released a shuddering sound, too distant to be human but not entirely monstrous. He rutted you carnally, pushing your legs as far apart as they could go from where you were on your stomach, and went deeper inside of you still.

Something about the depth was so wrong—not meant to be, not meant to be experienced by a creature so simple as yourself. It was divine pleasure and pain, it was a threshold that shouldn't have been crossed, yet he had persevered and fucked you into screams.

His hips stuttered violently and he growled; he snarled; he whimpered like an actual beast mortally wounded. You gasped in awe at an enormity of sensations: his cum gushing inside of you, spurting out in thick ribbons to join the rest that had dried on your thighs, and his knot stretching your walls, locking his hips against your ass.

You fidgeted from the bulbous growth, clenching around it, whining wanly while he insistently humped you to burrow the knot as far as it could go. He was trying to breed you; plug his spend inside of you just as he would have had another creature of his sort. Because you were his spouse, perhaps he was only able to perceive you as his mate.

His movements soon slowed, calmed in a way of someone who'd been taken by blows of exhaustion and draped his large body across your back, prodding you with his spinose furs. There was some tenderness in how he kept his arms outside of you, bracing his weight onto them so as to not smother you. He did it to adjust his knot and half-hard cock inside you as well, unforgiving to the idea that you might have forgotten his fullness, that you were brimmed with his cum and felt bloated from it.

Nothing would come from this, only the shame of knowing you'd moaned and screamed for this beast, but not the human you'd married.

[starconchs]

𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐞— gojo satoru

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: even after you leave the jujutsu world behind, gojo satoru finds himself unable to get over you. genre: fluff! some angst but happy ending, friends to lovers notes: inspired by the song "haunt me (x3)" by teen suicide, gojo is awful at realizing his own feelings and dealing with them wc: ~4.8k

the day that you leave tokyo jujutsu tech is a dull one.

gojo think this must've been months in the planning, especially considering the fact that you're standing with nothing but a backpack slung over your shoulder with the rest of your belongings nowhere to be seen.

(he later learns that they had already been moved to your new apartment, and nanami and shoko had helped you move out over the course of a month.)

he also discovers that he's the only one that hasn't been informed of your departure, especially since he seems to be the only one taken by surprise as you stand by the entrance and say your goodbyes. he wonders if it's his fault for taking so many missions after geto's defection, and he feels his stomach lurch uncomfortably when he realizes that he's been so distracted that he once again couldn't see something happening with one of his friends.

and now you're leaving.

"you have to promise to visit," shoko says, engulfing you in a tight hug. gojo feels his mouth run dry at the sight, and he can't help but feel panicked when you give shoko a soft grin.

"i'll certainly do my best," you respond, reaching over to tug on her hair. she sighs in return, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you gently as she stares you down.

"answer your phone, ok? you can't ignore my texts now that you're leaving."

a quiet laugh leaves your lips at her words, and you nod reassuringly before giving her a loud smooch on the cheek and moving down the line. gojo watches you closely as you say your goodbye to yaga, the older man turning away from you to brush a fake tear away from his eye. he presses a soft, floppy doll into your hands before you move away from him, and gojo can see the distinct shine in your eye that lets him know that you're holding tears at bay.

he looks down at the ground when he realizes that he's the only one left for you to say goodbye to, and he can't help the way he tenses up when he sees your shoes come to a stop in front of him. there's a moment of silence during which gojo can feel everyone's eyes on him, and he begrudgingly looks up at you and removes his sunglasses.

if this is the last time he's seeing you, he's going to make sure he remembers every little detail.

there's a sharp intake of breath as you steadily meet his gaze, and you find yourself rendered speechless at the sight of his eyes. gojo can hear shoko cough lightly, and he steels himself before giving you a forced smile.

"so you're leaving," he whispers, his eyes widening slightly when he realizes what he's just said. you seem to be caught off guard as well, eyebrows raising in surprise before giving him a nod. he takes a moment to breathe, aware of shoko's lingering gaze as the two of you face each other. "oh. i didn't know."

"yeah," you breathe, rubbing your arm as you look away from him. "i hadn't gotten the chance to tell you. it seems like you're always off on a mission these days."

"you could've texted," gojo attempts to say jokingly, wincing when his words fall flat. you laugh lightly at his words, recognizing the teasing undertone even if the delivery had been less than perfect. you always seem to understand gojo, regardless of whether or not he wants you to.

"we both know you never look at your phone," you tease back, giving him a pretty smile that he hasn't seen in a while. he chuckles breathlessly at your jab, and he nods his agreement before glancing at shoko.

"neither do you," he shoots back, the corners of his lips turning up into a small smile when you follow his line of sight. "you gotta get better at that. can't risk pissing shoko off."

the space between the two of you is filled with uncertain laughter at gojo's remark, and you take a moment to study gojo before taking a step forward and wrapping your arms around his neck. he stumbles back a step or two at your sudden action, tensing up when you tuck your face into the crook of his neck.

"i'll miss you," you whisper, your breath warm against his neck. he tries to ignore the goosebumps that rise up along the smooth expanse of his neck, too focused on wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to him when he feels you start to step away.

gojo knows that everyone else is watching the two of you, he can feel shoko's soft gaze and yaga's sad look as he does his best to ignore them and bury his face into your hair. there's an intense urge to ask you to stay building up inside of him, and he clamps his lips shut tightly in order to keep himself from blurting out his plea. the two of you remain in each other's arms before you finally take a deep breath and step away, giving gojo a watery smile.

"i'll miss you, satoru," you whisper, looking away and blinking back your tears. "i'll see you later, yeah?"

gojo nods dumbly as you finally walk away, giving everyone one last wave before slipping into the car that's been waiting for you this entire time. it isn't until he sees it disappear from view that gojo realizes that he didn't tell you that he would miss you too.

he wastes no time in slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes, clearing his throat quietly before turning and making his way back inside the building.

a week later, gojo hears that nanami has left jujutsu tech as well, and he can't help but wonder if he'll ever see either of you again.

gojo likes to think that he's matured, even though shoko might say otherwise because she's certain she's right. and also to piss him off.

but the truth is, he's no longer the same spunky, reckless teenager he was before everything went wrong in his life. he knows how to sort of work through his emotions now— in a way he thinks is healthy, he might add, but he can't help but find himself frozen in this very moment. there's a weird ache in his heart, one that he silently notes seems to be brought on by the flurry of emotions he's feeling in that very instant.

he wonders if they're visible on his face. they are.

gojo satoru is the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer in japan, maybe even in the world, and yet he feels like he's been reduced to almost nothing when a familiar face slides into the seat across from him.

five years is clearly not long enough to forget you, gojo realizes, physically wincing at the way his heart seems to race at the sight of you. his eyes meet yours, and he holds steady eye contact with you for a few seconds before ducking his head and quietly excusing himself from the table.

he takes a deep breath to attempt and soothe his rattled nerves as he takes a seat at the bar, squishing himself into the corner so that he's not visible from your table. he orders a soda from the bartender, ignoring the disbelieving look he gets in return before he ambles off to prepare the drink.

gojo has barely taken a sip of the soda before shoko is crashing into his side, settling onto the barstool next to him and digging her elbow into his side as she calls her order out to the bartender. neither of them speak until shoko gets her drink, and she immediately lifts it to her lips and takes a big sip that makes gojo shudder with disgust.

"surprise," shoko says dryly, glancing at gojo as he spares a look in your direction. he notices three extra people at the table, and he lets his shoulders drop in relief when he sees familiar heads of blond, white, and brunette.

"yeah, quite the surprise," gojo huffs, taking another sip of his soda. he stares at shoko until she turns to face him, a mildly displeased look on her face as she takes in his furrowed eyebrows. "i didn't know you still kept in contact with them."

"i didn't know you didn't still keep in contact with them," shoko shoots back, raising an eyebrow as she studies gojo's conflicted expression. she continues before he can gather his thoughts, earning a loud sigh as she speaks. "you kept in contact with nanami just fine. in fact, all he does is complain about how you never leave him alone."

gojo swallows harshly at shoko's words, and he thinks long and hard before deciding to remain silent for the time being. he can't find it in himself to admit that the thought of reaching out to you hurts him more than he cares to admit. you had left the jujutsu world, the one part of your life that included him, behind. even if he wanted to, gojo doesn't think he can find the words to express how he's feeling.

"switch seats with me when we get back to the table," gojo says suddenly, pausing to slurp up the rest of his drink. shoko glares at him when he sucks on nothing but air, the obnoxious sound causing her to reach over and flick him in the cheek. gojo grins widely when she hits nothing but air, his infinity protecting him from shoko's incredibly violent wrath.

"no," she says, getting off her barstool and picking up her drink. gojo realizes too late that she's heading back to the table, and he scrambles after her in an attempt to get there before her. his attempts are fruitless, and he finds himself awkwardly standing behind shoko's seat as she takes her place two chairs down from you.

gojo acts normal when everyone turns to glance at him, and he stiffly makes his way back to his own seat, avoiding your questioning gaze as he sits down. it takes a second for the table to break out into chatter again, and gojo doesn't hesitate before turning to the seat next to him and striking up a conversation with utahime. he notices mei mei grab your attention out of the corner of his eye, and he can't help but sigh in relief as he focuses on utahime once again, disregarding her annoyed look.

gojo is certain that ignoring you is much easier than dealing with whatever the hell is causing him to feel like he's dying inside.

the days that follow the dinner at the restaurant are unnervingly quiet, and gojo finds himself sitting on his couch and wondering if he should reach out to you.

there are no missions to take at the moment, and gojo is left with nothing to do but stare at his phone and wait for a message that never comes. megumi takes note of his sullen behavior, and although a part of him is curious about gojo's sudden attitude change, he doesn't think he actually cares enough to ask the white-haired sorcerer about what seems to be bothering him.

a few more days pass before gojo ultimately decides that reaching out to you would do more harm than good, especially with the way he completely ignored you at dinner. he's given no time to even think about changing his mind, and the very next day, he's being sent out on yet another mission.

he eventually falls into the same monotonous routine his life had prior to his run-in with you, and he wonders what would've changed if he had decided to take the chance and reach out the day after seeing you. there's a dull ache in his chest that seems to linger even after he makes his decision, and it only seems to get worse whenever shoko deigns to share updates about you with him.

the two of them know that gojo is more than grateful for her updates, even if he refuses to ask about you outright. he's certain that if he were to fully give into his curiosity that his heart would feel like it's giving out on him, and not even shoko's displeased looks are enough for him to get over himself and just ask you directly. he's even stopped pestering nanami, too afraid that he would give in and ask him questions about you.

it isn't until a long time passes (a year and a half; he's kept count) that gojo thinks he's finally getting over it— getting over you. his heart finally starts feeling lighter and breathing becomes a little bit easier and he can't help but think about how silly he was being, staying hung up for so long on somebody who probably never even thought twice about him.

they're small improvements but they're still improvements, and gojo reminds himself of that even as he walks down the busy streets of tokyo. he breathes out a sigh of relief as he slips into the local pharmacy, the cool air conditioning a welcome reprieve from the sticky heat outside.

he mumbles to himself as he moves through the aisles, scanning the shelves as he looks for children's allergy medication. the sudden weather changes had affected megumi and tsumiki in a way none of them had expected, and gojo was left alone to deal with their pitiful sniffles and soft complaints.

"allergy meds," he whispers, reaching out to grab a box only to put it back when it's not the one he's looking for. "there's so much cough syrup, where's the aller—"

"gojo?"

so maybe he hasn't improved, gojo thinks to himself as he freezes up at the sound of your voice. he holds his breath as you approach him, and he squeezes his eyes shut when he feels your sleeve brush against his.

six and a half years isn't enough to forget about you either, it seems.

"it's been a while, huh?" you ask, giving him a soft glance before looking at the shelves in front of you. there's a light hum that escapes your lips as you bend down to grab something before straightening up and holding out a box in your hand. "allergy meds, right?"

gojo nods silently as he takes the box from you, quickly scanning the text on it to make sure it was the right brand. there's an awkward silence as he thinks about what to say, and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind when you turn your face away from him.

"it's not for me!"

a noise that gojo thinks might be a giggle leaves your lips at his proclamation, and he mentally kicks himself for starting up a conversation with you.

"it's for megumi, right?" you ask softly, unaware of the way gojo's eyes widen at your question. "that zenin kid you took in?"

when you notice gojo's shocked look, you hastily ass onto your statement. "shoko told me about him when i asked about you."

'shoko told me about him when i asked about you.'

gojo thinks he feels his head spin when he hears those words come out of your mind. he does his best to remain calm, reaching out a hand to lean against the shelf comfortably and wincing when he instead knocks down a row of the cough syrups he had been studying earlier.

"uh, fushiguro, actually," he mutters, doing his best to focus on straightening out the products he knocked down. "his dad took his wife's last name or something like that. but yeah, the medicine is for him and his sister."

he finds himself shuffling awkwardly as you look down at your watch, eyes widening slightly when you take note of the time. he watches as you turn to face the shelf behind you, quickly plucking some eye drops off the shelf before turning back to him.

"i have to go, i'm running late for a meeting," you say sheepishly, giving gojo a soft smile. he gives you a half-smile in return, accompanied by a lazy wave as he waits for you to leave. you stand in front of him for a second, hesitating slightly before leaning in and wrapping your arms around him in a quick hug. gojo tenses up in your embrace, his breath catching in his throat and hands freezing mid-air before he hesitantly places them on your back. you pull back slightly after a few seconds, looking up at gojo with a stare that makes his heart feel like it's about to beat out of his chest before you address him once more. "it was nice to see you. we should catch up sometime."

you're gone with a smile and a wave, quickly paying for your eye drops before darting out the door. gojo remains in his spot for five minutes after your departure, only moving when he sees the amused look the cashier seems to be giving him. he doesn't speak as he pays for the allergy medication, and he hastily makes his exit back into the stifling heat. he starts walking down the street as he tucks his change into his pocket, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when his fingers brush against a piece of paper that hadn't bee there before.

there's an annoyed grumble from a passerby when gojo suddenly stops in the middle of the street, his fingers clutching onto the paper that contains very familiar handwriting.

'can't wait to see you again! :)'

the line is followed by what he assumes to be your phone number, and gojo can't help but wonder when you had the chance to write the note. he begins moving down the street again, his steps sluggish as he hesitates near a trash can. before he can think any harder, he lets the paper flutter into wastebasket, only pausing for a brief second before moving away.

not seeing you over the past year and a half made his heart feel lighter, yet all it took was a five minute interaction with you to make his heart feel worse than it ever had before.

the world loves to play cruel jokes on him, gojo thinks.

the past two years have been a whirlwind of chaos and uncertainty, and he's had no time to stop and think about you while dealing with geto, sukuna, and the emergence of the cursed spirit that calls itself mahito.

if he really thinks about it, he's had no time to sit and rest. from geto's attack to yuuta's training to megumi's missions to yuuji's interesting choice that led to him eating sukuna's finger, he's had no time to sit and truly enjoy the little things life has to offer.

(not that he's ever had the time. the life of a special grade sorcerer is a busy one, but gojo can't deny that things weren't always as complicated as they have been the last couple of years.)

so when yaga tells him that nanami is returning to jujutsu tech, gojo thinks that it's the perfect time to let yuuji learn from someone other than him while he takes care of some unfinished business. what he doesn't expect however, is to see you standing next to nanami, a pretty smile on your face as you greet yaga with a hug.

ten years. ten years and somehow, you still manage to make gojo feel the same way he did way back then.

there's something wrong with him, he thinks, especially because it's starting to seem like he's cursed to always somehow coexist with those he cares about without ever fully being a part of their lives. there's no way he can turn around and pretend he never saw you, not with the way yaga is already yelling at him to go over and greet the returners.

gojo wonders why this happens every time he sees you. he doesn't know how to label what he feels whenever you pop up in his life, and it isn't until you give him a hesitant greeting— your tone shy and awkward after receiving nothing but radio silence from him— that gojo thinks he might finally know what it is he feels for you.

and when the thought of him being in love with you crosses his mind and makes him feel like he wants to die, all he can do is tamp down his swirling emotions with a goofy grin aimed at nanami.

"nanami! what a pleasure to see you here," gojo sings, immediately pulling the blond man into a reluctant hug. he gives you a polite nod in greeting, and he can't help the way his heart sinks when you nod in response and look away.

"likewise," nanami replies, his tone strained as he pulls away from gojo. he fixes his shirt as he steps over to you, and the two of you stand silently as you wait for yaga to speak.

"introduce them to yuuji," yaga says, turning around and heading back towards his office. "and don't cause trouble. i mean it, satoru."

gojo giggles at yaga's words before clapping his hands and motioning for the two of you to follow after him, leading you down a series of hallways before you come to a stop in front of an empty room.

"yuuji! there's someone i'd like you to meet!"

you're taken slightly aback when your eyes meet bright, brown ones, and you can't help but stare as a teenage boy with pink hair comes to a stop in front of you and nanami.

"this is nanami kento!" gojo all but yells, once again slinging his arm around nanami's shoulders and swaying him back and forth. the boy, yuuji, looks at nanami curiously, his eyes focused on the glasses perched on his nose. he has no time to speak before gojo is introducing you as well, his voice softer than it had been when introducing nanami. yuuji's eyes sparkle as they shift to you, and all of a sudden he's breaking out into a boyish smile that only serves to remind you just how young he really is.

"woah! i didn't think you were actually real!" he proclaims, earning a strained laugh from gojo. "when gojo mentioned you he said you were really p—"

the rest of his words are muffled, gojo's hands clamped tightly against his mouth as he pulls yuuji away from you. out of the corner of your eye, you can see nanami staring at you, and you only give him a shrug in return as gojo pats yuuji's head and lets him go.

"you'll be following them around on missions," gojo finally explains, pushing yuuji towards you and nanami. "they're both grade 1 sorcerers so don't worry, you'll be safe! now if you'll excuse me, i have to go."

gojo's out of the room before either of you can breathe out a goodbye, and you tense for a second before excusing yourself and following after him. he hasn't gotten terribly far, but his long legs give him the advantage of staying ahead of you even as you start jogging lightly in an attempt to catch up to him.

"gojo!" you call out, huffing lightly when he ignores you and turns a corner. "hey! gojo, wait! satoru!"

the sounds of his given name has his steps faltering, and he reluctantly turns around when he hears your footsteps getting closer and closer. there's a rigidity to his stance that you've never seen, his shoulders hunched in an almost defensive way as you finally come to a stop in front of him.

"yeah?" he asks, an uncomfortable grin settling on his lips as he looks anywhere but you. he's grateful for his blindfold in this very moment, the dark fabric preventing him from seeing you in your entirety and preventing you from seeing the way he can't seem to look at you for more than half a second.

"i—," you say, starting to speak and cutting yourself off before looking down at the ground. you sigh softly, shaking your head lightly as your shoulders slump. "never mind. forget about it."

you turn to walk back to the room, and gojo feels like he might actually keel over and die right then and there if he lets you walk away yet again.

"how have you been?"

gojo's question hangs in the air, and he can't help but flinch when you finally look at him again, your eyes swirling with hurt and sadness and other emotions that pass so quickly that gojo isn't sure he could figure out what they were even if he tried.

"you'd know if you hadn't thrown my phone number away," you retort quietly, crossing your arms as he approaches you. gojo breathes in sharply at your words but remains quiet, his throat going dry as he realizes that you had seen what he did that day. "why, gojo?"

gojo weighs his options, vacillating between telling you the truth or spewing a lie. the words seem to spill out of his mouth before he can even think about whether or not to say them, a trend he notices is extremely common whenever he's in your presence. "because you've ruined my life."

okay, so the truth it is.

your eyes widen in hurt when you take in his words, and it takes everything you have to not burst into tears on the spot. "oh, i see."

"wait," gojo says, scrambling to fix the situation that just keeps getting worse and worse with everything he says or does. "that's not what i meant."

"then what did you mean?" you ask sharply, your eyes narrowing slightly as you stare him down.

"what i mean is that i think i love you," he says in a rush, ignoring the way your eyes widen in surprise at his admission. he doesn't give you the chance to respond, too focused on saying everything that's been building up for the past decade before he gets cold feet. "you've ruined my life, you know? it's been ten years but it's damn near impossible to get over you. my heart still feels as heavy as it did the day you let, maybe even heavier, and i threw away your number because i didn't see any benefit in reaching out to you. why would i torture myself by keeping in contact with you when i belong to the world you wanted to leave behind?"

"i wanted to leave the jujutsu world behind," you interject softly, taking a hesitant step towards gojo before coming to a stop. "that doesn't mean i wanted to leave gojo satoru behind."

"oh," gojo breathes. he wonders if you can hear how loud his heart is beating in his chest, and he decides that maybe he doesn't care. "does that mean that—"

"i liked you?" you interrupt, nodding your head softly. "or like, i guess. i agree, ten years isn't enough to get over you."

"i was talking about you," gojo mumbles dumbly, earning a shrug in response from you. a loud crash sounds from the direction of the room you had left nanami in, and you give gojo a hesitant look before motioning in the direction of the noise.

"i should probably go and check that out," you say quietly, a smile twitching at the corners of your lips. "y'know, make sure that nanami is okay."

"um, yeah. yeah that sounds reasonable," gojo says, his mind still focused on your impromptu confession.

"i don't think this conversation is over yet," you continue, breathing out a laugh when gojo nods in agreement. he jumps slightly when you take his hand in yours, slipping a piece of paper into in before tugging him down to press a kiss to his cheek. "let me know when you're free, yeah? maybe we can get dinner or something and talk."

"are you asking me out on a date?" he asks cheekily, doing his best to compose himself.

"maybe i am," you say slyly, squeezing his hand once before letting go. you turn to walk down the hall, only pausing to look at him over your shoulder once before you turn the corner. "don't lose my number this time, okay?"

gojo chuckles at your words, nodding in agreement as he gives you a lazy salute. "i wouldn't dream of it."

it isn't until you're out of sight that gojo realizes his heart feels the lightest that it's ever felt in years, and he finds himself once again wondering when you had gotten the chance to write the note.

reblogs are appreciated <3 ty for reading !!

[svelish]

Reader is a normal girl and their relationship is discovered by the media and she receives alot of hate so billie comforts her

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

You were always been an ordinary girl. You liked quiet moments, the sound of rain, and the way Billie looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

But now, the whole world was looking at you too—and they weren’t nearly as kind.

It started with one picture. Just one.

A single snapshot of Billie and you leaving a restaurant, fingers brushing, a fleeting moment turned into an internet storm. And then came the comments.

"Who is she?"

"She doesn’t deserve Billie."

"She’s nothing special."

"Billie could do so much better."

You tried to ignore it. Told yourself it didn’t matter. But it did. It did because no matter how much you loved Billie, no matter how safe you felt in her arms, you couldn’t silence the voice in your head whispering that maybe—just maybe—everyone else was right.

That night, you sat in the living room, scrolling through the endless flood of opinions you never asked for. The weight of it settled in your chest, pressing down until you could barely breathe.

You didn't hear Billie come in until soft footsteps stopped behind you.

"Y/n?"

You stiffened, quickly locking your phone. "You’re home late."

"Yeah." Billie's voice was careful, like she already knew something was wrong. "What’s going on?"

You exhaled, standing up too quickly. "Nothing. You must be tired. You should rest."

Billie took a step forward.

You took a step back.

"Don’t," you whispered.

Billie’s brows furrowed. "Don’t what?"

"Don’t touch me." You swallowed, voice unsteady. "I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you."

Silence.

Then, slowly, carefully, Billie stepped forward again—closer this time, closing the space between them.

You didn’t move. Didn’t run. You should have. But the warmth of Billie’s presence, the quiet steadiness of her breathing, made it impossible to leave.

And then—so softly yet so undeniably firm—Billie wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you into a backhug.

You inhaled sharply, your whole body going rigid, but Billie didn’t let go. She just held you, arms secure yet gentle, as if she was trying to shield you from the whole damn world. "I don’t want to hear it," Billie murmured, voice a quiet command against your ear.

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell her she didn’t understand, but then Billie tilted her head down—and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

You shivered.

"You don’t get to decide what I deserve," Billie whispered, lips brushing against your skin. Another kiss—this time on your shoulder, slow and tender. "I love you. I choose you." You squeezed your eyes shut. "Billie—"

Billie only tightened her arms, her lips trailing upward, leaving kisses wherever she could reach—along your neck, the curve of your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear. Each one is soft yet desperate, as if trying to make you feel everything words couldn’t say.

"You think they hate you?" Billie breathed between kisses. "Let them. I don’t care." Her lips found the back of your ear, pressing a kiss there that sent a shudder through you. "But don’t push me away."

Your hands trembled as they slowly came up to grasp Billie’s arms. Your grip was weak, unsure—but you didn’t pull away. Billie smiled against your skin, kissing your cheek, then your temple, before resting her chin on your shoulder.

"I’m scared," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," Billie murmured, tightening her embrace. "But I’ve got you. And I’m not going anywhere."

You let out a shaky breath, finally leaning into her. Letting yourself believe it.

Billie felt it—the way your weight slowly gave in, the tension in your shoulders melting just enough for Billie to hold you closer.

She pressed another soft kiss to your temple, hands running soothingly along your waist. "Breathe, baby," she whispered. "I’ve got you."

You took a shaky breath, gripping Billie’s arms as if grounding yourself. "I hate this," she admitted, voice small. "I hate how they make me feel like I’m not enough for you."

Billie frowned, arms tightening. "You are more than enough. You're everything."

You let out a quiet, broken laugh. "Then why does it feel like I don't belong?"

Billie turned her head slightly, lips brushing against your ear. "Because you don’t belong to them, y/n. You belong with me."

Your breath hitched.

Billie’s hands traced slow circles against your stomach, her voice low and steady. "Let them talk. Let them scream. None of it changes the fact that I love you." She pressed another lingering kiss to your cheek. "And I’m never letting you go."

You closed her eyes, exhaling softly. You still felt the weight of the world outside—but here, in Billie’s arms, it didn’t seem so heavy.

[hitomisuzuya]

zombie apocalypse au. scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. cunnilingus. fingering. feral!softdom!scara.

i would like to give a big, big thanks to @pxndxzdx for letting me use this idea to help my writers block and having a lovely conversation with me yesterday. i hope i did okay 😅

life is a bitch and then you die. millions of people discovered that first hand all over the world when the fabled zombie apocalypse hit. and it made scaramouche wonder if people thought it was such a cool thing to talk, and fantasize about now.

reality has a big hand to bitch slap someone in the face with. although, he couldn't exactly say the zombie apocalypse didn't give him a chance to work out some long simmering frustration with humanity.

a few months after the world blew itself to hell, he discovered you in an abandoned mall looking for supplies. he'd seen you around school, having a few mutual friends between you.

scaramouche fucking swore it was love at first sight seeing you bashing a zombie's head in repeatedly with a baseball bat, yelling at it about how you just wanted to find supplies in peace. he took you back to his hidey-hole, a very efficient shelter with pretty much all the works that are now considered rare, food, hot running water, medicine, and electricity.

it really would've been a shame to him if the world cruelly swallowed up someone delicate like you. the zombie apocalypse seemed to have an affinity for bringing capability out in people they didn't know they had.

scaramouche could barely handle himself right now. having just gotten out of the shower, the scent of your body wash and shampoo fresh on the air, standing in front of him wrapped in a towel. "sorry, my head was in the clouds and i kind of forget to bring clothes to change into with me. let me just grab them real quick and-" you said shyly, hastily looking through the drawer.

"no, you can just change in here. it's fine," scaramouche cut you off, very reluctantly turning his head away. the blush on his cheeks is infuriating to him. the curves of your body being teased to him by a towel that only covered about less than half your thighs. the peek of your chest over the top. needless to say, he had to turn the rest of his body away from you to.

"are you sure? i mean, i can just go back and change real quick," you said and fuck you are so cute when you fret shyly like that.

"i said it's fine," he scoffs, he didn't want certainly walking back out into the hallway were other people would undoubtedly leer at you. you are his precious treasure damn it, not their's.

"just hurry up because i am getting hard," he mumbles, shifting restlessly on the bed a little.

"huh?" he mumbled so quietly you could barely hear him. "look, i know i am not much to look at but i didn't think i was that bad."

scaramouche stiffens and grits his teeth at your response. he couldn't believe the drivel that just came out of your pretty mouth. did you have any idea how much his eyes linger on you? how often he'd been awake at night, fighting the urge to stroke his cock while he thought about you? how much his cock aches to be buried to the hilt inside you?

a delicate girl like you deserves to be bred.

"i said hurry up because seeing you standing there wrapped in a towel is making me hard. fucking hell," scaramouche snaps, turning to look at you. "please, get dressed before i lose my self control."

that should say a lot.

maybe life wasn't up to bitch slapping him that much now because with that, he had you on your back on his bed, the towel discarded on the floor, and his head between your thighs. if he has to die anytime soon, he could now die a happy man having gotten to taste that pretty pussy of yours.

he, as well as his cock are on cloud nine.

his tongue parts your folds as a shiver of anticipation goes to straight to his cock. he instantly muffles a groan into your pussy, licking long, agonizingly slow stripes. "my pretty, do you know how fucking long i have wanted to do this?"

"y-you have?" you said shakily, blushing at the sight of him slowly lapping at your pussy. you writhe on the bed a little as his pierced tongue sweeps up to your clit. the consistent wagging and swirling of the ball of his piercing making your clit throb unbearably. a strangled moan tears from your throat as your hips rock up into his mouth.

he chuckles feeling you shiver as his thumbs skim across your inner thighs. "so sensitive, so responsive," he hums approvingly, scooping your abused clit into his mouth to suck on.

your hands clutch at the sheets before putting them on the back of his head. pressing his mouth down on your pussy, eagerly chasing the delicious friction from his tongue piercing. you open your mouth to form words, however instead his ears are met with moans and little whimpers that sound way too sweet.

"you sound so fucking cute, kitten," scaramouche releases your clit, prodding his tongue into your dripping hole just in time to feel it clench at his praise. "be a good girl while i devour you," god he wants to reach down and fist his cock, but he couldn't bear to let go of your thighs.

his tongue is fast overwhelming your senses, rubbing and licking on sensitive parts you didn't even know you had. tears well into your eyes as you grind your pussy on his mouth, shameless moans fueling his fire. "i..i have always been in love you!" you cry out, whimpering as the ball of his tongue piercing bullies your clit.

scaramouche got harder hearing your words. "adorable. i am tongue fucking you so good that you confessing your love for me. you are all mine now, dollface," he moans, drunk on the taste of you. "fuck you are gonna cum so hard i can taste it."

you gasp in pleasure as he pushes two fingers inside of you, desperate to taste you cumming. he flicks his elegant fingers into your sweet spot in a way that makes you see stares, focusing his tongue on your clit as he scissors your walls apart.

his fingers are absolutely soaked, squelching wetly in and out of your pussy. hooking into your sweet spot with calculated accuracy. whining, you tug on his hair as he coils the knot of your orgasm up tight. his tongue lapping at your pussy like a starved dog.

"oh god, please, scara! make me cum!" you cry out, your legs shaking as you grind on his mouth, your pussy eager to suck his fingers in.

"don't fucking need to tell me twice," he groans, drinking in your fucked out state. he adds a third finger, sending your body to quake with pleasure as he further stretches you apart. "fuck yourself on my mouth pretty, i welcome it," his eyes roll into the back of his head as your pussy clenches hard on his fingers.

pleasure burst white behind your eyes, your orgasm practically being ripped out of you. you shake as your pussy gushes on his fingers, flooding his tongue with your taste while you cum hard. "don't.. don't stop, please," you plead so sweetly as he nurses his tongue on your clit through your orgasm.

scaramouche couldn't help it. his cock emptied in his pants, your desperate cry for him leaving him hard again. "sh, sh, it's okay," he cooes, stroking your hips, "I'll take care of you, relax," he wasn't going to stop until the sun came up.

[formulamar]

CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GF | PROLOGUE

max verstappen x femalereader

680 words

➛ disclaimer ➛

seven year age gap. please do not read if it makes you uncomfortable!!! completely fictional.

When you began to go out with Max Verstappen you anticipated for the news to make the celebrity gossip pages and cause an uproar among his fans. Afterall, it was Max Verstappen – four time world champion - you could hardly believe it yourself!

Miraculously, you and Max dated for six months without any interference from the media. It's not like your relationship was a secret or anything. Like any other couple you went out to the movies and dinned at nice restaurants. But early on in your relationship you discovered Max was a homebody, like you! So as you grew closer most of your time together consisted of hanging out at his apartment or yours watching movies or talking for hours. Still, everyone in your inner circle was astounded at how long you were able to maintain your relationship out of the media's radar.

Once you hit the six-month mark and it became clear to both you and Max that your relationship was serious you had a discussion about how outside discourse from the media would affect your relationship. Although you had only been with Max for six months you had witnessed how invasive fans and the media could be. You constantly saw articles discussing Max's private relationships with his family and his team. Every word, every action, every glance was examined and scrutinized. Max often joked that the more interviews he did the more he wished to move somewhere isolated and live out the rest of his days with you far from the judgment of anyone else. But you knew he loved driving too much to retire so early on in his career even with all of his success.

As always Max was direct, "The media is going to be annoying. They're going to make up the most ridiculous stories you've ever heard. Honestly, the best thing we can do is try ignore them as much as we can." You both agreed, the smartest decision was to take control of the narrative instead of running the risk of having your relationship leaked. So you decided to attend a beginning of the season Redbull event with Max. It was a well documented event and important media figures and photographers would be present. The timing was a bonus. Everyone was focused on the upcoming season and most of their curiosity was concentrated on the new car rather than the personal lives of the drivers. It was a perfect way to debut your relationship to the media.

That night approached quickly, and it would be a lie to say it wasn't one of the most nerve-racking nights of your life. As someone who wasn't famous it was intimidating to be exposed to that world. Luckily, your boyfriend saved you from overthinking. Max was reassuring and attentive the entire night. On the car ride to the event, he made sure to hold your hand and make casual conversation as if it were any other night. He also organized for you guys to enter through the back, away from the paparazzi. Throughout the whole night he barely left your side and when he did he made sure you were comfortable. These small details helped you stay grounded.

Overall, it was a good night. It was nice to finally meet members of the team who had such close bonds with Max. You loved hearing all the stories about Max's victories and his race weekend habits. It was obvious that his team adored him and that only confirmed what you had felt in your heart since the day you first met him -- he was a keeper. You and Max went home confident that you had beaten the media. What could they even say? Max was in a new relationship and he was happy. There was nothing else to it.

Except you made the mistake of glossing over a detail the media would never forget. Before you, Max had only dated women older than him. And you were seven years younger than Max.

The next morning you woke up with a new identity. Max Verstappen's controversially young girlfriend.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: happy 2025 everyone 🫧 i had this idea… so i decided to go through with posting the first part. i’m thinking writing + social media posts! what do we think??? i’m open to suggestions so don’t be afraid to comment or inbox me!