#Altars and Mistakes.. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojonanami · 4 months ago

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❝ 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ! ❞

❝ THEY TOOK YOU. SO SATORU GOJO DID THE ONLY REASONABLE THING — HE TOOK THEIR LIVES ! ❞

✧ pairing: gojo satoru x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo rarely loses his cool. except when it comes to you. so when you get taken and found hurt, he takes matters into his own hands to find out who did it and make them pay.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, canon compliant, feral gojo, acts of violence, reader gets kidnapped and attacked, gojo goes insane, gojo clan sucks, higher ups get asses best, yaga and Ijichi featured, dom!gojo, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral (f), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, implied multiple rounds, swearing,

✧ w/c: 8,446

The worst mistake Satoru Gojo ever made that morning was to get out of bed.

If he had just stayed in bed that morning, turned his cellphone on silent, and basked in the warmth of the soft comforter you had picked out (even as you balked at the exorbitant price) and especially in the warmth of your embrace — the one place where it felt as if it was okay to be himself, just him.

And now it was just him.

Because you were gone.

When his phone rang that morning, your lips had been against his, indulging in a lazy morning tryst because for once, Satoru had been off duty — or he was supposed to be off duty. Your gaze had been the ones to stir him from sleep, as even in the embrace of sleep he couldn’t resist you or your adoring eyes — the very same he held more precious than his own.

“I didn’t even say anything, how did you wake up?” And his lips curl at your slight frown, his fingers brushing over the curve of your cheek.

“Thought my pretty wife was admiring my beauty while I slept so I had to wake up to the same,” and he’s leaning over to press lazy kisses along your jaw.

“Did you just call yourself beautiful?” You snort, and he grins, before falling into a playful pout.

“My own wife doesn’t think her husband’s beautiful?” And you’re rolling your eyes, before rolling over on top of him, your body only covered by the black t-shirt you had stolen from him last night, a small groan as he felt your very bare thighs brush against his boxers.

You were a goddess — your smile ethereal in the sunlight streaming in from the window as you leaned over him, and he was willing to worship all his life at your altar, if you would only give him a brush of your lips.

“Of course I think you’re beautiful, I’m the one always saying that anyway,” your lips brush his chastely, far too quick and teasing, “I was just imagining what Nanami would say if he heard that,”

“Oh? And what’s that, sweetheart?”

“He would say the size of your ego is becoming a threat to Earth’s atmosphere,” and Satoru raises an eyebrow.

“And my darling wife would disagree, right?” and you look away, biting back a smile, “eh? You’d let him say such heinous things about me?”

“It’s not heinous if it’s true—“ you gasp, and he’s flipped you on your back, pressing his lips to yours to swallow your words, along with your giggles, as you break free, “Toru! Ah—“ and he nibbles at your neck, “hey!”

“You have to pay for the consequences of your actions, baby, what kind of sensei would I be?” And you’re rolling your eyes.

“I’m not your student, ngh,” you’re gasping as his teeth sinks into your neck, “if anything, I’m the one reigning you in,”

“Well then,” he chuckled in his words, as his fingers trace your jaw, “I’ll have to show you how far your student has come then,” and his lips only brush yours, when his phone rings.

“Baby,” you sigh, and he’s glancing at the phone, a sigh on his lips, as he reaches for the phone, sneaking a glance at you, before he picks up.

You press sweet kisses to his chest as you hear the faint murmur of Yaga’s voice through the phone, hearing reports of the special grades they’ve been tracking, “Old man, this is the first day off I’ve taken off in so looooong,” and he holds the phone away from his ear until Yaga’s screams fade, “fine, fine, send Ijichi,” he hangs up while Yaga was still mid-yell, tossing his phone on the bedside table with a sigh, “sweetheart,”

“I know,” you cup his cheek, his lips in a pout not made for the strongest sorcerer, but for your Satoru, “I’ll be here when you come back — waiting very impatiently,” and he chuckles, his lips finding yours.

“How’d I get so lucky to have such an understanding wife?” And your lips curl.

“You annoyed her into falling in love,” and he gapes at you as you giggle, until he’s got you pinned underneath him yet again, “what? It’s true!”

“Then I’ll have to annoy you some more, just to make sure,” and he’s finding you in another kiss, until his devilish fingers run down your sides, beginning their assault on the spots that made you laugh the most.

You pulled your lips from his, squealing, “Nooooo! Satoru, stop!” you tried to push him off from tickling you, but he was the strongest for a reason—a reason you usually were very grateful for, but not right now. And finally he relented, as you gasped and chuckled still, lips in the most adorable pout, “you’ll pay for that,”

“Oh really? How’s that, wifey?” and you kiss his lips chastely, barely a brush, as you cross your arms, fighting back a smile.

“That’s the only goodbye kiss you get,” and he gasps, clutching his chest dramatically, before that smirk of his returns, “and you try to steal one and I’m making you sleep on the couch,” And he pouts, before you press a longer kiss to his lips, “you’re lucky I love you,”

Satoru grinned, “I know.”’

Yeah, he should have never gotten out of bed.

“Where is she?” For once, Satoru’s words were devoid of humor, the laughter and happiness sapped from his very essence the moment he had heard. The moment he had felt your cursed energy waver. All this time, Satoru’s eyes had been focused on the outline of your soul, no matter where he was, because you were always the one thing he wanted to come home to — that he needed to.

“I don’t know Satoru, that’s why I had called you,” Yaga runs his fingers through his hair, “goddamnit,” he swore, scrubbing a hand down his face, “the mission came from the higher ups, they wouldn’t give me the specifics, but they said it was confidential—“

“I don’t care for the details right now, do we know anything about where she is?” Satoru keeps his words carefully measured, muscles wound taut, the only thing keeping him from using blue to destroy Jujutsu Tech in one fell swoop was the thought of you, “did she tell you anything else—“

And Ijichi bursts in, brow furrowed, “Gojo, we have a lead.”

~~~

Was this how it would end?

You knew it was in your fate to die, eventually. A wretched cycle that all of you were forced to live. An endless baton pass that always ended with the last runner dying — nothing but a pile of corpses left behind and to look back on.

And it would almost be a relief, a blessing to finally be done — if it wasn’t for Satoru.

You knew he would blame himself for this. He always blamed himself. Blamed himself when he couldn’t beat Toji. Blamed himself when he couldn’t save Riko. Blamed himself when he couldn’t save Geto. Because he was the strongest, and that meant he should be able to solve everyone’s problems — do everything no one else can do, be everywhere at once, and never fail.

Never. And yet, that’s not what the sleepless nights he spent working told you. It only told you that jujutsu would take everything from him, if he let it, and he would let it, if only that meant he could do more good.

And he was so good. Even if he didn’t see it — you could almost feel the lingering warmth of his embrace this morning, the wide grin on his lips as he peppered kisses down your neck, and the soft gaze of blues made of affection just for you — you would always see it for him.

You don’t see the curse coming, your vision blurred from the last strike. The crack of your bones barely registers in your ears, the curse presses you into the wall, claws pressed to your throat, drawing blood to run down your neck.

“Now, now, we can’t kill her, at least not yet,” a voice calls out, “we were given strict orders to wait,”

The curse’s growl reverberated across your skin, a desperate growl deep in its chest, the string of control being pulled taut, as its black nails dig deeper into your side, until it dropped you onto the ground like a rag doll.

Your body ached only for moments before it was chased away by numbness. And you could only wonder if this was how they felt? Riko, Haibara, Geto, all the others you watched die — was this the pain they felt? The ache of muscles that they could no longer feel, the sticky wetness of blood that seeped from their unknowing bodies, and the cold thst crept up from the tips of your toes.

You wanted it to stop. You wanted to stop. But each time you felt the tug of the other side, you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t. Not when Satoru needed you.

Your eyes burn with tears. And you needed him.

~~~

“Where is she?” The same question was ringing in Satoru’s head over and over since he had heard.

Candle wicks trembled with fear, casting shadows on the wall that shivered in the presence of the man before them. The papered panels was all that stood between him and these old men — the very same that played with the lives of many day in and day out. It would be far too easy to kill them all — in fact, it would barely take any effort at all with his cursed technique.

But he wouldn’t allow them the warm embrace of an instant death.

“Such insolence — how dare you enter this place and speak—“

“You ought to be thanking me,” his power sparked in the glint of his eyes, the glow of the lit wicks catching in the hard blues, “for not bashing your skulls in and ripping your hearts from your chests from the moment I entered,”

A silence swept over the room, another voice speaking, “Gojo—“

“The next words out of your mouth better be an answer because I don’t want to ask again,” his voice fills the silence in the room, only broken by the sounds of the candles crackle, “where is she?”

“We cannot disclose where—“ there’s a loud crack, the splintering of wood and the wet squelch of flesh and blood, and a cold breeze swept through the room, the candles going out.

Satoru’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of his neck, forcing the broken floorboards digging into his wrinkled skin, “I said I want an answer, do you think I would think twice about killing any of you?”

There’s a pause and the silence is only filled by the sound of gore dripping down the paper screens and hitting the floor.

“The only reason I haven’t yet was there was no point to it — no meaning,” and he could see you this morning, his lips curled for you, a strangled choking noise leaving his throat as the pads of his fingers squeezed around his neck, “but now I have every reason to, so tell me before I lose my patience,”

A silence fills the room again, until one of them speaks, “Let him go, and we’ll tell you.”

~~~

“Who do you work for?” the words come out strangled, your fingers bunching up your soaked fabric and pressing it to the gash on your stomach, “why did you bring me here?” You force yourself not to give them the satisfaction of a flinch.

“Do you really think it would be that simple to get me to reveal the reason, jujutsu sorcerer?” you hear a distant laugh, “we have our reasons, isn’t that simple enough? Or rather—”

His footsteps clapped against the floor, your head wrenched upwards, as a small yelp escapes your lips, “does it matter when you’re going to die either way?”

And you grit your teeth, before spitting on his face, half blood, half saliva, “At least I don’t have to live a life as pathetic as yours,” his fingers squeeze at your chin, your jaw aching under his grasp.

“Pathetic?” He wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt before, throwing you to the floor, body screaming in pain, but you refuse to show weakness, even as tears burn at your tear ducts, “And yet, I’m not the one bloodied and battered and two inches from death, bitch,” he scoffs, muttering, “I can see why they ordered us to kill you now, who would want someone like you around?”

“Now I’m listening, who gave you those orders?” Another voice says from behind him. The man freezes, while you lift your head, a small smile on your lips, “are you hard of hearing or just plain stupid? Well, I don’t really need to even ask that, do I?”

He was shrouded in shadow, but you didn’t need to see him to know it was him — especially as he tugged his blindfold down with two fingers, blue eyes devoid of any humor or joy, and instead only with hatred.

“Satoru Gojo,” the voice left the man’s lips slowly, but before he could react, the special grade curse that had held you was barreling towards him in a moment, before Satoru held it at bay with his infinity, the other curses following suit — how many did this curse user have in the room with him? Three? No more like five or six, but even so — you scoffed under your breath, it wouldn’t matter, “No, you idiots! Don’t—”

And in a moment, they are eviscerated — held back by his infinity, deep seeded growls and roars leaving their lips, “c’mon now, is this the best you can do? I was expecting more from those bold enough to take my wife, but I guess I expected too much,” he sighs, before he lifts one hand, “Cursed Technique Amplification, Blue,”

You barely can make out the screams from one another, the splatter of their essence raining down from above, until you hear footsteps rushing towards you, and you’re hauled to your feet, pressed against the cursed user, his hand around your neck.

“One more move, and I break her neck,” Satoru landed below with ease, his gaze raised until he met yours, and you saw it soften for you — a silent question of ‘are you okay?’ and your nod and a forced smile that told him you were okay enough.

“You can try,” his words were slow and measured, just as his steps towards you were, “but I don’t think you understand who you are dealing with,”

He tensed, fingers digging into your neck, “I know perfectly well who you are, Satoru Gojo, and I am not afraid to die by your hand for this,”

Satoru’s lips curled, “I wasn’t talking about me,”

The kidnapper’s eyes narrowed, “What?”

And you jabbed at his knee, the bone splintering under your force, but you barely hear the snap or his scream because of the blood roaring in your ears. You don’t spare a second before slamming your other hand into his head, nose breaking from your fist, blood splattering across your arm. You ready yourself for another move, before you felt him ripped away from you, a strong arm around you to steady you.

“It’s okay, I got you, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Satoru murmured, soft words meant to soothe you, as his body envelops your tense muscles, until you finally relax into his arms. Your eyes burned with tears, as you looked up at him, before your eyes slid to the kidnapper, Satoru’s hand around his throat.

“I knew you’d come for me, Toru,” you whispered, grasping onto the front of his jacket, “I knew you would,”

“I always will,” and his eyes turned to the man, voice even, “should I kill him once I’m done questioning him?”

You know he means it.

“I don’t know,” you reply, fingers curling as you pressed your face against his chest, “but I don’t want you to have blood on your hands, not for me,”

“It wouldn’t be for you. It would be for me,” he says softly, “but we can discuss it later,” and then others began to flood the scene, the sights and sounds feeling distant as your eyes drooped with exhaustion.

“Satoru, I’m—“ your voice broke, “I really tried—“

“Shh, you did great,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head, as you finally succumbed to exhaustion, slumping over in his arms, “I’ll handle the rest.”

~~~

“You all must be wondering why I called this meeting,” Satoru said, standing at the head of the Gojo clan’s meeting room. It had been long since he had stood as the head, but far too short for his liking. He had discarded this part of his life as soon as he could, joining Jujutsu Tech without a second of hesitation, and continued to run the operations of his clan as an adult, behind the scenes.

But it seems he was too lax.

It had been a few weeks since the incident. You were asleep for a good day in and out while Shoko worked on you. She came out of your room, pulling off the surgical cap off her head, and Satoru got to his feet, as Shoko removed her gloves and mask, “She’s fine, Satoru,” and he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“How bad was it?” he asks, and she tilts her head, hands slipping into her pockets.

“Are you asking that to know how badly she was injured or so you can do worse to whoever did this?” Satoru shrugs, lips parting and she holds up a hand, “never mind, the less I know, the better,” she grabs your file and opens it, “most of her injuries related to cursed technique burn out — it seems whoever took her used curse spirits to attack her, she mentioned when she was conscious briefly that they didn’t control the curses, but they seemed to be able to work with them somehow,”

“More intelligent curses have been appearing since Yuji became Sukuna’s vessel,” Satoru murmured, but this wasn’t related to the asparagus special grade or volcano head. It was separate — it was personal.

“But all of this to take a first grade sorcerer, why?” and he shakes his head.

“It wasn’t for her — it was for me,” and that’s why they hadn’t killed you, “is she awake?”

Shoko sighed, “She should be waking up in a bit. She didn’t need much aside from some RCT treatment and stitches for the wounds she sustained,” she places a hand on his shoulder, “go see her, and try not to murder anyone until she wakes up,” she turns to leave, heels clicking.

“Wait,” Satoru stops her, and she pauses, “I need a favor.”

~~~

Satoru never liked hospitals. He hadn’t spent much time in them for actual injuries, because of his abilities. However, he spent far too much time inside medical facilities for the Gojo clan’s required medical check-ups. It was to ensure the future head’s health, he was told, but really, it was an excuse to make sure their cash cow would still give them milk.

Because that’s all he ever was — a pawn.

But he had long shed that role, tossed it from the board, when he had left for Jujutsu Tech. But even so, he lingered outside your room, some things still stuck. Especially when he had new memories — of seeing his comrades dead bodies laid on cold metal slabs.

And would you have been another if he hadn’t made it in time?

Satoru shakes his head of his thoughts, and opens the door. You were still asleep. Tucked into the hospital bed, you looked so small somehow, fragile — two things he never saw you as. How could he have? When you were the one on his first day to greet him and then slap him when he had something pretentious or childish (neither of you remembered but you had insisted it was one or the other).

And he had never let you go after that. But now…he couldn’t even hold you.

The sharp beeps of the machine monitoring your vitals, connected by the tubes and wires that ran all over your body. He reaches for his blindfold so he can look at you, really look at you, but he can’t. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into the soft of his palms,

But you were alive. You were alive. You were alive.

That’s what he had to tell himself as he drew closer to your side — no matter how you looked now, you were okay. And that’s what was most important.

“Are you going to brood by my bedside all day?” his gaze snaps to you, your eyes fluttering open still, still drooping and exhausted, but a soft smile on your lips, “Because hospitals are depressing enough, Toru,”

He chuckles, forcing his tears back and his voice to be event, “Sorry, sweetheart, I forgot to pull out the stops for you this time,” and his fingers find yours, lacing as they always did, but they felt so cold, “next time I’ll bring confetti, balloons, streamers, and I’ll serenade you even—”

You snort, “You may be the best at everything, but I know you’ll sing offkey on purpose just to piss off Shoko or anyone else that visits me,” and he laughs shakily, a sigh stuck in his throat.

He presses his forehead to yours, “I love you, so much, y’know that, yeah?”

“I love you too, so much, Toru,” you cup his cheeks, turning your head to press your lips to his hand, “thank you for saving me,”

“You saved yourself, I just cleaned up a little,” his lips find yours in a soft kiss, and your brow furrowed, “what? Are my kissing skills that bad?”

You roll your eyes, “No, but are you okay?” and he scoffs softly, shaking his head.

“You’re the one who got kidnapped and hurt, and you’re asking me if I’m—”

“Satoru, you asked me if you should murder that guy,” you tilted your head, “I know you’re not against killing if it’s necessary or deserved, but the way you said it, I got worried,”

“I’m fine, I just—” he cut off, “I just need to figure out who did this,” you squeeze his hand, “I have to,”

“Satoru—“

“I know you’re okay, but you don’t know how afraid I was that you wouldn’t be—“ he cuts off, “and it’s not just that,” his fingers curl around yours tighter, “it’s not just us we’ll have to worry about in the future. We’re already a family, but what will happen if someone targets you and our future kids?” He takes a shaky breath at the thought,

“I have to make an example.”

Your gaze grows sad, pressing a kiss to his lips, if only to ground him for a moment, “I know,” but you frown all the same, “but promise me, you won’t do anything stupid, ok?”

But he was far from stupid — but the people before him were as close as anyone could get.

“You all are aware of my wife’s attack a few weeks ago,” he said in measured words, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m here to tell you that she has succumbed to her wounds,” his voice wavered, breaking, “she’s gone,”

There were whispers and murmurs that swept over the room, all were silenced by the lift of a hand — one of the Gojo Clan elders, the geezer leader as he liked to call him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Satoru,” he said, lips twisted in a fake frown, “we heard that your beloved wife passed from her injuries a week ago,”

“And yet, I see you’ve brought someone for me to meet,” his eyes slide to the woman dressed for a wedding rather than a meeting, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The woman’s painted lips kept in a neutral expression, her body so rigid he could have mistaken her as a statue if not for his six eyes, and her eyes refused to meet his.

“Satoru, I understand you are mourning, but we have to think of the future of the Gojo clan, and our future place in the Jujutsu world is only as secure as the next heir—“

“And so you thought to disrespect my wife by trying to marry your choice?” but their brows furrow as he begins to laugh, one that sends shivers down their backs.

The elders all gape at him, sharing looks, before turning back to him as his laughter finally settles into a quiet chuckle, “Satoru, what is this?”

“It’s funny that you ever thought I’d fall for this bullshit,” he pulls off his sunglasses, cerulean eyes gleaming in the low light, “did you know my wife was never supposed to be sent on this mission? Or rather, there were no reports of cursed spirits in the area, but yet, orders came for her to report to where she was,”

A hush falls over the group, “And why are you telling us this?”

“Because I think you all have forgotten your place,” in a blink, he’s grasping the neck of the elder, the very same man who had taken him away from his parents at the age of two to ensure his training was done properly, “I am the strongest, not the Gojo clan. I’m the only Gojo needed for the clan to be prosperous,”

“You insolent child—“ Satoru squeezes around his neck, gasps and whimpers clawing their way out from his grip, veins bulging as he tried and failed to pull Satoru’s hands off. He had even let the old man penetrate his infinity and all he had managed was a scratch or two.

“You should be careful when you’re talking to the ‘child’ who has your life in his hands,” and he grows silent, “now, to get back to the point, where did those orders come from?”

A quiet washed over the room, the only sounds were the shaky gasps of the elder in his hand, “W-what are—“

“I had a chat with the higher ups — those rotten old geezers may not like me, but I know they like all their limbs intact,” he drops the elder and twists his arm behind his back, wrenching back until he heard a cracking noise, “and they told me the orders came from the Gojo clan, and I wondered why would my own clan send the wife of the head off to be executed,”

“Satoru—“ one of the elders spoke, and he tilted his head.

“If you want him to die, your excuses will only make this go faster,” and his mouth shuts, “I’ll take your silence as a confirmation that all of you had a hand in this,” he sighs, removing his sunglasses, running his fingers through his hair, “man, I’ve had conspiracies against me, but I never guessed you’d target the one person I value above everything else. But I knew you would fail her little test,”

He’s met with furrowed brows and gritted teeth, the elder looking up at him in fear, “W-what?”

“You see if I had it my way, I would have killed you all, no questions asked,” his fingers close over the top of his head, wrenching him backwards to meet his gaze, “But my wife, my very much alive wife,” he adds, with a glance to the woman looking increasingly faint with each second that passes, “she would want me to see if you’d come clean about the plan and whether some of you were innocent,” his lips curl, “but she doesn’t know the bloody history of the Gojo clan like we do,” and his fingers dig into the flesh of the elder, “so what’s a few more bloodstains?”

He tears off his head, screams ringing out as a rush of scarlet paints the walls, splattering across the other elders. The woman offered to be his wife rings over the others, her shrill shriek piercing their eardrums. It’s a dull thud as the lifeless corpse falls to the floor, as Satoru wiped the blood from his cheek, a cock of his head and eyes flashing with anger.

“You can’t do this! You—“ Satoru’s fist connects with his face, blood flooding his features.

“I can, because I’ve decided the Gojo clan needs to get rid of the tumors that infect it, and besides,” his body crumples to the floor as his foot slams into their stomach, a sick, wet noise that draws gasps and open mouthed silent screams from the others, “what are you going to do about it?”

“Please, please, she’s alive—” one of them begged, all of them falling to their knees, wrinkled faces contorted in fear, blown out eyes and faces wet with tears only making them more ugly than he thought was possible — he really couldn’t end up like these geezers, “we only wanted what was best—we wanted the next head of the clan to be even more powerful than you are—”

He laughs, not an ounce of mirth or levity, shivers running down the spines of the others who watched, as he stepped over the body of the elder, lips twisted into a wide grin, “And there’s your mistake,”

He loomed over the one who spoke, shadow cast over him, as his fingers curled around his arm, before breaking it off, spurts of blood splattering on his clothes, mixing with the other — some of it flecked across his face.

Satoru wiped his face with his forearm, tilting his head. He knew they were begging and pleading — lips moving, words forming, but it all fell on deaf ears. After all they had never bothered to listen to any sorcerer before, did they? Suguru’s face came to mind — flashes of the spring he would never get back — so why should he listen to theirs?

“You were too busy worrying about the next head, when you should’ve been worried about the current one.”

~~~~

You were asleep.

Moonlight gave way to your features in the pitch black room, your soft breaths warming his fingers that ran over your cheek. Shoko had discharged you yesterday, and he had brought you home — but even now with you home, he couldn’t sleep. It felt as if you’d disappear the moment he took his eyes off you, slipping from his grasp just as you almost did.

But you didn’t. You’re here.

It was the same words you had whispered to him every night when he had curled up beside you, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m here, aren’t I?”

But you could disappear.

You could if he wasn’t there with you — if he wasn’t fast enough. Because he couldn’t be everywhere at once, not even the strongest could accomplish that. But he wanted to keep you safe all the same. Would it be selfish to lock you up? Hide you away somewhere others could never find you? Keep you hidden if only to keep you safe.

But you never would be safe, not while you were with him.

“Toru?” Your voice breaks him from his thoughts, eyes fluttering open to meet his as your fingers reach for his cheek, “is that blood?”

And he’s pinned your hands in a blink of an eye, quickly and quietly, “it’s not mine,” his gaze glows in the dark, catching the moonlight streaming in, and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Toru, what happened?” And he kisses along your cheekbones, your jaw, your nose, your chin, “Satoru—“

“I killed them,” his fingers trace the folds of the satin robe he had helped you into, brushing against the bandages that hid your wounds from his sight, but he could see them all the same, “the people who did this,”

Your brow furrows, “Toru, what do you mean the people who—“

“Why do you stay with me?” He leans down to find your lips in a bruising kiss, lips sliding against yours as his fingers undo the knot of your robe, letting the fabric fall away from your bare body.

“What—“ his lips part from yours, strings of spit connecting your mouths.

“Why do you stay with me when I’m a monster?” and your eyes soften.

“You’re not—“ and he’s cutting you off with another kiss, as your hands struggle under his grip, the other grazing down your side, finding the swell of your hip only to squeeze.

“I’m the perfect weapon,” he kisses down the side of your neck, teeth grazing against your soft flesh harshly, drawing a gasp from your lips, “I could have killed them all, because I know they all knew—“

“Knew what?”

“My clan elders — they wanted to have you die on a mission, they wanted to stage it, so they could have me marry who they wanted,” he pauses, drawing a finger down the valley of your breasts, “create a perfect heir,”

“Satoru—“

He kisses you again, swallowing your words along with your thoughts, parting only to speak, “so I killed them, I didn’t use my cursed technique, I wanted them to feel the pain they gave you, wanted them to feel a fraction of what you did,”

You can’t find a second to speak, his fingers now sliding up your bare leg, as he presses himself closer, erection against your inner thigh, “Toru, you didn’t have to put yourself through that—“

“I wanted to,” he parts your thighs easily, large palm spread against your inner thigh, fingers toying with the edge of your panties, “wanted to tear them to shreds for what they did to you — and what they wanted to do—”

“I’m okay, Satoru, I’m—” a bitter laugh leaves his throat, as his fingers find your bandages again.

“Do you call coming home half dead okay now by jujutsu sorcerer standards?” he shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair, “I told you after Suguru that I would fix this rotten jujutsu world,” he presses kisses up your thigh, “and their deaths did fix one thing — no sorcerer will touch you or our future children again, especially when they speak to the woman the clan wanted to marry off to when your body wasn’t even cold yet,”

“You left her,” and he nods, eyes unable to meet yours.

“I only killed the elders I gathered, anyone else was spared — they didn’t dig their own graves,” his hand loosens around your wrists and you reach for his cheek, cupping his cheek, despite the blood, “I don’t regret it, I’d kill anyone who hurts you, but I didn’t want you to see me like this,”

“Like what?”

“Like a monster,” and you click your tongue, his eyes flitting to yours.

“You’re my Satoru, not a monster, you did what you did to protect me, protect our family,” you murmur, “that’s just about the most Satoru thing you could do,”

“But—“

“And if you are deemed a monster anyway?” You lean up, fingers smearing the blood against your own cheek, “then I’ll just become a monster with you,”

He crashes into you with a kiss, cupping your cheeks, as his tongue slips into your mouth, “can you really be a monster, sweetheart?”

He drags his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing your soft flesh along the hollow of your throat, “T-Toru—“ and his lips find the swell of your breasts, his tongue dragging over your pert nipple, while his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, snapping it against your skin, “y’know I can be, I would be, for you,”

He peers up through half lidded eyelids, his thumb drags down your puffy bottom lip, “I can’t imagine someone so sweet like you as one,” he murmurs, as he pulls back, lips slick with spit, as he drags his fingers toying with the soaked fabric of your panties, “and I wouldn’t want to drag you down with me,”

Your fingers reach forward, propping yourself up on your other arm, “Drag me or not,” you cup his chin, “you’re stuck with me,”

“Can we make it a binding vow?” you roll your eyes, and his lips curl for the first time since he’s got here, “c’mon sweets, I have to get my reassurance somehow,”

You hold up the giant rock on your finger, the very diamond you had told Satoru was too much, “this wasn’t enough—” the last word is a bite back gasp, as he noses at the drenched crotch of your underwear, a deep inhale that has you squirming, “No, Toru—” but he’s pinned your thighs down, prying them open, as he gazes up at you.

“Uh-uh, princess, I don’t remember saying you could move, especially when you could reopen your wounds,” his nose bumps against your clothed clit, a wicked smile as he drags his tongue over the already wet fabric, “you still haven’t seen how much of a monster I can be.”

~~~

“Ngh, Toru, can’t, I can’t—” but you can — you know you can from the heat building in your sloppy cunt under already soaked through sheets, and he knows too well you can too, from the way your pussy flutters around his three fingers, knuckle deep as they piston in and out, while his mouth toys with your abused clit, “please—”

You lost track of how many times you had orgasmed — his fingers, his mouth, and sometimes both — he had pulled each one after the other, allowing small reprieves, only to bury himself back in. He had even had you ride his face at one point, and you were sure he’d suffocate under your drenched cunt, until he flipped you on your back again.

“Please what, sweets?” he slows his fingers, curling them a certain way that makes your lips fall open, “you’ll have to use your words,” he pulls back.

Chest heaving, chin glistening with your release, his tongue cleaned his lips off before he wiped the rest off, before pressing open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs. And soon enough, his fingers were sinking back into your messy pussy, splitting you open with his thick fingers.

“Didn’t you say you wanted this, sweetheart?” his words cut through the wet squelch of his digits fucking you open, “wanted to drag you down with you, wanted this—” and he sucks hard at your clit, tongue flicking over it, making your back arch, “wanted me to drag you down with me,” and he punctuates it with a thrust of his fingers, brushing against a spot that has you seeing spots, “gotta make good on your promise, and I have to erase all the pain they gave you,”

And you barely manage to latch onto the desperation in his voice, the way the facade flickers.

He fucks you ever so slightly deeper, and you cum hard, tearing through you as your body tenses, pleasure washing over you as it did every single other time, melding into the others, “Good girl,” he murmurs, as he works his fingers through your orgasm, the slick noises becoming white noise, until he finally pulls the digits from inside you.

Your eyes flutter open to the sight of him licking his digits clean one by one of your cum, his lips curled in a soft smile as they meet your gaze, his hand sliding up your thigh gently as it quaked, the very same fingers he had used to murder the people that hurt you, were so gentle when it was you — he was always so gentle when it was you.

But never himself.

You reach up for him, palm cupping his cheek, while the other finds his bare shoulder — clothes long discarded, “I love you,” and the cracks spread, spider webbing from the epicenter, “you know that right?”

His words seem caught in the back of his throat, “Even now?”

“Especially now,” and he’s pressing you against the mattress again, your thighs folded against your chest, legs slung over his shoulders, “you saved me,”

His gaze softened, “you saved me first,” and again and again, he couldn’t count the number of times you did, by just existing, pressing a kiss to the side of your thigh, “but if I’m too late next time?”

“You can’t be everywhere,” your fingers lace with his, “and I just need you,” and still in this situation, his ego can inflate at your praise — nosing at your thigh, a deep inhale, before dragging his tongue up the side of your leg, “only you.”

He drags his weeping erection over your soaked folds, leaking tip teasing your slit while he watched his pre mix with yours, “Think you need more than just me,” and when he lets the tip sink into you, your lips part with his name, just as your walls part for him, “want something else, wifey?”

“You’re the worst,” you look up at him, lips curling despite your pout, your fingers grasping at the sheets under you, as your cunt tries to swallow him whole, “Toru, how long are you going to tease me for?”

And he’s pulling out only to draw a groan from your lips, “If you’re such a monster, thought you could take it—“ and your hand reaches for him, tugging him close by his neck.

“I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me right now—“

He grins, “If you insist,”

Fuck.

He sinks into you all at once, all too fast and all too slow, balls deep as he bottoms out inside you, your walls fluttering only to pull him deeper, “fuck,” your head falls back as his tip brushes against your cervix, “too fucking big, I swear if you rip my stitches open—”

“You don’t think I cleared this before I decided to do this, baby?” He grunts, glancing down to see how your messy hole stretched open as he sunk into you, “can’t believe anyone thought I’d fuck anyone but you — you’re the only one for me, sweetheart,”

You couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicker to your pussy stuffed full with his huge dick, “You talking to me or my cunt—“ and he begins to fuck you, remark undercut by the moan that he pulled from your lips, “f-fucker—“

“That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart?” the lewd sounds of skin slapping together filled the room, his soft grunts and your moans, “wanted me to fuck you open, yeah?” and he wanted this, needed this after this week — it had been too long since he felt you under him like this — real and alive, his name leaving your swollen, kiss bitten lips.

And you needed it just the same — needed his fingers to dig into the softness of your thighs, needed the way only he could fill every inch of you, needed the soft murmurs of how good you felt, how much he loved you.

“Fuck, Toru, so fast,” you whine, but how could slow down he when you felt so good — so wet and warm, you had joked he could cum just looking at you alone barely a fist around his dick, but it was true — and being inside you just made him unravel completely, all sense of himself lost and drowning in just you, “hngh, it’s so deep,” you babble, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“That’s right, sweetheart, gonna fuck you deep, gotta make sure you feel it don’t I?” he coos, and his hand snakes between your thighs, pressing his palm to the bulge in your stomach, making you gasp as your walls clench around him, drawing a grunt from his lips, “that’s it, good girl,”

You keen at his praise, the wet squelch of your cunt around his cock ringing in your ears, balls slapping against your pussy with a rhythm that echoes in your head, as your body arches into him, needing him deeper, harder, faster. He’s nearly rutting into you, his thrusts growing shallow as you clamp down on him, achingly close.

“Those old fucking geezers don’t know what they were talking about—“ he grunts, running his mouth all the same even as he sunk impossibly fucking deeper, “don’t know this is the only cunt I’d ever breed. The only one I’d ever breed. The only one I can. Know why?” And you only can whimper, as his fingers rub against your clit, “because this is the only one made for my cum,”

And his words push you over the edge, cumming hard and fast, head lolling back, as his tip bullies your womb, as he fucks you hard over and over through your orgasm, sending pleasure ripping up your spine. Satoru groans as he feels you spasm, soaking in him in your juices, as he watches a white ring of your cum form around the base of his dick, dripping onto the clean sheets with the evidence of your arousal.

He can’t hold back.

He rails into you, a moan of your name falling past your lips making you pull him close, shifting your legs around his back just so he can sink into you even a centimeter deeper—

“Fuck, g’nna cum,” he’s meeting your glazed over eyes, knowing “gonna fill you up, yeah? Get you nice and round with my baby,” he groans at the thought, the image of you carrying his kid, stomach swollen as you grow his child, “and they’ll know, all of them, that you’re the only one I’d cum in,” and he’s so close, dick twitching as your arms around his neck tug him close.

“Cum in me, Toru, give me our baby,” and that’s it, he’s spilling inside you, spurting his hot release inside, again and again, as he fucks it deeper, filling you up.

“That’s it, take every drop,” he’s relentless, until he finally eases from you, his release trickling out. A soft sigh parts your lips that grows into a sharp gasp as he’s already flipping you over onto your stomach.

“Toru—” you whine.

“Aw did you think we were done sweetheart?” a pillow cushions your still bandaged stomach, placed underneath to support you, a shudder down your body as he rubs his cock against you, as he leans down, hot words murmured against your ear with a grin, before he sinks back into you with one thrust, stuffing his spilling cum back inside, “One thing about monsters are that we also have monstrous stamina.”

~~~

It was early, but Satoru was already awake.

He always had trouble sleeping, but now? His eyes found your sleeping form beside him, under the covers and safe, just as he had left you that morning. He didn’t know if he’d ever sleep more than three hours now. He brushed the back of his knuckles over your cheek, but you needed sleep — one of three things you never could live without (food and himself being the other two). And you definitely needed it now, after he had kept you up — nearly all night.

You shifted in your sleep, revealing several blooming hickies and love bites he had littered your body with, lips curling at the sight, as he pulled the blanket back up around you.

He was selfish — he should have divorced you the moment he had gotten you back. Let you leave because it was the right thing to do — to let you live a life safe without him. But he couldn’t — because he couldn’t imagine waking another morning, spending another day without knowing where you were, how you were doing.

It was selfish. But you let him be — especially when it came to you.

And his phone vibrates on the nightstand, whirring again and again, as he picks it up with a sigh, Yaga’s name flashing on the display. He takes one last glance at you before slipping from bed, stepping into the living room.

“Sensei! To what—“ he hardly gets a word out before screams fill his ears. He rubs his chin, it was too early for this.

He makes out the words — Gojo clan, dead, scandal, murder (wasn’t sure if he meant if he was going to murder Gojo or he meant what happened to the elders).

“It was a clan dispute, there was no need to tell you,”

Satoru held the phone away from his ear, Yaga’s yelling told him everything he needed to know, “Yeah, yeah, I know, the higher ups know — or they probably do by now,” he almost chuckles at the thought, and how he would love to do the same to them — knuckles white as he grips his phone — love to make them feel the same pain the sorcerers cared nothing for felt, make them—

Arms curl around him from behind and he knows it’s you, his body relaxing into your touch with practiced ease, your face buried in his back. His fingers relax, finding yours, tracing over the back, as he lifts one hand to his lips.

—But it wasn’t the time for that.

“Fine, fine, no need to have a heart attack, old man — I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” Yaga was still speaking until Satoru hung up, turning to face yoy, your eyes half closed as his fingers found your cheek, “what are you doing awake, sweets?”

His lips curl as you lean into his touch, “you weren’t next to me when I woke up,” you murmur, nose brushing against his fingers as your eyes flutter open and closed, “how am I supposed to sleep when my pretty husband isn’t next to me?”

“Just pretty?” and you snort, as his arm sneaks around your waist, pulling you to his chest, your head right over his heart, a content sigh on your lips.

“Are you ever serious?”

“Always,” and you smile up at him, chin resting against him, “what is it? Do I got something on my face?”

“You think our baby will have your pretty face?” You hum, and his gaze softens at the thought, “I hope so,”

He grins, “You do huh? And here I thought my ego didn’t need more stroking,”

“It doesn’t, but my husband deserves every bit of praise he gets — because he doesn’t get enough,” you kiss him softly, nose bumping against his.

“You planning on showering me with your praise, sweetheart?” And your lips finds his again.

“Always,” and he’s leading you back towards the bedroom, “where are you—“ you squeal as he scoops you up into his arms and carries you back to bed, gently placing you down, a grin on his lips.

He drags his thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “Do you think I’m gonna let you leave this bed without breeding you right?” He clicks his tongue, “I’m far from done with you, wifey,”

You’re so beautiful, hair spread on the pillow like a halo, “So we’re not leaving until I’m pregnant?” Your fingers brush against his cheek, “we might be here a while,”

Satoru wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He kisses you again, long and languid, “There’s nothing I want more than to stay in bed with you.”

✧ a/n: sorry i've been gone for a bit!! i got super busy with work and got hella writer's block and right when i was feeling ready to write-- i got sick. but i'm doing much better now!!

✧ taglist: @arrivedercis, @ssetsuka, @ch3rryistheg, @satorusmochis, @sunarins-bae, @blindbabycadder , @yihona-san06 , @dantaku , @archieballs , @ceruleansol , @mqcht , @xxemmarldxx , @chiyokoemilia , @theshylittleelfgirl , @rroseselavyyy , @out4thenight , @jatyes , @unreliablefangs , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @celestialseasart , @minsified , @akemfs , @ranatherealestsigma , @zherryxtar , @virtualangelllllll , @itsmebien , @difluenza , @rougebrainsludge , @mochigod , @euphorism , @vii-is-free , @elliesndg , @beneaththelamina , @monarch-of-anime-simping , @hhimetsu , @simply-a-s1mp , @jennieclips , @svt-backup , @angelbunsx , @duhhitsmiranda , @satowooo , @fushitoru , @lesaurita , @briluvslee , @gojo-gets-me-wetter , @catsgomurp , @pinkyvomit , @hyori2 , @wakashudou , @celestialgojo , @sxnkuna, @nakariabnrb, @dazailover1900, @hanlay, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @kxouri, @forest-fruits-jam, @spider-fan72, @strawmariee

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #jjk x reader #Jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk gojo

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cosmicseafoam · 10 months ago

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I think I'm getting a migraine which is not ideal when I have a house inspection tomorrow and I barely did any of my cleaning today

#larsposting #someone please put me to my death #I left the house this morning which was my first mistake #and was gone way longer than intended #and then i hyperfocused on the wrong thing and cleaned and rearranged my altar space instead of cleaning the rest of my house #i fucked it

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strcwbrryklss · 3 months ago

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୨୧﹕ forgive me .ᐟ oneshot

pairing ; father charlie mayhew x fem!reader contains ; tension , smut ( oral m receiving ) a/n ; i rewatched fleabag season two and HAD to write this for my own sake ( also havent proofread this,, so just ignore any mistakes pls. summary ; it has been 160 days since your last confession.

the soft hum of hymns filled the stone walls of the church, echoing through the vast, candlelit space. the congregation sat quietly, hands folded in prayer or resting on their laps, their eyes fixed on the alter.

the heavy scent of incense hung in the air, weaving between the polished wooden pews, where you sat toward the back, trying to focus on the words of the sermon. the light from the stained glass windows poured in, casting delicate hues of red, blue, and gold across the congregation, illuminating the man at the front of the church.

father charlie.

your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, your fingers nervously gripping the edge of the pew. you had tried to stop coming to mass, but something always drew you back here—drew you back to him. each week, you told yourself it would be different. you would listen to the sermon, find solace in his words, and leave without this gnawing ache in your chest.

but it never worked.

father charlie stood at the altar, the bible held firmly in his hands as he delivered his message, his voice deep and smooth, filling the grand space with a quiet authority. his tone was soft, but it held power, a magnetic pull that kept everyone’s attention on him. but while the others listened intently to the words of faith, of virtue and devotion, your mind was far from holy thoughts.

your eyes traced the lines of his jaw, the way the sunlight caught in his brown hair, making the strands shine beneath the dim lighting of the cathedral. his features were sharp but kind, his strong brows furrowed in concentration as he spoke about resisting the temptations of the flesh.

temptation.

the word reverberated through you, sending a jolt of heat to your core. temptation, the feeling you knew far too well. father charlie’s hands moved as he gestured lightly with his sermon, and you found yourself imagining those hands on you, instead of the bible. you swallowed hard, pulse quickening as your thoughts drifted to places you knew they shouldn’t go, especially here — especially with him.

he was the very definition of unattainable, a man sworn to a life of celibacy, of purity. and yet, you couldn’t stop the thoughts that rushed through your mind every time you looked at him. every sunday, you sat in the same pew, feeling that same magnetic pull toward him, a pull you couldn’t explain and couldn’t resist.

his robes hung loosely on his tall, lean frame, the fabric shifting with each subtle movement he made. beneath them, you knew there was something stronger, something more human than the holy image he portrayed. and the thought of that made your stomach twist with desire.

you could barely breathe, the church suddenly feeling too warm, too confined. you bit your lip, eyes darting to the floor as you tried to steady your racing thoughts. this was wrong. so wrong. but you couldn’t help it. every word that came from his lips only seemed to make it worse, sending your mind spiraling deeper into a fantasy you had tried so hard to bury.

you imagined it so clearly now — being alone with him after the congregation had gone. the church would be empty, the candles burning low, the flickering flames casting long shadows along the stone walls. you would step toward him, heart pounding, and when your hand brushed his, you’d feel the heat of his skin, the tension between you palpable. he would hesitate, of course. his vows, his faith — they would hold him back for a moment. but then, in the quiet of the empty church, his restraint would finally break.

your pulse raced as the image flashed vividly in your mind: his hands on you, pulling you close, his lips crashing into yours with all the pent-up passion he had kept locked away for so long. the forbidden thrill of it sent a shiver down your spine, your breath coming faster as you quickly glanced back up at him, half-expecting to see him watching you, knowing your every sinful thought.

but he wasn’t. father charlie’s gaze was still fixed on the congregation, his words steady as he spoke about virtue, about control.

you looked across the church, towards one of the many paintings of god, his expression seeming almost disappointed. you felt a flush of guilt, heat rising to your cheeks. how could you sit here, in a place meant for worship, and think these things? how could you look at him — father charlie — and imagine him like that? it was wrong. but that only seemed to make the ache in your chest grow stronger, the desire burning hotter with each passing moment.

the service was drawing to a close, and your heart pounded as you realised you would soon have to face him. father charlie always stood at the door after mass, offering a handshake and a few kind words to each person who passed. every week, that brief moment of contact set your skin on fire, leaving you wanting more.

and then you saw him — father charlie, standing by the entrance, his eyes warm and kind as he greeted the parishioners. you swallowed hard, heart racing as you approached. his gaze shifted to you, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to blur at the edges, leaving only the two of you.

"god bless you, y/n" father charlie said softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine as his hand extended toward yours.

you hesitated for the briefest moment, your breath catching in your throat as your hand slipped into his. his grip was firm but gentle, the warmth of his skin sending a spark of electricity through you. you looked up into his eyes, searching for… something. some sign that he could feel the same pull, the same tension that had been building between you for months. but his expression was as serene as ever, his smile kind and distant.

"thank you, father," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you let go of his hand, your fingers tingling where they had touched him, before turning around to leave the sacred building. however, you stopped in your tracks.

turning towards him, you spoke timidly, "actually, father.."

as you approached, father charlie glanced up and saw you, his warm smile instantly making your heart skip a beat. his dark eyes met yours, and you felt that familiar pull, a flutter in your stomach that made your knees weak.

"yes?," he responded kindly, his voice a calm, steady presence that filled the space between you.

"father," you began, your voice shaking slightly as you stepped closer. "i was wondering if… there’s any chance i could confess later?"

there. you’d said it. the words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you were certain he could see right through you — into your mind, your thoughts, your desires. you tried to keep your expression neutral, but the tension coiled in your chest made it nearly impossible to hide how nervous you were.

father charlie’s smile softened, a gentle, almost unreadable look crossing his face as he studied you. he took a small step closer, lowering his voice slightly as if sensing the weight of what you were carrying. "of course," he said, his tone compassionate, "confession is always available for those who seek it. Would you like to meet later this afternoon?"

the way he said it — just us — made your stomach flip. you nodded, unable to fully trust your voice at the moment. your throat felt tight, your thoughts tangled. "yes. that would be… good."

his gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer, his eyes holding yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. there was nothing inappropriate about it, nothing overt, and yet you couldn’t help but feel as if there was something deeper there, hidden beneath the surface of his composed expression. you tried to ignore the way your body reacted to it, the way your skin seemed to burn with the need for more than just words.

"come by around eight," he said, his voice soft but firm, as if he was giving you permission to unburden yourself in a way you hadn’t before. "we can speak privately in the confessional."

your heart raced as he said it, the reality of what you were asking for sinking in. it wasn’t just confession — not for you. It was a way to be close to him, a way to sit in that small, private space, separated only by the thin barrier of the confessional screen. the idea of it — of being so close, alone, with him — made your chest tighten with anticipation.

you swallowed hard, nodding again. "thank you, father," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he gave you one last kind, reassuring smile before you turned to leave, the echo of his words still ringing in your ears as you made your way toward the exit. as you stepped out into the cool air, your body still tingling with the thought of what was to come, your mind raced. confession wasn’t supposed to feel like this — like a secret thrill, a forbidden opportunity. but that’s exactly how it felt.

and it wasn’t just the confession itself. it was him. the way he carried himself with such calm authority, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you, pulling you deeper into your thoughts. you had tried to fight it, tried to deny it, but there was no use anymore.

you wanted him.

by the time the clock struck eight, you found yourself back at the church, your heart racing as you made your way inside. the church was mostly empty now, the quiet stillness of the afternoon wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. you could hear your own footsteps echoing softly as you walked down the aisle toward the confessional booth.

you hesitated for just a moment before stepping inside, the small, intimate space feeling even smaller than usual. the soft rustle of father charlie’s robes reached your ears as he entered the adjacent booth, and your breath hitched in your throat. the thin screen between you offered a sense of privacy, but it did nothing to stop the electricity that buzzed in the air.

"whenever you’re ready," came his voice, low and soothing, sending a shiver through you.

your mind raced, the words you had rehearsed suddenly seeming inadequate. how could you confess these feelings to him? How could you possibly admit that the sin you carried was him? the thought alone made your throat tighten, but you knew you couldn’t back out now.

"forgive me, father, for i have sinned…" you began, your voice shaky, barely more than a whisper, "it has been 160 days since my last confession"

you weren’t sure how you were going to get through this confession, but one thing was certain — the desire that burned inside you wasn’t something that could be easily absolved.

you hesitated, grappling with the words that felt so heavy on your tongue. "i've been having… thoughts," you started, feeling your cheeks flush. "sinful thoughts that i know i shouldn’t be having."

"sinful thoughts about someone?" he asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"yes," you admitted, heat creeping up your cheeks. "someone i shouldn’t be thinking about. i know it’s wrong, but i can’t help it."

"tell me more," father charlie encouraged, his tone gentle but firm, as if he could sense the struggle within you.

"it’s... complicated,” you continued, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. "i’ve been trying to push these feelings away, but every time i see him, it’s like i’m drawn to him in a way i know isn’t right."

"why do you believe these feelings are wrong?” he asked, and you could hear the slightest hint of tension in his voice, a challenge that made your heart race.

"because he’s... celibate,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "and i shouldn’t feel this way about him. but i do."

the silence that followed was deafening. you could almost hear the clock ticking, each second feeling like an eternity. you held your breath, waiting for his response, feeling the heat of your confession hang in the air between you, "i don't know what to do, father. these thoughts won't go away"

the scent of incense swirled around you like a comforting yet suffocating blanket. you could hear the soft rustle of the priest’s robes on the other side of the screen. he took a deep breath.

"kneel"

the unexpected command took you by surprise. your heart raced at the thought, a mix of anxiety and anticipation flooding your senses. "kneel?" you echoed, trying to process his words.

"i want you to kneel."

you hesitated for just a moment, but something in his voice compelled you to comply. slowly, you knelt before the screen, feeling the coolness of the floor beneath your knees. your heart raced, each beat echoing in your ears as you sensed the shift in the air around you.

the curtain opened slightly, and father charlie stepped into view, his expression unreadable. the light from the candle illuminated his features, and for a moment, you were taken aback by the intensity in his gaze. there was a hunger there, a spark that made your pulse quicken.

father charlie looked down at you, bringing his hand down to your chin and tilting your head upwards to look him in the eyes. as the moment hung in the air, your heart raced, a wild drumbeat echoing in your ears. you could feel the heat radiating between you both, a magnetic pull that left you breathless. anticipation coursed through your veins, mingling with a desperate thrill that made your pulse quicken.

unexpectedly, he leaned down, stopping only inches away from your lips, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. you looked down at father charlie's parted lips, before looking back up at his eyes, glistening in the candlelight. your thoughts raced, much more sinful than they were before.

and just like that, father charlie closed the gap between you in a slow but passionate kiss. it felt as if you were breathing each other's air, your fingers moving up and tracing his arm. he then pulled away. you almost followed him, desperate for more, but you couldn't.

looking up at him, your heart raced, a needy look in your eyes.

the sound of father charlie unbuckling his belt rang through the church; anyone who walks in would know what was happening. but you didn't care.

he unzipped his pants before pulling them down, just past his underwear, the thin fabric revealing his large bulge. your was mouth already salivating at the thought of it. father charlie looked down at you with a nod, giving you permission.

your fingers made their way towards his waistband, slowly curling underneath his clothing before slowly pulling them down, just enough to reveal his erection.

gasping slightly at the size of him, you hesitated, your heart quickening.

father charlie moved his hand to the back of your head, urging you.

you couldn't wait any longer. you took deep breath before licking his tip, the taste of his pre-cum giving you the need for more.

desperately, your mouth took as much of him as it could, causing him to let out a soft moan as his tip touched the back of your throat. you looked up at him. the sight of him looking down at you with so much lust, so much greed in his eyes caused your stomach to flutter.

he grabbed onto the back of your hair, lightly pushing you back and forth before picking up momentum. father charlie threw his head back in pleasure, before looking into your eyes once again.

you moaned as the pace grew faster, causing his eyebrows to furrow at the vibration. and with that, he released, the warmth of it running down your throat.

looking up at him with admiration, he smiled slightly.

you knew this wasn't the last time.

#nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #father charlie mayhew #father charlie x reader #father charlie smut #grotesquerie #nicholas alexander chavez #777 #݁₊ ⊹ ݁˖ ⋆ strcwbrryklss

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dandelionjack · 6 months ago

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We Invest Things With Significance, or: Why Sutekh Isn’t Sutekh, But Death Itself. alternative title: Fear Is the Mind Killer.

the Doctor Who Series 14/1 thesis statement

i don’t think that sutekh has literally been attached to the TARDIS since Pyramids of Mars. i think that the salt at the edge of the universe — the grievous mistake that caused all myths to become a reality — was what made him appear. and he’s not the same character as sutekh the osiran, a powerful alien that delusionally believed himself to be a god. he *is* a god. nuwho-Sutekh is Death Incarnate.

ergo, this version of Sutekh is the literal psychic manifestation of the Doctor’s deep-seated, guilt-motivated fear of the idea that his arrival brings death wherever he treads. this death-anxiety was turned into a physical presence, haunting the TARDIS all through the Doctor’s timestream, because of the salt. that’s the reason why the Doctor didn’t spot any Susan Twists before Wild Blue Yonder…

there are two timelines in Doctor Who — relative time and universal time. universal time is the history of the universe. relative time is how the Doctor experiences it. in universal time, Sutekh has supposedly been hitchhiking through the vortex for millenia. in relative time, he has only been doing so since Fourteen accidentally invited myths back into the world.

the Doctor was insecure and afraid and believed the above quote (from the very first episode!! spoken by the very first named character in nuwho to die on screen, no less!) to be true. but until WBY it had only been true on a symbolic, metaphorical level. myths, legends, concepts and stories becoming real after the salt caused the Doctor’s anxiety about being a death-bringer to take the shape of a black dog — a universally recognised symbol of death — wearing the name and voice of his most formidable enemy, Sutekh.

in a way, this plotline mirrors The Woman from 73 Yards similarly being a manifestation of Ruby’s worst fear — that of being abandoned by everyone she loves for something intrinsic and incorrigible inside her that she cannot change. Ruby fears being left completely alone, so “The Woman” causes everyone in her life to leave her. the Doctor fears that his coming always heralds mass destruction (“maybe i’m the bad luck”), so “Sutekh” makes sure that the TARDIS literally becomes an altar of death.

ever since Wild Blue Yonder, stories in doctor who have become sources of immense power. the worst, most potent stories we tell ourselves are the lies that our sick brains whisper to us — secret anxieties that we’re not good enough, that all our loved ones will inevitably leave, that we carry nothing but bad luck in our wake. what better clay to mould a monster from than the protagonists’ own neuroses?

and if anybody’s still in doubt, here’s the plain text, all laid out below:

we invest things with significance. that’s what the salt at the edge of the universe really meant. that’s what almost every episode this series has been about, thematically — the imaginary kastarions, the cosplaying chuldur, the bogeyman written into life because kids need a scary story. myths become real to us because we believe in them, love and death and monsters too.

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apolloslyrics · 9 months ago

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☀️Deities☀️

I see so many people criticizing others over their relationships, or lack thereof, with their deities, so here are some reminders:

Not having deities is okay.

Having just a devotional relationship with your deities is okay.

Having a working relationship with your deities is okay.

Playing games with your deities is okay.

Harmless jokes with your deities are okay.

Doing fun things with your deities is okay.

Doing devotional offerings for your deities is okay.

Giving physical offerings to your deities is okay.

Not being able to do certain offerings for deities is okay.

Having an altar for your deities is okay, no matter the size.

Not having an altar for your deities is okay.

Laughing with your deities is okay.

Crying with your deities is okay.

Having genuine conversations with your deities is okay.

Being unable to hear/see deities is okay.

Being able to hear/see deities is okay.

Not being able to communicate through divination is okay.

Using divination as a key element in communication is okay.

Not calling on deities during spellwork is okay.

Asking deities to help during spellwork is okay.

Asking deities for help in general is okay.

This is your relationship with your deities in your practice. Don't let anyone tell you what you can and can't do. 🫶

It's 2am, please forgive me if there are any mistakes!

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thetriumphantpanda · 5 months ago

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new religion | joel miller

Summary | Joel's never much been a religious man, but if he were, he'd ask the Lord what he'd ever done to deserve you.

Pairing | Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.5k

Warnings | Explicit. Religious imagery, basically porn without plot, oral (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex, cumshot, dirty talk, Joel worshipping you like you deserve, nothing bad happens to him ever and he dies peacefully in his sleep at age 101, no use of y/n. Written and edited on phone so please excuse any mistakes.

Authors Note | God bless hbo for that teaser am I right? I just want Jackson Joel to always find peace. Also thanks to All Time Low and their song New Religion for the Inspo. I hope you enjoy!

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Divider by the ever wonderful @saradika

I found God and we found heaven, On the bedroom floor.

Joel Miller isn’t sure how he got here. Knees creaking and painful, a dull ache in his back that never goes away, and years behind him that have led him to right now.

Years of being closed off, scared to open up to anyone in case he failed them as well. Years of using his anger at himself to reign terror on others. Years with Tommy that were strained, years with Tess that were less so, even good sometimes, and now years with Ellie, good, bad and everything in between. The relative safety of Jackson was unsettling, after years of fighting to survive and barely making it, scars on his body testimony to that, the normality was unsettling.

He’s getting used to it though, slowly but surely, and he thinks that along with his brother and Ellie, it has something to do with you.

You, stood in front of him, backlit by the setting sun, nude and waiting, whilst he kneels in front of you. Pained be damned, he’s going to worship you like the goddess you are.

Tommy has spent the past year absolutely rinsing his older brother for this. When Joel and Ellie had arrived back, he’d made it his mission to set Joel up with one of the many fawning ladies available. There was Esther, who was nice enough, and Lindsey who had been far too forthcoming, and others that Joel would rather not remember, telling Tommy that he didn’t need anyone, didn’t want anyone, was more than happy on his own.

Then he’d met you, sunshine to his clouds, sharp, quick-witted and funny. A take-no-shit kind of gal that had gotten under his skin more than he cared to admit. The first few times it was quick, fumbles in the alley behind the tipsy bison, or hurried moments bent over the dusty couch at the lookout on patrol, convincing himself that once again this was nothing but stress relief.

Then things changed, you started making him laugh, started sitting on his porch with him, laying on his couch whilst he played his guitar, and then he started spreading you out on his bed, started taking his time, learning what made you respond best, how you liked it, how you clenched so tight around him when he clasped your fingers in his and pounded you into the mattress.

Joel has never been much of a religious man, not since the end of the world, but he thinks, right here on your bedroom floor, that he’s found God. When you walk towards him and run your hands through his greying hair, tilt his chin up so he’s looking at you, hands on your hips like you’re his altar.

He brings his face closer to you, tongue licking through your folds as you stand before him. Your fingers tighten in his hair when the tip of his tongue finds your clit, your own head tipping back, face to the real Lord if he exists, muttering his name over and over in your own twisted prayer.

His jeans are tightening as he licks at you, the sounds you make doing what they always do, shooting straight to his cock. It’s why he can’t quit this, even if in the back of his mind he knows he probably should. You’re younger than him, though not scandalously, and he can feel that the years of his prime are fading the more comfortable he gets here. He knows that wanting you as much as he does is a sin in itself, but walking away? That somehow seems worse to him. He finally wants to be selfish, to think of himself and his own happiness for once, and it’s the taste of you on his tongue when he drags it down to where you’re leaking for him that convinces him he has to stay.

“Oh, Joel,” You whimper, knees shaking, “Keep going.”

“Ain’t plannin’ on goin’ anywhere, pretty girl.” He groans into your pussy, his big hands holding your hips in place to keep you upright as his tongue drags back up from your fluttering hole to your clit.

You widen your stance a little, spreading the lips of your cunt for him so he can fuse his mouth over your clit, suckling at it whilst his tongue works against the swollen bud in the way that he knows will have you tipped over the edge in no time.

He loves when you come for him. A reminder that he’s still got it, that he can learn your ins and outs and keep you satisfied, even at his age. He has to press his fingers into your hips a little tighter when you do come for him, keeping you upright before you knees can buckle underneath you as you cry his name out into the darkening room. Pulling his mouth away from you before you start whimpering that it’s too much.

Normally he’d pull you over to the bed, but there’s something in him tonight that means he can’t wait the extra seconds, so he’s pulling you down onto the floor with him, cradling the back of your head with one of his hands so you don’t hit in on the wood as he crawls on top of you, legs spread wide for his thighs as he pops the buttons of his jeans and drags the zipper down.

He’s in too much of a rush to undress properly, pulling his jeans and underwear down just enough to free his cock. You’re reaching down, taking his length in your hand, dragging it up and down as he pulls his shirt over his head.

There are tiny droplets of sweat across your forehead, the open window and the breeze no match for the heat in the room, and he doesn’t know why he does it, but as he leans down, your hand guiding his cock to your soaked cunt, he lets his lips kiss across your forehead, like it’s holy water and he’s being reborn as he slips into your tight heat.

He doesn’t think he’s heard a sweeter sound than the ones he hears from you as he drags his cock in and out of your pussy. Gasps and whines and whimpers, never too loud, like they’re just for him. No-one else needs to know how good he makes you feel, just him. He presses his mouth to yours as he grips your wrists, pinning them to floor, swallowing your sounds as he fucks you.

Joel knows that it takes him a little longer these days, knows from the way you’re squirming that the ache in your hips is setting in. He knows that your body aches the same as his does, that your back aches and your knees hurt after a long patrol, but you’re being so good for him.

“Such a good girl,” He coos into your ear, “Y’can take it, can’t you?”

You arch your body up into him at his praise, “It’s so good,” You moan, your hands reaching behind him to sink your nails into the meat of his ass, “Harder, please.”

He can never deny you, so he pushes himself up, takes your knees in his hands and presses them down towards your chest, hooking his arms there to keep you spread open as he guides his cock back into you. He can feel his own sweat appearing across his skin as he does exactly what you asked for, he fucks you harder, as hard as he can, listening to the squeals you make as he bottoms out inside you and the slapping of his skin against yours.

“M’close,” He moans at you, “M’gonna come, baby.”

“Please,” You groan back, squirming underneath him, “Come for me Joel, please.”

And he does, pulling out at the very last minute, letting go of your legs to pump his cock with his fist before he comes, splashing his spend across your belly as he tips his head back and praises the Lord for you.

He knows he will pay for it tomorrow, but he collapses onto the floor next to you, pulling you into his chest. He can feel the sticky cum mixing with the hair across his stomach, but he doesn’t much care, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you settle together on the cool ground. His fingers trail up and down your spine as you lie together in the quiet of the early evening, finding peace with it all for once. After years and years of being on his own, of being scared to open up and let someone in, he finds he doesn’t much mind the thought of it anymore.

And above all, whether he makes it to the real thing or not when his time is up, that he’s found heaven, right here on your bedroom floor.

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pearlywritings · 1 year ago

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In father’s embrace

synopsis: HSR men as dads and what your family dynamic is like.

pairings: Blade, Gepard, Loucha, Sampo, Jing Yuan x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, implied initial mortal x immortal in Blade’s

word count: 5.2k words

a/n: Luofu Xianzhou timeline is hell, so Blade’s one is quite vague. Here’s the Genshin version!

Blade

Blade tends to say that he has no connection to his past, but that is not true and very few (mostly Kafka) know he is lying. Even with his life and death fucked up he can't simply let go of someone his heart has been always full with, of someone who he promised himself to by the altar, even if under another name, of someone, who gifted him the joy of both his previous and current life - your daughter.

The blade - a cold weapon with no feelings - should not experience being lucky, but that’s what he was, when you clutched him in your arms the first time after his return from the dead and sobbed in his chest, telling him how much you missed him, how much his little angel missed him.

Back then he should've left without a trace, maybe even coming to you in the first place was a mistake, but he just couldn't. And his resolve crumbled completely when a white-haired toddler in your arms gazed at him with the same soft eyes as yours and reached out to his face, hesitantly asking "dada?".

As much as Blade is capable - he loves you and your daughter. He is quite absent due to his involvement with the Stellaron Hunters, but you understand how important that magenta-haired woman's ability is when it comes to restraining the mara in his body. After all that's the reason why he can visit without fear of hurting you or his little girl.

Some other sacrifices had to be made - one of them was moving from the Lofu Xianzhou, but that was alright and your daughter loved her new environment. Besides, dada has been visiting more often ever since you moved! And no one really bothered or chased after you (after all, you are still registered as his wife and higher ups of Lofu know), which, you assumed, was somehow connected with a young girl that once came with Blade.

Kafka once brought up a proposition of moving you two to the Stellaron Hunters' base for Blade's easier access, but he declined. At least his loved ones should have a peaceful everyday life.

With a tired sigh the black-haired man lowers himself on a sofa in the living room of the house you two purchased to start a seemingly new life. The red-hot iron in his eyes disappears behind the heavy eyelids and for a moment Blade allows himself to relax. The little wonder, that is his daughter, ran to your bedroom to fetch some hair accessories, after you encouraged your husband to let her style his long locks.

He doesn’t move when you sit next to him, hip to hip and heart to heart. He welcomes your sneaking fingers, curling his, creating a secure lock of hands. The weight of your head resting on his shoulder is grounding and he can’t help but press his cheek against it.

It’s soothingly silent.

It almost reminds him of the past.

“For how long will you be staying this time?

Even your question, spoken in a tender, understanding voice, is familiar. You used to ask him the same thing in-between his Cloud Quintet-related missions.

These days it’s difficult to sneak and see you during breaks though.

“Fifteen days,” his breath is even, and eyes are still shut, but he senses a smile that tugs on the corners of your lips.

“That’s a lot. She will be so happy,” and he knows that you are as well.

The rapid stomping of little feet bursts into your peaceful serenity, and you simultaneously glance at the doorway. Low and behold - the soon-to-be hair stylist is proudly running into the room, tightly clutching your jewelry box with various hair pins inside.

“Dad, I practiced! Mom says I’ve been making huuuuuuge progress!”

A tiny smile touches his pale lips - it’s such a miracle that a monster like him is blessed to have the most adorable child in the whole universe. With her and you by his side, this life gets more and more bearable.

“If mom says you’ve been, then it must be the truth,” he nods, letting go of your hand - but not before giving it a little affectionate stroke with his thumb, - sliding down and onto the floor, turning his back to the girl.

Giggling excitedly, she gives you the box, which you quickly unlock, and starts looking through the many intricate pieces of jewelry (many are your beloved’s presents), until finding the perfect one.

Having his hair being touched is weird. He was aware that the white luscious locks used to draw attention, but only you were honored to run your fingers through them, and only his baby was allowed to tug on them, making her father wince. Now it’s different - she is oh so careful, brushing, collecting stray locks and braiding, not once causing him pain.

Blade sighs again, but looks at you from the corner of his eye, catching you snickering in your palm upon gazing at something that your daughter is turning his hair into. Well, that’s concerning.

But at this very moment he can’t bring himself to care. If he gets fifteen whole days before his next mission, he is going to savor this time with his family - no matter how disastrous he’s going to look by the end of it.

Gepard

A family man. So no one was surprised when in the end the leader of the Silvermane Guards ended up with three kids - two sons and a daughter. Partly it was dictated by the rules of nobles and his family among them, but ultimately it was your mutual sincere decision.

It’s obvious he is not there for many of his kids’ first times, as sometimes his duties prevail and even the Supreme Guardian cannot help it, but he really-really tries to be there as much as possible. He appreciates the videos you send him, has every single one stored in his phone’s memory and sometimes, when there is no communication, in his spare moment he replays them to remind himself that soon he’ll return home and see his kids and you.

Only one time he really fucked up because of work - during your first pregnancy you both underestimated the soon arrival of your due date and he left on a mission with his troops, reassured that he’ll be back before the day you go into labor. The snowstorm was severe and the connection was cut, so the message Serval sent him when your water broke was not delivered. His soldiers would bring to their graves the image of a deathly pale Gepard, when many hours later he checked his phone back at the base and nearly broke the screen, trying to type his sister’s number.

After that he started taking paternity leave seriously.

You do not keep in touch with his parents a lot - there were instances where they disapproved of you, but all of his siblings are always welcomed in your house and to see their nephews and niece, because they supported your relationship from the moment they met you in flesh.

Serval is an enormous help when it comes to babysitting. It’s like her part-time job honestly - you even offered to pay her, but she declined, suggesting offering her a helping hand whenever she’d need instead. Oh, and to be the first one out of all the Landau siblings (after her brother, of course) to know about the latest updates on your kids.

The kids that are adorable. All three won the ‘blue eyes’ lottery, which, given the previous generations of Landau, is not a big surprise; both boys look like Gepard, while the girl took more after you in appearance. The man really doesn’t want to play favorites, but sometimes he is just too weak for his little princess, who looks just like her mom. She is the youngest too with a pretty big age gap between her and her brothers, who were born a year apart, so there is literally no jealousy, because your sons took their father’s example and became her protectors.

Even from a 'big bad dragon' that is their aunt…

When you step inside your house and hear the kids still fussing somewhere in the rooms, involuntarily your gaze falls to the old grandfather’s clock in the foye. Almost midnight. All three should be long asleep with Serval sending you a notification of her success. Which you didn’t receive and for that reason had to cut your date short and hurry back home.

Your husband looks as concerned as you are, locking the door and straining his ears to determine what’s going on. With both your coats abandoned, you carefully step further into the house, making your way to the line of light coming from under one of the doors.

Two jaws almost kiss the floor when you see Serval lying on the floor tied and gagged with a scarf. Alone. For a moment you fear the worst.

Rushing inside, you let Gepard search the other rooms for intruders. Helping your sister-in-law to sit is no problem, but the knot behind her head is awfully tightened. In the end you manage to yank it down to free her mouth, quickly switching to the rope constricting her hands.

“Y/n, oh my god,” she gasps, finally able to speak. “Who taught your sons to tie knots like this!? I didn’t know a sixteen- and fifteen-year olds can be so strong-”

“Come again?” Stunned, you stop untying her wrists, looking at the woman with widened eyes. Your boys did what?

“My precious nephews - whom I really do not want to strangle - took the game of knights too seriously, and when - maybe a half an hour ago? - I decided to play the dragon who was stealing the princess - my niece of three years, - they attacked and tied me!”

“Huh…” is all you can say, feeling relief wash over you. At least there are no burglars or kidnappers and your kids are safe.

When, listening Serval’s huffs of complaints, you move to untie her legs, the heavy steps of your husband are heard in the hallway, accompanied by the boys whining and begging their dad not to come to the living room, because the dragon would eat their sister.

His tall figure appears in the doorway, with your daughter in his arms, looking very sleepy, and two almost carbon copies of their dad pulling at his jacket to give them their sister back.

“Serval, what in blazes have you told them?” The judging tone and the squint of his blue eyes are directed at his elder sibling.

“It was just a game, Geppie! A silly game they turned into reality.”

“Aunt said she’d eat her,” your oldest pouts, eyeing her cautiously. “And she told us stories about the cannibals the other night-”

“Serval, you what?”

“Hey, they asked me to! Oh, thanks, Y/n,” she shrugs the loosened rope off of her. “Where did you even get this?”

“Aunt Lynx gave us,” the second son chirps, hugging Gepard’s side. “She showed us how to do knots.”

“This little-”

Suddenly you feel a headache coming. With big family come big challenges, but something of this caliber hasn’t happened in a while. It makes you smile though - you almost forgot what it was like - to raise two boys. Seems like your girl brings the borderline naughtiest out of them.

Loucha

To begin with it's worth mentioning that your and Loucha's marriage started as an unpredictable necessity. You both needed to enter the world that allowed only married foreigners' access. So, quickly figuring that your goal matches, you got married on a neighboring planet, spent a month there to make the marriage more believable in the sense of its duration and learning more about each other. Yeah, all of that just to fulfill your respectful jobs. You invented and rehearsed all the possible answers to the questions, perfected your affectionate act and were actually feeling quite comfortable around each other.

It was almost funny, when on the 'how many kids do you plan to have?' Loucha confidently answered 'two', and a couple of years later your first son was born, and then, after 7 more years, another one was too.

Admittedly, the oldest one was kind of unplanned, but at that point you traveled so much together, shared so many memories, even ended up caring for each other on a lover-like level, that you decided to give it a shot, just like you did with the continuation of your marriage.

And Loucha couldn't be more pleased. Surprisingly, he found the peace of those first years he spent settled down to raise your boy delightful. And there was something exciting about having a little wonder with a perfect mix of both of your features in your arms, as your husband's hand is resting on the small of your back, leading you through the crowds of the new planet's lively market, as the child's eyes shine with marvel, taking in his surroundings.

When Loucha suggested having another one it simply felt right.

Your sons are so lucky in the sense of seeing the universe, because their father is a traveling merchant. Sure, he doesn't always take you and your two boys with him, but whenever his deal allows him enough freedom and your kids are doing great in school and can be taken on a little vacation - you three are going with him.

Usually he gets to take care of the youngest one, since only Loucha's vast knowledge can satisfy his curiosity, while the oldest one calmly walks hand in hand with you, content with listening to their conversation and pointing out to you the things he already knows himself, receiving a soft praise from you and an approving nod from his father.

Back home the roles reverse - the oldest is spending most of his time with Loucha to learn all about medicine and healing techniques, while the youngest is more interested in sharing your hobbies.

The two hardly ever quarrel as siblings tend to do, and it must be because of the overall serene atmosphere of your family dynamic, your soft nature and your husband's tranquil behavior.

More than a decade ago Loucha wouldn't have imagined himself with a wife and kids. Nowadays, however, he doesn't like the thought of not having the three of you by his side.

It is a quiet afternoon. A little house you rented for a little vacation has a nice yard - perfect for the kids to have fun outside. You occasionally glance at them from the window of the kitchen to make sure everything is fine, while your hands never stop moving - washing, cutting, stirring.

At some point you are so caught in the moment of tranquility, that you do not hear your husband walking in, until he softly hums to alert you of his presence, and puts his palms on your waist.

“Smells delicious,” you smile, feeling his chin on your shoulder, and grab a piece of a tangerine you are meaning to use for dessert, offering it to him.

“Mhm, I am trying to cook what we had yesterday at that restaurant.”

Ah, right, the restaurant the kids enjoyed. He remembers how you sneaked to the kitchen and came back with a little less credits, but with new recipes and an excited smile on your face.

“Hopefully my rendition will be to our boys’ liking. And don’t think I forgot about you - those Loufu Xianzhou-style noodles are already on their way!”

“So thoughtful of you, darling,” his silky voice caresses your ear and not a second later a kiss is pressed to your cheek. “Do you need any help?”

“Weren’t you busy?” You decide to clarify, clearly recounting how he locked himself in one of the rooms earlier that day to test something. To your question Loucha shakes his head.

“All done already. And I missed you and the kids.”

“Then go and play with them,” you urge, turning to face him to offer a sweet smile. “I’ll handle it here, but the boys could use some quality time with their father.”

“You say that as if they didn’t drag us all around the city yesterday and then climb into our bed and refuse to leave.”

“I mean, it’s the first time in two months they properly see you. That last deal of yours was exceptionally time-consuming.”

“You kept me updated on them so well and those video calls we had… it didn’t even feel like I ever left.”

You only huff and return your gaze to the stove, yet leaning into his chest a little. For a minute it’s quiet, and the man is taking his time before parting from you. That is until he takes a deep inhale and nuzzles his face in your neck.

“Thank you, Y/n.”

“What for, handsome?” There is that teasing lilt in your voice he came to love. Over the course of your lives together he discovered many things to love you for, and if not for that desperate decision to get married - he thinks he’d hardly ever feel the same about his life.

“For everything.”

He leaves your side with a kiss on your shoulder and the next time you glance out of the window again - he is already there, hoisting his youngest in one arm and chasing after the oldest one with his hair swaying in the gentle wind. And your heart is at peace.

Sampo

In all his life Sampo has managed to never impregnate a single woman and he considers that a success. For all the crap people speak about him Sampo is not an idiot, even though he acts like a fool at times. He is extremely self-aware and bringing a child to this world is probably the last thing on his list.

But no one said anything about someone else’s child, right?

Your and Sampo’s relationship is… strange, not going to lie. One evening you happened to help a scared woman to escape from some drunkards (whom you lately found out were the Silvermane Guards, sober and on duty), only for the long wig to slip and the heavy coat to slide down, revealing shortly cut but nicely styled hair and obviously male broad shoulders. The only thing the man managed to get out was a sheepish “hehe”.

And boy did that “hehe” change your life.

That day Sampo Koski got off the hook, since you didn’t comment anyhow and just let him go, which, given you were an overworlder, he found intriguing. So he dug a little bit, out of pure curiosity. Besides, this man didn't like staying in debt to someone and he needed information to see how he could pay you back.

That’s when he found out you were a single mother. An opera singer, but divorced and with full custody over a six-year old daughter.

And honestly, he didn’t give it much thought at first. He simply arranged a nice bouquet of red roses for you, paid Natasha a little for a handmade plushie and left it all at the door steps with a ‘thank you’ note.

Until a couple of weeks ago, disguised again, he didn’t stumble into a group of kids obviously bullying a little girl, mocking her for not having a father, and throwing something among themselves that she tried to catch. And he recognized the toy. And one glance was enough to see how much she looked like the woman he met only once. And against his better judgment Sampo walked to the children, easily snatching the toy and effectively scaring everyone off. Only with that little girl still being there, eyes full of unshed tears and fingers digging in the skirt of her pretty dress.

That tiny ‘thank you’ when he handed the plushie back to her and she hugged it tightly to her chest made the conman’s heart clench, and for the second time that day he sent his plans to hell, keeping her company near the house you lived in until you arrived from work.

That day he learned many things - how much your daughter loved the toy and what a sweet little thing she was, how tired a person can look and how much a throat can hurt from the whole day of singing during rehearsals, how nice a home-made dinner can be once you are invited, but most importantly - how even such a damned man like him can be gazed upon with gratitude and not from one, but two people.

From that day many other instances happened, but in the end he just stuck around. It was strange, it was new, but in a sense it was comforting, especially when you would come home - on Friday, for example, - and he’d be there, entertaining your daughter and then greeting you with a smile and a silly wave of his hand.

You don’t have a husband, and your daughter doesn’t have a father - but with his presence Sampo Koski manages to fill those voids even if a little bit.

Aeons you love days off. A morning to finally sleep in and do not run around like crazy in attempts to get yourself and your kid ready. Even breakfast wasn’t on you today, because the ‘silly man’ stayed the night and told you to get your sleep, assuring you with that confident puff of his chest that the Sampo Koski would offer you his best service, which effectively made you giggle.

Tonight he even cuddled with you, letting you bury your face in his neck and be a little vulnerable in the arms of a man with whom you had the most peculiar relationship ever. But after such equally peculiar moments you really start thinking of suggesting moving from the couch in the living room to your bedroom permanently. It’s been months already, who would’ve thought.

Barefoot and not even glancing at the robe on the chair near the window you leave the room, rubbing at your eyes and brushing your hair away from your face. You are craving the cup of your morning drink, and so you let your legs carry you to the kitchen at first. However two voices coming from your wardrobe room instantly peak your interest and make you halt in your walking. What on earth could your daughter and your clown of a man be doing there?

And soon enough you find it out.

“Sit still, please!” The girl begs with an eye shadow palette in one tiny hand and a huge brush in the other. “It’ll smudge if you keep turning to the mirror!”

“Just can’t wait to see how beautiful I am, princess, ‘s all~”

There, on the floor among the rows of your clothes and shelves with beauty products and accessories, none other than Sampo is sitting, willingly offering his face to your daughter’s practice of applying makeup. And gods he looks absolutely hilarious.

But that’s not what exactly concerns you.

“Is that my dress?” You point at the red shimmery thing snuggly sitting on the man in front of you and that’s when the two notice you.

“Yes, mommy!”

“Say I pulled it off, right?” With a smirk the green-eyed menace winks at you and it looks even worse with poorly done lashes. You have to stifle your laughter. “Though I must admit, we had to keep it unzipped - my chest appeared to be bigger than yours-”

And that’s when you regret not bringing slippers with you - one flying in his head would be of great help.

“Sometimes I really hate you.”

“Nuh, sweet thing, you love me!”

“Well,” you step closer, grabbing a tissue to try and fix at least the overly bright blush on his cheeks, “maybe. Maybe I actually do.”

Suddenly Sampo is tongue-tied and silent, trying very hard to fight off the stupid grin forcing its way onto his face. But with thoroughly smeared red lipstick on his mouth it looks so damn comical.

“Mom, do you think pa looks pretty?” Your daughter hopefully asks, putting aside her tools, and that little two-letter word doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you. You feel a real blush burning under your deft fingers.

“Yes, sweety, Pa-mpo looks very pretty,” his head whips in your direction like you’ve just told him to go and surrender to the Belobog’s esteemed order keepers.

“...Pa-mpo?”

“Would you prefer Da-mpo instead?” Cocking your head in question, you smirk at him, relishing in the pout he is wearing at the moment. “Or maybe Sam-pa?”

“No, thank you very much,” he huffs. “Little princess called me ‘pa’, so be nice and respect it.”

And now it is you who is surprised. You haven’t really discussed with Sampo who he was to your daughter, and who she was to him - but if he is making this step of acknowledging the matter, then who are you to spoil it? Who knows, maybe things will work out quite pleasantly in the end.

“Alright, pa, I will respect that.”

“Hey! For you I am your precious popo baby, a koskiss to your lips, the love of your-”

“Don’t even dream of it.”

Jing Yuan

Yanqing would be enough of an answer to the kid question, but it is not. Sure, his young disciple is practically a son to the General, but it doesn't mean the man doesn't want his own children.

He does and he has. On multiple occasions Jing Yuan's subordinates walked in on him with a small figure sitting in his lap or perched on his strong arm, observing what the dad's been up to with his plans and documents. You scolded your husband for this many times, but the bastard only smiles and keeps stealing his daughter to work to keep him company. Or she sneaks on her own - that caused you many almost heart attacks when she was no older than a couple of decades.

For Jing Yuan it’s all good though - he gets to spend time with his baby and have you inevitably join him in search for your adventurous child.

The General has a separate folder for all the pictures of his daughter on his phone - every single one he takes and every single one you send him when he couldn’t bring his girl to some of his meetings (yet he really tried, until you put your foot down and saved many of his subordinates from the prolonging of said meetings). Even the background, hidden from prying eyes behind the passcode of your and her birthdays, is his little one, cradled in your arms, as the two of you are watching kites flying in the sky.

Yanqing at first was set on treating her with the same respect he does his mentor and you, his wife, but you quickly put an end to it, basically turning the boy into her older brother. He didn’t mind at all - if anything he is sometimes way too eager to push the two of you to go on a date so he can babysit. Often you would return to the two fast asleep either on the girl’s bed or cuddled to Mimi with toys scattered and at least two books lying on the floor. The huge lion adores the girl - sometimes you feel like it thinks of her as its own cub, and the thick mane of hair your daughter got from her father does not help.

And it appeared to be as eager to steal your daughter from you as your husband is…

“Y/n!” You practically jump when the doors to your bedroom fly open and Jing Yuan bursts inside. Immediately you notice his disheveled state - hair down and a mess, the robe he wore this morning for comfortable work in his home office is falling off one of his shoulders and a shoe is missing from his foot.

“Aeons, Yuan, don’t scare me like that,” you put a comb down on your vanity table and fully turn to face him. “What happened?”

“Is our precious baby with you?” He steps further into the room and starts looking around frantically. Okay, now that got worrisome.

“No? You took her earlier this afternoon after lunch to play in your study while you work. Have you really forgotten that? My love, you are getting old.”

You hear clearly as he curses under his breath, raking thick fingers through his hair. The golden eyes look at you and in them you spot a flicker of anxiety.

“...Jing Yuan, don’t tell me that you managed to lose our daughter.”

“I didn’t, I swear,” he winces at the full name usage, watching you rise from your seat and quickly approach him. “She was right by my side, watching the animal videos on my phone, but then I got immersed in the latest reports from the Sky-Faring Commission and when I finished whose - she was gone!”

“Uh, want me to call your phone? Maybe she still has it.”

To that he puts a hand in the robe’s pocket and brings out his device. Oh god.

“It was lying on the floor, still playing videos.”

“Okay, deep breaths,” you are not sure if you are telling it to him or to yourself, but you too take an inhale, meanwhile busying your hands with adjusting his clothes. “Even buried in work you’d still notice if a human sneaked in, right?” He nods. “And you’d notice if she left - she would’ve warned you about that.” He nods again, lips pursed and eyes staring at one point. “Yanqing is not as skilled to come unannounced and take her, and he wouldn’t do it without your permission, so-”

“Wait,” his hand catches yours and realization flashes in his features. “Mimi came.”

“...Mimi?” Before you can ask him to elaborate, your husband turns around and rushes out of the bedroom. Concerned and a little bit intrigued, you quickly follow.

In one of the rooms of your huge house the two of you finally find the lion, and Jing Yuan almost drops on the floor in relief when his girl is spotted in the animal’s embrace.

“Is she…sleeping?” You ask, glancing from behind his broad back.

“It appears so. Hey, Mimi,” the maned head lifts, two ambers taking in your appearances and a pleased huff is let out through the nose upon recognition.

“Well, my dear,” you pat his shoulder, shaking your head, “it appears that people were right - like the owner, like the pet. Congratulations, your lion took your habit of stealing our daughter to heart. Good luck prying her from it.”

“You say it like it’s something hard to do,” there it is, a confident smile is back on his face as he strides closer to the animal, ready to bend down and get his girl. Only for that lift of the corners of his lips to be gone when Mimi growls at him in a warning and shields your daughter’s little body with its head.

You only smirk and leave the scene to go and get your phone - there is no way you are not filming your husband dealing with the consequences of his own behavior.

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