#Infinity Land Press

[rjdent]

I've just finished editing my modern English translation of Antonin Artaud's The Monk, published in August/September 2024 by Infinity Land Press.

Currently, book details are scarce as it's in production, but this is what's available so far:

[halo--hall]

some light reading today

[goosewriting]

The Aftermath

summary: reader visits Joaquín at the hospital as he wakes up from surgery.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: established relationship, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, mention and description of injuries and medical procedures, mention of accident and explosions, brief mentions of PTSD from events in Infinity War/Endgame, self-doubts and guilt

word count: 2.2k

A/N: i started writing this the moment i came home from watching BNW. can't believe it took me this long to write for him,, he's been rotating in my mind ever since tfantws <3 we really need more fics for joaquín, he’s so blorbo coded like cmon!! 🥹🥹 if you have any recs pls send them my way!

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Sitting by Joaquín’s hospital bed, you bring your hands to your face as you remember his accident on the Indian Ocean. You had watched the broadcast in horror, your heart in your throat as his figure fell from the sky into the open water. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but remember the video from all those years ago, where you saw how Rhodey had fallen as well, like a rock, everyone watching, unable to do anything to stop him. Just like War Machine, Joaquín had turned uncontrollably on his descent, one of his wings ripped from the suit by the missile exploding right in his face.

You’ve been in the Avengers’ orbit since a little before the battle against Thanos on Wakanda, where you had also fought with everyone, but then got blipped. The transition back to society with a gap of 5 years had been very hard on you, and while you stayed in contact with everyone who remained, helping out whenever you could, you didn’t really have it in you to go back out to the battlefield. Even after all this time, you still have nightmares about the snap and the Battle for Earth. 

Bringing your hands back into your lap, you let out a trembling breath, clinging onto the constant soft beeping of the machinery to tether yourself to reality and not fall down a spiral of despair. Every time your eyes roam over Joaquín’s injuries, you close your eyes, pressing the base of your hands over them, then open them again. Your sight is momentarily sprinkled with dots, and as it clears, you hope for everything to have been a horrible nightmare. But once your view clears up, he’s still there. Unconscious. Hurt.

The surgery he’d been in last night had felt like it was never going to end. Still, you had stayed the whole time, and once he got out, you stayed at his side. 

It’s been several hours since Joaquín got wheeled into his room, the head medic saying he was still unconscious but stable. You shift in the armchair by the bed where you sit. One of the nurses brought you something to eat earlier since you refused to leave, the wrapper of your sandwich still in your hands as your eyes start feeling heavier and heavier, and you can’t find it in yourself to fight the welcome embrace of sleep, slowly spreading through your limbs. You’ve almost completely dozed off when you hear a groan, and immediately your grogginess dissipates. You straighten up in your seat, the wrapper falling to the floor as you scoot closer to the bed, tears stinging behind your eyes. How you still have tears left, you have no idea, given how much you’ve cried in the past hours, terrified of losing the love of your life. 

Joaquín blinks several times, scrunching his face, eyes trying to adapt to the light. He lifts his good arm, looking at the tubes attached to it, and his gaze roams the room and down his body, face contorting in pain lightly. Then his eyes land on you, and his face immediately softens.

“Hey, there,” he croaks out. 

“You’re awake,” you whisper, holding his hand in your trembling ones. “I was scared you wouldn’t.”

“Pfft, it’ll take more than a meagre explosion to defeat the Falcon,” he retorts with a pained smile.

Normally you’d laugh at his jokes, enjoying his silly side, but right now you have no humour left in you. Another wave of tears rolls down your cheeks, and his smile vanishes.

“Please don’t joke about that,” you plead, giving his hand a squeeze. “You were hit by a freaking missile. From a fighter jet. While up in the air between two armies about to start a war with each other.”

“Well, if you put it like that…” He sighs. 

There’s a moment of silence where you again study his bruised face, your gaze landing on the massive burn covering his whole shoulder, streaks of red raw skin visible on his jaw and throat. Your brows furrow in frustration.

“I should have been there,” you mumble, angry at yourself for letting this happen.

“What?” he asks, craning his neck to fully look at you.

“I should have gone with you,” you say, bringing your eyes to look up at him. “Then I could have helped and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Joaquín exhales through his nose in disbelief.

“We were in the air, and I went head to head with the missile even after Sam told me to back off,” he retorts, shaking his head. “There was nothing you could have done.”

His tone isn’t scolding; he’s telling the truth and you know it. Still, you can’t help but feel like the outcome could have been different, if you had just been better, braver. You try to choke back a sob, unsuccessful, and his hold tightens around your hand.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” He speaks your name softly. “This isn’t on you. Please don’t cry.”

You grimace, biting the inside of your cheek.

“For a moment I thought you died, Joaquín. I was so scared,” you say with a shaky breath, bringing his hand to your face, and he cups your cheek. You place your hand over his, holding onto it and leaning into his touch like it was the last time you could hold him like this.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Your heart shatters at the thought that even after getting hurt, after getting blown up, he’s the one apologising to you. He’s about to add something when the door opens and a nurse comes in. You back off a bit and hastily wipe your face with the back of your sleeves as she does some check-ups, both on Joaquín and the machines, taking some notes on her clipboard. She then takes one of the tubes attached to his arm, and places a syringe at the other end.

“What’s that?” you ask, suspicious. She gives you a quick look with a raised brow, but when she sees the state you’re in, her face relaxes again.

“Painkillers and antibiotics. He’ll need both of them,” she explains.

It doesn’t take long for the fluids to reach Joaquín’s blood system, and he visibly relaxes against the pillows and closes his eyes.

“Oh, hell yeah. That’s the good stuff,” he sighs, and the nurse chuckles softly. You still can’t get yourself to let go of your worry. Once she’s done with everything, she leaves the way she came, exiting the room. As the door closes behind her, your eyes land on the wrapper on the floor, and you pick it up with a sniffle, crumpling it up further.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?” you ask as you throw the trash into the bin from where you sit, to your surprise making the shot. He doesn't answer, eyes still closed.

“Joaquín?” you ask softly, not wanting to wake him in case he fell asleep again.

“Huh? Wha?” His eyes open and he turns to look at you, his face visibly relaxed now.

“You okay?” You take his hand again, and he gives you a squeeze.

“Hmm-mm,” he hums with a nod, blinking slowly as he tries to focus on your face. “I just think I’m… kinda high right now.”

That’s when you finally break, unable to hold back an endeared chuckle, shaking your head. Joaquín’s eyes are filled with warmth and then concern as they land on your face, brows furrowing as if he just noticed something. His hand comes up to wipe away the remaining streak of tears. He also playfully pinches your cheek for good measure, eliciting another smile of yours.

“That’s better,” he concludes, a smile spreading on his face as well. The smile that could light up any room he’s in, in your humble opinion. 

You prop your elbow onto the edge of the bed, head in your hands as you look at him, and he looks back at you with a silly grin. The beeps on the machine speed up a bit, and you look up at the screen, then back at him with a brow raised in amusement.

“Usually you can’t tell because I’m smooth as hell, but it’s true,” he notes, like a huge secret was just uncovered. “You still make my heart race.”

Heat prickles on your cheeks at his words and you avert your gaze with a snort. As long as your heart is still beating, you think, remembering that they had to resuscitate him after the accident, but you shake those thoughts away, preferring to focus on the fact that he’s still here, alive.

“I know that the moment you’re back on your feet, you’ll be out there again, suited up,” you start after a moment, shooting him a serious look. “So I won’t ask you to stop. But promise me to be more careful next time?”

“Pinky promise.” Joaquín lifts his hand, fingers curled except for his pinky, and you can’t help but chuckle as you mirror his gesture, curling your finger around his. He shakes your hand like that side to side for a bit, then drops it back down onto the bed. A strand of hair falls into his face as he leans back, and you brush it back, caressing over his bruised cheekbone gingerly. 

“When was the last time you slept?” he asks suddenly.

“Hmm.” You look at the timestamp on the muted TV in the corner, currently playing some movie or other. It’s only then that you realise you’ve been intermittently awake for almost two full days now. “Can’t really remember,” you lie.

“You need to rest. You look exhausted,” he remarks, gesturing to himself. “I’m taken care of.”

“No, I’m not leaving you,” you say, putting as much finality into your voice as you can in your state.

He says your name softly. You look away. He sighs.

“Well, if you insist on staying, then at least I can get pampered a bit, yeah?” he starts, and you narrow your eyes at him in feigned suspicion. He asks with a playful pout, “You know what would make me feel better?”

“Hmm?” 

Joaquín turns his head, offering you his cheek. You can’t help but laugh. 

“I thought you were high on painkillers already?”

“Even the best medicine holds nothing against your kisses.”

“Pfft, is that so.” Now it’s your heart’s turn to speed up. You two have been together for a while now, but he still makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and gives you butterflies in your stomach, when he isn’t on the brink of death, at least. “Well, in that case, I better get started on your dose.”

You lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek, and he hums pleasedly. He doesn’t move, though, clearly waiting for more. You’re more than happy to oblige, placing kiss after kiss on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, being especially careful around his injuries. Finally, you hold his chin to turn his face towards you, and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his lips. It's chaste but sweet, and he smiles into it. When you lean back, his eyes are filled with love, slightly unfocused because of the meds, a goofy grin on his face. As you hold his face, you consider saying something cheesy, hoping he won’t remember it. But before you can speak, there’s a knock at the door, and someone steps in. It’s Sam. He looks surprised to see you.  

“Damn, you’re still here?” he asks with concern, then turns to Joaquín. “How’re you feeling?”

“Splendid, really,” he replies, leaning into your hand still cupping his face.

“He got a decent shot of painkillers,” you explain, looking up at Sam with a tired smile. “He’s high as a kite.”

Sam chuckles, then looks at you worriedly. 

“You need to rest. Both of you.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “Go home, I’ll take it from here.”

You hesitate, looking between the two, and Joaquín nods, his eyes pleading for you to also take care of yourself. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Joaquín says, taking your hand from his face and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Right,” you sigh and rise to your feet with wobbly legs now that the exhaustion is finally kicking in full force, and Sam holds you up when your knees threaten to give in. 

“Whoa there. You need a nap, ASAP.” 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” you say with a sigh, steadying yourself as he lets you go, his hands still hovering over your arms for a moment in case he has to grab you again, but you manage to stand straight. You grab your jacket from the back of the chair, and turn to Joaquín. “I’ll come back this evening, okay? I’ll bring your favourite snacks too. Don’t tell the nurse, though.” You wink at him with a knowing smile.

“You’re the best.”

“No, you are.” You lean over him to kiss him goodbye, whispering ‘I love you’ against his lips, and pecking him once more for good measure. The machine’s beeps speed up again.

“Love you too. See you later.” Joaquín brings his hand up to caress over your cheek one last time, then you leave the room.

Sam is still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking down at his friend as the beeps slowly start decreasing back to normal.

“Very cute,” he remarks, unable to bite back a teasing smile. 

“Don’t even,” Joaquín says and rolls his eyes playfully, knowing perfectly well that Sam will never let him live that down.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!]

[shegetsburned]

Uhm hi 👋🏻 could you please write something about Gojo, Nanami, Geto and Toji's reactions to their significant other's life being threatened? Like heartbreaking stuff that ends up well? 👉🏻👈🏻

LOSING YOU w. jujutsu kaisen men ˚ 𐙚 ⋆.

.angst/fluff.

• — ft. satoru gojo, kento nanami, suguru geto, toji fushiguro. took me ages to get to but i’m a sucker for angst, so i just had to do it. thanks for the request, luv! • — content. their reaction to your life being threatened. • — tw. mentions of death, violence, murder.

satoru gojo

₊˚⊹ ᰔ as soon as your name came out of yaga’s mouth, satoru wasted no time and vanished. he searched every place he knew, every corner and alley, in a matter of seconds. there was no coherent thought in his mind while he teleported. the only thing he could clearly see was you. that you were in danger and that you needed to be saved. that he couldn’t let you die and that he previously had so clearly promised that he’d never let anything happen to either you or him.

a liar, he thought he was. how could he have let this happen? what was the point of being the strongest sorcerer if he couldn’t even protect you. he really did believe nothing could happen to you if he was by your side. he’d murder anyone who’d ever try to harm you without even looking back. this time wouldn’t be any different.

he felt his heartbeat reach his ears when he finally felt you near an ally, back pressed against the wall. a hand on your chest, crimson blood dripping down your shirt. jerky breaths escaping your trembling lips. this curse had taken his sweet time with you. it wanted to feed and you were a tasty dinner. there were marks of struggle on your shredded clothes and bruised wrists.

nothing came out of satoru’s mouth when his eyes landed on you. he just couldn’t believe he had let this happen to you. his expression was stoic. when he slowly approached you the curse immediately felt it. the strongest sorcerer doesn’t let most curses escape from his grasp. but this one.. this one would inevitably suffer the most.

it wasn’t long before the curse felt his body being pushed against the wall in front of you. a yelp was heard when his skull hit the wall head-on. you could hear the bones crack and send shivers through your entire being. that’s when you realized your boyfriend had finally arrived. but when you lifted your head trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes he had already turned all his attention towards the threat.

you had never seen him like this. he was lifeless. his eyebrows were lowered and pulled closer together. you could’ve sworn his eyes bulged. he was enraged. he didn’t even bother to raise his arm towards the curse, he just advanced and slowly- very slowly crushed every little bone in the monster’s body.

you were out of breath but couldn’t shift your gaze from the horrible spectacle in front of you. the wall caved under the pressure as gojo used his infinity to create a space between him and the curse which only crushed it more. it was cruel. cruel but deserving considering the circumstances.

the curse’s body was retracting upon itself with no way out. a loud and piercing cry followed the sound of the wall being crushed under the weight of the infinity. the only thing you found the strength to mumble under your breath was your boyfriend’s name.

after a few seconds, black smoke emanated from the crushed bricked wall with no curses in sight. no remains, nothing. your heavy breath filled the air as satoru finally sighted. you could barely see his eyes when he turned to you, crouching down at your height.

his violence had surprised you, but you were so relieved. tears ran down your cheeks when you tried to speak. you tried to reach for satoru when he crouched but he was quicker and wrapped one arm around your back and another supporting the back of your head. he held you close and it made you feel at home. his scent and touch reassured you when you buried your head in his neck.

still silent, he held you tightly close to his chest. his hand threaded your hair, a slight pressure applied so he could make sure you were okay. you could feel all his anger slowly fade when you returned the gesture with one hand against his chest. your tears slowly fading as you felt the warmth of satoru around your body.

“satoru..”

he shushed you. always pulling you closer and closer to him. he wasn’t going to leave this time. he’d never let you endure something like this ever again.

“i’m right here. you’re safe. lend me your pain, baby. i’ll carry you the rest of the way.” he whispered into your ear, caressing your back so that you’d warm up to his touch. you could feel he was slowly coming back to being the satoru you knew.

you were safe in his arms but guilt still ran deep inside of him. he promised to take you to shoko as soon as possible, resting by your side until you were completely healthy. he also promised himself to assign you with an escort when he couldn’t be here to protect you.

satoru’s only concern was you and he’d never let anything get in the way of your well-being ever again. if he had to show every curse on this earth that he’d destroy them if they ever tried to get near you, he’d have no hesitation in doing so. you were safe. you knew it, now.

kento nanami

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you were the most important person for nanami. his one and only. his love, his soul, his heart. he would’ve resigned in an instant if you hadn’t begged him to keep his job as a sorcerer. but knowing his personal feelings about loss, you knew it’d break him if something came to happen to you. that is precisely why you always acted cautiously, never putting yourself in harm's way and living your life as safely as you could. unfortunately, this time, your efforts had been in vain.

when he saw you, helplessly struggling at the mercy of a first-grade curse wrapped around your throat, all he could think about was how much he regretted not having taken a safer job and bought you that house you both talked about so much on a beach in malaysia.

he knew he needed to act quickly or the curse would finish you off as easily as it had taken you hostage.

you wiggled your feet when it lifted you off the ground, hands desperately scratching and holding onto his grasp so he’d let go of his claws around your throat. you could feel kento’s eyes on you but couldn’t even dare to look at him or do anything else than push against the claws so they wouldn’t crush your neck further.

therefore, you couldn’t see him remove his tie, wrapping it tightly around his knuckles. he knew he couldn’t use a weapon, scared that the curse would use you as a shield. his fists were more precise and his sword wasn’t enough to unleash the rage he had built up inside.

he slowly made his way to the curse but, with every step, its hold crushed you more. you were so scared, almost out of breath with tears rolling down your cheeks. these cheeks kento had kissed so many times to take away your pain. you were hoping he’d do it once more.

once he realized that the threatening stance he was in only alarmed the curse, kento stood down, lowering his curse energy’s flow to an almost invisible state. he made himself look harmless in the face of the monster which slowly but surely helped you to breathe better.

you knew your husband. you had heard it several times from yuji and Ino and you also personally knew that he always handled things the right way. this is was kept you from breaking down and letting go of your almost meaningless fight against the curse’s strength. you had never doubted him and you wouldn’t now. he built his strength with yours. that’s what kento had told you the day he had asked for your hand.

his eyes were locked with your struggling gaze. despite him trying to contain himself, his veins stood out from how tightly he clenched his fists. he would’ve massacred the curse right here and now if it hadn’t cowardly taken you hostage. nanami might have seemed harmless in the moment but his anger was apparent.

without thinking much about it, he threw his sword aside, lifting his hands above to show complete surrender to the curse.

“let her go.”

the furious and deep voice of your husband made you whine, finally hearing a sign from him. unfortunately you could feel that the curse was still hesitating. the clinging of the sword on the ground had startled it which only showed kento how weak it really was. it also showed that it did not want to fight but preferred to flee.

this strange demeanor encouraged kento to step closer, hands still in the air, and that’s when he saw his opening. the curse was looking left and right to find an escape which diminished his attention and loosened his grip around your throat. it lasted just a few seconds but it was enough for you to breathe out his name.

“kento..”

that’s when he drew his fist and used all of his force and cursed energy to deliver a devastating blow right into the curse spirit’s face. it was sent flying several meters away after dropping you so kento could easily catch you and keep you from hitting the ground, arms wrapped around your body.

it only took one hit. one punch to obliterate half of the curse’s body in pieces. the shock had been so violent that your savior’s knuckles bled on your shirt through his yellow tie.

“mine.”

you could feel his heavy breath against your neck when he got on one knee, holding you against him, a hand carefully placed on your cheek. his thumb caressing your skin and whipping the single tear you shed.

“my love..”

kento’s expression had returned to the one you knew. the calm but stoic gaze he wore returned your breath to a normal pace. his arms pulled you always closer to him and he felt his sense come back when your fingers brushed the hand he had placed on your shoulder. you couldn’t talk or you’d burst into tears so you smiled in admiration.

he placed his warm lips upon your forehead and you could feel how scared he had been, maybe even more scared than you. his eyes were stuck on your finger, the one that wore his ring.

losing haibara had crushed his soul to tiny little pieces and you had been the one to delicately put them all back together with your innocent kindness and understanding. he’d be damned if he was to let something happen to the one who saved his heart.

this was the first and last time your life had been threatened, thanks to the careful supervision of kento but also his promise to quit his job and buy that house. he hadn’t realized how much he already had with you and would curse anybody who tried to take his happiness away from him ever again.

suguru geto

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you trusted him. you trusted that, if you were in pain, suguru would find ways to eradicate that pain. you trusted that if you showed any sign of distress, he’d be by your side helping you in any way he could. most importantly, you trusted that he’d protect you no matter the cost and no matter the consequences, because he was devoted to you. if there was something he’d burn the whole world for, it’d be you.

these men, these humans, these pathetic monkeys that had attacked you on your way home never knew what would come for them. you were beaten and almost lifeless when the men started searching for any kind of money or jewelry you had on your person. of course, you had resisted. that’s the only thing you could do, because you were so scared that if you had willingly complied to their demand they would’ve asked for more.

being helpless was scary. you thought it wouldn’t be so scary with suguru by your side, but right now you had never been more terrified. you also knew that your boyfriend would never forgive the men that harmed you, so the only thing you could do was wait. because you did not doubt him. you never doubted him. you knew he’d come for you.

when the men had finished checking your bags and any belongings you had on your person, one approached you, lifting your chin with a vulgar smile. you couldn’t even look at him in the eyes but hit bullseye when you spat directly in his face making him drop you in anger. he cursed under his breath before tightly grabbing you by the collar. a hand in the air so it’d land on your face.

with a weak and desperate groan you turned your face away but was surprised when the slap never landed.

when you reopened your eyes to look at your aggressor, he had his own hands wrapped his throat. it’s like he was struggling to breath, a firm pressure was crushing his neck as he tried to break free from this invisible hold.

when you realized what might be happening you tried to take a peak at the other men who were all struggling with the same problem. scratching and screaming at the invisible menace that were preventing them from breathing.

under the distressed shoutings, a cocky laugh attracted your gaze. when you turned to look at the source, your face lit up at the sight of suguru. but he didn’t look as relieved as you were. his laugh was dark, almost cynical. it was psychotic and displeased.

you had seen him despise simple-minded humans before but killing them was a different story. he wasn’t only taking their lives, he was torturing them. their necks were getting slowly squashed by the curses he had sent on them.

seeing you struggle to breath, helpless at the hand of those who had harmed an innocent girl like you. his girl. it had awaken another kind of hatred in him. a hatred that had been buried deep for so long.

suguru took one good look at you, searching for your eyes but you were incapable of keeping them open. you were just glad your boyfriend had arrived. you knew you were safe when you rested your eyes, a small smile of satisfaction drawn on your lips.

when he concentrated his gaze back on the man that had touched you, he crouched in front of him, getting to his level before taking over the curse and wrapping his hand around the stranger’s neck. tormenting him and taking the air away from him. suguru tightened his grip, his smile fading when he brought the man closer and closer towards death.

“so you think you can just harm her and get away with it?”

the man was hissing swears as small cries of help escaped his bloody lips. his face was swollen and breaking down under suguru’s hold and his watering eyes looked like they would pop out of their socket sooner or later. that’s how tight he held the man.

“pathetic.”

he fed on their cries. helplessly calling out for help, the men only fueled his rage with their insufferable sounds. the sorcerer remembered every time he had felt an ounce of empathy for these beings in the past and regretted every actions he had done to protect them when he saw your wounded state. what they had done was inexcusable and no amount of pain would be enough to atone for it.

after a while, resigned, your offender chocked out a weak apology. but as he did, all the bones in his body instantly broke under another a new kind of pressure coming from yet another curse suguru had unleashed upon him. so now he laid there, between your boyfriend’s compressed clutch. dead.

after a few seconds he dropped the body on the ground like garbage waste and walked to you, passing by the other men that were struggling to breath. he pushed the first one aside with his foot, throwing one on the ground, creating a path for him to walk to you.

“move. i’ve come to take what’s mine.”

on suguru’s command, two snaps followed when the curses broke the other men’s necks before they fell on the floor. three lifeless corpses were now scattered in front of both of you, and as soon as he made sure those stupide monkeys had payed for what they had done, he joined you.

when he leaned towards you, his hand grazed yours, wrapping it with his own in a warm grip. his eyes searched for yours, lifting your chin with his thumb before running it along your jaw, making comforting circles on your cheek.

“are you alright, my love? can you walk?”

suguru’s tone was calmer than before. his eyes never left yours when he wiped one of your tears. his comforting smile reassured you and you nodded at his question, holding onto his wrist when he helped you up, closing the distance between the two of you.

you could hear his calm heartbeat when you leaned against his chest, hiding between his arms and you wondered how he could be so tranquil after killing these men so easily. little did you know the only thing he felt was rage. he knew he was right to despise these inferior beings that had harmed the only important thing that mattered.

he could’ve burned the world for you.

toji fushiguro

₊˚⊹ ᰔ toji fushiguro was an asshole. a first-class asshole. you guys had slept together left and right and he always left first. you had no expectations regarding the man. no doubt that you were replaceable. he didn’t open up much and never talked about his work which didn’t alarm you much considering toji’s character.

basically, emotionally and personally speaking, you two weren’t close. that’s why, when two strangers raided your apartment, screaming fushiguro’s name in anger, you wondered why you had accepted to sleep with a man with a secret and violent past.

your furniture was on the floor and the men had destroyed most of your electronics so you had no way to call for help. one was guarding the door while the other took care of questioning you. it had something to do with a bet and broken promises. of course, money had to be involved, otherwise, why would they be threatening the girl he had slept with once or twice to know of his whereabouts?

tied to a chair, almost unconscious, he had been covering you with bruises and scratches using anything that he could find but you still gave him the same answer. you had no idea where toji was as he never kept contact with you. he was always the one that came to you. and if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t expect him to come save you anytime soon.

after a while, when the man realized he might not easily get an answer out of you, he reached in his back, pulling out a pistol from the edge of his pants. at the sight of the gun, your heart shattered. that was it for you, you thought. you couldn’t get out of this mess and you would die convinced toji was out there somewhere, probably getting rich and fucking naive girls like you.

you couldn’t even talk anymore, your head was hanging in front of you, blood dripping from your mouth to your thighs. you didn’t know if you’d last long, your vision was blurry and you felt yourself chasing the dark tunnel that clouded your eyesight.

you could hear faint words of command when your chin was lifted with the cold metallic canon of the pistol. the man had your life between his hands. you knew he’d pull the trigger if he eventually realized you couldn’t give him any information he needed. you knew he would kill you. it was so easy and you were pissing him off.

your eyes never left his nervous figure which only frustrated him more and, out of instinct, he slapped you with the handle of the pistol, almost knocking the air out of you. your jaw was broken and tears were flooding your eyes when the blow forced you to look away.

but as he pulled his arm up, preparing for another strike, he seemed to stop in his movement, startled by something behind him. sounds of struggles and a broken door were heard when he shifted his gaze entirely towards the front of your apartment. his accomplice had disappeared which alerted the man and made him call out to him.

several seconds and unanswered calls later, on his guard, the armed stranger decided to go take a look. as soon as he took a step towards the broken piece of wood that was left, a corpse dropped to his feet.

it was the other man, and he seemed to have been brutally murdered from the back, a hole at his heart’s level revealed the level of violence he had endured which left the man panicked and distressed. sweat was covering his forehead when he tried to peak out the door, fingers trembling against the handle and trigger.

unfortunately for him, a tall and broad shadow quickly covered him, before a shot came off. one single gunshot followed by a loud thud.

you could barely make up the identity of the person who had saved you with your weak sight, but his odour was enough for you to distinguish the man clearly. he always smelled the same.

toji was here. he was standing in the doorway, a tight grip around his gun and a grin covering his scarred lips. “can’t believe they send these weaklings to come after me.”

he carefully stepped between the cadavers, examining the poor state of your apartment and their lifeless bodies before his gaze shifted to you. a quick exchange was enough for you to sigh in relief and let yourself relax to an unconscious state.

despite himself, he did feel an ounce of guilt when he took a good look at you. his mistakes had almost gotten you killed. he couldn’t have imagined how he would’ve felt if he had arrived too late. the blood on your face, the broken jaw and the many scars were revealed by the moonlight passing through the door. the cold air misplaced your hair for toji to see tears strolling down your face.

his grin faded as he stood still in front of you and the mess he had made. his grip had loosened around the gun but he slowly moved the canon towards the second man he had killed. without hesitation, he emptied his clip through the culprit’s head, a look of contempt and disgust plastered on his face.

“tsk.. you just had to go and get yourself noticed, hm?” he said, now focused only on you.

thanks to toji, you were safe now. and you had silently thanked him for coming back for you.

carrying you bridal style as you laid there now unconscious but safe in his arms, he placed his thumb against your jaw, tilting your head to get a proper look at you. even now, you were so beautifully calm and your cheeks wore a pink tint, probably because of the cold, which only accentuated your beauty and innocence.

with a sigh, like it weighed on his conscience, toji murmured. “guess someone’s gonna have to take care of you, from now on.”

but the truth was far from what it appeared to be. saving you that night had just brought the man closer to the conclusion that he cherished you more than he thought he did. you weighed on his conscience like a guilty obsession which he could only nourish by spending more time by your side.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[reignpage]

Finders Keepers

Summary: in which alien!reader crash lands right in front of Gojo and your story with him begins Word Count: 1k (just trialing a new concept so it's a quick opening) Warnings: a little cursing, allusions to experimentation and alien warfare, reader is naked but not in a sexual manner

“I can’t believe aliens actually exist,” Satoru mutters to himself. 

This has been an incredibly wild evening. 

When he stepped out of his apartment to throw the bins out, he hadn’t expected to see a blinding flash of light zoom past him and explode in the parking lot. Thank goodness for his infinity, otherwise he would not have fared as well as the minivan you landed on. 

Yes. 

You.

The woman who came straight from the sky and fell on top of a car, missing him by just two metres.

At first, he thought it was a curse; these things get pretty weird sometimes, after all. But using his Six Eyes, he could tell you were different. Sure, you looked like any other person, with arms and legs and a head. But you had a unique aura to you, positively otherworldly. 

If he was any other kind of man, he would have just left you there and pretended nothing happened — ignorance is bliss and whatnot — but what kind of Honoured One would he be if he didn’t do his duty and helped you out?

So, he slides down the massive crater you made (boy is that going to be a pain for maintenance to clean up) and carefully cradles your naked body in his arms, carefully so as to not touch bits and pieces no gentleman has a business looking at. Why are you naked anyways? 

Sensing people making their way down the stairs to inspect the commotion, he teleports back into his apartment quick as a flash before anyone could think to look through their windows. 

He throws a blanket at you and leaves you on the sofa as he paces the length of his living room and ponders what to do. On one hand, he could call the police and leave it up to them to deal with you. The government would know best about how to deal about falling space women, right? But then, don’t all the sci-fi movies talk about inhumane experimentation, weaponizing alien technology, and Area 51? 

That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, at all. 

And on the other hand, he could just take care of you himself. He has the means to, that’s for sure. You really don’t look any different from everyone else — surely, you need the same things he does: food, water, shelter and warmth.

Right?

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone to call his doctor friend, you begin rousing from sleep. Your eyes flutter open and they’re a normal colour, which freaks him out more if he’s going to be perfectly honest. 

“Uh,” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, shuffling on his feet a little, “hey? I’m Gojo Satoru. You can just call me Satoru, though. If you want, or can, I guess.”

You tilt your head, scanning his body, and you open your mouth. What comes out is definitely an alien language. Or maybe he needs to travel more. But he certainly does not comprehend a single thing that you say. 

Clearing his throat, he tries to smile comfortingly. “Okay, so I didn’t understand what you said. Sorry. But uh, do you need anything? Like, do you know where you are? Yeah, you definitely don’t know what I’m saying either, do you?”

You tilt your head again. 

“What is wrong with me? Seriously. What was I thinking bringing you home? You may have fallen from the sky but I’m the one that clearly hit my head. I really am an idiot.”

Glancing around the room, you don’t look any bit as frazzled and panicked as he is. Actually, you’re as cool as a cucumber, and there isn’t a hint of shame or embarrassment on your face when you push yourself off the sofa, blanket sliding down your body. 

“Woah! Woah!”

Satoru presses his hands to his eyes and leaves them there for a second or two before realising that does absolutely nothing and when he pulls them down, he doesn’t flinch when you’re standing before him, inquisitive eyes meeting his. 

His infinity is on and he’s ready to subdue you if you prove to be a threat, but so far, he’s simply letting you reorient yourself, getting used to your surroundings and giving you the opportunity to decide he’s not a bad guy. 

That being said, however, he’s still deciding whether to keep you or not. He doesn’t want you to be poked and prodded — that wouldn’t be a very cool welcome to planet Earth and he doesn’t need you to go around telling your alien friends humans suck, though they do. But he also doesn’t know if that’s the best decision. 

You could be a danger to jujitsu society, to his students, to the world. What if, right at this very moment, you’re leaking deadly radiation? And what if his infinity can’t keep it out? Can’t keep you out?

Gosh, there are so many things that could go wrong. 

It’s entirely possible too that you’re a blood sucking monster intent on wringing him dry for all he’s worth. Maybe you’re not even an alien. Maybe you’re a special kind of curse, the kind that can bypass his Six Eyes, though he’s fairly confident that’s not the case (there’s no one stronger than him, after all). 

What if this is Kenjaku all over again?

Yeah, on second thought, he should definitely call the police. Or Ijichi, or the Prime Minister of Japan, or whoever will believe him when he says there’s a naked, alien lady in his home, and no, he’s not a pervert playing out some sick fantasy.

But just as he’s lifting his phone, you lift your hand the same time he does and cover your eyes. 

Then you say his name in perfect Japanese with a sweet, soft voice, not a hint of hesitation or unsteadiness. You smile, eyes still obscured, and he feels himself mirroring your gleeful expression. 

“That’s right. I’m Satoru. It’s nice to meet you.”

He decides, there and then, to hell with radiation, alien armies, and the deadly risk you pose to everything he knows or cares about. The military, conspiracy theorists, and scientists be damned.

He’s going to keep you. 

[sluttysnowangel666]

sweet like candy - choi su bong / thanos

pairings : thanos/ su bong x fem reader part 2

summary/request : despite only a few insignificant interactions with thanos, he grows jealous when he sees you talking to an ex marine, dae ho.

warnings: jealous thanos, use of drugs, swearing, violence, ooc thanos bc he’s kinda nice most of the time except for when he’s jealous, lowkey sub thanos idk how it happened but bros a good boy😭, oral(f receiving), hand job, sex(p in v)

ngl this is not my best work unfortunately:( it just feels like i rushed too much at certain parts but i just didn’t want it to be too repetitive to other stories with too much detail when we all know how the games work. send me some requests, i wanna do au or write for thanos where the reader and him are outside of the games

not responsible for the content you consume, use discretion when reading past the border. 18+

“Señorita, excuse me.”

You turn, an eyebrow already raised at the strange pet name you’d just been called. It’s a tall, young ish man. You take in his appearance; his hair is a bright shade of purple, slender fingers painted like infinity stones, marked with dark tattoos, chunky rings, and a cross necklace.

You don’t respond, instead continuing to walk in the eerie room painted like the sky, with a giant doll at the other side.

You sigh, still confused at how you ended up here with 456 other people in ugly green tracksuits and millions, if not billions, of won in debt.

He raps you a song, also stating his name is Thanos, which you try to tune out but its mediocrity makes you stifle a laugh. He notices, and your sweet smile makes him smile.

“I like you.” He says, flashing you a little heart with his fingers. You roll your eyes, walking past him as he lingers on your trail.

A man runs out, player 456, you note. He begins screaming, saying the game was “Red Light, Green Light” and the doll was going to kill us if we moved. His reaction makes you nervous, his fear seemed so genuine.

“My dad comes home like this sometimes,” Thanos says, noticing your shift in demeanor. “Saying there’s bugs in the walls and his phone’s been tapped by the government.”

“Do you think the guy yelling is high?” You ask.

He smirks a little before answering, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Fuck no.”

The game begins, and Thanos takes your hand. You go to pull away but his grip is tight.

“Let go.” You whisper, on a red light.

“Come on, señorita. Let’s stick together.” He whispers back.

Before you can respond, the girl in front of you starts screaming about a bee landing on her. She faces you both and laughs a little.

“Oh, shit. I just moved, didn’t I?”

Bang.

Blood splatters on you and Thanos’ face.

“Don’t scream.” He whispers, but even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Your body is in shock, frozen. You grip his hand in return now, trying to hold your shaking.

More rounds continue, but neither of you move. That is until the man tells you to finish you have to be behind the doll. Thanos moves you behind him, and you press your head into his back with your eyes shut tight, gripping his jacket. He slowly moves, pulling you with him.

A woman reacts to the body, and an another shot goes off. Panic ensues, as people run and shots fire continuously. All you can hear is screaming and shooting.

During the next green light Thanos doesn’t move, but you feel him fidgeting around. Two rounds go by of this before he finally moves again.

He lurches forward, and you feel him go “Ding” as he pushes a group of people down. Three shots ring off, and during the next green light you let go of him. He doesn’t even notice, skipping and jumping and dancing during every green light.

In the end, you survive. Splattered in blood, yes, but alive nonetheless.

You avoid him after that, feeling unnerved by the way he played during the games. You noticed him sharing a pill with a guy later, which made his behavior in the game make sense to you.

You sat on your bed, your face buried in your knees as you rocked back and forth. The lights were out, everyone going to sleep but, how could you? After everything you saw?

You glanced up at the piggy bank, glowing gold

and filled with won.

———

The next game was about to begin.

You had been brought into a room, eerily similar to the one with the doll, except the room had rainbow tracks and pink suit men standing around it. They ordered you to get into teams of 5.

You wandered around, searching for a group of people who wouldn’t kill you for fun.

“Hi.”

You turned, facing a handsome dark haired man, his hair half tied up. He was neatly kept, carrying himself with confidence and grace, despite everything.

“Hi.” You respond, meekly.

“Would you like to join our group?” He motions to the 4 men behind him. Their faces are stoic, but they look friendly enough. You notice the one man on the team was the one who warned everyone about the last games. You accept their offer; it’s not like you really had a choice anyway. Besides, why not let them pity you if they felt sorry enough to offer you a spot? No one else was itching to have you on your team…

Or so you thought.

On the other side of the room, Thanos was searching for you to be in his group. He felt inclined to protect you now after the events of the first game. The drugs were fueling him into wanting to be the hero of your story. He was convinced he could you get out of here, and you would tell the world Thanos the Great saved you with a snap of his fingers. Besides, such a sweet face like yours? It would be such a waste for you to die somewhere so silly.

He finds you, in the sea of people, talking to another man.

He fumes with rage, the ecstasy making him react more uncontrollably than usual.

He bites his lip, all of his prior convictions now forgotten. Let the bitch die then, he thinks to himself.

The games start, and players drop like flies from the first groups alone.

Thanos’ team goes, and you can’t help but cheer when you see them play successfully. You jump up and down, laughing and clapping at their win.

Thanos locks his eyes on yours, noticing your childlike joy at his win. It makes him strangely prideful, makes him forget why he was so mad at you in the first place.

He bows to you, like a musician after a performance. You blush a little, smiling at him, forgetting why he scared you in the first place.

Your team is last, and you’re up first playing ddakji. Your whole team plays successfully, and you survive another round of the games.

You go back to your bunks, Dae Ho wrapping a friendly and comforting arm around you as you both walk. You sit with your group, eating and laughing while you slowly forget the chaos around you.

Thanos watched it all play out with Dae Ho again. His palms were sweaty the whole time, hoping you’d survive and walk back into that room. The second you walked back through the door alive, his eyes were on you.

“Are you good?” Nam Gyu asks Thanos, noticing his eyes constantly following you.

“I don’t know what the fuck are you talking about.” Thanos spits, defensively. He takes another pill, needing the courage for his next move.

“Let me have one.” Nam Gyu begs. Thanos reluctantly hands one over.

Nam Gyu takes it with haste, as Thanos stands and makes his way towards you. He quickly gets up and follows his friend, ready for whatever fight may come.

Each time you laugh at Dae Ho, Thanos picks his pace up a little faster. He’s convinced that it’s like with each laugh that slips past your honey coated lips, then the closer Dae Ho is to getting to taste them. He sways his body unnaturally as he walks, wanting to appear more bad ass than he really felt.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He says as he approaches you.

“Thanos.” You say, a warning in your voice to leave you alone.

“You good, bro?” Dae Ho asks.

“Why the fuck are you talking to my girl?” He addresses Dae Ho now. You and Dae Ho both scoff in disbelief, but this is how your reaction played out in Thanos’ mind.

They both laugh

“Dae Ho, you’re so funny.”

“Well, you’re sexy.”

“Let’s make out and fuck right here in front of Thanos.”

“Whatever you say, beautiful.”

He reaches his hand out, grabbing you by your jacket and yanking you to your feet.

“Thanos!” You yell. Dae Ho and In Ho stand up to diffuse the situation. Before they can even intervene, you land a closed fist to Thanos’ eye.

He backs away, holding it as a little cut forms.

“Crazy bitch.” He says. He points at Dae Ho. “You stay away from her.”

“Fuck off.” You yell at Thanos. He backs away, still facing you and nodding his head in anger. His face reads This isn’t over.

“You okay?” Dae Ho asks. You nod, slightly breathless.

The way Thanos grabbed you was rude,

unnecessary,

controlling…

and hot.

You wanted to kick yourself for feeling so attracted to him in that moment. He was mentally unstable, high; everything that could be wrong with a man, he was.

Yet here you were, yearning for a piece of him just as he yearned for you.

Later that night, you couldn’t sleep in your bunk. You were stressed with nerves, with the thought that each next day could be your last. You tapped your foot relentlessly against the frame of the bed, until a person above you made a threat.

You sighed, getting up and walking to the door to be let to the bathroom.

You washed your face again for what was probably the 15th time, feeling like the blood was still on you.

You didn’t even hear the door, didn’t hear him walk up behind you, didn’t notice he was there until his hands were on your hips.

You gasped, turning with your fist, ready to make a collision; but Thanos was quicker than you this time, catching your wrist before you could seal the hit.

“Whoa.” He said, “Relax, girl.”

“What are you doing in here?” You yelled at him. He shushed you, making a tcht tcht tcht sound.

“You embarrassed me out there.” He said, tilting his head to show you his bruised eye.

“You? How about you yanking me to my feet in a room full of people?”

He says nothing, but he smirks at you.

“You’re just so pretty. How am I supposed to sit back and watch my girl flirt with other men?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”

“It’s what I know you are.” He says lowly, his hand resting against your throat. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not yours. You don’t ask, you just take from people. You’re a bully.”

“What are we, kids on a school yard? I’m a bully?” He steps closer than he already was, pressing himself into you.

“Yes.” You whisper out.

“Quiet now, aren’t we?” He teases, his voice low.

“If you’re gonna kill me, just fucking do it.” You say.

He laughs loudly, “Kill you? Get serious, girl.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

You say nothing. Your hands are pressed against the counter top of the sink, and his body is pressed against yours. Chest to chest, you have nowhere to go.

“Move.” You say. Your eyes are locked, and you feel like prey being tortured by predator. Tortured in the way he’s doing nothing, just staring you down. He doesn’t budge still.

You grab him by his collar, pulling his face inches from yours.

“Move.” You say again, your voice pleading.

He notices. You’re not pleading him to move because of fear, you’re pleading for him to move because of lust.

His fingers trail up your arm, then trace your jaw to pull your chin up. He laces his fingers through your hair, pulling you so that your lips are on his.

He didn’t expect you to kiss him the way you did, it took him by such surprise, which he dared never admit because he was almost never surprised. But the way you grabbed his collar, trying to pull him so deep into you that you both might collapse into each other like stars.

“Where’d this come from?” He asks breathlessly, barely able to break away from you to get the question out.

“Can you just shut up?” You say quickly, pulling him back into you.

“As my queen commands.” He says, matching your ferocity with the kiss.

Both of his hands rest on your cheeks while he kisses you, but you take one and slowly push it down to your sweats.

“Why so eager?” He asks, breathlessly.

“You’re talking too much.” You say, pushing him off you. “Get on your knees.”

He scoffs, shocked. “Are you serious?”

You nod, and so he listens. He kisses down your body, tugging on your sweats when he’s on his knees. He kisses your thighs, mumbling sweet nothings about your body that were too soft to hear.

“Thanos-“

“Su Bong.” He corrects you, needing to hear you moan his real name.

“Su Bong, please don’t tease me.” You whine, so he concedes. Lifting up your leg onto his shoulder so he can kiss and lick and suck every part of you. You whine, pulling his purple tufts of hair.

“You are so sweet,” He whispers. “Sweet like candy.”

“Oh, my boy.” You moan, egging him on. His nails grip into your thighs unintentionally. He’s just so desperate for you, desperate to taste every drop.

Your nails dig into his forearm, scratching for release.

“Please, oh, please, Su Bong.”

He looks up at you, pupils dilated like the size of black holes. You throw your head back, grinding your hips into his mouth, chasing your release.

You pull his hair harshly, and he digs his nails into your thighs even more as you release. You cry out, repeating his name like a prayer, and he moans into you, fueling your release. He doesn’t miss a drop.

He comes off you, breathless. He sets your leg down, pulling your sweats back up as he stands.

You stare at each other, both of you panting in silence for a few moments. You sneak your hand down, resting it against his hard crotch. You smirk a little, and he mirrors it.

“I think I love you.” He moans as you rub him.

“I think you’re high.” You respond, and he laughs and nods. He leans down to kiss you again, gentler this time.

“Do you want one?” He asks, nodding to his necklace. You hesitate, but end up shaking your head no.

“I think we should head back.” You whisper, still rubbing him. He shakes his head no, moaning into your neck. He grips your jacket in desperate agony.

“I need you so bad.” He finally admits.

“Fine.” You fold, and he’s ever so quick to pull your sweats back down. He unhooks one of your legs from the pants, pulling it up so he can rest it around his hips as he pushes his sweats down just slightly so he can insert himself into you.

So, there you both are. Standing with one leg hooked around him and absolutely gripping the sink as he thrusts into you relentlessly. You don’t even try to hide your moans, throwing your head back in euphoria as Thanos buries his face in your neck with shameful whimpers. You grip onto whatever part of him you can for support. Your back is slamming into the edge of the sink over and over, surely leaving a bruise on your tailbone.

He kisses and sucks on your neck, leaving dark bruised purple hickeys on every inch. Marking you, so that you knew who you belong to and so that everyone else out there knew too.

His thrusts were relentless, and the angle he fucked you was crucial, hitting into your cervix each time. Your hands pushed on his hips, resisting his movements slightly, which only fueled him more.

“Stop it.” He moans.

“You stop, you’re being so rough.” You whimper.

“This is me being gentle,” He says. “You want something less than this, then I better not ever catch you speaking to another man again.”

You moan in defeated acceptance, grasping at his shoulders instead for balance. His perfect thrusts make you leak all over him, his pants soaked with your juices.

“You’re so wet.” He moans. “I think you’re gonna make me cum.”

You tighten around him, sending him into a frenzy. His hands tighten their hold on your thighs, and you yank him by the collar to pull his lips onto yours.

“Fuck, I’m cumming, oh please.” You beg him, between kisses.

“I’ve got you.” He manages to get out, holding you as you let out the most heavenly cry. Your moans send him over, and he pulls out to spill himself all over your cunt.

He smears it on your folds with his hands, and you smack his chest, giving him a push off you while he laughs at your irritability.

“You’re such a dick.” You say, wiping yourself with a paper towel from the dispenser. He kisses your neck with a smirk.

“Come lay with me when you’re done.” He says, walking out of the bathroom.

You roll your eyes, cleaning yourself up before walking out.

You re enter the bunks, searching the room for his bed. He’s in a lower ish one, laying down with hands resting behind his head and his eyes blissfully closed. Your eyes move back and forth between his bed and your empty one, until your feet start moving before your mind can even decide.

He doesn’t even open his eyes when you crawl in beside him. He just wraps his arm around you, kissing your temple as you both drift off to sleep,

both of you blissfully unaware of the horrors of tomorrow’s game…

Part 2?

[gdinthehouseee]

Like a Villain: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: you get invited for a cameo in infinity challenge's muhan company segment, playing a rival character to your boyfriends' and the on-screen chemistry is undeniable.

word count: 3284

tags: fluff; flirting, teasing, tension (in a good way)

ao3 link

The set of Muhan Company is as lively as ever—staff members adjusting the lighting, cameras rolling in place, and the cast running through their lines with a mix of focus and playful chaos. Ji-yong, dressed in his iconic grey suit, leans against the director’s chair, his usual calm and collected demeanor in place. He’s used to this by now. Variety shows, scripted comedy, rolling with the unexpected—it’s all second nature. Even playing a company worker caught up in absurd business scandals feels almost normal. Today should be no different. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Your rival’s coming in soon,” one of the writers tells him, flipping through the script. “Should be a good scene—intense, dramatic, real high stakes.”

Ji-yong just hums in response, nodding absentmindedly. He knows you’ll be playing his on-screen rival today, but it’s nothing he’s not prepared for. He’s watched you act before, seen the way you fully embody a role. It’ll be fun—maybe even a little challenging, but nothing that could shake him.

Then, you walk onto the set, and everything changes.

You’re dressed in a sleek, perfectly tailored suit, exuding confidence with every step in your matching designer heels that click against the floor. The kind of presence that turns heads and demands attention. The kind of presence that makes it hard to remember this is all scripted.

Ji-yong swallows, watching as you adjust your cuffs, completely unfazed by the way all eyes subtly shift toward you. His jaw tightens when you finally look up, meeting his gaze with that same sharp glint you always get when you know you have the upper hand.

“Ready, Mr. Kwon?” You ask smoothly, voice dripping with challenge.

He shifts in his seat, his fingers pressing into his palm before he exhales through his nose, forcing himself to stay composed. “Always,” he replies, keeping his tone cool, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—something the cameras aren’t rolling for yet.

“Look at him. He’s already breaking character.” Someone chuckles to themself behind you, and you can’t help but smile at the comment. 

“No, I’m not.” Ji-yong says immediately, clearing his throat. He turns his focus back to the script in his hands, but the words blur for a moment. 

You smirk, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out… try to keep up, sir.” 

He exhales a small laugh, shaking his head. “You just worry about yourself.”

Ji-yong sits at his desk, a picture of composed authority. His fitted suit is crisp, his tie impeccably knotted, every inch of him exuding the effortless charisma that made him the perfect choice for this role. One hand rests idly on the desk, fingers drumming a slow, thoughtful rhythm. The other holds a pen he isn’t using, simply twirling it between his fingers as he surveys the room with an expression of calculated disinterest. It’s all part of the act, of course. His character, the ruthless department head, doesn’t flinch—doesn’t need to. No matter the crisis, he remains in control.

But then, the door opens. The click of your shoes against the tile is the only sound that follows, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the quiet like a blade. The weight of your presence is immediate, an unspoken authority settling over the room.

Ji-yong’s fingers still against the desk.

You don’t just walk in—you command the space, the subtle tailored lines of your suit precise, every movement purposeful. There’s no hesitation in the way you carry yourself, no uncertainty. You take your time, surveying the room, gaze dragging over every inch of the office before finally landing on him.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. But beneath the surface, his pulse flickers—just for a second, just enough that you would notice. Your lips curve into the faintest smirk.

There’s no real question in your tone—only amusement, edged with something sharper. “I expected something… bigger.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. The rest of the office remains unnervingly still. No one moves, no one reacts. If anyone so much as breathes too loudly, it isn’t heard. Ji-yong watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. Then, with excruciating slowness, he leans forward, resting his forearms against the desk. His gaze is steady, unwavering.

“And you are?”

You tilt your head slightly, considering him.

“Oh? Didn’t they tell you?” A pause. Then, a slow, deliberate step forward. “I’m your new competition.”

Another beat of silence.

Ji-yong’s jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly. The weight of your words settles over the room like a storm rolling in—slow, inevitable. But he exhales steadily, barely a flicker of emotion on his face as he tilts his head slightly. “Competition?” His lips curve into something between a smirk and a scoff. “That’s funny.”

With practiced ease, he leans back, regaining every ounce of the power you dared to shift in your favor. “I don’t remember asking for one.”

“Good thing for you, I’m already here.”

The space between you is minimal now.

Ji-yong’s fingers flex against the desk, his grip tightening for the briefest second before he smooths it over. The air between you crackles—charged, almost unbearable in its weight.

A pause.

Then, your voice drops, just for him.

“What’s wrong?” You murmur, tilting your head ever so slightly. A smirk plays at your lips, your next words a dangerous whisper. “You look nervous.”

Something sharp flickers behind Ji-yong’s gaze.

A challenge.

The silence stretches, suffocating in its intensity. No one moves. No one speaks. The weight of the moment presses down on the room, thick with something unspoken yet entirely unmistakable. Then—

Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose, something between amusement and frustration ghosting over his expression. But he doesn’t break. Instead, he matches your smirk, slow and deliberate.

“Me? Nervous?” A soft chuckle, low and dangerous. He shakes his head. “You must not know me very well.”

“I guess I’ll just have to fix that.”

The moment lingers for a fraction longer—an unbearable stretch of tension before the director finally calls, “Cut.”

Only then does the office seem to breathe again. Ji-yong exhales, leaning back into his chair fully, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the scene. His gaze flickers to you, unreadable. You? You simply smile. Unbothered. Unshaken. And Ji-yong knows, without a doubt—this is going to be very interesting.

You stand across from Ji-yong, the tension from the previous scene still lingering like a spark in the air, waiting to ignite. The office setting around you—the stark desks, the bland overhead lighting—feels almost suffocating in its normalcy, unable to contain the electricity humming between you.

Ji-yong plays his role flawlessly. Seated at his desk, he exudes effortless dominance, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting loosely against the polished wood. His suit remains pristine, but there’s something different now—a tautness in his shoulders, a glint in his eyes that betrays the otherwise cool exterior.

The lines between fiction and reality blur as you step closer. Your character—his rival, his equal—moves with the same unwavering confidence as before, but this time, there's an unmistakable shift in your approach. The challenge remains, but now, it simmers with something more dangerous, something almost indulgent.

You place both hands on the desk, leaning in just enough to invade his space. He doesn’t flinch. But you see the way his fingers tighten against the surface, the minuscule shift in his expression. A slow inhale, controlled but deliberate.

“You seem tense,” you murmur, your voice smooth, edged with amusement. “Having trouble keeping up?”

His gaze flickers to your lips for a fraction of a second. Almost imperceptible—almost. The room is silent, but the weight of a dozen unseen eyes presses down, watching, waiting.

Ji-yong tilts his head, his smirk lazy, his amusement practiced. “You think very highly of yourself.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head as if to say you have no idea. Then, ever so slightly, you push forward—close enough that if either of you moved an inch, the lines between character and reality would blur beyond recognition. Ji-yong doesn’t move back. You swear you hear a chair creak somewhere in the background. The air between you tightens, stretches—until—

“Uh… am I interrupting something?”

The moment is shattered by the next scripted interruption. A nervous employee clears his throat from the doorway, shifting awkwardly as if he’s walked into something he shouldn’t have. The tension breaks, but not entirely.

Ji-yong exhales slowly, a faint chuckle escaping him as he finally leans back, reclaiming his space. He doesn’t break eye contact, though. If anything, he holds it longer than necessary, as if memorizing every detail of the expression you wear now—your smirk, the unspoken dare in your eyes.

“Not at all,” he finally says, voice smooth but laced with something unreadable. “We were just finishing up.”

But something about the way he says it feels far from finished.

The director calls cut again, and for a moment, no one moves. The weight of the scene lingers in the air like static before the set finally exhales, the background noise rushing back in all at once—crew members adjusting cameras, staff murmuring as they prepare for the next shot. Ji-yong exhales, running a hand over his jaw before finally looking at you again.

There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—something unspoken but unmistakable.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” He murmurs low enough that only you can hear.

Your lips curve into an infuriatingly slow smile. “A little,” you admit, tilting your head. “Why? Are you?”

Ji-yong doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he simply shakes his head, amusement flickering across his features before he exhales through his nose. And then, just before the next take begins, he smirks to himself and steps off to the side. He’s no longer in frame, but he can’t take his eyes off you. 

The scene unfolding in front of him is a power play—one designed with precision, meant to shift the balance in your character’s favor. And you? You step into it like you were born for this role. The office space has transformed. No longer a dull, fluorescent-lit wasteland of mundane bureaucracy, it now bends around you, molding itself to accommodate your presence. The weight of your authority is unmistakable as you stroll toward the center of the room, shoulders relaxed, chin tilted just enough to exude effortless control.

Then, without looking, you reach into the pocket of your tailored coat and pull out a cigarette.

He watches as the room reacts. There’s no hesitation. The moment you bring the cigarette to your lips, workers scramble. Someone nearly trips over a desk in their rush to grab a lighter. Another fumbles with a matchbox, hands shaking slightly as they strike it against the strip. You don’t acknowledge them, don’t even spare them a glance—just stand there, perfectly composed, waiting.

The first flame flickers to life, but before it can reach you, another worker shoves a sleek silver lighter forward, the polished metal catching the artificial light. The first one withdraws immediately, wordless in their defeat.

Your eyes flicker downward—just slightly—before you lean in, allowing the flame to kiss the end of the cigarette. You take your time, inhaling slowly, the ember glowing brighter, smoke curling at the edges of your lips before you exhale in a slow, unbothered stream.

The entire set is holding its breath.

Ji-yong’s jaw tightens. He swallows, watching the way you angle your head, the way your fingers rest lightly against the cigarette as you shift your weight, draping yourself against the edge of a desk like you own the place. And maybe, in this moment, you do.

You glance across the room, surveying the office workers with the detached amusement of someone who knows they’re untouchable. Then, with practiced ease, you remove the cigarette from your lips, tapping the ash into an abandoned coffee mug on someone’s desk—utterly indifferent to the stunned silence that follows.

Ji-yong lets out a slow breath. It’s annoying, really. The way you slip so effortlessly into this role, the way you command attention without a single wasted movement. The way the tension builds around you like a slow-burning fuse, pulling everyone into your orbit. It’s annoying. But it’s also—

“Cut!”

The director’s voice shatters the moment, and the crew finally exhales, the tension dispersing as staff members move in to reset the scene. Laughter bubbles up somewhere in the background—staff murmuring about how intense the moment was, how natural you made it look.

Ji-yong doesn’t laugh.

He just watches as you step out of character, rolling your shoulders before stretching your arms overhead, the cigarette now discarded. You say something to one of the stylists, something lighthearted, and they laugh as they adjust your coat.

And then—

As if sensing the weight of his stare, you turn. Your gaze meets his across the room, and for a split second, something passes between you. Something heavy. Something unspoken. Then, your lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk.

Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head before dropping his gaze. Annoying. Absolutely annoying. But damn if it doesn’t make his pulse quicken.

The shoot stretches on, scene after scene unfolding like an intricate game of chess, each move calculated but never predictable. Ji-yong finds himself locked in an unspoken battle—not just between the characters but something deeper, something that lingers even when the cameras cut. The rivalry dynamic is perfect. Too perfect. With every take, you slip further into character, wielding power and confidence like second nature. Your presence commands every scene, your movements sharp and deliberate, your words laced with something just sharp enough to sting but smooth enough to feel dangerous. The cameras adore it, capturing every flicker of intensity between you and Ji-yong, every slow glance, every near-imperceptible smirk exchanged between battles of wit.

And Ji-yong? He gives as good as he gets. His character is arrogant, slick with confidence, but there’s a tension beneath the surface, a tight coil that threatens to snap every time you step closer. Every time you invade his space, tilt your head, let a slow, knowing smile curl your lips just enough to challenge him.

The others play their roles well, reacting to the dynamic without overstepping, their silence amplifying the tension between you both. There are no remarks from the other cast members, no teasing from the production team—just the quiet, collective awareness that something is happening. Something charged. Something addictive.

The pacing of the shoot is relentless, jumping from power plays to verbal sparring, from stolen glances to high-stakes confrontations. You throw accusations like knives; Ji-yong dodges them with a smirk but never unscathed. The push and pull is intoxicating, an unbreakable rhythm that builds with each take.

“That’s a wrap!”

The room exhales all at once. Crew members shuffle to power down equipment, stylists and managers step in to check on their talents, and the once-cloaked tension finally lifts—at least, for everyone else.

Ji-yong, however, stays where he is. He watches as you shake hands with the director, exchanging words of gratitude before slipping seamlessly back into yourself—your character melting away with an easy stretch of your shoulders, a relaxed sigh of relief. It’s such a stark contrast to the commanding presence you carried mere minutes ago that it’s almost disorienting. Almost. But not quite.

You turn, scanning the room, and your gaze locks onto his instantly yet again. And there it is again—that unspoken thing, that electric current that hasn’t fully let go. 

He tilts his head slightly, arms still crossed as he leans back against one of the desks, watching, waiting.

You, on the other hand, have the audacity to smile. Not the slow, knowing smirks from earlier. Not the sharp, calculated ones you wielded like a weapon throughout the shoot. No—this one is softer, more playful, almost as if you’re amused by the way he’s still lingering, still watching. As if you expected it. Slowly, you make your way over, casual, unhurried—like you have all the time in the world.

“You survived,” you remark, voice light but tinged with something teasing as you come to a stop in front of him.

Ji-yong huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, finally uncrossing his arms. “Barely.”

Your smile widens. “You looked like you were having fun.”

He exhales, running a hand over his jaw as he lets his eyes flicker over you—still dressed in your tailored outfit, still carrying the remnants of that razor-sharp confidence.

And then, after a beat, he shakes his head, lips curling just slightly. “You’re dangerous.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s not even a complaint. It’s a fact. One you both know all too well.

Your laughter is quiet but unmistakable as you lean in just a fraction—close enough that only he can hear when you murmur, “You seem to like it.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you for a second longer, lets the weight of the day settle between you before finally—finally—he exhales, shaking his head as he lets a slow, exasperated smile break through.

“Annoyingly so.”

And with that, the spell is broken.

The set continues to wind down, the world slowly pulling you both back into reality. But even as stylists and staff begin ushering you away, even as managers call for Ji-yong’s attention elsewhere, that lingering energy between you remains.

By the time you and Ji-yong leave the set, the internet is already on fire. It starts with a single clip—just a short, seemingly harmless teaser from one of the camera operators who uploads a behind-the-scenes moment to social media. Just a glimpse of the intense back-and-forth between you and Ji-yong, the smirks, the near-touch, the weight of every unscripted glance.

And that’s all it takes.

Within an hour, it’s trending. Fans are losing their minds. The fan edits start rolling in at an alarming speed. Dramatic black-and-white gifs, slowed-down clips with sultry background music, captioned screenshots dissecting every microexpression between you and Ji-yong. Someone even edits a fake movie trailer, cutting your scenes together as if the two of you are the leads in a high-stakes corporate thriller with a dangerously romantic subplot.

Ji-yong sees all of it. Judging by the way his phone has been vibrating non-stop, so has everyone else.

The moment you both step into the back of the car, leaving the studio behind, he exhales dramatically, tossing his phone onto the seat beside him before turning to you.

“Do you see what you’ve done?” His voice is somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

You glance at your own phone, scrolling through the chaos with a barely concealed smile. “Me? I did this?”

“You know what you did.”

“The people have spoken. They liked it.”

“Liked it? They’re acting like we’re starring in a whole new drama piece.”

You laugh, scrolling through the comments. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

He side-eyes you, lips twitching. “You enjoyed this way too much.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, turning to him with a knowing smile. “You did too.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches you, the city lights flashing past the window, reflecting off your skin in golden streaks. After a beat, he exhales, shaking his head as he leans back against the seat, voice low and teasing.

“Dangerous.”

“Annoyingly so?”

Ji-yong sighs, throws his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring against your skin, “…Definitely.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @allthoughtsmindfull

[mangooes]

A cat rescue mission with the dragon

The wind hummed through the ancient forest, rustling golden leaves beneath the twilight sky. The village on the horizon glowed faintly, but deep in the heart of the wilderness, a small cave nestled among the trees—a home that belonged to (Name) and Sylus.

Or rather, a wandering witch and the fearsome fiend dragon she had freed.

Sylus, the fiend dragon, lounged lazily on a large, sun-warmed boulder near their home. His usual massive, clawed wings were tucked against his back, his long white hair falling into his crimson eyes as he flicked an ember between his fingers.

He had been enjoying the peaceful evening—until a high-pitched cry reached his ears.

“SYLUS!!”

She came running out of the woods, her curly hair bouncing, eyes wide with urgency.

Sylus sighed, barely lifting his head. “What now, human?"

She grabbed his scaled arm, tugging him insistently. “Come quick! There’s a cat! It’s stuck! We have to save it!”

Sylus blinked at her. “…A what?”

“A CAT, SYLUS!” she all but yelled, flailing her hands for emphasis. “An adorable little creature! It’s stuck high up in the tree and can’t come down! It’s scared! We have to do something!”

Sylus flicked his gaze toward the pathetic little furball, its tiny form trembling as it clung to a dangerously thin branch.

The dragon sighed. "Let it fall."

She gasped dramatically. "Sylus!"

He smirked. "What? If it has nine lives, it can afford to lose one."

She stomped her foot. "You heartless lizard!"

Sylus snorted. "I’m a dragon, sweetheart."

"A dragon who is going to help me save that cat!"

Sylus narrowed his eyes, waiting for her to say one wrong thing.

Then she did.

She clasped her hands together, her bottom lip trembling just enough to be dangerous.

"Please, Sylus?" she whispered sweetly.

…Damn it.

He could feel his resolve crumbling like a weak fortress. She knew exactly how to break him.

With an exaggerated groan, the mighty fiend dragon lowered his head to her level. "Fine. But I’m not just getting the cat."

She blinked. "Huh?"

Without another word, he lifted her off the ground, placing her effortlessly on his broad, scaled shoulder.

She squeaked, grabbing onto his sharp horns. "Sylus—!"

"You wanted the cat?" His deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated beneath her hands. "Then we’re getting it together."

And with that, he launched into the sky.

Wind rushed past them as Sylus carried her effortlessly, his massive wings cutting through the air with ease.

From this height, the forest below looked like a sea of endless green, the sky stretching into a vast infinity.

She clung to his shoulder, her heart pounding with excitement. "Sylus! This is amazing!"

Sylus smirked. "You act as if I haven’t flown you before, little witch."

"Not while on a rescue mission!"

With a powerful wingbeat, Sylus hovered beside the tree where the frightened cat still clung for dear life.

She reached out carefully, her voice gentle and reassuring. "Shh, little one, it's okay..."

The cat meowed pitifully, its fur bristling, but (Name)’s warmth had a way of soothing all creatures.

As soon as she secured the cat in her arms, Sylus pulled away from the tree, descending gracefully.

But instead of landing immediately, he spiraled playfully through the air, dipping and turning just to hear her delighted laughter.

"Sylus! Stop playing around!"

"Why?" he purred, his deep voice dripping amusement. "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

She huffed, but he felt the way she buried her face into his scales, her warmth sinking into him.

He could fly with her forever.

When they finally landed, Sylus gently lowered her to the grass, his massive wings curling around her protectively.

She cradled the cat in her arms, beaming up at him.

"See?" she said, her smile bright. "You do have a heart."

Sylus arched a brow. "Don’t start rumors, kitten."

She laughed, pressing her face into the cat’s fur. "Thank you, Sylus."

He stared at her, completely, utterly enchanted.

Then, with a huff, he tugged the tail of his around her waist, tugging her closer to him.

"Don’t thank me," he murmured, his voice low and fond. "Just promise you won’t ask me to save a squirrel next."

(Name) giggled, satisfied with her adventure today.

But Sylus wasn’t really worried about that.

He was too busy wondering how a little witch had managed to tame a dragon’s heart.

I PROMISED A DRAGON SYLUS FLUFF DRAFT AND HERE IT IS!!! anywayss ill publish the part 2 of the cat series tomorrow since i still have to edit some stuff and i dont think im gonna include the other lis (sorry) anywayss MYTH SYLUS'S STORY LINE CAN STAB ME

[ddeonghwa-s]

a moment between infinity .ᐟ.ᐟ

reuniting with your soulmate in the space between one life and the next.

꒰୨୧꒱— jeon wonwoo x reader

꒰୨୧꒱— wc is approx. 2.5k.

꒰୨୧꒱— genre : themes of love, romance; angst

꒰୨୧꒱— tropes : reincarnation, reuniting after life, soulmates

꒰୨୧꒱— cw : themes of life and death, discussion of physical separation, missing life events due to death, lives cut short.

꒰୨୧꒱— tw : for discussion of dying young/living life unfilled

꒰୨୧꒱— notes : thank you lexi @heechwe for beta reading! this sounds depressing but i swear there's tons of love in there!

you see wonwoo as soon as you step out from beneath the shade of a tree you don’t remember walking under. the sun, for a fleeting moment, is overly bright. it pierces your eyes with its light, horribly brilliant and blinding. 

you don’t want to look away from wonwoo; don’t want to close your eyes for even a second. 

the pain you feel from the sunlight is immense, and before you can comprehend the desire, the most rudimentary of all wants, so much so that it’s a need, you are blinking your eyes against the cruelty of the sun. 

he’s still there when you open them. 

(he wasn’t the last time you blinked at him.)

(a moment of stillness, of a deep breath taken before plunging into freezing waters; of the last gasp for clean air before being consumed by flame; of a desperate choke for life as death swings its decisive sword.)

(you remember this.)

(and yet you don’t.)

(it’s weird, you think between the pauses of forever, between one breath and the next, how everything and nothing exists so closely intertwined.)

wonwoo smiles. it isn’t that blinding smile of pure exhilaration you so distinctly remember the twelfth time as the two of you looked down from the bow of the ocean liner, waving down at the citizens of south hampton that had come to bid the ship farewell. instead it was his soft, slowly-growing smile that took you back to the second time, to that little ger on the eurasian steppe, holding your first ever son. 

wonwoo opens his arms. 

naturally you go into them. 

the world is made up of pairs, you know, the wisdom of nothing and everything, of finity and infinity, surrounding you. north and south; up and down; sky and earth; you and wonwoo. two things, concepts, beings so closely intertwined that to force one from the other is to break the thin threads of the cosmos. 

and so, like the sky embracing the earth, you go into wonwoo’s arms. 

he’s wearing the outfit you saw him last. his auburn corduroy shirt jacket smells of gasoline still (for him the last sixty years were a mere handful of hours; for you, a lifetime. and so the scent of death still sticks to him as if no time had passed at all, despite.) and when he lifts his arms to wrap them around you, to envelope you into his body, you can see the turquoise scrunchie he had kept on his wrist for you peak out from his sleeve. 

“i’m sorry,” he says. his voice is as deep as you remember. wonwoo presses his nose into your hair. you burrow your face into him, seeking out this natural scent, trying to bypass all the smells of death. “you said we didn’t need more tape, that it’d be fine.”

“i said we didn’t need tape,” you agreed. there had been moments you felt such overwhelming anger towards wonwoo for going despite you arguing otherwise. this, between nowhere and everywhere, was void of such feelings. instead you pressed your nose deeper and deeper, hands grabbing at his shirt. 

“i wanted to make sure we could finish wrapping presents before your mother arrived,” wonwoo said. “i wanted everything to be perfect.”

they found a ring on him, after; a simple silver band and diamond. 

“i know.” 

you shifted. 

wonwoo sighs into your hair. “i’m sorry. i wish – i have a thousand wishes. a thousand wishes for a thousand lifetimes. would you ever forgive me?”

you hum. you think of a land impossibly far, of a lifetime where you sobbed as wonwoo explained he had to leave, had to fight; how easy it was for you to resume that rage once he returned from the war, missing an arm and a chunk of his ear but still breathing and smiling. 

(sometimes he didn’t return.)

(sometimes you didn’t return.)

(those times, you knew, were seldomly seen. your universes, your forevers, were large, ever-expanding tapestries sewn by the threads of your lives. more often than not, nearly always, the threads revealed a beautiful picture of life and love and contentment; of a small forever trapped within a shared lifetime.)

(seldomly did the threads show another picture.)

(you think back to that ocean liner. to how cold it was; to how he disappeared for a heavier jacket and never returned, to how you slipped and fell and were submerged in a cold unlike any other –) 

“i forgive you each and every time,” you mumble into his shir.t. “just as you do me. i don’t think we’d have as many lifetimes together if we didn’t at least like one another.”

“ew,” he says, voice still gentle despite the teasing sentiment of his words, “you like me?”

as if you hadn’t fallin in love with wonwoo for fifteen generations in a row; as if your soul hadn’t sought his; as if you didn’t press yourself into his arms with every breath between lives, trying to memorize his scent and soul before the both of you take the plunge into the next life. 

“you have to stay with me next time,” you say. you try to keep your voice from cracking; it doesn’t work. you’ve shed a million tears for a million lifetimes – fifteen, to be exact, but math isn’t the sort of thing one worries about in places like this, places where everything of the past exists and nothing of the future; where you bear the weight of fifteen lifetimes on your shoulders knowing none of it will matter. 

“you can’t leave me,” you cry into his shirt. you can feel his chest heave underneath you, can feel the earth and not-earth shift beneath the two of you as wonwoo wraps you tighter in his arms. “you can’t leave me this time. not to fight a war that isn’t yours; to get a jacket; to pick up tape. you can’t leave me alone. i can’t handle another lifetime without you.”

wonwoo’s sob is the quiet, heart-wrenching of one that bubbles out despite all attempts to quell it. you can feel his body lurch against you from the force of it. his weeping is ugly, the sounds of his gasps in your ear loud and wholy unpleasant. 

the two of you cry against one another, clutching at one another. you’ve lived more lives together than apart, have memorized the wrinkles that line the corners of his eyes the older he gets, have learned the breathing patterns of his sleep. 

but still – 

the thought of parting is one you never bear. perhaps if you were a stronger soul it would be easier; perhaps if your soul loved his less it would be easier. 

you think back to the past sixty years. and then you think of your lives from the far past. only a few had forced either of you to live without the other, but the pain of them drowns out the happiness of any other. happiness, you have learned, is a golden thing that only seems to truly glow when the moment has long past, when you look back and think ah, that was an evening well spent. 

pain, on the other hand, is brilliant and loud and sharp. it demands its victim to focus on it. and so despite the lives you and wonwoo have spent beside one another, growing to old, shriveled ages in contentment, the pain of loneliness, of the heartbreak of knowing you would lie without the other half of your small universe, of living without your moon or sk or true north, of the other half of your pair that made up the galaxies and cosmos; of knowing you would never be whole. 

that is why the two of you cry. 

“i won’t leave you,” wonwoo promises. neither of you mention how the promise is empty. he cannot and will not remember any word said in this infinite space, during this small and endless moment between infinity. 

he won’t remember the press of your body against his. he won’t remember how you’re crying against him, how he vows to you, himself, and the universe he won’t leave you stranded in a lifetime again. 

(you remember the first lifetime. you remember the tall grasses of your village, of how you and wonwoo would duck down into them to press full-mouthed kisses to one another’s skin, ignorant and naive and happy in your first life. 

you force yourself not to remember how it felt when your uncle agreed to your marriage to a village that would take nearly a year for you to travel to. how it felt to know that despite the fact your love for wonwoo was greater than any force in the cosmos the two of you still answered to those on earth.

you had promised yourself you would never leave him again. that your second lifetime and all the ones after it would be spent at his side and no one else’s.

you promise yourself this once more. 

the universe says nothing in reply.)

wonwoo leans back, sniffling. his nose is red. he raises his hands up to your face, shaking. when wonwoo kisses you it’s wet and there’s spit and snot, but you lean into it as if it were the sealing kiss of a wedding.

“tell me what you loved,” he begs. “you loved after me. tell me.”

you nod. heartbreak lasts forever, and so does love. love is not something that begins and ends with one person; it is everlasting and multifaceted, existing in the smallest, most inconsequential of things. 

“jungkookie got me a puppy,” you say, voice still wet from crying. “i told him it was too much, that i didn’t have the energy for it. he said that was what i needed.”

wonwoo grinned at the mention of his brother. he leaned forward, tucking his forehead into your neck. “what was it’s name?”

“it was a mutt,” you say, “but i remembered how much you love that movie, the fox and the hound. so i named it copper.

“it was black,” you carry on, grinning at wonwoo’s chuckles that he presses into your skin. “jungkookie said it was a lab-shepherd mix. i couldn’t tell the difference.”

“copper the black pup,” wonwoo says. “what else?”

the sun is gentle in its caresses against your flesh, the breeze sweet in its dance. you and wonwoo settle against grass, curling into one another. you can’t raise your voice too much due to the close proximity, and so each word is a tender thing. 

you tell wonwoo of the red forbidden palace jungkook’s son took you to see during a school trip and how, despite the fact you could hear cars honking, it felt as if you were transported hundreds of years into the past. 

you tell wonwoo about the little bookstore that opened up next to his father’s dentist shop. of the tall, towering bookcases; of the cats that lived within; how as soon as you stepped inside you were met with the smell of real wood. 

you tell wonwoo of a little stray kitten you found in your forties, of how you named it romeo for how clingy it was. 

(“i still say we should’ve forced that bastard to write in an acknowledgement that it was our story he was writing,” wonwoo says, tracing the curve of your cheek. “he gets far too much recognition for his genius as it is.”)

he laughs when you tell him about seeing warwick castle for the first time in this lifetime, about the feeling of having been there despite not remembering. he teases you for it with memories of your tenth lifetime, of running down stone halls with you. 

“we’ll go again,” he says. he presses his nose against yours. you grab his hand, lacing your fingers together. “we can get married there just like we did back then.”

you huff a laugh. “if it’s still there. you said that about persepolis.”

“how was i to know that damned macedonian prince would burn it to the ground,” wonwoo laughs. he grows somber, staring at you with deep brown eyes. “how much time do you think has passed?”

you shrug, thinking. time exists and it doesn’t. here, in this sunny pasture, it’s as if time doesn’t exist at all. that cannot be said for when you wake. 

either a year has passed or two hundred; this cannot be said for sure. 

you and wonwoo both were born within five years after the sinking of the titanic, of dying those horribly cold and wet deaths. you died, the two of you would later realize, thirty years before the destruction of persepolis and were reborn five hundred years later. 

and so that is how time flows. 

“well,” wonwoo says, “it’s not like it matters.”

“no?”

“as long as there’s still trees and air we’ll be okay.”

you gasp, having expected something horribly romantic. you’re not sure why you expected this. you gently shove his shoulder all the same, scolding wonwoo for his jest. 

later, though neither of you can say how much time later, you stare up at the sky. the clouds move. the sun keeps at the same position. 

“when do you think we’ll find one another?”

“you know we can’t decide that.”

“guess anyways,” you demand. 

wonwoo wiggles against the dirt. “you’ll move schools in high school,” he announces, “and i’ll be utterly bewitched by the new girl. she’ll be beautiful and sweet, and i won’t say anything at all.”

“that’s not a very good love story.”

“but then we’ll meet again,” he carries on, eyes tracing the fluffy curves of a cloud. “and i’ll be older and more confident. it’ll be at a college bar. you’ll still be beautiful, of course. and i’ll go up to you and say ‘hey, i knew you in high school.’ you’ll smile at me despite not quite remembering. then we’ll meet again and again, and our lives will become intertwined.”

you look at the blue infinity above you as if it could reveal anything. you wanted to know the secrets of it; how to live for forever with wonwoo, how to meet him earlier and spare no time loving one another. 

you want there to be a forever of this. of being by wonwoo’s side, of having him there beside you. you don’t know how many years you’ve spent without him in total; how many have been spent with him. whatever the answers are, you know it’s either too many or too few. 

there’s somewhere, you want to believe, where you and wonwoo can spend eternity side by side without separation; without life or death pulling you from each other’s side. there’s somewhere, you have to believe, where you can spend every happy moment with wonwoo. where you don’t have to spend this small infinity telling him about the little joys you’ve encountered in the years since he’s passed. 

you close your eyes. you can feel tears sting at the corners of them. the breeze muses your hair. all you want is to be with him, to have him at your side, to hold his hand every day and for the rest of the days. 

where your promises if i won’t leave you mean something, where they do more than just shift the air around you. 

you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with pure air. 

and then

[s4kura-tr3]

Could you write jjk men (Nanami, Gojo and Geto) w/a masked fem!reader?

She got big scars around her face due to an accident from childhood and haven’t showed her face ever since..

how would the men react if the somehow saw her face for the first time? (You can choose how)

Satoru Gojo — It was late at night, the two of you lounging comfortably in the living room after a long day. Gojo’s infinity was off, and his blindfold hung loosely around his neck. You were in your favorite hoodie, but your usual bandage was missing, your scar unexpectedly exposed.

Gojo had come back into the room with a snack in hand, but the moment his eyes landed on your face, he froze. His vibrant blue eyes widened slightly, taking in the mark you had always hidden. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and you could feel your stomach tighten with anxiety.

“Gojo…” you started nervously, your hands instinctively going up to cover your face, but he was faster.

In an instant, he was crouched in front of you, his hands gently but firmly cupping your cheeks to stop you from hiding.

“So… this is the scar you’ve been hiding from me?” he said softly, his gaze never leaving yours.

You nodded, feeling small under the weight of his attention. “Yeah… I know it’s not—”

“Beautiful,” he interrupted, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “It’s beautiful.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m Gojo Satoru. I always tell the truth,” he teased lightly, his tone gentle. “And besides, this scar is part of you. And I happen to be head over heels for all of you.”

His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, his expression uncharacteristically serious for a moment. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. Ever. Got it?”

You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you managed a small laugh. “Got it.”

His grin returned, bright and mischievous as ever. “Good. Now, can I say something cheesy without you laughing at me?”

“Depends,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours. “I think scars are kind of badass. And yours makes you even more perfect to me.”

This time, you couldn’t hold back your laugh. But it wasn’t because of him—it was because, somehow, he always knew just what to say to make you feel loved.

Suguru Geto — The quiet hum of the rain outside filled the room as you sat cross-legged on the couch, absentmindedly flipping through a book. Geto sat nearby, his long hair loosely tied back, sipping tea as he enjoyed the serene moment with you.

You hadn’t realized it at first, but in your haste to get comfortable, you had forgotten to rewrap the bandage around your eyes after your shower. The scar—hidden for so long—was now exposed.

“Hey,” Geto’s smooth voice called softly, pulling you from your thoughts.

You looked up to find his dark eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable but calm. It only took a second for you to realize what he was staring at. Your breath caught in your throat as your hand instinctively flew up to cover the scar.

“Wait,” he said gently, setting his tea down as he shifted closer. His voice held no judgment, only a quiet curiosity. “Don’t hide it.”

“I just…” You hesitated, lowering your gaze. “I didn’t mean for you to see it.”

“Why not?” His tone was soft but firm, the question laced with genuine concern.

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s… ugly. I didn’t want you to think differently of me.”

There was a pause, and then you felt his hand wrap around yours, gently pulling it away from your face. You finally looked up, and the tenderness in his expression nearly undid you.

“Ugly?” he repeated, almost incredulously, as his thumb lightly brushed over the scar. “Who told you that nonsense?”

You swallowed hard. “It’s just… how I’ve always felt about it.”

He let out a soft sigh, his lips curling into a faint, affectionate smile. “You’ve been hiding this from me the whole time?”

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. “I was scared you’d see it and…”

“And what? Stop loving you?” His voice was warm, almost teasing, but there was a seriousness in his gaze. He leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours. “That’s not going to happen. Ever.”

You blinked back tears as his hand moved to cradle your face. “Scars tell stories,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “And yours is part of what makes you who you are. How could I ever see that as anything but beautiful?”

A small, shaky laugh escaped you. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s a talent of mine.” Then his expression softened even more. “You don’t have to hide from me, ever. You’re safe with me. Always.”

In that moment, as he pulled you into a gentle hug, you realized he wasn’t just saying the words—he meant them with every fiber of his being.

Nanami kento — You had fallen asleep on the couch after a long day. Nanami had stayed up late working in the study but eventually made his way to the living room. When he saw you, sprawled out and peaceful, his lips curved into a faint smile.

He moved closer to drape a blanket over you, but as he leaned down, his sharp eyes caught something he hadn’t seen before. The bandage you always wore around your eyes had slipped off in your sleep, revealing the scar hidden beneath.

Nanami paused, his breath catching slightly as he took in the sight. He crouched beside you, his expression unreadable as his fingers lightly brushed the edge of the fallen bandage on the couch.

The gentle shift of his weight must have stirred you, because you blinked awake, squinting up at him.

“Kento?” you mumbled groggily, sitting up and instinctively touching your face. When you felt the absence of the bandage, your eyes widened in panic. “Oh no…”

You immediately turned your head away, trying to cover the scar with your hand. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” you muttered, your voice shaky.

Nanami didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reached out, his hand firm but gentle as he took hold of yours and pulled it away from your face.

“Why do you hide this?” he asked softly, his gaze meeting yours.

You bit your lip, tears pricking your eyes. “Because it’s… hideous. I didn’t want you to see it and think less of me.”

Nanami’s brows furrowed deeply, not in anger but in something closer to frustration—frustration that you’d ever feel the need to hide. “Do you really believe I would think that?” His voice was steady, but there was a rare edge of emotion in it.

“I didn’t know how you’d react,” you admitted quietly.

He sighed, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as his other hand cupped your cheek. “You should know me better than that by now,” he said gently. His thumb hovered just above the scar, his touch careful, almost reverent.

“This doesn’t change how I see you,” he continued. “If anything, it makes me admire you even more. You’ve carried this quietly, and I’m sorry you felt like you had to.”

Your chest tightened, tears spilling over before you could stop them. “I was just scared.”

Nanami leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. “You don’t need to be. Not with me. I love all of you—the parts you show and the parts you hide. Don’t forget that.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your tears. “You’re too perfect, you know that?”

He gave a small, rare smile, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m not perfect. But I’ll always make sure you know how much you mean to me.”

In that moment, with his arms wrapped securely around you, you knew he meant every word.

Toji fushiguro — The late-night silence in your apartment was broken only by the clinking of weights as Toji worked out in the corner. You were in the bathroom, carefully rewrapping the bandage around your eyes, as you always did. But tonight, you were tired, your hands unsteady.

The scar you’d hidden for so long was exposed, and you didn’t notice when Toji appeared in the doorway, a towel slung over his shoulder.

“Forgot to cover up, huh?” his deep voice rumbled, startling you.

You spun around, your heart racing as you instinctively raised your hand to cover your face. “Toji! I—it’s nothing, just—”

“Cut it out,” he interrupted, his tone casual but firm as he stepped closer. “Let me see.”

You hesitated, torn between trust and fear. “Toji, it’s… ugly. You don’t want to see this.”

He smirked, leaning against the doorframe, his sharp green eyes narrowing slightly. “Ugly, huh? Lemme be the judge of that.”

Before you could protest, he reached out, his calloused hand gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away. His gaze flicked to the scar, studying it with an unreadable expression. For a moment, the silence felt heavy, and you braced yourself for his reaction.

“…That’s it?” he said finally, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean, that’s it?”

He let out a low chuckle, releasing your wrist. “You’ve been hiding this like it’s some big deal. It’s just a scar, babe. What, you think I’d care?”

You felt your cheeks heat, frustration bubbling up. “It’s not just a scar! It’s… it’s a part of my face. People stare, they judge—”

“Yeah, and those people are idiots,” he cut in, his tone blunt but oddly reassuring. He stepped closer, towering over you, his gaze softening just a bit. “Scars mean you’ve been through shit and came out alive. I respect that.”

Your breath hitched, his unexpected sincerity catching you off guard. “You really don’t mind?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Mind? If anything, it makes you look tougher. Kinda hot, actually.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, a mix of relief and disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” he teased, his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, avoiding the scar. His grin faded slightly, replaced by a rare moment of seriousness. “Don’t hide from me, alright? I don’t care what you look like. You’re mine, scars and all.”

You nodded, your heart swelling at his words. “Okay.”

He leaned down, pressing a rough, fleeting kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Good. Now, quit worrying about stupid shit and come help me pick a movie.”

As he walked off, you couldn’t help but smile, feeling lighter than you had in years. Toji’s way with words might not be elegant, but his unflinching loyalty made you feel more loved than ever.

Sukuna ryomen — The lavish chambers of Ryomen Sukuna’s palace were bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight. You sat nervously on a silk cushion near the corner of the room, fingers trembling as you fumbled with the bandage covering the scar on your cheek. It was your first night as his concubine, a position that brought both honor and fear.

You hadn’t even heard him enter the room, his movements silent as a predator’s.

“Why are you hiding your face?” Sukuna’s voice rumbled behind you, low and commanding.

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. Turning your head slightly, you saw him standing a few paces away, his four arms crossed and his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“I… it’s nothing, my lord,” you stammered, your hands moving instinctively to adjust the bandage.

In two strides, Sukuna closed the distance between you. He crouched before you, his presence overwhelming as he grabbed your wrist with one of his hands, stopping you mid-motion.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his tone sharp but not cruel. “Show me.”

“My lord, it’s not something you wish to see,” you protested, your voice trembling. “It’s… unsightly.”

His eyes narrowed, his grip tightening just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to silence any further objection. With another hand, he reached up and pulled the bandage away, revealing the scar you had hidden for years.

Sukuna’s gaze lingered on the mark, his expression unreadable as he studied it. You held your breath, bracing yourself for ridicule or disgust.

But when he finally spoke, his voice was calm and tinged with amusement. “You think this is worth hiding?”

You blinked, startled. “It’s… ugly,” you murmured, lowering your gaze.

Sukuna chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Ugly? Foolish woman.” He tilted your chin upward with one of his hands, forcing you to meet his piercing gaze. “This scar tells me more about you than words ever could. It’s a mark of survival—a sign of strength. Why would I find that displeasing?”

Your eyes widened, his words catching you off guard. “You don’t… mind?”

“Mind?” His lips curled into a wicked grin. “If I cared about appearances alone, you wouldn’t be here. You’ve caught my interest for reasons far beyond your looks, though those aren’t lacking either.”

Heat rose to your cheeks at his blunt words, and Sukuna leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You’ve faced something that left its mark. That’s far more intriguing than someone untouched by hardship.”

He released your chin but didn’t step back, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “Let this be the last time you try to hide anything from me. You’re mine now, scars and all. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he said, standing to his full height. He tossed the bandage aside and smirked down at you. “If anyone dares to insult you, I’ll make an example of them. You belong to me now, and no one questions what’s mine.”

As he turned to leave, the weight of his words settled over you. Sukuna’s love—or whatever his version of affection was—might be as sharp and merciless as a blade, but in his own way, he had claimed every part of you, even the ones you’d long hidden away.

Megumi fushiguro —The rain pattered softly against the windows of the quiet apartment you and Megumi shared. It was late, and the two of you were relaxing after a long day. He was sitting on the couch, a book in hand, while you were in the bathroom, meticulously reapplying the bandage over the scar on your cheek.

You hadn’t told him about it yet—not because you didn’t trust him, but because the scar was a part of your past you weren’t ready to share. But tonight, your hands slipped, and the sound of the bandage falling to the floor startled you.

“Everything okay in there?” Megumi called from the living room, his voice calm but curious.

“Y-yeah,” you replied quickly, scrambling to pick up the bandage.

But when you stepped out, your face uncovered, Megumi’s sharp eyes immediately noticed. His book lowered slightly as his gaze focused on you, the scar catching his attention.

You froze in the doorway, your instinct to hide kicking in. “I… forgot to put the bandage back on,” you muttered, turning your head away.

“Hey,” he said gently, setting the book down and standing up. He approached you slowly, his expression unreadable but not harsh. “You don’t have to hide it.”

“It’s not something I want you to see,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “It’s ugly.”

Megumi frowned, a flicker of irritation crossing his face—not at you, but at the thought of you believing such a thing. “That’s not true,” he said firmly, his voice quiet but resolute.

You glanced up at him, surprised. “It’s a scar, Megumi. People stare. They judge.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently tilt your chin so you couldn’t look away. His touch was soft, almost hesitant, but his eyes were steady as they studied the scar.

“People can be stupid,” he said bluntly, his tone carrying a hint of dry humor. “But I’m not ‘people.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, though it was shaky. “You’re really okay with it?”

He gave you a small, reassuring smile—the kind he didn’t give often, but always meant. “It’s part of you,” he said simply. “And I like you for who you are. Not for some idea of perfection you think you need to be.”

Your heart swelled at his words, tears welling up in your eyes. “Megumi…”

He sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, okay? I mean it.”

You nodded, finally allowing yourself to relax. “Thank you.”

He gave a slight shrug, his typical understated way of brushing off the weight of the moment. “It’s nothing,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you a little longer, his concern evident in the softness of his expression.

As you both settled back into the living room, you couldn’t help but feel a newfound sense of comfort. Megumi’s quiet strength and unwavering acceptance reminded you why you’d fallen for him in the first place.

Yuji itadori — The day had been long, full of missions and meetings, and when you finally returned home, all you wanted was to relax. Yuji was in the kitchen, humming to himself as he worked on preparing dinner. You smiled to yourself, watching him in the doorway for a moment before heading to the bathroom to freshen up.

But just as you stepped in front of the mirror, reaching for your bandage to cover your scar, you didn’t realize that the window was slightly ajar—until a gust of wind blew through, knocking the bandage off the counter and sending it tumbling toward the ground. You leaned down to grab it, but as you straightened up, you heard the soft creak of the bathroom door opening.

“Hey, are you—whoa,” Yuji’s voice broke off, followed by the sound of him quickly stepping back.

You froze, your heart sinking. You hadn’t meant for him to see.

“Yuji, don’t—”

But he was already standing there, his gaze fixed on your face, the scar exposed for the first time. He blinked, his mouth slightly open as he processed the sight. You could feel your cheeks heat up, the vulnerability of the moment overwhelming.

“Why… why didn’t you ever tell me?” Yuji asked softly, his voice full of genuine confusion rather than judgment.

You quickly turned away, your fingers trembling as you reached to grab the bandage. “It’s nothing,” you mumbled, desperately trying to regain some semblance of composure. “It’s just a stupid scar. I didn’t want you to see it, okay?”

Yuji took a few steps forward, his footsteps slow and deliberate. “I don’t get it.” He gently stopped you from putting the bandage back on, his hand lightly brushing against yours. “What’s so bad about it?”

You swallowed hard, still avoiding his gaze. “It’s a part of me I’m not proud of,” you admitted quietly. “I didn’t want you to see it because I didn’t think you’d like it. Or me.”

He was silent for a moment, and you almost wished he would say something, anything, to break the tension. But then, when he spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

“You think I’d stop liking you because of a scar?” Yuji asked, his words almost gentle. “That’s ridiculous.”

You finally looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his eyes. “But it’s not just any scar, Yuji. It’s something I carry with me. A reminder of…” You trailed off, not sure how to explain.

Yuji stepped closer, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over the scar as if he was trying to understand it. “A reminder of what?” he asked, his tone gentle but insistent.

You took a deep breath, fighting back tears. “Of everything I’ve been through. The stuff I wish I could forget.”

His expression softened even further, his grip on your cheek tender as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “You’re still you, scars and all,” he said softly into your ear. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, okay? I’m not going anywhere because of a scar. You’re perfect to me just the way you are.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you let out a shaky breath, finally allowing yourself to relax in his arms. “You really don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” he replied, his voice full of warmth. “Scars tell stories. And yours? It’s part of your story, and that’s important to me.”

You smiled softly, feeling the weight of the secret you’d kept for so long lift from your shoulders. “Thank you, Yuji.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “Now, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving, and I’m pretty sure you need to eat too, with all the emotions and stuff going on.”

You chuckled, wiping away the last of your tears. “You’re right.”

Yuji’s easy smile returned as he led you back to the kitchen. Despite everything, you felt lighter than you had in years. With Yuji, there was no need for hiding anymore.

[pupkashi]

love comes easy when it’s gojo

a/n: what are you guys talking about chapter 236 ? the manga ended a while ago lol they’re all happy and safe ! don’t be silly guys >.< (I’m deep in denial no one hmu)

wordcount: 728

masterlist

loving satoru gojo was easy.

it was easy falling in love with him when you first began talking to him, stolen glances and flushed faces when either of you caught the other.

it came to you like second nature to play along with his jokes. your minds practically syncing up the second your eyes connected, silly grins on your faces as you both cracked dumb jokes.

there was something almost instinctive that had you intertwining your fingers with his, the tv on the show now background noise as satoru practically lay on top of you.

“what should we get for dinner?” you mumbled, half paying attention to the action on the screen, eyes landing on the mop of white hair in your lap.

satoru hummed, adjusting himself so that he was on his back and staring up at you, “want me to cook?” there was a smile playing on his lips as you pursed your lips at him.

“depends” you smile, “what is chef gojo gonna cook up for us tonight?” the smile on his face was evident now as he sat upright.

“maybe some instant ramen?” eyes glimmering as he speaks up again, “im feeling a bit fancy so how ‘bout i add an egg in there too.”

“an egg? you spoil me satoru,” you tease, watching as satoru pushes himself off the couch, stretching a bit. the bottom of his shirt lifts a bit and you catch his lower belly, smiling to yourself.

“oh but when you bend over i can’t whistle at you?” he pouts, catching the way you were practically giggling.

“satoru we were in a meeting with the higher ups,” you retort. the sorcerer only scoffs, mumbling something and heading into the kitchen.

it was easy to love satoru when he was carrying you out in the pouring rain, a cheesy love song blaring through his phone speakers in his pocket.

“dance with me!” his dimples peeking out and his eyes crinkling a bit as he laughed at your now soaked shirt.

you want to be angry, you want to scold him because he just got over the flu and this is gonna be terrible for him. but the small droplets of water collecting at the end of his white hair and sticking messily to his forehead make you keep your mouth shut.

you don’t say anything as you extend your arm out, giggling when he quickly pulls you into him by the waist, immediately pressing his lips onto yours, teeth hitting each other as the two of you burst into giggles.

“cyndi lauper is your go to?” you laugh, barely audible over the downpour surrounding the two of you.

“it was either her or whitney houston ” he smiles, turning his infinity on when he sees you shiver in the slightest, being sure to include you in it.

it was easy loving satoru gojo when he was shampooing your hair, kissing your shoulder and wrapping warm towels around you.

it was easy to fall deeper in love with him when the two of you are in bed, sweet nothings being interchanged between the two of you.

“i love you, angel boy,” you whisper, loving the way his cheeks grew pink, the grin on his lips growing as he nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck.

“i love you more, sweets” his voice is softer, more vulnerable, than usual. there’s nothing on his mind except you, and there’s nothing on yours except him.

it’s when the two of you are making breakfast together, movements flowing easily as he passes you the eggs and he plates the pancakes. when you’re both sitting way too close to each other on the huge couch in the living room, pillows and blankets surrounding the two of you.

when you hand each other things without even uttering a word. when you sit in rare silence with your lover, the comfort of each others presence being enough for the two of you.

when he’s bringing home flowers or you’re making him his favorite foods, when you’re blushing at his shower of compliments and he’s running away the second you call him handsome.

it’s in between laundry loads and making plans that you both realize how easy love comes to each other.

loving satoru gojo was easy, especially when you fell in love with him all over everyday.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

[rjdent]

A stack of Maldorors.

The Songs of Maldoror by Le Comte de Lautreamont (English translation by R J Dent) published by Infinity Land Press.

[calypso-rt]

Hi! Could you do CityGirl!Reader and Rafe go to a cabin in the woods get away and since they're from like such different places where they don't have a lot of experience in the forest, hiking, in seclusion, in cabins on rainy days with the surroundings and vibes they have to get used to it but they find out they actually like it (or hate it, your choice), Thank you!!

mix-up

-> citygirl!reader

-> TY ANON. so much fun to write

"Rafe. Where. Are. We."

You stood frozen in the gravel driveway, staring up at what could barely pass for a cabin. The wood was weathered, the roof slightly caved in on one side, and the porch creaked ominously in the breeze. It looked like the kind of place people disappeared in movies.

Meanwhile, Rafe, completely unbothered, leaned against the truck, arms crossed, nodding like he’d just unveiled a masterpiece. As if he hadn't just accidentally kidnapped you to a haunted shack in the middle of nowhere.

"Okay," he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "Technically... this is still a vacation."

You turned to him, slow and deliberate. "A vacation?"

"Yeah! I mean, it’s... rustic. Kinda cozy. Romantic, even—"

"Romantic?! Rafe, I booked us a five-star resort in Turks and Caicos! And yet—" You gestured wildly at the deteriorating cabin. "We are here."

"Baby, 's not that bad—"

"There is no service. There is no pool. No beachfront suite. No WiFi, Rafe." You checked your phone for the tenth time, waving it in his face. "How did this happen?!"

Rafe sighed, looking up at the sky like he was praying for patience. "Alright, so funny story—"

"Oh, I can’t wait."

"I might’ve… accidentally booked the wrong place?"

Silence.

You just stared at him. "What?"

"Yeah, like... there were two listings with really similar names, and I guess I clicked the wrong one?" He winced, as if that would soften the blow.

You inhaled sharply. "Rafe. We could be drinking cocktails by an infinity pool right now. Instead, I just saw a squirrel fall off the roof of this place, and I don’t think it survived."

He opened his mouth, then glanced at the squirrel’s limp little body. "...That’s unfortunate."

"That’s unfortunate? Rafe."

"Look, babe, we can make this work. It’s jus' a couple of days, and we’re together... quality time, y'know?" He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your forehead like that would erase the fact that you were in the actual wilderness.

"Quality time is what we were supposed to be having while getting couples' massages at the spa." You let your head fall against his chest with a groan. "I cannot believe this."

"Okay, yeah, but think about it... when else are we gonna experience somethin' like this?" Rafe grinned, squeezing your waist. "It’s like an adventure."

You looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "You don’t do adventures, Rafe. You golf and drive boats and go to country clubs.*"

"Yeah, well... maybe I’m turning over a new leaf."

At that exact moment, a huge mosquito landed on his arm. He swatted at it violently, stumbling back with a Jesus Christ! and nearly tripping over the squirrel corpse.

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. A real woodsman, you are."

"Oh, shut up."

"No, really, Bear Grylls, please lead the way."

With an exaggerated eye roll, Rafe grabbed the keys and marched up the porch steps. The cabin door creaked ominously as he pushed it open, revealing a dusty interior with outdated furniture.

You both stood there for a moment, silent.

"Yeah, okay," Rafe finally admitted, "this might be worse than I thought."

"No shit."

...

"I swear to God, Rafe, if you tell me to ‘just embrace it’ one more time—"

"Okay, okay!" Rafe held his hands up in surrender, biting back a smirk as you aggressively jabbed at the pile of firewood with a stick, as if sheer force alone would ignite it.

The two of you were currently crouched in front of the ancient fireplace, struggling to start a fire. Struggling was an understatement. The logs remained stubbornly unlit despite your repeated (and increasingly frustrated) attempts. You had no experience with this. Back in New York, heat came from a radiator, not from setting things on fire like a cavewoman.

Rafe, despite his confidence earlier, wasn’t doing any better. He had attempted to light a match, only to burn his fingers and drop it with a "Shit—ow!" before hastily covering it up with, "I meant to do that."

"This is miserable." You groaned, sitting back on your heels. "This place is an actual nightmare. It’s cold, it’s dark, and I swear to God something is watching us from the woods."

"Nothing is watchin' us," Rafe sighed. "And it wouldn’t be dark if you’d let me use the lighter I found in the kitchen instead of ‘doin' it the real way.’"

You shot him a glare. "That lighter looks like it was last used by a serial killer, Rafe. I’d rather freeze than risk getting tetanus."

Rafe huffed, rubbing his hands together dramatically. "Well, congratulations, baby. You jus' might get your wish."

—

After the disastrous fire attempt, you’d given up and decided to try the stove. The problem? It looked like it belonged in a dumpster.

"I don't trust it," you said flatly, standing with your arms crossed as you stared at the rusty, ancient-looking thing.

"It’s just a stove," Rafe scoffed. "You just turn the thingy—" He twisted one of the knobs, only for it to let out a violent hissing noise.

You screamed.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"

"I—I don’t know!" Rafe staggered back, eyes wide. "That is not normal, right?"

"Oh my God, we are going to die here."

"Maybe we should just eat snacks."

"Yes. Smartest thing you’ve said all day."

The shower was even worse.

The first scream came from you.

The second scream came from Rafe.

You had barely stepped into the shower before ice-cold water blasted from the showerhead, hitting you like a thousand tiny knives. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD—"

Rafe had run in to check on you, only to get blasted in the face when he pulled the shower curtain back. "SHIT! IT’S FREEZING!" He stumbled backward, dripping wet, eyes wild. "Why is it so cold?"

"Because we are in HELL, Rafe!"

"No, actually, hell would be warmer than this."

You grabbed a towel, shivering violently. "I am not showering for the rest of this trip."

"Same."

Silence.

"Wait—" You turned to Rafe, narrowing your eyes. "Were you even going to shower before this happened?"

"...Irrelevant question."

The final straw was the bugs.

You had made peace with the cold, with the stove from hell, and with the fact that Rafe had no survival skills whatsoever. But the second you saw a spider the size of your palm lurking in the corner of the cabin? You lost it.

"Rafe." Your voice was deadly serious. "Burn the place down."

"What?" He blinked. "Baby, we literally just spent two hours tryin' to make a fire—"

"BURN IT DOWN, RAFE."

Rafe sighed, grabbing a shoe and walking over to the spider. "It’s just a spider. Relax—"

The spider sprinted across the wall.

Rafe screamed.

"Oh HELL no—" He smacked it with the shoe, missing entirely. "Why is it so fast?!"

"KILL IT!"

"I’M TRYING!"

The spider disappeared behind the bookshelf.

Rafe stared at the spot where it had been, then looked back at you, horrified. "Okay. So. We have a problem."

"We?" You pointed at yourself. "We have a problem? No, babe, you have a problem. I’m leaving. I live here no longer."

And with that, you walked out the front door.

Rafe groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Day one. Not even 24 hours. We are so screwed."

...

"We’re lost."

"We are not lost."

You turned to Rafe with your best unimpressed stare. "Rafe. We have passed this same rock three times."

Rafe huffed, glancing around the endless trees like they personally offended him. "It’s a very normal-looking rock. Could be any rock."

"It has moss in the shape of a heart. I literally pointed it out the first time we passed it."

Rafe paused. "Oh."

You exhaled dramatically, placing your hands on your hips. "Tell me again whose idea this was?"

"Technically, yours," Rafe said, "since you were the one who said we needed to 'escape the horrors of the cabin.'"

"Yes, but I didn’t say, ‘Hey, Rafe, let’s get hopelessly lost in the middle of the woods and probably die.’"

"Baby, we are not gonna die." Rafe waved you off. "We’ll just backtrack."

"Backtrack where? The murder trees? The serial killer path?” You threw up your hands. "We’re in the opening scene of a horror movie, Rafe! A bad horror movie, where the city girl and her rich, spoiled boyfriend die first because they have no survival skills—"

"Okay, first of all," Rafe interrupted, "I’m not spoiled. Second of all, I absolutely have survival skills."

"Name one."

Rafe paused. Then, "I can—" He gestured vaguely. "I can lift stuff."

You blinked. "That’s your survival skill?"

"Yeah?"

"Okay, great. Lift us out of this damn forest then."

Rafe groaned, raking a hand through his hair. "You’re so dramatic."

"And you’re so lost," you shot back.

"Alright, that’s it—"

Before you knew what was happening, Rafe bent down, grabbed your legs, and hauled you up over his shoulder.

"RAFE CAMERON—"

"You’re exhausted," he grunted, adjusting his grip as you squirmed in protest. "You’ve been sighin' dramatically for the past fifteen minutes. I’m carryin' you back."

"Put me down! I can walk!"

"Baby, you almost tripped over a root two minutes ago. Your city legs weren’t made for this terrain."

"I am perfectly capable of—"

Rafe spun you around, flipping you into his arms in a bridal carry.

Your hands instinctively grabbed onto his shoulders. "Rafe—!"

"There." He grinned down at you. "Now you can’t escape."

You narrowed your eyes. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"Oh, 100%."

You huffed but…admittedly, your legs were tired. And your boyfriend did have very nice arms.

"Fine," you muttered. "But if you drop me, I’m making you sleep outside with the spider tonight."

"Damn," Rafe chuckled. "High stakes."*

That night, the storm hit.

And not just any storm: a full-on apocalyptic thunderstorm that made escape impossible.

You and Rafe sat on the tiny, rickety couch in the middle of the dimly lit cabin, listening to the wind howl through the trees and the rain pound against the windows.

"I have an idea," Rafe said suddenly.

"Unless it’s ‘Let’s get a refund and leave,’ I’m not interested."

"No, hear me out—" He gestured toward the kitchen. "I saw some marshmallows earlier. We could roast them over the stove."

You gave him a look. "The murder stove?"

"C’mon, babe. What’s life without a little risk?"

"Less likely to end in tragedy?"

Rafe rolled his eyes. "Jus' grab the marshmallows."*

You sighed dramatically but complied, grabbing the bag from the counter. You sat cross-legged on the couch while Rafe stabbed a marshmallow onto a fork and held it over the stove's open flame like it was a real campfire.

You squinted at him. "You look way too into this."

"Baby, this is survival. If we were in the wilderness, I’d be a hero right now."

"We are in the wilderness," you pointed out. "And I am no closer to considering you a hero."

Rafe snorted. "Harsh."*

He handed you the roasted marshmallow. You popped it into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay. I’ll admit. This is kinda cute."

Rafe smirked. "See? I knew you’d warm up to the whole rustic vibe."

At that exact moment, a massive clap of thunder shook the cabin, making the lights flicker. You yelped and practically leapt onto Rafe’s lap, instinctively clinging to him.

Rafe chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. "Oh, baby, you’re so warming up to it."*

You buried your face in his shoulder. "Shut up, Cameron."

...

The car rumbled down the dirt road, the cabin of horrors shrinking in the rearview mirror. You watched it disappear, arms crossed, exhaustion clinging to every inch of your body.

Rafe, on the other hand? Absolutely thriving.

"Y'know," he drawled, adjusting his lazy, smug grip on the steering wheel, "not everyone could survive what we just did."

You turned your head so slowly to look at him. "We spent two nights in a cabin, Rafe. It wasn’t Survival."

"I dunno, baby." He shook his head dramatically. "The way I built that fire? The way I fought off the storm?" He gave a fake, reflective sigh. "Some might call me a modern-day explorer."

You blinked. "You threw one log onto a pile of flames and screamed when the thunder cracked too loud."

"Bravery comes in many forms."

"So does delusion."

Rafe ignored you, leaning back in his seat with the purest satisfaction. "Honestly? I think I was made for survival. Like, I feel at one with nature now 'n shit."

You snorted. "You complained for an hour about the thread count on the bed, Rafe."

"Hey." He pointed at you. "That mattress was a crime against humanity."

You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers to your temple. "I cannot believe I survived this weekend only to be subjected to this conversation."

Rafe, grinning ear to ear, nudged your leg with his knee. "Admit it, baby."

"Admit what?"

"That you were impressed by me."

You stared at him, then deliberately turned to look out the window. "Anyway," you said flatly. "I can’t wait to take a real shower when we get back."

"Oh, no doubt." Rafe shuddered. "That shower situation was inhumane."

"Oh? The modern-day explorer couldn’t handle a little cold water?"

"First of all, rude." He threw an arm around your seat, tapping his fingers against your shoulder. "Second of all? I’m just saying, I braved the wilderness for you."

"I thought you were ‘one with nature’ now?"

"Baby, I nearly died."

You turned to him so fast. "You stubbed your toe on a tree root."

"And yet—" He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Here I am. Victorious. A survivor."

You groaned, flopping against your seat. "I should’ve let the bugs eat me alive."

Rafe leaned over to kiss your cheek. "Not on my watch, city girl."

[thesoftuglywrites]

Satoru Gojo doesn't sleep.

Well, that's a lie. He sleeps, he just doesn't sleep well.

The man averages about two to three hours a night, when the average adult human should be getting about seven to eight consecutive hours of sleep. One could either blame it on the constant stream of input of cursed energy or information from his Six Eyes technique, or the monotonous flow of reverse cursed energy to try and keep his brain at optimum performance, or the busy schedule that's imposed on him due to his special grade status, being "The Strongest" and all that malarkey.

That is, until he started to share his bed and his home with you.

You remember how you pleaded with Satoru to try and get some rest after a day of lessons, the exorcism of a special grade curse that roamed the grounds of an abandoned primary school, and the paperwork that came with it. It seemed that had become his everyday schedule. Early mornings to mid afternoons, lessons. Afternoons to late evenings, missions. Evenings to the dead of night, paperwork. He barely had any time to take care of himself.

Even through the blindfold that he was wearing, you could see the bags were starting to bruise past his eyes and transcend to his cheekbones.

He was dog tired and in desperate need of rest.

You approached him as he was hunched over his office desk, typing up a report on the mission that had transpired that day. You noted that the plate of food that you had set out for him was picked clean, so you were at least grateful that he had taken the time to get something in his stomach.

You attempted to place a hand on his back, but were stopped with mere nanometers to spare by the invisible barrier that covered his body.

“You know you don’t have to use your Infinity with me around, right?” you gently chided.

He let out a soft sigh and the barrier lifted, allowing you to touch him. “I’m sorry. I’ve just…I’ve got a lot on my mind,” he groaned, letting his head fall forward and land on the keyboard. Consecutive ‘F’’s started to fill the screen where he had left off typing.

“‘Toru, it’s almost midnight. You’ve been at this report for the past four hours, and then some.” Your hand slid up his neck to get to his hair, oscillating between scratching and massaging his scalp as you threaded your fingers through his silver white locks. “You should get some rest. You, of all people, certainly need it the most.”

“Mmm… feels good, babe,” he moaned, his voice slightly muffled by the keyboard. He sits up straight, lifting his head off the desk. “As much as I want to, though, I can’t. I gotta get this report ready for Yaga so he can spare me a meeting with the higher-ups.” His nose upturned at the mention of the sickly, old, conservative bastards that sat behind paper screens.

“The higher-ups can eat shit for all I care. Right now, I’m concerned about you, ‘Toru.” You crouched down beside him and pulled his blindfold off, allowing you to look him in his eyes. “You keep going like this, and you’re gonna end up burning yourself out, my love. I won’t stand by and let that happen, not if I can help it, at least.” You reached up and gently held his cheek as you leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Please come to bed.”

A moment of silence passed as Satoru drank in your concerns as well as your physical affections. He was a weak man when it came to your touch, being rendered to putty sometimes, with the euphoria that your body offered him. You were really the only person that he allowed freely to touch him, as no one else was really allowed the privilege.

You could have almost sworn that he started to purr underneath your fingers.

“Okay, I’ll go to sleep… if.”

You raised an eyebrow. “If?”

“If you come to bed with me. I don’t like the idea of you going back to your apartment so late at night, especially if I’m not there with you.”

You gave him a half-hearted smile with a breathy chuckled that followed. “Sure, ‘Toru. I’ll come to bed with you.”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him to a standing position, letting him stand to his full height. He nearly stumbled after you as you guided him to his bedroom.

Satoru, when presented with the large California King sized bed, damn near face planted into the covers.

He was more exhausted than he initially thought he was.

Satoru turned onto his side, and even in total darkness, you could still see the glow of his blue eyes as they searched for you. He made grabby-hands at you as he stretched out his arms towards you, trying to get you into bed with him.

You clambered up beside him, quickly being swept up into his embrace as he pulled you into his chest, his warm exhaled breath tickling your exposed skin.

“Can… can I try something?” You hesitantly asked, unsure if he was going to take you seriously or not.

He pulled away, giving you a mischievous look with a small smirk starting to quirk up at the edge of his mouth.

“It’s not like that, you perv. I wanna try something different tonight. I think you’ll actually come to like it.”

He decided to humor you. He opened his arms and you maneuvered your way out of his embrace. You pulled back the covers and laid flat on your back with your head on his pillows.

“Come here,” you beckoned, patting the space beside you.

Satoru wasted little to no time, eagerly climbing up next to you, laying his head on your chest where he could hear your steady heartbeat. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck, his breaths now lightly cascading over your collarbones. He wrapped you up into his arms, pulling you nearly inhumanly close to his front, almost as if he wanted to merge bodies with you.

“Shh… go to sleep, ‘Toru. I’ll be here when you wake up,” you softly cooed, your hand finding his scalp once again as you weaved your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching the skin there.

“Mmm…promise?” He sounded drunk.

“I promise. Get some rest.” You leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of his hair.

It didn’t take long for his respiration to even out, letting out soft puffs of air, and his grip to loosen only the smallest fraction. He began to lean a little bit more heavily into you as he wasn’t conscious to be mindful of his weight on top of you, but you didn’t mind.

You laid there, staring at the ceiling as you continued to stroke his hair, listening only to the steady rate of Satoru’s breathing and the soft hum of traffic outside of his high rise apartment.

You honestly can’t remember the last time that Satoru just took some time to breathe. Even on the rare occasion when he had downtime, his brain was still on high alert, no thanks to his Cursed Techniques and his high-ranked status in the Jujutsu world. He worried for his students and his co-workers safety, he fought the higher-ups on… basically everything, but his main concern, above all, was you.

You, the little non-sorcerer that managed to capture his attention by being at the right place at the right time. You, who knew nothing of the Jujutsu world, treated him like an actual human being instead of the weapon that he was always deemed. You have shown him genuine love and care, to the best of your ability, at least, trying to be a foundation for him to lean on even in his darkest moments.

It was an unorthodox relationship between the two of you, but you somehow made it work.

As time passed, Satoru remained in the same position with him tucked away at your side and his head on your chest. In his slumber, his hand started to drift up and grab hold of your shirt, fisting into his grip as he held onto you tightly, somehow afraid that you were going to slip away into the night and get away from him.

Eventually, you started to succumb to your own drowsiness, your eyes growing unbearably heavy as you laid there, the comfortable bed and the heat from Satoru’s body starting to lull you into a deeper sense of tranquility. You pressed another kiss to the top of his head and closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to come for you.

The two of you remained undisturbed for the rest of the night, finding solace in each other’s embrace.

[whalesforhands]

giving gojo satoru too many kisses

There’s a certain charm to turning the tables on the great Gojo Satoru.

Without his sunglasses, there’s no denying just how beautiful his eyes were, their brilliance rivaling the radiance of a supernova explosion, a luminosity like no other.

“And of course,” Your hands hold a stellar gaze in your palms when you pull away from a peck to his kiss-riddled lips. “You’re the sweetest husband ever.”

It’s also in these moments that you realize how human he is, so soft and tender and sleepy as you press kiss after kiss onto his face, your overwhelming affection the culprit of the pink on his cheeks that remind you of a sunrise’s afterglow, his demeanor now something quiet, serene and tranquil as he gives himself to you.

It reminds you of how the sun and moon can be so intertwined, like an event horizon line teetering between the opposing two.

“Mwah!” You absolutely want to imprint the shape of your lips onto his face forever as you pull away, making it a point to exaggerate the sound of your kisses as you keep overriding his thoughts with your sweet smooches all over his face.

Just because he deserves every kiss he gets.

“Hngh…” His eyes are squeezed shut, his lips struggling to keep themselves from stuttering when he talks so that he can take every ounce of your affection in entirety, his hands on your waist starting tremble as he fights against his cuteness aggression.

“Honey…! You’re gonna kill me…!” His complaint dies on his lips when he feels you land your kisses onto his lips once more, his satisfaction being sated.

He’s chasing after your sugary-sweet lips with every kiss you press to his lips, needy hands going up to press against the back of your head in hopes of melting your bodies and moulding your lips together until the next galaxies rise and fall.

“You’re so pretty, Satoru.” Your giggles feel like they could illuminate his very sky, your words akin to a candied sweet upon his tongue.

And it makes him want to swallow you whole.

“Prettier than Suguru?” His lashes flutter open as your thumb lovingly rubs a tender circle onto his cheek, your touch so soft that it makes him want to wish for a gravity that pulls your hearts together until they collide.

So you take this moment to tease.

“Mmm…” A kiss to his nose that makes him laugh just a little bit sweeter, his heart just a little more at ease. Makes him swear that the love in his heart was going to travel faster than the speed of light when it came to you.

“Nope!”

“Meanie!”

So, he decides that an infinity with you sounds like it would be just enough for him.

masterlist

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 35.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: did y'all like that last little part of the previous chapter? heheheh it's beginning. this is a very short and sweet chapter for some comedic relief from the heaviness of the last few chapters, but still contains a bit of important development. <3 Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. / rehab masterlist 2. chapter 34

When the Avengers returned to Wakanda again, everyone was in a state of bittersweet triumph. The case had been won, the world was aware, and now it was a battle of public scrutiny.

Tony and Steve were walking side by side, both of them quiet and shoulders tensed. Neither of them had said a single word since embarking on the journey back to Wakanda, too angry and distraught by the trial to formulate proper thought.

Clint had managed to calm Wanda down, but due to the amount of people that had been thinking so strongly in the room, Wanda had become nauseous and had gotten a massive migraine. Maria had stayed behind in the US to deal with anymore legal fallout, and Natasha had been stone-faced the whole way; playing with a knife as she spaced out.

Shuri had been the only one out of the group to keep her head held high, ready and determined to begin rooting out the rest of HYDRA. When the aircraft had landed back in Wakanda, Shuri and the Avengers wasted no time in getting to Shuri's lab to begin planning.

However, as the group made it into Shuri's lab, they were surprised to see Sam and Bucky both sitting with (Y/n) as they watched a TV show.

Steve didn't know what it was, his eyes squinting, but Natasha smirked as she recognized the show. Currently, Bucky and Sam seemed to be in a semi-heated debate, Bucky gesturing to the TV with a large frown.

"Oh, come on! Salt rounds wouldn't work like that."

Bucky shook his head, adding with a frown as he watched Dean Winchester blow a door straight off of the hinges with his sawed-off shotgun.

"He would have dislocated his shoulder unless he was enhanced."

Sam gave Bucky an exasperated look, gesturing to the screen as well.

"Dude, it's fiction. You're not supposed to be critiquing and fact-checking the demon hunters."

Bucky pressed more, looking as though he was genuinely stressed out.

"Listen, you go clearing a room like that, and you're asking for trouble."

(Y/n), who had been sitting quietly and observing with a curious and calculating look, said quietly with a serious tone to her voice.

"No perimeter established. Tactics are flawed. The target could have slipped out through the window. It was open the whole time."

Sam gave (Y/n) a raised eyebrow as he crossed his arms.

"Oh, you're gonna critique a fictional show too?"

(Y/n) gave Sam a serious look, tilting her head a bit as Bucky smirked triumphantly at Sam from over her shoulder.

"It was sloppy. With no perimeter established and poor tactic execution, there will never be success in the mission. They must do better."

Sam grumbled to himself, and Natasha smirked at Steve as the man gave the woman a look of surprise.

"Looks like she's learning how to relax one Winchester takedown at a time."

Steve's lips twitched slightly, the amusement steady but half-hearted. He watched as Natasha plopped down beside (Y/n), asking her as Natasha glanced at the screen.

"What are you nerds watching, (Y/n)?"

(Y/n) glanced at Bucky and Sam for a moment, almost unsure, before looking back at Natasha with a shy look on her face.

"it is Supernatural...about two brothers that hunt monsters and...save people. It is sloppy."

Natasha smirked widely, amused by the seriousness in (Y/n)'s voice, and Steve sat down next to Bucky, who looked at the man with a silent but knowing look. Steve didn't have to say anything, Bucky nodding to him quietly.

I've got you back.

I know you do.

Tony groaned as he let his head fall back and rolled his eyes.

"Seriously? This is what you settled on? Have a little dignity, would you?"

Shuri just sighed, shaking her head as she quietly watched from the back. From just the small amount of time that the team had been gone, it seemed that Bucky and Sam had been able to jump forward in progress with (Y/n). While the woman still seemed to be shy, it was apparent that she was slowly opening up.

While using a show wasn't the most conventual way to make (Y/n) comfortable, Shuri had to admit that the fact (Y/n) was adding critique so freely was a good sign. Quietly, as the show continued and the group kept watching, Shuri began to work in her corner of the lab.

Sam began to try to explain the plot of Supernatural to Tony, but Tony didn't seem to be interested; already set with his opinion that the show was horrible. Natasha and (Y/n) stayed quiet as they continued to watch, and Steve raised his brow at the show with a skeptic look on his face.

"So...a TV show, huh?"

Bucky stated with a half-hearted annoyed look on his face.

"It wasn't my idea. Sam thought it'd be good to introduce (Y/n) to the latest pop culture, and she seems to enjoying it."

Steve joked quietly although the exhaustion and distraught demeanor was apparent.

"More like critiquing."

"She's making good points."

Bucky shrugged, and then the man became quiet again. Quietly, he spoke to Steve, saying as Sam began to bicker with Tony in the background much louder.

"Dr. Raynor called. Said she saw the whole trial and she wants to pick up (Y/n)'s case. She's gonna get in touch with you and Tony soon."

Steve looked surprised before he turned back to the screen and watched with a wince as the scene became a bit grotesque from the gore.

"I imagine that you're not very happy about it."

Bucky was quiet for a moment, glancing over at (Y/n) subtly, and he was almost surprised to see (Y/n) eyeing him quietly as well. Her gaze, however, was simply neutral; just listening before becoming distracted by Natasha beginning to critique and ask (Y/n) her opinions on the combat techniques. Bucky glanced at Steve, murmuring quietly.

"As much as I hate the idea of Raynor trying to help, she did make some pretty good points. Unless (Y/n) is receiving professional help with her rehabilitation, she'll have a harder time adapting to society when the time comes."

Steve nodded thoughtfully before he said comfortingly.

"I know Dr. Raynor is abrasive, but I think this is going to be good for (Y/n) in the long run."

Bucky stayed quiet, mulling over Steve's words before Steve added with another grimace as he continued watching the show as the over-the-top action sequence continued.

"You know, I might have to agree with Tony on this one."

Suddenly, (Y/n) spoke up again, the group regarding her with serious looks as they actively listened, (Y/n)'s eyes firmly on the screen as she pursed her lips into a small line.

"The tall one-he should have double-checked his exits. There's too much backlighting. He would have been shot before he made it to the stairs."

Tony exclaimed, gesturing to the screen as he agreed.

"See, she gets it. The shows a joke. You don't just walk into a haunted house like it's an everyday trip to Costco."

Sam gave Tony an amused look, leaning back in his seat.

"You say that as if you've been to haunted houses and a Costco."

Tony deadpanned slightly, giving Sam a look.

"I've been to both. One is full of ghosts, and the other is a haunted house."

Natasha snorted while Bucky and Steve gave Tony a confused look, and Sam just shook his head. (Y/n) looked unsure of what to do before glancing at Bucky as he spoke.

"She's not wrong. I'd take her over Dean Winchester in a fight any day."

(Y/n) then frowned, speaking as seriously as she could.

"That is not a fair comparison. He makes too much noise."

Steve couldn't help but to laugh gently, and Tony raised his hands in mock-surrender.

"I rest my case."

As the show continued on and the group continued to bicker and critique among each other, Steve took a moment to observe (Y/n). it was the first time he had actually sat together with her, despite the setting being in a group, but it was the first time he had an opportunity to interact with her; to really see her.

She was completely different than when Steve had first encountered her.

There was no more hostility and danger that stayed attached to her like a weapon in the earlier days of her recovery. No emptiness, no calculating looks, no cold precision that exuded from the soldier. Instead, Steve began to see a woman that was starting to become free from the weight of HYDRA one dry critique at a time.

She was sitting stiffly, her hands in her lap and shoulders small as if she wasn't sure if she was allowed to take up the space that she was in, but Steve watched as (Y/n)'s eyes darted around. She was listening, observing, learning, and living within the moment.

It made Steve feel happy despite the images that were still haunting his mind. Instead, a new image began to form: a woman who was slowly reclaiming her humanity; learning to be more than what HYDRA, Rollins, and Holloway had made her.

Steve was proud. He was proud of (Y/n), but he was also proud of the group attempting to give (Y/n) a sense of what human normalcy was. Steve glanced away from (Y/n) when Bucky nudged him softly, his face looking forlorn as he murmured.

"I also found some things out too...about Rebecca."

Steve was surprised, not having expected Bucky to mention his little sister, and he asked.

"What did you find out?"

Bucky's lips turned up slightly into a sad smile, glancing at Steve.

"I found out she had kids...a son and a daughter...and she named her son after me."

Steve was floored, the surprise evident on his face, and he asked.

"How did you find this out?"

Bucky swallowed thickly and explained quietly.

"I found (Y/n)'s Aunt Mavis...the woman that took (Y/n) to Shelbyville for the summers. Mavis and Rebecca knew each other, and then (Y/n) met Rebecca through Mavis. Mavis told me everything."

Steve was quiet, his eyes staring into Bucky's as the weight of his words settled over the man, and Steve finally asked him.

"Have you met them?"

Bucky let out a humorless chuckle.

"How could I? I doubt they would even know or remember anything about me. It'd be for the best to let them keep living their lives."

"Buck, you don't have to shut them out like that. I'm sure they'd love to get to know their uncle."

Bucky shook his head, his lips pressing into a line as he became apprehensive.

"I doubt they would want to know their uncle that used to be an assassin and killed hundreds of people."

Steve gave Bucky a firm look, but before Steve could reply, Tony exclaimed as he gestured to the show with a teasing tone to his voice.

"Hey, Cap, that guy kind of looks like you."

Steve spun his head around, the sudden callout immediately stealing his attention, and his eyes went onto the screen. There was a new character on the screen that he hadn't seen yet, black hair and blue eyes and a long trench coat on his shoulders. Steve frowned heavily in confusion, but before he could ask for elaboration, Tony stated.

"Emotionally constipated, confused, horrible sense of fashion. They've got you down to a T."

Steve looked taken back, an offended look coming upon his face.

"Horrible sense of fashion? I dress nicely."

Before Tony could retort, Sam pointed out with a playful but accusatory look on his face.

"I thought you hated the damn show. Why the hell are you still watching?"

Tony waved Sam off, shaking his head.

"It's helping me to debate on if I need to buy the studio to give them a few pointers and help them with that horrible writing."

Natasha chuckled, and (Y/n) suddenly glanced over at her, murmuring.

"Can we have another bath today?"

Natasha immediately nodded, giving (Y/n) a soft expression.

"After the day I've had? I think a bath and some wine sounds fantastic."

At the subtle mention of the court trial, (Y/n) became quiet, everyone within the room immediately noticing. (Y/n) looked down at her lap, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, and she murmured soft enough that it was almost a whisper.

"Thank you...for...fighting for me."

Her eyes flicked back up to the screen, her shyness slowly melting away again as (Y/n) began to watch the show again. Natasha was gently smiling at the woman, simply observing her, and Steve looked surprised by the shy thanks.

Tony's expression became observant as he watched the woman with a gentle look within his eyes. Bucky and Sam shared a look, but it was Tony who broke the silence and made (Y/n) look at him.

"We're the Avengers, kid, it's kind of what we do."

(Y/n) didn't say anything at first, only staring Tony down with a quiet look of content before she nodded once, and her eyes went back to the screen. Bucky glanced at Tony, who looked right back at him, and for once, Bucky felt a new sense of understanding build between them both.

Suddenly, Steve's phone rang, and Bucky immediately knew exactly who it was without having to look at the caller ID or inquire. Steve simply glanced at Bucky with a quiet nod before he stood, and Natasha sighed, stretching her legs.

"Alright, that's enough horrible writing for one night. Let's go take that bath, (Y/n). Maybe we can have Wanda join. I think she's gonna need a girl's night just as bad as we do."

(Y/n) nodded, slowly standing up, and her feet were silent as she padded across the room after Natasha. Steve left to a quieter part of the lab, and Sam, Bucky, and Tony were left to sit together.

The silence was comfortable but heavy, the show slowly being forgotten, and Shuri stepped forward finally, the men turning to look at her as she stood before them. Shuri ran a hand through her braids, sighing slightly.

"I have done some research into the locations that Rollins gave us during Mr. Rogers' interrogation. It seems the task of rooting out HYDRA will be much more difficult than we anticipated. Most of these locations are very high-profile places with many high-profile individuals. Taking these people down will only incite more legal ramifications...and will be a very long and difficult process."

Sam asked, crossing his arms as he sat back in his seat, immediately slipping back into business as he looked at the woman.

"How bad are we talking?"

Shuri sat down where (Y/n) and Natasha had been sitting, her frown deep as she spoke.

"We are no longer talking about abandoned HYDRA facilities or labs. We're talking about people in power and with intricate reach: CEO's, Senators, World Leaders, the list goes on. If we are not careful and do not strategize this to the very letter, we risk starting a war that we cannot control."

Bucky frowned, clenching his jaw slightly before he glanced down at the floor, and Tony sighed before asking Shuri.

"Alright, then what do you want to do?"

Shuri clasped her hands together, pursing her lips.

"With something so complex as this, I believe the best course of action is to enlist the help of Nicholas Fury. With Fury's extensive knowledge, background, and connections, we might be able to move much more quietly within the shadows."

Shuri paused before looking at the men within the room.

"Instead of HYDRA hiding among us...we must hide among them."

-

STORY NOTES: The scene opens to the Avengers returning to Wakanda after the court case, sullen despite the triumph over the case. When they go to Shuri's lab to discuss their next steps in taking down the rest of HYDRA, they are surprised to see Sam, Bucky and (Y/n) watching Supernatural. Sam and Bucky are bickering with each other about the action elements in the show, and (Y/n) begins to critique the show as well. At the revelation of (Y/n)'s relaxation and settling, Natasha points out the observation before engaging with (Y/n) about the show.

Steve sits to begin watching the show with them as well, and Tony makes his appearance to jab about the show. On the other side of the lab, Shuri quietly begins to research into the locations that Rollins had provided during his interrogation. Steve inquires about the show with Bucky, and Bucky explains that it was Sam's idea to put on and observes that (Y/n) seemed to be enjoying it despite her dry critiques. Bucky then tells Steve about his phone call with Dr. Raynor, and Steve says that Bucky must not be very happy about it. Bucky disagrees, telling Steve that (Y/n) will have a harder time adapting to society without professional help. Steve offers his input, stating that it would be good for her in the long run.

The moment is broken by (Y/n) critiquing the show again, and Tony agrees, making a joke about the show. The rest of the group chimes in and begins to bicker playfully with each other, Steve takes the time to observe (Y/n). He recalls how hostile (Y/n) had been during his first interaction with her when she was still under HYDRA's control and how different she is compared to now. He mulls over her a little bit more before thinking of how proud he is of the woman for trying, and his thoughts are broken by Bucky revealing the bombshell about his sister.

Bucky then goes on to tell Steve how he found the information out, telling Steve about (Y/n)'s Aunt Mavis, and Steve asks if Bucky has gone to meet his niece and nephew. Bucky tells him no, and remarks that he doubted they would want to meet him due to his past as the Winter Soldier. Before Steve can retort, Tony makes a jab about Steve being like Castiel, and the group begins to bicker again. The bickering is stopped by (Y/n) asking Natasha if they could take a bath later, and Natasha agrees. When Natasha makes a subtle comment about the court trial, (Y/n) becomes quiet before thanking the group for fighting for her. Tony responds by simple stating that they were the Avengers, and 'that's what we do'. At the sound of Steve's phone ringing, Natasha takes that as a cue to exit with (Y/n), and Sam, Bucky, and Tony are left alone together.

Shuri then approaches the three men, informing them of her research into the HYDRA facilities, and reveals that the locations and research indicate that the circumstances have become more complex due to the remainder of HYDRA being high-profile individuals. When Tony asks Shuri what her desire to do is, Shuri suggests calling Nicholas Fury for help due to his connections, background, and extensive knowledge of espionage. She suggests to turn the tides: Instead of HYDRA hiding within them, they were going to hide within HYDRA. End scene.

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