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reidsworld · 6 months ago

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A Different Kind of Training

Summary: When sparring with Logan turns into something more.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: sparring, cursing, mentions of alcohol, teasing, flirting, kissing, making out, tit sucking, fingering, heavy petting, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, knife play? (the claws come out), use of Y/N, pet names (baby, bub, darlin’) — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!

Word Count: 2.8k

Mars speaks… Two fics in one day? What can I say, I’m a sucker for writing (and Logan Howlett). I originally wasn’t gonna write smut for this but I locked in and nearly 1.4k words of smut later, I’m happy with how it turned out! I was imagining Logan in X-Men but this gif is too hot not to use.

Masterlist

The sun was setting over Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, casting a warm, golden light through the large windows of the gym. The usual buzz of activity had quieted down, leaving you alone to get in some extra training. The silence was almost calming, a rare moment of peace after everything that had happened over the past few days.

You were lost in your thoughts, practising your kicks against a heavy bag, when the door creaked open. Without needing to look, you knew who it was. There was only one person who could move so silently yet make his presence known so effortlessly.

“Looks like someone’s been working hard,” Logan’s gruff voice came from behind you, a teasing edge to it. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

You turned, arching an eyebrow as you met his gaze. “Just trying to stay sharp. Didn’t expect you to drop in. Thought you’d be nursing a beer somewhere.”

He shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Beer can wait. Figured you could use some real training instead of beating up that bag.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, so you’re volunteering to be my punching bag?”

Logan pushed off the wall and strolled toward you, his movements fluid and controlled. There was always something captivating about the way he moved—like a predator, always aware of his surroundings, always ready to strike.

“Something like that,” he said, his voice low as he came to a stop a few feet from you. “If you think you can handle it, bub.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “Big words, Wolverine. Hope you can back them up.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The session began as it always did—circling each other, testing the waters with light jabs and quick footwork. But there was an underlying tension tonight, more than usual. Maybe it was the way Logan’s eyes kept straying to your lips, or the way your heart raced every time he got close.

“You’re getting slow, old man,” you teased as you dodged a punch and spun away, landing a light tap on his shoulder.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk. “And you’re getting cocky. Might have to teach you a lesson.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, you both lunged forward, fists flying in a blur of motion.

The sparring intensified, the lighthearted banter replaced by focused determination. But even as you fought, there was a spark of playfulness, a dance of words and movements that only the two of you shared.

“Is that all you’ve got, bub?” Logan grunted as he blocked a kick and spun you around, his grip on your arm firm but not painful.

You twisted out of his hold, a sly smile on your lips. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your ego too much, Wolvie.”

His laughter was low and genuine, and it made something warm unfurl in your chest. Logan was a hard man, but moments like these—when he let his guard down, even just a little—made you feel like you were seeing the real him. The one beneath all the gruff exterior and adamantium claws.

As the session continued, you found yourself pushing harder, testing his limits just as much as your own. Each time he got close, you felt the heat of his body, the brush of his skin against yours, and it was becoming harder to focus on the fight and not on how much you wanted him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of back-and-forth, you saw your opening. With a quick feint, you managed to sweep Logan’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the mat with a surprised grunt.

You didn’t waste a second, straddling him and pinning him down with a triumphant grin. “Looks like I’ve got you.”

Logan looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense, but there was a hint of amusement in his gaze. “Seems so. What’s your plan now, darlin’?”

The way he said “darlin’” sent a jolt through you, and suddenly the playful atmosphere shifted into something heavier, more charged. You leaned in closer, your faces just inches apart, your breath mingling with his.

“Maybe I’ll make you beg for mercy,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing.

Logan’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. “Or maybe I’ll turn the tables on you.”

The challenge in his voice was clear, and you felt your pulse quicken in response. But before you could think of a retort, Logan’s grip tightened, and with a swift, effortless movement, he flipped you over, reversing your positions so that he was the one hovering over you.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly, but his eyes were soft as they searched your face. He wasn’t pinning you down, not really—there was still room for you to escape, but neither of you made a move to do so.

The tension between you was palpable now, crackling in the air like electricity. Logan’s gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if asking permission. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest, but you gave a small nod, unable to find your voice.

That was all the encouragement Logan needed. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as fierce as it was gentle. It was like everything that had been building between you two—the banter, the flirting, the unspoken tension—was pouring out into that one kiss.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, lost in each other.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other’s. Logan’s eyes were still closed, his grip on your hip gentle but firm as if he didn’t want to let you go, while his other hand was on the floor, positioned next to your head.

He leaned down to lay passionate but gentle kisses against your neck.

You bit your lip, suppressing the almost vile moan that was on the tip of your tongue, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I’ve been waiting for you to make the first move.”

Logan chuckled, raising his head to look at you. “Guess I’m not as patient as I thought.”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. “Guess not.”

The mood between you had shifted, the playful teasing giving way to something deeper, something more intimate. You felt a connection with Logan that you hadn’t allowed yourself to fully acknowledge before, and now that it was out in the open, it felt right.

“So, what now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes darkened with a new intensity, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “How about we take this workout somewhere more private? I’ve got a few ideas on how to… optimise our training.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the suggestive tone in his voice. “Lead the way,” you murmured, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Logan smirked, pulling back just enough to help you to your feet. But before you could move, he captured your lips in another heated kiss, this one more urgent, more demanding. It left you breathless, your knees weak as you clung to him for support.

When he finally released you, there was a hunger in his eyes that mirrored your own. Without another word, he took your hand and led you out of the gym, his pace quick and determined. The cool night air hit your skin as you stepped outside, but you barely noticed, too focused on the man beside you.

Logan’s room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The air was filled with a quiet intensity as you both entered, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Logan’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes dark with an unspoken promise. He stepped closer, his rough hands finding your waist, pulling you gently towards him. The world outside seemed to fade away as you stood there, the anticipation crackling between you.

You looked up at him, your heart racing, as his hands slid up your back, his touch both firm and tender. “So, this is your idea of a private training session?” you teased, your voice breathless.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Just thought we could continue our workout in a more…personal setting.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s lips were on yours, his kiss fierce and hungry. The sudden intensity took your breath away, but you melted into it, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, gripping him as you kissed him back with equal fervour.

His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer as if he wanted to absorb every inch of you. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as you both lost yourselves in the sensation. The roughness of his hands contrasted with the softness of your skin, creating a delicious tension that only heightened the experience.

Logan’s lips were warm and insistent, moving with a rhythm that made your pulse quicken. He gently pushed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours, the heat and strength of him undeniable. You responded eagerly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips moving in perfect harmony with his.

The kiss was a dance of passion and exploration, each touch and caress filled with a mix of tenderness and desire. Logan’s hands slid down to your hips, his grip strong and possessive as he pressed you closer against him. You could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his muscles, and it only made you want him more.

“Jump,” Logan said, though it sounded more like a grunt than actual words. As you jump, his arms catch you, holding you by both of your legs as your hands threaded through his hair. You could feel him straining against his pants while he walked you over to the bed. You looked up at him with a smirk from where he tossed you on the bed. You slowly begin to undress, leaving you bare in front of him with the exception of your bra and panties.

“Stunning,” He muttered under his breath as he stared at you in a trance. His hand travelled down to his aching bulge, palming himself at the sight of you.

“Just gonna stand there and stare or are ya gonna do something, Wolvie.”

He let out an almost animalistic growl as he climbed on top of you, capturing your lips with his. His rough hands hands felt smooth against your skin as they travelled across your body. He pulls away from you, looking at his hands as his claws come out. He gently slides a claw under your bra, snapping it, freeing your breasts.

His claws retract and discard the bra across the room. His head quickly dives down to your tits, mouth latching onto one of your hard nipples as his hand kneads at the neglected breast. A yelp escapes your lips as he gently bites down on your nipple.

Your hands twine themselves in his hard, tugging gently as he moves his attention to your other breast. As he focuses on your breast, he shifts so that his elbow is holding him up while playing with your breast. His free hand slides down your body, slipping into your panties.

His fingers brush over your clit, making you let out a very solicited moan. His fingers run up your slit, making him groan.

“Fuck, you're already so wet and I’ve barely done anything yet, bub,” you let out an almost pathetic whimper in response. You feel him rut against your leg, attempting to get some much-needed relief. One of your hands leaves his hair and moves to push off his pants before planning him through his underwear, earning a groan from his lips.

You gasp as you feel one of his thick fingers enter you, pumping and curling in and out. It feels so good, all you can do is moan out his name. Looking into your eyes, he pulls you into a kiss as another finger slips into you. He swallows your moan with his mouth.

“Logan, ‘m so close baby,” you moan into his lips before whimpering at the loss of contact as his hand pulls your of you.

“Need to be inside you, want you to cum around my cock, darlin’” he says making you nod quickly, pulling your hand away from his groin.

He stands up, pulling off his boxers. As his cock frees, it slaps against his stomach and you almost whimper at the sheer size of it. His claws slowly extend out of his fist. He crawls back on top of you before using one of his claws to gently rip off your panties.

He positions himself at your entrance and looks up at you for approval.

“Please Logan just fuck me already.”

Gently and slowly, he pushes himself inside of you. His head falls back at the feeling of you around him. You wince at the slight sting from the size of him. He slows down and looks at you. You nod at him and moan as he bottoms out.

The two of you stay still for a minute as you adjust to him.

“Ok, you can move now, Lo.”

“How d’ya want it darlin’?” his raspy voice sounds out, making you even wetter.

“Rough baby, I thought this was supposed to be private training not–,” you tease him but are quickly cut off by your own moan as he roughly pulls out to the tip before slamming back in. His hands grip your legs, pulling them over his shoulder before moving to tightly grip the pillows next to your head. Your arms move up my your head, loosely wrapping around his.

The room is filled with loud moans and grunts as he fucks you. One of his hands moves down to circle your clit, making you cry out at the feeling. He drops one of your legs off his shoulder, changing the angle slightly.

“Oh fuck, right there!” you scream out as he pistons into your sweet spot. He throws his head back with a loud growl as your pussy clenches around him.

“Holy shit bub, so fuckin’ tight, wrapping around me just right.”

You hear the loud noise of his claws right next to your head as they extend into the bed. He uses them to give him more leverage as he fucks you harder, making you arch your back.

“‘M so close baby,” you moan into his ear as his head drops to your neck.

He doesn’t give up his relentless pace as he brings you closer to your orgasm. The sounds of his feral grunts in your ear throw you over the mess, making you scream as your insides tighten and you cum around his cock.

“Almost there,” he says as his thrusts become sloppier and his dick twitches inside of you.

“Where d’ya want it?”

“Inside, please,” you say, desperately.

Logan moves to kiss your tender lips roughly as he cums in you with a loud groan. His thrusts slow down before he comes to a stop. He drops on top of you with heavy breaths as you both lie there in silence.

Slowly pulling out of you, Logan rolls onto his back next to you before you both turn your heads to look at each other. He grins at your fucked-out expression.

“That was even better than I imagined,” he admits.

“Same,” you agree as you lean over to kiss him, smiling against his lips and muttering as you pull away,

“This was definitely a different kind of training, but I think that I still need a little more work on my form, think ya could help?”

Mars speaks... (again) I don't think I've ever locked in more than I did for writing the smut part of this. Any feedback is greatly appreciated🫶

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celestie0 · 1 month ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 6/x

ᰔ words. 12.6k

a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!

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“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.

Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.

You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.

You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.

Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”

“That’s it? Just nice?”

“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”

You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.

The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.

The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.

“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it.

“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”

“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”

He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”

“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”

You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.

His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.

As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”

“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”

He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.

He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”

“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”

“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”

He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”

It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home.

Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.

“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”

“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.

She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.

When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide.

You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.

“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”

“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”

Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.

“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.

You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.

“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.

“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.

Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.

“Oh—” you stumble slightly.

“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.

“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”

“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.

“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”

She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.

Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.

But there’s a small part of you,

A teeny tiny part,

Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,

That actually does feel some type of way about it.

You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?

You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.

It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.

That must be the reason, right?

You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.

“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.

There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.

“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.

There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child.

There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing.

“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”

You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.

Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses.

“Smells wonderful,” you comment.

“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”

You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.

“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”

“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.

When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.

“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”

“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”

After all, you had to prepare her.

“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”

It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.

“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”

Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.

“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”

It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.

“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”

The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.

Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.

“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.

“Hi,” she says back to you.

“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.

“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”

“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.

“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”

The three of you nod at him.

It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.

“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.

Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.

Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.

Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.

“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”

You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.

“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”

You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.

“Four weeks,” he says.

You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.

“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.

You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.

But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”

“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.

“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.

“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”

The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation.

You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.

You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.

Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”

“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”

Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.

“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.

“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”

“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.

You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.

One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.

The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.

A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.

The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed.

Sana’s room, you think to yourself.

Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own.

The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.

The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too.

His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end.

You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?

Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought.

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side.

West Valley High School. Class of 2007.

With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.

When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.

You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?

There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.

You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was.

Gojo Satoru.

Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.

He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger.

You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.

Ichiro.

Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.

Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.

Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.

“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.

You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.

“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too.

You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.

A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.

The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005.

It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.

Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture?

“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room.

You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful.

“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see.

His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”

You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”

Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”

He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”

“Maybe your teenage self did.”

“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”

“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.

He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.

“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”

“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”

His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”

You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.

“And if I strangled you? What then?”

“I like that. It’s kinky.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”

“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”

You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.

He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.”

His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.

“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.

“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”

Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.

“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”

“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”

His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face.

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you.

“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.

His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”

The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual.

“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”

You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.”

“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”

You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.

“Wait,” you say, “look away.”

“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.

“Just look away for a second.”

His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.

But you stop.

And you take one more glance at the photo.

And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.

If you asked, would he tell you?

But the more pressing question is,

Why are you so scared to find out?

You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.

You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.

“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”

You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.

His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”

You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.

The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.

Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.

Everyone looks at you.

You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.

You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her.

You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.

“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”

“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”

“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”

You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”

“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”

She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”

There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.

Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”

The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.

“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.

Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.

You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”

You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.

“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties.

To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.

“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.

“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”

Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”

“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”

“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”

“Jun,” Sana deadpans.

“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in.

Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair.

“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.

Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.

Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.

Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand.

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”

It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak.

She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away.

Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”

Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.

But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”

You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.

“But…” you trail off.

“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”

You blink at her in shock.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.

“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”

“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.

You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.

When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.

The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.

“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.

And then there were two.

You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use.

“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”

You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.

“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.

“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.

As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you.

You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.

Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up.

“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.

“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”

“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.

It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.

She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.

You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”

The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”

A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.

“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”

She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.

Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”

“Aww.”

There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.

“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”

You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”

The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.”

You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.

“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.

“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.

He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”

You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”

“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.

“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”

“Palliative?”

“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”

He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.

“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.

Carevest Capital est. 2016

Invest in a healthier you!

You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.

“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”

Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.

“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”

You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”

He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”

Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.

“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.

“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.

He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch.

Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,

But you felt like something was wrong.

“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”

The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.

Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.

The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.

You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.

“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”

When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.

“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.

You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.

“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”

Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.

Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.

But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges.

A woman's intuition.

That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.

Not just routine marital issues,

Or the occasional argument,

Something worse. Something dangerous.

And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.

Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,

Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,

That she needed help.

“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge.

Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”

You blink at him.

“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”

There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.

Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.

You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.

Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.

Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,

And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.

How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way?

Never the hero. If anything, the villain.

“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.

You swallow hard.

“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”

He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.

“Fuck. Okay.”

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie

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leyiorr · 5 months ago

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i wonder what i look like in your eyes.

gojo ⋮ geto ⋮ sukuna ⋮ toji ⭑ how they see you and what you are to them.

¡! wc: 1.1k

¡! genre: tooth-rotting fluff, awful + contagious cases of lovesick men, you're literally their reason for existence

¡! an: i dropped this on another account but then abandoned it so its being posted here lolz!

☆ - satoru gojo ⋮ a nebula

when it comes to satoru, he's always been alone in his orbit. a level of his own. he's a god among the mortal race; both blessed and cursed to walk the earth. he's his own galaxy - the brightest and the boldest.

yet his galaxy is unbearably lonely. it's expansive, a cosmic canvas of infinite possibilites. it's an inky black celestial wonder, one that leaves a hollow feeling in his chest.

until he meets you, and you become the only being in existence allowed to orbit with him. you're his nebula, chaotic and disorted yet so effortlessly the most beautiful element of his galaxy.

you blaze in brilliant, radiant light; core searing it's permeant place in the midnight backdrop. you illuminate the space with shades of the deepest indigo and violets, mingled with wisps of turquoise and teal. crimson and oranges are vibrant in your centre.

the colour stretches into the void forming intricate patters, ones he finds himself untangling to better understand you.

in the silence of space, your nebula spoke volumes; comforting him at his worst, lulling his mind into dreamless sleep. your edges are softer, the colours more muted as you bleed into him. no one can tell where you begin and he ends.

you are so so small in comparison to the void, but so unbearably bright that you light it all with practiced ease. he tends to watch in awe as you decorate his solar system; nursing new stars to weave into his soul.

with you there, his universe becomes easier to live in, easier to navigate. you're a cloud of interstellar stardust - held together by the gravitational attraction of satoru's galaxy.

☆ - suguru geto ⋮ the artist

to suguru, you're the best thing that's happened to him. ever.

anyone who sees him with you knows. they know he's infatuated, enamoured. he's so far gone that people often think that he's been blinded by love, but he has simply never felt an emotion so intense.

with you he thinks he truly sees the world in all it's glory, innocent and pure. with you he traverses unpolluted by the atrocities of the world, you who colours his world.

he looks at you like you personally hang the stars in the sky when night rolls around, like you paint the sorbet sunsets by hand. he stares at you adoringly, as if you chose the colour of the sea and dusted white on the peaks of mountains to keep them warm.

he peers at you like you solely gift the flowers with their petals, dipping them in shades you deem beautiful enough. like you create the sand from scratch and lay it in pretty semi-lunar shapes next to the ocean.

he gazes at you like diamonds were invented in tribute to your tears, like you drew the prettiest landscapes alone in the quiet, before the age of humanity.

he studies you like you've sculpted the very shape of his heart - every ventricle and atrium handcrafted with your pretty fingers. as if his very existence was molded by you, hence why you fit so perfectly together; two pieces of a puzzle.

he could stare at you for hours and days on end, eyes full of love for the person who introduces him to a plethora of hues and tones that he imprints on the back of his eyelids when he sleeps.

☆ - ryomen sukuna ⋮ the breath of life

sukuna is not a good person. everybody knows that. he's taken innocent lives, sapping their energy like it's nothing. he's all-powerful; he stands amongst the deities - gods who have the capacity to bend fate to their will.

but after millennia of having everything under his rule, he's gotten bored. he has servants to order as he pleases but nothing they do entertains him. the god of death is bored, embarrassingly so.

until he acquires something known as a significant other, the other half of his soul as the humans say. you're his breath of life, a release of old, stagnant energy. it's as if you breathe vitality into everything you touch, all life forms flocking to you naturally.

you're so much softer than he, touch delicate yet profound, an ethereal caress that lights sparks in his eyes. he tends to linger quietly by your side when you walk in the garden he constructed just for you - though he would never tell you that.

wildflowers are coaxed into bloom with you around, their colours a testament to your nurturing touch. the dew-laden grass basks in your presence, gleaming a shade brighter than before. even the trees seem to gravitate toward you, branches reaching for you as you pass by, their leaves sighing in contentment.

sukuna's convinced the waves follow your pace, each push and pull matches your breathing.

you were the essence of renewal. his world had found it's pulse, it's rhythm, as you dance the unending dance of life in the centre. you sustain his beating heart, so sukuna's oddly content with merely watching.

☆ - toji fushiguro ⋮ a lover

toji sees you as not only a lover, but the lover. the only one he will have in this life and the next. there's no after you. it's a forever kinda thing.

something so simple as the title of 'lover' is so complex for toji, a man who's a veteran assassin, a man who previously had no regard for anyone else.

you're the only person toji promises to protect, to never lie to, to make happy for as long as his heart pumps and his chest rises with each breath. you're a miracle gifted to him by the gods - though he doesn't know what he's done to deserve it.

he's rough around the edges but with your standing as 'lover', you smooth him out.

he subconsciously thinks of you, always worrying for your satefy. you must be a deep ocean of the emotion known as 'passion' because he's willingly drowning, not even looking for shore.

toji looks at you like you're an extension of himself, the other half of him that the deities intended for him to find. he can't remember times before you or imagine a future without you.

he makes a deal of reminding you that you are his, just as he is completely and utterly yours. as his lover you hold his bloody, beating heart in your hands; he knows you'll keep it safe.

he stares at you like you'll disappear; like he's not even sure you actually exist. you love a man like him after all - that's a miracle in itself.

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jellymochii · 17 days ago

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Stray Kids - A/B/O Headcanons

𓃦 pairings: ot8 wolf hybrid!skz x wolf hybrid!reader

𓃦 genre: Werewolf AU, fluff, angst, SMUTTY SMUT SMUT

𓃦 cw: Smut, unprotected sex(pls no), mating/knots, cunnilingus, p in v, hybrid smut.

𓃦 wc: 2.7k

↪author's note: hello! sorry for the delay, just started nursing school and med math is kicking my ass. anyways next up is sub skz, then dom txt, and then aespa first date fluff! Hope you enjoy!

(Also all of the members are either an Alpha or Beta, you're the only omega.)

**THIS IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION AND DOES NOT REFLECT THE TRUE NATURE OF THE PEOPLE MENTIONED**

☾ Bang Chan - Leader/Alpha

Yeah ok this one was kinda obvious.

He's the leader of the pack and the protector of all of you. He'd stop at nothing to keep you and the pack safe.

Thus, you were mated to him first-his soulmate. He knew it the moment he saw you, that you were the omega he was told about all those years ago.

And dear God, he's extremely possessive over you–hence why he had the honor of being the first one to bite you and claim you.

Even though he so graciously shares you with the rest of his beloved pack, he would kill anyone, even a member of his pack, to protect you.

This also ties into his ruts. When he's rutting, no one is allowed within 5 feet of you. He's got you in the safe house, making the others bring food and water often, all while he swells you full of his knot more times than you can count.

While he's normally sweet alpha channie in bed, if he's rutting--lets hope you make it out without a sore and leaking cunt (you won't, sorry.)

You're in your heat at the same time as his rut, though? Oh, it's heaven. He can absolutely keep up with all your pent-up frustration from needing to be filled to the brim with his knot. You’ll get exactly what you need from him!!

“Nngh, baby, Alpha’s gonna knot you full of his pups, kay? Stay still omega, let Daddy fill you.”

Once his rut is over and your cervix is practically overflowing with his cum, he'll always run you a warm bath and tell you what a good omega you are for him–and how you're everything to him.

Outside of the bedroom, he's always attentive too–he seems to be very in tune to your emotions and can often feel them as if they were his own. Almost like the two of you had tied souls.

You're his love and his pride and joy, no matter what.

☾ Lee Know - Second In Command/Alpha

Ok, I know beta Lee Know with alpha tendencies is what we’ve all agreed on, but hear me out–

He’s the 2nd oldest and Bang Chan’s right-hand man–responsible for all kinds of discipline and training when Chan is at work.

This also includes when you decide to defy him or the rest of the pack–Yeah, you're in for it.

Even if he loves you now, it still took him a while to fully accept you as a member of the pack. He was naturally suspicious of you, but once he became more comfortable around you and saw how well you treated the boys–he began to truly love you.

Home cooked meals for you and the boys 24/7. Even if he's sick, he won't let you lay a finger on anything in the kitchen–he thinks that his omega shouldn't ever have to lift a finger.

He often has to isolate himself in the safe house during ruts because of how intense they are for him and how scared he is of hurting you.

Takes items you gift him from your nest with your scent on them and ruts into them, absorbing every drop of your delicious scent coming from them–wishing it was you he was giving his knot to.

If he's not rutting and just feeling a little romantic (or pissed off at you for being bratty), rest assured you're getting several knots out of him.

“Yeah, you want my knot, little omega? Then you better behave if you want it–only good sluts get filled.”

Lots of spanking and doggy style in general, the way you yelp when he tugs your hair from the back drives him mad.

Ugh, and he's always sooooo deep in. You feel like your guts are being rearranged.

He's a sweetie pie afterward, food and water for you right away. Even if sometimes he's cold or standoffish towards you, he'd risk his entire life for you over and over again if it meant staying by your side.

☾ Changbin - Head Beta

Changbin is the muscle of the group in terms of protection and just carrying around heavy stuff for you and the others.

He also is responsible for keeping the other betas in line when an alpha isn't present, he's not strict by any means but has a big sense of responsibility when it comes to protecting you and his pack.

Loves you so so much! He always tries to make you laugh whenever he picks you up bridal style and swings you around like a baby.

Works out diligently around the clock to be strong for you and his pack. Similar to his alpha, Lee Know, won't let you lift a finger and always does the heavy lifting for you.

Thinks it's cute when you go to the gym with him to spot him and gain some muscle of your own (you'll be carrying LOTS of pups in your arms soon!) and somehow scares away every man who tries to approach you.

His ruts are so humbling for him. Before you came into the pack, he was angry and used to throwing things around during his rut because of how bad it was. But now? He’s oh so desperate and pathetically whiny.

“Jagiiii p-please, Binnie needs you–it hurts so bad!”

If you do eventually cave in, he's surprisingly more gentle than the rest of the boys in rut. He knows his cock is so thick that it'll split you open, so every bone in his body tells him to fuck you gently.

Loves showing off his strength by fucking you while holding you, or having you pushed against the wall with your legs wrapped around him so his knot reaches oh so deeper.

Becomes very possessive over you in general while fucking. He'll leave hickies all over your neck, sometimes even next to the other pack member’s bite marks-just to show them who made you feel this good.

You're insanely dizzy afterward from how full you are with his pups and how deep his knot inflated your poor cervix.

Don't worry! Binnie takes the best care of his baby afterward. You're the love of his life, after all.

☾ Hyunjin - Beta

Certified Lover Boyyyyyy

Like Lee Know, he was a little unsure of you joining at first because of how he's been hurt in the past.

Once he opens up to you, he falls head over heels in love with you. Every painting and every song on his guitar suddenly becomes about you, his omega, and his muse.

He likes to take you out into flower fields to have picnics and draw with you. He'll snap unsuspecting photos of you smiling with a flower in your hair so he can paint it later.

You're his whole world. Truthfully, he hates having to share with you with the rest of his pack, but there's not much he can do as a Beta other than steal a blanket from your nest when you're not looking so he can rut into it.

Same for his rut, he'll take all of his paintings of you (some intimate) and a collection or clothes he's taken and absolutely soil them within 1 day.

Thus, he gets scolded and punished by you and the Alpha’s frequently for tampering with your nest–but he can't help it! He needs your scent surrounding him, or he'll go feral.

Sometimes, if he's pre-rut and starting to get overstimulated, he'll sneak into your bedroom and suck on one of your nipples for comfort. You don't mind–and it usually leads to something else anyway.

Practically worships you in bed, especially if you volunteer to help him during his rut--he's so grateful to be in your generous presence. He'll make sure your needs are put before his own, always out of habit.

“Baby–fuck, I love you so much~! I'm gonna give you my agh–knot, all for you.”

His orgasms hit him so hard, especially when you're cumming at the same time as him.

You've never felt more loved in your whole life than when you're with him. You've got him wrapped around your finger 24/7.

☾ Han - Beta

Oh my sweet sungie, he's totally obsessed with his omega.

He's definitely more docile and fragile compared to the rest of his pack, but he's still got some fervor in him when it comes to protecting you.

He’s basically the pack's emotional support. He has his own omega tendencies in a way that his pack clings to him naturally, too.

Was the first one to get attached to you besides Chan. He loved you the moment you walked into the pack house.

Needy asf. Like actually begs for attention 24/7 from you.

He gets HUNGRY when he's rutting, both for his snacks and for you–more specifically, for your pussy.

He could lay there for hours mindlessly eating you out like it's his last meal. He wears the title of Pack Munch with pride.

If he's rutting he goes feral over the scent of your cunt, even from far away. He'll devour you while humping the mattress and blankets below him, and he's cum from it quite a few times.

He's the boy you wanna call if you wanna cum over and over again in your heat on just a tongue. Likewise, his own rut calms down and passes by quicker when he's scarfing your juices down like a dehydrated wild animal.

“Cum for me…pretty please omega? I know you cannn.”

He can definitely use his dick when he needs to, though. His only problem is how violent his orgasms wash over him when his knot is deep in your cunt.

Ughhh, he's so obsessed. Please tell him what a good job he did and how you're his omega forever.

☾ Felix - Beta

Felix is the medical expert of the group. He tends to wounds anyone in the pack receives and gives the best massages.

His love language is touch, so you better expect him sneaking into your nest and nuzzling his nose into your soft skin while he kneads at your thighs.

When he's not busy tending to the other members, he loves to bake alongside Lee Know. If you have a bad sweet tooth, he's the guy to call–for cookies and cuddles.

He likes having you in his lap while he plays video games or watches Disney movies with you (please don't make him sit through Twilight again. He's team Jacob and suffers watching it).

He might be the smallest of the pack, but he's feisty when it comes to you! If another member comes and tries to steal your attention while he's laying beside you, he'll snarl at them (and probably get scolded, but he doesn't really care).

Like Changbin, his ruts are also humbling for him. Poor baby is so whiny and cries at night from the pain of his rut–and not having you there with him in the safe house.

“Baby p-please! I'll be gentle, I promise! I'll take–fuck, anything.”

You feel way too bad about not helping him, so even if you just hold your hand out for him to rut his cock into–that's more than enough for him to spill his seed all over.

Sitting in his lap while he thrusts up into you at an unbearable pace is all you need to have your gummy walls clench around him, causing his knot to inflate deep in your cervix.

He swears he'll pull out because he knows he'll get scolded for it–yet he never does. The feeling of burying his pups deep in you is something no amount of scolding and punishment could ever make him stop.

Loves cuddling in the bathtub with you as a form of aftercare, he'll nuzzle his nose into your neck and pepper kisses over the hickies he left, and treat them the best.

What can I say? He's a sweetheart.

☾ Seungmin - Beta

Seungmin is the cheeky and youngest Beta in the pack, and often the source of many headaches for Chan and the other alphas.

He didn't take too kindly to you when Chan introduced you at first, causing him to snarl at you the first few days when you passed by.

This in turn, led to an argument which caused him to destroy your nest out of anger. He was punished accordingly by the Alpha's and forced to apologize.

He was planning on giving a half-assed apology to you–but when tears started pouring down your cheeks as you cried and asked “Why do you hate me, Seungmin? I love you, and I love this pack.” His heart hurt as he began to reassess his entire world view.

He's never heard anyone say “I love you”, not even his own parents. He couldn't forgive himself for months and spent many hours showering you in gifts and trying to win you back. He even snuck one of his pillows into your nest so you'd associate his scent with safety.

One day, he came home with a puppy plushie Felix said you'd been eyeballing at the mall alongside a bouquet of roses, to which you felt relieved and cried that he finally had accepted you.

“Y/N…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so mean to you, and I-I love you too.”

He spends his ruts with the stuffed he gave you since it has your scent on it and reminds him of you. Don't worry, he'll stitch it up soon–but for now he has to fuck the hole he tore into it for some form of relief.

If you choose to help him while wearing the collar with “KS” on it that he got for you–oh boy, he's done for.

You'll have knot after knot while he tugs on your collar and humps you from the back.

“Fuck, You're so sexy like that. All this ass for me?”

He still tends to be gentler with you, he's still learning how to love, but he knows no matter what he has so much love for you!

☾ Jeongin - Alpha

Baby Alpha Jeongin on top!!

He still doesn't know how to control his instincts when you first enter the pack, so he has to be kept away from you at first and only be given selective clothing of yours with your scent on it to get used to your scent.

…He likes it way too much. So much so that he'll surround himself in your donated clothes while aggressively rutting into your favorite blue blanket (They're too soiled in cum to be salvaged, sorry.)

This in turn becomes a major problem for him. When he first gets to meet you face to face and gets a whim of your scent, he goes feral and has to be physically held back by Chan and Changbin to prevent him from knotting you.

You, on the other hand, thought it was adorable. So much so that the next time you donated some clothes, you made sure to release your sweet juices all over them before giving it to him–Chan was not enthused but decided to indulge him nonetheless since the poor boy was having a really bad rut.

Oh boy, did it drive him absolutely insane. The whole safe house was torn to shreds in less than 24hrs from how feral he went from the scent of your arousal.

The next time his rut came around the two of you had become well adjusted to each other. He found that he would have to distance himself often to prevent himself from pouncing onto you and taking you right there.

You offer to help him during his next rut and swear up and down to the pack that you'll call for help but it becomes too much, but you don't need help when Jeongin is hitting all of your sweet spots~!

Especially when he's pounding into you at a brutal pace while strangled growls and cries spill from his mouth as he bites down onto your shoulder.

“Nnnngh, I'm gonna cum holy shit~!” or “No-stay fucking still omega, I need to knot.”

He truly feels so loved when he has you under him so submissive like this–he knows deep down he’d do anything for you.

He’s a sweetie pie and deserves the world.

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bunny-jpeg · 5 months ago

Note

Ooooo can I grab a spice pie a Eton mess with a coffee and hard lemonade please and thank you bunny 😊

With max verstappen

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu (yay), there's still tons of things to order and i'd love for you have a little slice from the bakery! thank you for any prompts sent and especially to @e-verstappen for this lovely prompt! i don't usually get a lot of spice pie & eton mess orders so this was fun!! i hope you enjoy!! <3

spice pie ("i didn't know it was possible to be a liar and a slut.") + eton mess ("be careful. your breath smells like cum.") + coffee (rivals au) + hard lemonade (possessive behavior)

cw: smut/pwp, rivals au, possessive behavior, dirty talk/degrading language, mean!max, ferrari driver!reader, jos jumpscare, oral sex (reader receives), couch sex, unprotected sex

this had a happen in groups of three within a similar time frame. and with max, these three things sent the possessive driver off the edge. you had been deluding yourself into believing that these encounters with him were simple little flings.

you didn't realize that max verstappen had been going around the paddock telling people that you were together and to get their noses out of you. regardless, things happened in threes

first, it was practice. for the singapore grand prix, you shoved max out of first position and he scrambled only being able to cling onto fifth. it didn't help that jos had come by to see how the weekend was going to shape up. secondly, the same jos verstappen congratulated you on the excellent job maintaining a strong presence on the track. what made max's mouth twitch as he watched was that his father was being genuine to you. and thirdly, while you and max were in his hotel the night before the race, both nursing a beer. he caught a glimpse of you on raya.

and that just set the driver off. beer can tumbled on the floor, and his hands around your wrist. your phone threatening to meet the beer can. your eyes gazed into his with concern marking your features.

"what the fuc-"

"i didn't know it was possible to be a liar and a slut." his words were biting.

"excuse me!"

"raya? really? you sit there all pretty on the track. getting all the praise, and the first place in the qualifiers. then you come with me and now you're trying to find other men to fuck." his voice was venomous.

you got out of his grasp and gave him a shove off of you on the couch, "this is stress relief, asshole." then shifted in your seat as you put your phone to the side. you hated that when he got like that, it turned you on, "and i barely got any praise from anyone besides me team. it was almost too close to call."

his hand was on your thigh and his lips at your neck. he said, "stress relief?" his breathing was hot against your neck, "god, you're stupid." his large hands were on your hips as he went after your neck once more.

this time were was little resistance from you. you couldn't help it, after all this time with him. he still made your brain turn into soup.

"no, no. this is far from casual. the trips, the gifts, our time together. you knew deep down that you're only on raya to kill time. because you don't want to admit that you already found your husband."

you took him by the back of the neck and looked into his gaze. you swallowed, "you're a possessive fuck, max."

he raised his eyebrows at you, "i have to. because these men don't know when a woman is taken." before he crashed his lips against yours. you wrapped his arms around his broad shoulders.

you hated it. he was your rival, you stood on opposing ends. you fought tooth and nail on the track, your entire career had been snapping your fangs at one another. so to be stripped for vulnerable felt so different. it was like max could see through it all. whatever face you've given to the press.

you hated more that it was the same face you put on raya. the confident woman of formula one. but deep down, you yearned to be loved by someone. someone who was as unbalanced as you. thus you collided with max as he got between your legs and started to get you out of the sweatpants (that he owned) you were wearing. your panties went with it.

"i need to remind you that you are mine, got it? i need that app deleted when i'm done with you. better yet, delete the entire account and apologize to the company for wasting their time with you on it... because you weren't finding prince charming on it." then went between your legs and licked across your cunt which made you tense up.

his mouth on you was hot and it made you heated all over. damn max verstappen damn him, and when his tongue came out you were gripping onto his short almost-blond hair. you felt the skip in your chest as he rubbed his nose up against your clit.

if you could, you'd be hitting him in the head in frustration. he drover you insane as much as you fell in love with him. a push and pull of desires as he orally pleasured you. your toes curled in the socks you wore (which was also stolen from him).

his tongue continued to lap against your soaked hole and his nose nudged up against your achy clit. it was a stimulated hell in the best was possible. it made you feel so hot that you eventually took your t-shirt off and laid there in just socks and your bra.

while it felt amazing, he didn't quite get you to climax, when he eventually came up for air. he looked up at you with those blue eyes of his. there was a heated lust in them as he got up from his spot on the couch and was on you once more. he was heavily breathing, as were you.

"be careful. your breath smells like cum." you said softly as you covered his mouth with your hand for a moment before he went in for a searing kiss. first on your palm before he pulled it away and went for your lips.

you whined against the kiss and gripped onto the back of his shirt. your nails dug into the soft fabric, threatening to rip it off his shoulders. his clothed, hard cock rubbed against your achy cunt.

"i want you." you sighed, "i hate that you're in my head."

he chuckled, "i wouldn't want to be anywhere else." he got his cock out of his pants and rubbed it against you for a few moments before he sank inside of you. his hands braced on the back of the couch as he got inside of you as far as he could go. which was far enough because you could already feel him bruising your poor cunt.

you shuddered, your nipples grew hard as you held onto his strong shoulders. he always made you feel so good, especially when those soft lips of his were pressed against yours. it was because of you that he learned what lip balm was and didn't gross any of his dates out. now it benefited you as he rocked his cock up into you.

fucking on the couch like two desperate animals. but desperation didn't lead to long lasting sessions of intimacy. you hated that max verstappen lived in your head rent free, devouring any attempts to meet anyone else. why meet anyone else when you have max? while you bloomed under his attention, you hated that you had little choice in the matter. he had sunk his claws into you long ago. and now you were lazily making out with him.

you came quickly, like a strike of lightning through your body. you moaned into the kiss and arched your back off the couch as he continued to fuck you with a high intensity. your toes curled and your nails dug into his shoulders more.

he panted heavily, "that's good. a good little girl. you know exactly how to get me going." he groaned as he continued to fuck you with heavy thrusts and it made you feel hot all over as his cock pressed into the deepest parts of you. your brain felt over stimulated and the kisses got harder.

you needed him, it wasn't a want any long. he was what was pulling at your chest as he gave a few more thrusts before he finished inside of you with a heated groan against your lips. which made you pant heavily.

you relaxed against the covers and panted heavily. you felt a drum of heat in your head as you looked at him. he was loomed over you for a moment as he tried to compose himself.

you let out a little whimper and it made max's cock jump while still in you.

"now do you get it? you're mine." he said as he pulled out and then grabbed your face for a kiss. you moaned a little into the kiss and when he pulled away, "right?"

you looked at him a little blissed out, your tongue couldn't find the words. but that didn't mind max too much, he could see it in your eyes. his little rival wanted him. he gave you another kiss before he got a hold of you. he could get a second round out of you in the bedroom before he fucked all sense out of you. <3

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vennilavee · 6 months ago

Text

summary: uncle sukuna at yuuji's little league baseball game

Saturday mornings are meant for sleeping in, having a greasy breakfast while nursing a nasty hangover, and watching television on the couch until his eyes close once more. Saturday mornings are meant for not leaving his apartment, not for an earthquake, not for a building fire, and certainly not for his brother Jin, or his annoying nephew, Yuuji.

He does not care about getting fresh air, as Jin insists. Fresh air is stupid and overrated, what’s wrong with the air in his apartment?

Saturday mornings used to be for sleeping in, having greasy breakfasts while hungover, and rotting on his worn out couch.

Saturday mornings are now meant for Yuuji’s little league baseball games, where Sukuna finds himself in the bleachers with two coffees in his hands with a hat and sunglasses over his eyes.

The nice sunglasses are courtesy of you, a gift for his last birthday. He cleans them thoroughly everyday, not allowing a speck of dust to gather on them.

“Hey,” comes your voice from next to him, slightly out of breath from running up the bleachers, “Did I miss anything?”

“Yuuji hit a home run,” Sukuna says flatly, suppressing his yelp when you pinch his side. Yuuji is seated in the dugout, patiently waiting his turn to bat. Well, as patiently as he can- anyone can see how excited he is to bat and show everyone what his uncle and dad have been practicing with him on Tuesday evenings in his backyard.

The boy, who is very nearly his carbon copy, just learned how to properly hit a ball with his baseball bat. Sukuna scoffs, but if anyone asks, he will not admit that his home screen is a picture of Yuuji in his uniform, smiling so wide that his eyes look like crescents.

Yuuji catches your eye from the stands, nudging his friend and waving to you happily. You can’t help but return and match his smile, his energy infectious even from across the field.

Sukuna absently hands you your coffee, taking care for it not to spill. You lean into his warmth, feeling the chill of the morning air. He touches your index finger for only half a second before pulling away and stashing his free hand in his pocket, as if he’s guilty of something he hasn’t even been accused of.

You roll your eyes fondly.

“Where are Jin and Kaori-san?” you ask, noticing that you both are in this row of bleachers by yourselves.

“Down there with the other loser parents,” Sukuna replies.

“Oh, I’ll go say hi to them-”

“No, don’t. They don’t know I’m here.”

“They… wait what? They don’t know you’re here… to see your nephew play?” you ask incredulously with a laugh. That’s so him. “Whatever. I’m going to say hi to them, you can join me, or stay here in your brooding corner.”

He frowns deeply at you.

“Fine.”

“Kaori-san,” Sukuna says stiffly, barely nodding his head in greeting.

“Sukuna-san,” she replies, “We didn’t know you were coming! We would’ve brought you breakfast if you told us. Maybe we still have leftovers…”

You roll your eyes at Sukuna for the millionth time already.

Kaori gives you a hug before dragging you away to introduce you to the other parents. You throw Sukuna a wary look over your shoulders and he just grins at you as if to say ‘I told you so’.

Truthfully, Sukuna’s Saturday mornings have been spent at Yuuji’s baseball games for the last- is it four? Or five?- weekends in a row. Jin knows nothing about baseball, as his brother claims, and Sukuna has vehement opinions on the uniform.

In fact, he had such vehement opinions on the uniform that he ended up designing the team’s uniforms to something less… vexing to the eyes. The team’s tired coach had no choice after Sukuna voiced his very loud distaste for the uniforms at every practice.

And Yuuji couldn’t get enough of the fact that his favorite uncle customized his team’s uniforms. Yuuji told everyone and anyone, especially his two best friends on the team, Megumi and Nobara. Sukuna never told him to shut up (like he usually would), and you’d always catch him with the tiniest smile on his face when he’d overhear his nephew so happy about it.

The poor coach never stood a chance.

“They’ve been practicing for weeks,” Sukuna grumbles, “None of them can even hit the damn ball to save their lives.”

“They’re just kids, Sukuna,” Jin rolls his eyes, “They’re here to have fun and make friends.”

“The only one who can hit is Yuuji and that’s because I’ve been practicing with him. It’s no thanks to you that he’s decent.”

“Look at them. The coach can’t coach for shit-”

“Why don’t you then?” Jin interrupts, “He plays favorites anyway, and a lot of the parents have been questioning his… abilities. He is a frequent topic of conversation in the groupchat.”

Sukuna is silent for a moment, as if the thought never struck him. Then he scoffs, ignoring his stupid brother and his stupid, lame idea to coach his nephew’s little league baseball team. Really? As if he has nothing better to do on Monday evenings and Saturday mornings.

It seems his legs have a mind of their own as he makes his way to the dugout where the kids and the coach are. Yuuji waves at him happily with sunshine in his eyes. Doesn’t his face hurt from smiling so much?

“Call a time-out, I wanna talk to the kids,” Sukuna demands to the coach.

He turns around and groans when he recognizes Sukuna.

“Not you again-”

“Do you even play baseball? These kids have no form and its been weeks, they can barely hit a ball and don’t know which way they’re running-”

“You know what, I’m tired of you! First, the uniforms, now this? Yeah, forget it, why don’t you just be the coach then? I quit!”

From the dugout, the kids all gasp loudly and the parents in the bleachers whisper amongst themselves. You watch from the stands warily, of course Sukuna had to cause a scene. Well, you suppose, the man has always known how to make a presence.

“Oji-chan, are you gonna be our coach now,” Yuuji asks with wide eyes, identical to his own, “Please, please, please!!”

“Well, I guess you brats don’t have a coach anymore. I promise I won’t quit on you like that loser just did,” Sukuna grins wolfishly and gives Yuuji a high five and the boy immediately runs to tell his teammates about the news.

“Look who it is,” you whistle, “It’s Tokyo’s hottest coach in the riveting sport of little league baseball. Will he overcome all odds? Or will he succumb to the pressure of the league?”

Sukuna throws his hoodie at you half-heartedly as you laugh, wrapping an arm around him as he settles next to you in bed.

“Those brats will win the championship with me as coach, just wait and see,” Sukuna replies, pressing his nose into your hair.

“Baby, it’s an under-ten league. I don’t think they even have championships.”

“I’m still gonna win. And rub it in Gojo’s face.”

“Sure, honey. Whatever you say,” you reply, threading your fingers through his scalp, “Yuuji’s really happy that you’re his new coach. I think he may have cried before leaving the game.”

“That kid cries at anything,” Sukuna says, but you hear the tiniest hint of affection in his voice. You’ve been with him long enough to be able to detect it.

“Maybe one of these days you should take out that old baseball uniform of yours…”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, instead rolling on top of you and closing the distance between you both. He quells your peals of laughter with a searing kiss, his hands wandering under your shirt deviously.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #sukuna #unckuna

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willowsnook · 3 months ago

Note

hi! could i get a scotch with lime in a copper mug? 💞✨

lando norris x mclarenrookie!reader

just shut up and come here

-----------------------------------------------------------------

With Max’s car starting to falter, Lando knew he had a real shot at competing for the WDC. As the season progressed, he’d become the favorite, and it finally felt like his time. There was just one problem: you.

In your rookie year in F1, you were holding third place, just 40 points behind Lando. Exceeding all the team's expectations, you’d proven to be a real competitor — and Lando wasn’t pleased. To him, the strategy should have been obvious: you were supposed to help him beat Max. But you saw it differently. After all, you were only 80 points behind the leader, and Zak and Andrea had decided to let things play out between the two of you, which only heightened the tension.

What started as a friendship had quickly soured after you overtook Lando to win in Hungary. Furious, he stormed into your driver’s room after the podium celebration, his eyes blazing.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, voice sharp.

You didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze. “A clean overtake,” you replied coolly.

“You’re screwing up my chances at the championship!” he seethed, his tone bitter.

"You do realize that I also have a shot at it?" You questioned. "Not my fault that I'm faster than you either."

At that, he got in your face, practically radiating anger. “Just stay out of my way,” he bit out before stalking out of the room.

It was the first of many heated clashes, and even Zak was starting to worry about the tension between his drivers. Things only escalated after your win in Baku, when Lando stood stony-faced on the podium, arms crossed, barely acknowledging the celebration. The media had a field day, and McLaren’s PR department wasn’t happy.

Seeing his growing frustration, your initial resentment slowly turned to concern. His behavior was spiraling, and it seemed no one was willing to address it — except you.

“What’s going on with you?” you demanded one day after a rough qualifying session, pushing open his door to find him pacing.

“What are you talking about?” he snapped, but you didn’t back down.

“You’re being a brat to everyone! It was fine when you were just an asshole to me, but this is getting out of hand.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied venomously.

“If you need someone to talk to, you know McLaren has plenty of resources,” you said softly, trying a different approach.

“I don’t need your help so just fuck off,” he said and you backed off.

That didn’t stop you from giving your own therapist his email, instructing her to email him nonstop until he set up a session. Something must have worked because in the break before Austin, Lando did some press about his struggles with mental health and you heard that he’d bought gifts for the whole garage team as an apology for his behavior.

You two still didn’t really talk but he gave you a head nod now as a hello and there wasn’t much tension between you in front of the media anymore.

Then, on the Thursday before the Austin GP, during your post-free-practice interviews, a reporter brought up Lando.

“Y/N, any thoughts on Helmut’s recent comments?” they asked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I don’t keep track of what everyone’s saying.”

“He claimed that Lando has ‘mental weaknesses’ preventing him from being a real championship contender.”

You stiffened, feeling anger bubble up. “Yeah, interesting,” you started, your PR manager nodding, likely expecting you to stay professional. Too bad for them. “Honestly, he can go fuck off.”

The press buzzed with shock, and your PR manager hurried over, but you went on.

“Red Bull’s looking for anything to distract from their own mess. It’s 2024, and criticizing a driver for being open about mental health is pathetic. We’d all be a little better off if they put him in a nursing home Lando’s one of the most talented drivers out there, so Helmut can shove it. Thanks.”

You walked off, ignoring your PR manager’s frantic scolding.

Later, after the team debrief, you headed to your room, ready to call it a day. But outside your door, you saw Lando waiting, his expression softer than usual.

“Are you okay—?” you began, but he cut you off, stepping forward.

“Just shut up and come here,” he murmured, pulling you into a hug. You rubbed his back as he buried his head against your shoulder, his voice muffled. “I owe you so much. And after what you said today… even more.”

“This stuff is hard, Lando. Sometimes it feels like the whole world’s on our shoulders.” You pulled back to meet his gaze. “I like it better when you’ve got the energy to actually fight me.”

He laughed softly, then hugged you tighter. “Can we… start over? As friends?” he asked, his voice tentative.

You smiled. “Of course — but only after I win the championship.”

He groaned, but his eyes sparkled with humor. “In your dreams, rookie.”

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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thenightwolf51 · 1 year ago

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"Danny was born a Wayne" AU except he's Bruce's grand uncle. The result of a one time drunken affair, shortly before Kenneth Wayne's death, to a young unmarried woman who gave the baby up for adoption.

(Whether the Fenton's, and therefore Amity, were just ahead of their times or the DC timeline is shifted a bit so that DP happens in its cannon era is up to you. Dealers choice, though now that i know about her i just love badass widowed prohibition leader Laura Elizabeth Wayne)

Danny grows up knowing hes adopted and loved by the Fentons but something (dealer's choice) happens and he loses his family and friends (maybe the whole town goes too?). In an attempt to avoid a Dan situation he flees into the Infinite Realm and doesn't stop.

He just wanders, time passes in its weird Realms way, not that Danny truly notices. A protector spirit thats lossed everything it protected. Its a wonder he doesn't fade and he actually might've if it wasn't for his human side.

But its a tug at his core that brings him from his near catatonic wandering. Gone before he can even understand it but enough to shake him back to himself. Enough to know that hes nowhere near ready to go anywhere familiar so he continues on, his wandering no less pointless but at least he's aware again.

What feels like a relatively short time later he gets another tug, and this time he manages to follow it.

He follows it invisibly through a natural portal that drops him somewhere in New Jersey and all the way to a fancy hospital room in the gloomiest city he's ever seen.

In there he sees his half brother Patrick Wayne, though he wont figure out their connection for a few more years, holding little Agatha. She's adorable in her little dress and pigtails and her sweet face causes that familiar tug he recognizes from what must have been six years ago given the girls age.

Then a nurse comes in and hands a little bundle to what must be the mother (whos name i cant find) and Danny takes one look at the little core tugger who brought him here and just melts. Even without knowing yet that this is his last remaining family, his instincts latch on and he vows to protect and care for the Waynes.

And he does.

He finds his forgetful brother's documents and keeps Aggy company when everyone else is busy and soothes baby Thomas so his poor sister-in-law can get some more sleep. He ices fevers and bruised knees and helps on later games of hide and seek.

He very rarely becomes visible and only to the children. His grief over the Fenton's convinces him its better to protect his new family from the shadows.

Danny explores every inch of the manor, including secret passages and an underground cave system. He claims a forgotten room in the back of the attic as his own, which over the years fill up with knickknacks, heirlooms, and pictures of the family. Even a gift or two from Agatha, who hadn't stopped believing in their shadowy guardian like her brother did when Danny felt they were too old to see him without drawing suspicion.

The manor becomes his haunt and he always knows where each family member is within it. And when any guests have some no good intentions.

And when baby Bruce is born tugging at his core and with the bluest little eyes, he welcomes the fussy little thing. And makes sure dear Martha never knows just how fussy baby Bruce really is, otherwise she might've never had a full nights sleep.

Danny blames himself for not being there when Thomas and Martha die, and promises to never leave Bruces side, practically becoming the boy's living shadow. Watching over him as he gets older, secretly aiding him in his training. Danny feels a bit of pride when Bruce takes some inspiration from the old stories Thomas told him of the shadowy Wayne family protector when creating his Batman identity, glad his nephew still remembers him even if he hasn't shown himself since the now young man was six.

Danny continues to protect and care for the family in a variety of ways over the years even as the family grows.

Lightening Alfred's workload, softening Dick's falls, calming Jason's temper both pre and post pit, hiding Tim's coffee when the boy hasn't slept in far too long, providing plenty of shadows and hiding nooks for Cass, helping Damian hide the litter of kittens he found.

And no one seems to know he's there, except maybe Cass and he's pretty sure Alfred has been know since he first started working for the family. No one knows, that is, until Duke Thomas moves in and lookes right at him watching invisibly from the sidelines.

(@omnicrafts @dcxdpdabbles @hdgnj @ailithnight @nelkcats @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 i dont know, the main point of all this is that Danny's been protecting the Wayne family for decades and no one, except maybe Alfred, knew until Duke moved in)

#dpxdc #danny is a Wayne #danny is the wayne family protector spirit #duke can see ghosts #an alternative of this could be the same background but Danny decides to come in as the preCrisis “Uncle Philip” that initially raised Bruc #if so Agatha would definitely vouch for Danny #there's not much on Agatha Wayne but she seems fun

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zorobff · 4 months ago

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dress up. (toji fushiguro x f!reader)

synopsis: in an attempt to make some memories, you come up with the idea of a family costume for this year’s halloween. toji and megumi might need a little convincing, though…

a/n: first fic in like a year and first time writing for my babygirl toji :3

word count: 1.1k

toji carelessly lets himself fall next to you, his sheer body weight causing the couch to jolt slightly. he nods at your phone. “whatcha looking at?”

“just some costumes. halloween’s coming up and—”

a smile creeps up on toji’s face before you can get another word out. “you shoulda asked me first, baby. i got a few good ideas. patient and nurse could work, i love a woman in uniform—my woman in uniform. cop and prisoner, too. would give us a good excuse to finally buy some handcuffs.” he winks.

“sounds like you’ve been thinking about this for a while,” you tease. “but unfortunately, none of those are gonna work.”

toji’s face falls ever so slightly and you have to hold back a laugh at seeing a grown man pout.

“had you let me finish, you’d know i want to do a family costume.”

“baby, c’mon,” he groans, rubbing his face. “i never go all out f’ halloween, you know that.”

you arch a brow. “you seemed eager a few seconds ago.”

he huffs. “that was different.”

“mhm, sure,” you reply, sarcastically. “i don’t mind suggestions, just a little more family friendly and less… porn-y.”

“where’s the fun in that?” he deadpans.

you smack his bicep. “save the roleplaying for later. i mean, just look at how cute these are.”

you hand him your phone and he reluctantly takes it. he’s seen this app before; pinterest, he believes it’s called. his eyes roam over the page for a moment, seeing various families of three dressed in an array of costumes. rock, paper and scissors. ketchup, mustard and a hot dog. fork, knife, and spoon.

he hands you back your phone when he decides he’s seen enough. “baby, those are humiliating.”

“no they’re not! they’re fun.” you snatch the device back, furiously scrolling. “besides, we’re making memories for megumi to look back on when he’s older.”

“have you met the little twerp? he’s practically a 70 year old man in the body of a second grader.” toji shakes his head with a smile. “you sure he’d even wanna do this?”

“we should at least ask him. then he can’t say we never tried.”

toji’s eyes soften; you really were giving this your all. your dedication to making megumi’s childhood a happy and healthy one was something that tugged at his heart strings; especially since toji had never received that kind of affection in his youth. and yet, here was a beautiful woman he was privileged to call his wife trying her best to break that generational curse. he truly was a lucky man.

“megumi!” shouts toji, suddenly determined to make this family costume work. “get in here!”

megumi’s little voice comes back muffled from his upstairs bedroom. “wait, i’m almost done with this level!”

“tch, he’s glued to that damn thing. what’s it called? a switch?” toji shakes his head and mumbles, “should’ve never let you buy it f’ him.”

“don’t be jealous,” you tease. “if you’re good, i’ll get you one for christmas too.”

toji smirks. “actually, i wanted to ask for a special gift this year.”

“oh yeah? what’s that?”

“y’know how megumi’s been askin’ for a sibling—”

you shove his shoulder and he laughs.

toji takes that as his cue to leave and talk to megumi, standing from the couch with an exaggerated groan. (you always made fun of him for it, claiming that it was such an old man thing to do. he always refuted that you knew what you were getting into when you married someone his age.)

he heads upstairs, delivering a firm knock when he reaches megumi’s door. “get out here, kiddo. need to talk to ya real quick.”

he hears a groan then the shuffling of feet. the door swings open and there stands his son, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned. clearly, he wasn’t thrilled about having to pause his game.

“sheesh, kid,” toji huffs. “don’t make that face, starting to look like your old man.”

“what is it, dad?” he sighs in exasperation.

“we’re dressing up for halloween this year. as a family.”

that catches the eight year old off guard. “what? why?”

“for the memories or somethin’.”

“i don’t really wanna…” megumi trails off.

toji scratches the back of his head. “i hear ya. but it’ll make your mom real happy so we’re doin’ it.”

megumi purses his lips. “what’s the costume?”

“i dunno. we can’t seem t’ decide. got any ideas?”

“hmmm… i kinda wanted to be michael meyers this year.”

“it’s a group costume, megumi, ya can’t just— hang on, michael meyers? how the hell do you know about him?”

megumi shrugs as if he doesn’t see the issue. “i saw the movie at uncle shiu’s house once.”

toji makes a mental note to never shiu babysit megumi again. or at the very least, go over what movies a second grader is allowed to watch.

toji clears his throat. “well, forget you ever saw it. and don’t tell your mother, got it?”

megumi nods.

“good. erm… any other ideas?”

there’s a silence between the two.

“c’mon, kid, think of something. if not, your mom’s gonna make us dress up as condiments or silverware or somethin’ stupid.”

megumi groans, clearly fed up with the conversation. “can i just go back to playing super mario bros?”

it’s as if a lightbulb goes off in toji’s mind. “you like those guys?”

megumi nods slowly. “yeah… why?”

“you wanna be one of ‘em for halloween?”

megumi’s face lights up. “really? can i be luigi?”

toji grins, satisfied with his reaction. “don’t see why not.”

“cool! does that mean you’ll be mario?”

his dad chuckles. “guess so.”

“ooh and mom could be princess peach!”

“that’s the, uh… pink one, right?”

megumi giggles at his father’s obliviousness, nodding.

“works out then. i’ll go tell your mama.” he ruffles his son’s tar black hair. “thanks, megs. gonna make her day.”

megumi flashes a toothy grin then retreats back into his room.

when toji returns to the living room with a smug smile and pep in his step, you take notice.

“what’s with you?” you inquire.

“oh, nothin’. just got megumi to agree on a family costume, that’s all.”

you eye your husband with interest. “oh really?”

“you’re welcome, princess. speaking of which, you’re gonna need a pink dress and crown.”

“well, now i’m really curious.”

“you know that little game he likes? the one with the plumber brothers—” before he can even finish, you shoot up from your comfortable position.

“how didn’t i think of that sooner? it’s perfect!”

“megs seemed pretty excited about it too. knew exactly which character he wanted to be and everythin’.”

you nearly melt. “that’s all i wanted. i’ll order the costumes right away.” you lean over to pepper his face in kisses. “thank you so much, toji.”

he grunts, though he’s smiling so hard his scar tilts upwards. “yeah, yeah. how about you thank me with that christmas present i was talkin’ about earlier?”

you pull away from him and grin. “nice try.”

#toji x reader #toji fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n

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noodle-is-unstable · 4 months ago

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SMAU Master List

JJK Characters

Every Tuesday and Thursday

JJK Characters always FT:

Saturo Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Choso, Takuma Ino, Shiu Kong, Uraume, Shoko Ieiri, Mahito, Kenjaku

Swapping bodies with the JJK Characters (Established Relationship)

Asking the JJK Characters the difference between jam and jelly (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters finish a little too fast (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters accidentally(?) send you a nude (Pre Relationship)

You accidentally(?) sent the JJK Characters a nude (Pre Relationship)

The JJK Characters are down bad and booty call you (Pre Relationship)

The day after the JJK Characters booty call you ~ Sexual (Pre Relationship)

The day after the JJK Characters booty called you ~ Sweet (Pre Relationship)

You're down bad and booty call the JJK Characters (Pre Relationship)

The JJK Characters see you with someone else (Pre Relationship)

You see the JJK Characters out with someone else (Pre Relationship)

The JJK Characters after their date (Pre Relationship)

The JJK Characters accidentally confess their feelings (Pre Relationship)

You accidentally confess your feelings for the JJK Characters (Pre Relationship)

Asking the JJK Characters who their friend is (Pre Relationship)

You call the JJK Characters your partner (Pre Relationship)

Asking the JJK Characters to put it in their ass (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters deal with your celiac disease (Established Relationship)

Texting the JJK Characters you Love them for the first time (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters react to you getting injured (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters ask their contact name (Pre Relationship)

You test out pheromone spray on the JJK Characters (Established Relationship)

You get underwear with the JJK Characters name on it (Established Relationship)

Telling the JJK Characters your autistic by being autistic (Pre Relationship)

The JJK Characters comfort you when you have sensory overload (Established Relationship)

Asking the JJK Characters when they fell for you (Established Relationship)

You tell the JJK Characters you're Bisexual (Pre Relationship)

JJK Characters find their gifted toys early (Established Relationship)

JJK Characters see someone staring at your ass (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters let you practice being a nurse on them (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters when you become a curse user (Ended Relationship)

The JJK Characters drunkenly confess to you (Pre Relationship)

JJK Characters comfort you when you're scared (Established Relationship)

You find out the JJK Characters cheated (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters regret cheating (Ended Relationship)

The JJK Characters haven't touched you in a while (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters try to get handsy during a fight (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters help you with chronic pain (Established Relationship)

Trying to set up your JJK Character crush (Pre Relationship)

The JJK Characters deal with your pet cat (Established Relationship)

Shocking the JJK Characters by speaking another language (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters help you with your migraine (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters deal with your stress baking (Established Relationship)

You tell the JJK Characters "I'm gonna touch you" (Established Relationship)

Ranting to the JJK Characters about stupid people (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters react to you being clumsy (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters get loopy after surgery (Established Relationship)

Haunting the JJK Characters place as a prank (Established Relationship)

You beat the JJK Characters in a fight (Pre Relationship)

JJK Characters don't believe you're kidnapped without proof (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters when your obsession food stops being good (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters react to you crafting like crazy (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters friend tries to make you jealous (Established Relationship)

Asking the JJK Characters for tummy rubs (Established Relationship)

Being flustered after kissing the JJK Characters (Early Dating)

The JJK Characters find your stash of goofy photos (Pre Relationship)

You are chaotic and tell the JJK Characters "I'm just a baby" (Established Relationship)

Asking the JJK Characters their body count (Established Relationship)

The JJK Characters threaten your boss (Established Relationship)

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romanteacism · 7 months ago

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Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Night Off

Synopsis: Ser Aemond stumbles upon you during his night off. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond still being stubborn and in denial, ¿infatuation? PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART

After a month as your sworn protector, Aemond was granted a night off— a night of reprieve from your presence that all found lovely and beguiling, but he found as a temptation and a trick. Aemond found himself in a tavern, nursing a cup of wine; he knew not where to go during his nights off, his family having lived in another state, and the scarce other men he considered himself a friend were on duty as knights. So now he sat alone, trying to tune out the noise of the night and tried earnestly not to let his thoughts stray to you.

He knew fully well he could not avoid you, given his station, best he could do was ignore you. To not fall for your lay prey to your attempts of conversation and fictitious concern for his well-being. He found it almost… pitiable the way you tried to speak with him, trying to pry into his life with small and shallow talk— you were always met with his silence. Aemond silently relishes the way your lips would pout when you realize you will earn no reply from him—huffing in frustration, proving his view of you being spoiled and unaccustomed to getting your way true. Aemond stood and tossed a few coins upon the tattered and warped wooden table as his payment and stepped out into the crowded street.

He truly did try not to think of you; you were just someone he was tasked to watch over, but it would seem the thought of you was hunting him. He passed by an elderly woman selling sweets, and he could not help but think of the afternoons you were served various treats that you deemed were your favorites, even offering him some, but Aemond only stood in silence by your side with his gaze planted forward. He then stumbled upon performers who stood upon a stage and attracted a rather large crowd, his mind bringing forth the days when jesters and actors were sent to the castle just for your and some members of the court’s amusement. You laughed gleefully in your seat as you watched their performance. Once, you were rendered into wheezing laughs at one of the jester’s japes, and he could not help but observe the way your eyes practically crinkled into a close and your cheeks and chest flushing red as you clutched your stomach in mirth. Your lips spread into a wide smile that he could only guess made your cheeks hurt.

As the night went on, Aemond realized he had been thinking about nothing but you. He shook his head at his ludicrousy and willed himself to forget your existence, but it would seem that no matter what he did, there was always a reminder of you. From the flowers he spotted, comparing them to the ones you always decorated your chambers with. To the stray felines gathered by an alley, remembering the days you would run down the halls trying to catch a stray kitten inside the castle walls, the feline seemed to disfavor you, and you were stubborn enough to try and change the mind of a cat. You succeeded; the cat is now in your possession and proven to be your new companion. Dressing it up in frill and even gifting it a bejeweled collar, Aemond rolled his eye at the thought of your extravagance.

Aemond turned a corner, and with his mind preoccupied by you, he managed to collide with another. Muttering a ‘watch it’ as the body he collided with only hastenedly ran away. Aemond moved to go about his way, but as he breathed in the air, it smelt oddly familiar. The scent of the person he crashed upon lingered and savored greatly of you. Aemond’s frown severed as he turned to where the stranger ran off. He fastened his steps and saw through the crowds of people a figure cloaked in a velvet hood, a fabric too extravagant and expensive for mere smallfolk. Aemond elbowed his way through the crowds, trying to reach the figure hidden behind a cloak, a sneaking suspicion in him.

When he was an arm’s length away from the stranger, he grabbed the velvet fabric of the hood only to reveal you. Your eyes went wide, and so did Aemond’s, who hastily brought up your cover and pulled you to the side and into a darkened alley. “Ser Aemond, wh—what are you doing here?” You asked in utter shock, not expecting to be caught by one of the most strict guards employed by your father. “What am I doing here? I should be the one to ask such questions, princess,” He hissed, enraged that the only night he had away from you had still led you in his company.

“I—I wanted to see a show…” You trailed, looking away from the furious gaze of your knight, trying not to grow warry that the hold he had on your arm was growing tighter. “There are performers at court— were those not enough?” He questioned and loosened his hold upon your arm as he noticed you trying to hide your discomfort. “I wanted to see a different one,” You said quietly, and Aemond let out a grievous. “You do understand how dangerous it is for you to come here— alone and at night!” Aemond was toeing the line of impertinence as he scolded you, but it would seem he is the only one who could administer a strict rule upon you, everyone else in court too charmed by your being that it had left you unaccountable for your reckless actions.

“Danger never comes to me when I come here,” You mumbled, and Aemond’s eye widened further as he realized that this was a regular occurrence. “Let us go,” He gritted out and urged you to the path towards the castle gates, but you resisted. “I’m already here. Please just let me watch the show, and I’ll head straight back to the castle, I swear!” You pleaded and watched as Ser Aemond shook his head. “Please! I’ve already endangered myself as you say— at least let me attend to what I came for so my attempts may not be futile!” You pleaded further, widening your eyes and placing your hand on his, which was clasped upon your wrist.

Aemond bit his tongue harshly; the show you wish to attend was on the way to the castle gates, and perhaps the two of you could blend into the back and spare a few moments to watch. But Aemond does not believe your behavior should be rewarded by him granting your wants. However, as he saw your eyes wide in a plea, your body dangerously closed against his, and your hand urging and squeezing his own, the stern knight could only reluctantly nod. Trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach as you beamed in triumph before him.

Aemond led the both of you through the crowded streets, trying to get through the crowds as quickly as possible, but you were always distracted. He watched as you would often pause by any person lying or sitting on the ground asking for alms, reaching into your pocket, and giving them a few coins. You did not even hesitate to place it directly into their hands, letting your unmarred skin touch theirs that had been riddled with filth; if it were any other members of the court, they would be repulsed to do such a thing, but you only offered those who were lesser your kind smile. Aemond was perplexed. Was this another ploy?

He wanted to believe that it was an act you did for you to grow more beloved by your subjects, but how could that be when your face was mostly covered by your hood and the darkness did nothing to show who you were? There were no spectators to watch your goodwill, no highborns to attest your actions and report it to the court, so how could it be an act? Aemond staggered as something inside him tried to convince him you were genuine— that even as spoiled and sheltered as you were, there was still a great deal of kindness and sympathy in you.

Aemond stood closely by your side as you stood back and you watched your show. What was supposed to be his night off had brought him back to his duty of watching over you. Aemond assessed the crowd for any threat, placing a hold on your waist and pulling you closer to him whenever someone would stray too close to you. Trying to ignore the fact that his arm was comfortably situated around the curves of your hips and the way your scent engulfed his senses. He flew his gaze downward, watching as pure mirth covered your face, while being entranced by the performers that you did not even bother to grow wary of your surroundings, but why should you? Your protector was there.

When the show had ended, Aemond was quick to pull you towards the way of the keep, but you slipped away from his hold and strayed towards the entertainers. “Princess, we must head back,” He gritted, but you paid him no mind, only acquainting yourself with the actors and offering them an invitation to perform at court. Aemond felt his eye twitch as you exposed yourself, his threatening gaze upon the men who were rendered simple by your presence. “Princess, I implore you that we must return to the castle,” Aemond angrily whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin and his tight hold around your waist.

You sighed and nodded and let him lead you through an alleyway towards the west gate, but you had a different plan to return. “Princess, that is not the way,” Aemond said and pulled you closer to him, his hold almost harsh, afraid to let you slip away from his grasp. “I cannot waltz into the castle gates and let them know of my whereabouts,” You say and turn to your right towards an abandoned alley. Aemond stared at you, perplexed, as you two stood before a stone wall, watching as you pushed upon a specific stone to reveal a passageway. He scoffed, so this is how you escaped your guards.

“Who had the watch? And whose incompetence must answer for your escape?” Aemond hissed as he took a torch in your hands and let you lead the way back into the castle walls. “Escape?” You laughed, “I’m no prisoner, Ser Aemond,” You say, amused, turning towards your knight, who only stared at you, hard-eyed. “I am not jesting here, princess,” He gritted, “Hm, I know, you never are.” You shrugged, a smile still on your lips as you walked away. When you reached your chambers, no guard could be accounted for, and the rage in Aemond only multiplied.

“Good night, Ser Aemond, I thank you for assisting and indulging me tonight. Though I do apologize for ruining your night off,” You curtsied before him and offered a genuine and apologetic smile before disappearing into your chambers, leaving your knight enranged, annoyed, and curiously obscured by how to perceive you.

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mommaudders12 · 21 days ago

Text

Decided to write a second part to the story I wrote yesterday. I'm going to just add the second part to the first to make it one story.

NSFW!

Warnings: breastfeeding both baby and Logan, hanky panky n such, 18+ please!

Liquid Gold

Full story ❤️

You're baby lays soundly asleep in their bassinet beside you, cooing and wiggling in their sleep. Most children who are mutants take a while to show their powers- but not your baby. You smile, watching your baby boys long, fuzz tipped tail swish in his dream, little soft bovine like ears twitching. The father ran as soon as he saw the tail of your son in utero, but you wouldn't change him for the world. Little did you know, you had a hidden mutation of your own- or just took a baby for it to show.

Once you discovered your little one was a mutant, Xavier happily opened his doors to you. He never had anyone besides his x men and students stay at the school, but your little one would be attending the school sooner or later, so might as well come to stay. Little did Charles know that you would be a valuable asset to the team.

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"Mmmmroo!"

"Yes, very good, my sweet boy!"

Your little one rolls across the carpet with his array of toys that had been gifted by the x men. He giggles and shakes a chicken shaped rattle as you rock gently on your rocking chair, pump strapped to your nursing bra. Your little man was quite the eater! He could slam back fourteen ounces easy in one feeding, so your body has learned to keep up. The being said, you are now very much an overproducer. Your breast pump pumps away while you fill up a large bottle (Ororo likes to feed him) as well as a few freezer bags for your stash.

*Knock knock*

Your eyes meet none other then Logan, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Ey, bub. Lil bub."

He wiggles his fingers at your son in the floor. Baby boy giggles and attempts to army crawl towards Logan.

You move your hands over the flange area of your pump to cover the areola you can see through the plastic.

"Oh, evening, Lo!"

You give him a big smile. Logan sees that you are pumping and adverts his eyes by looking up at the ceiling fan.

"Uh... *ehem* I was just talking to Chuck. He wants to have a meeting with you and hank-"

You notice your collecting cup is getting full, so you stop your pump quick to switch cups. Logans eyes advert from the fan down to the cup in your hand.

"The two of them would like... to talk about... your son-"

You grab the large glass jug off your night stand and pour the contents of the cup into it, milk splashing as it fills a third of the way. Logan runs his hand over his sideburns and along the back of his neck. You screw the cup back on and turn the pump to on. Logan can't help but watch your nips being pulled into the neck of the flange, pulling the milk from you wish a psssh psssh psssh pssssh.

"Shit- hank believes you milk may be of- I MEAN SON-"

you look up at Logan and cock an eye at him. Getting a little distracted now, are we? Logan is practically drooling at the thought of your warm milk sitting on the dresser beside you. His animal instincts may be more powerful than he thought. His mutation, while he has animalistic tendencies like having a rut, also makes him have cravings that he never knew he had. The milk in the fridge for cereal doesn't do this to him, why is this got him cranked? His nose twitches as the sweet, sugary scent of the warm milk wafts through the air to his nose. Distraction! He knees down to your son who has finally made his way over to him and picks him up. Little mans little fingers instantly make their way up to logans beard and grabs a handful, squealing at logans response to the abrupt pulling.

"Gah! Easy, bud!- they would like to talk about the findings from his last check up with hank. They believe he is going to be very powerful. He is definitely more human than animal, so he will be able to... talk-"

Your other cup is now full so you unscrew it and dump it into the glass jar, filling up the container over half way. Logan is now visibly drooling. You take notice in this, now realizing why he has been acting so strange- the kitty is thirsty. Your cheeks turn flush at the idea of a grown man wanting to drink your milk. You chuckle to yourself.

"Go get me a cup."

Logan pauses and looks at you with a cocked eyebrow.

"Say what?"

"You heard me, ya big weasel, go get me a cup."

A moment of silence plagues the room before Logan shuffles out of the room still holding your son. He returns with a red solo cup and your son now covered with lipstick marks on his face and a half nibbled strawberry in his grip. He hands the cup to you and continues to talk.

"Hank also tested little mans blood and noticed a new compound in it that he believes may have come from you-"

You unscrew the collection up from your pump and pours the contents into the red solo cup. The milk is what is near the end of your pumping session, so it is rich and full of butter fat. You pull your pump pieces from your bra and set them to the side before handing the freshly pumped cup of milk to Logan. Logans cheeks flush bright red as he stares at the cup for a good five seconds before setting your baby on the floor and taking a seat next to him. He slowly takes the cup from your hand and sniffs, nose visibly twitching as he does so. He glances up at you as to ask permission one last time before bringing his lips to the cup and taking a small sip. All of the pain and sorrows of the day seem to melt away as your warm milk slides down his throat. He let's out a sign before knocking the whole cup back like a drink at the bar. Once his drink is finished, he let's out a gentle sigh and almost hangs his tongue from his mouth, eyes half lidded.

"Good?"

Logan flinches out of his trance to look up at you seeing a wide smirk on your face. He clears his throat and wipes his mouth before standing up and wiping his hands on his shirt as to try to bring back whatever ounce of masculinity he just lost. A heat begins to grow in his stomach and radiate out into his organs and through his extremities. A feeling of comfort, safety, and healing pumps through his veins, taking over what negative feelings were in its way.

"Ho... holy shit..."

You tilt your head to the side as to ask him what was up. Logan scoops your baby up in his arms and hands him to you before grabbing the full glass of your milk in one hand and your arm in the other.

"WERE GOING TO SEE CHUCK-"

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You sway yourself back and forth on the cold metal table in hanks lab as your little boy gently suckles on your breast. The two on you have wires connecting to your forehead and chest area to read any changes to your body. a centrifuge spins your and your sons blood on the table next to you, beakers bubble, and monitors hum while your son is calm as can be eating away. Hank sits feet away, hunched over a high powered magnifier looking at your milk.

"Incredible."

The Beast removes his glasses and wipes them with his pointer finger and thumb to adjust to the new light.

"What I am seeing is, to put it bluntly, your milk is almost the equivalent of logans regenerative mutation."

You snap your head up at the word mutation.

"You're telling me that... I'm a mutant as well? Is that what I'm hearing?"

Hank motions to you silently asking to come closer. You nod, not to worried about him gawking at your breast since he is very professional, and he uses his heels to roll over to you.

"Technically, yes. It is very much possible. Your mutation just never made its appearance until you had him."

He runs his blue thumb gently across your sons hair line, moving his soft sandy hair back away from his horn buds. Little man let's out a soft mrrr and grabs a handful of your shirt, still eating away.

"There is still many more tests that i am able to do if you don't mind. I would like to talk to Charles as well about these findings. You may be a very pertinent member of our team, my dear."

He gives you a wink and scribbles on a notepad, occasionally glancing up at the screen showing the readings from the electrodes attached to you and your son.

-----------------------------------------

"I knew there was something special about you, girl!"

Rogue exclaims as she bounces little man on her knee. He squeals and flaps his little arms, tail swishing as he bounces.

"Heh, I guess so. I was almost done processing that my son is a mutant, now I have this to process as well? My life has taken a complete 180 in a matter of months!"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I wouldn't change it for nothing! We love having you here, sug'! Not just because you brought this little honey bun with you either!"

She pulls your son into a bear hug and he wraps his arms around her forearm, taking her thumb in his mouth and munching on it.

"Pff. Thanks, Anna. I honestly love it here as well. At first it was incredibly nerve wracking. Heck, the first mutant that I ever seen in person, or at least that I think I've seen is my son. His father, as soon as he saw the tail and ears on the ultrasound... he ran... we went to sleep that night and then the next morning he was gone... he packed a suitcase and just..."

You tear up as the memory comes back like a bad dream. Rogue sets your son in your lap and wraps her arms around you in a side hug from the couch.

"Eh, who needs men anyways. You got us now, right, Lo!?"

Logan clambers into the community room, clad in a wife beater and sweatpants and some sneakers.

"Hm?"

He scratches behind his ear then shoves his hands in his pockets.

"I was just sayin' how happy we are that y/n is part of the family!"

"Oh, uh yea... extatic."

A light blush tints his cheeks. Little man sees Logan and gives a big gummy smile, wiggling out of your arms to be sat on the floor. He falls over to his side and wiggle worms his way over to Logan. Logan squats down and patiently waits for him to finally make his way over to him before picking the baby up, giving him a soft toss, and holding him on his hip.

"Come on, Lil bub, let's go raid the fridge. J bet they have blueberries. I wonder who would like some blueberries-"

Baby boy half moo squeals as the two of them make their way to the kitchen.

"Logan is so good with him, isn't he? It seems like every time he sees Lo he lights up! Too bad Logan never raised any of his own kids, he would of been a wonderful father-"

You zone out as you watch Logan open the fridge and hold your son up to it, letting him look through the fridge himself before grabbing the carton of blueberries by himself. Logan chuckles and grabs a drink before setting him on the counter snd opening the carton of berries for your son.

"Girl, you still listening to me, or are you too busy gawkin' at logan?"

You flinch from being pulled out of your trance and snap your head back to look at rogue!

"Ah! Oh, yea sorry just.... keeping an eye on the mini... yea... he would of been great."

--------------------------------------

You sip a cup of coffee as Ororo plays with little man on the floor, making a mini tornado in her hand with the yogurt puffs he is snacking on. He one at a time snags one from the hand tornado and shoves one in his mouth, giggling away.

"Ey, y/n. Chuck told me all about hanks findings. Welcome to the mutant crew."

"Thanks, i guess. Still getting used to it!"

Logan plops down beside you on the couch with his own mega pint of coffee and takes a sip. Little man had just nursed, but your one side is very engorged. You scrunch your nose and run your hand across the top of your breast in attempt to alleviate the pain and discomfort.

"Hey, Ror, would you mind watching him for a bit? I need to take care of some business."

You motion to your chest.

"Go ahead, he is safe with me!"

He snatches the last yogurt puff and shoves it in his mouth before giving a few claps and doing the "all done" hand motion.

"Yeees, handsome boy, all done!"

You kneel next to him, give him a smooch on the forehead, ruffle his hair, then stand up to make your way back to your room. With one last sip of your coffee, you make your way back to your room. Logan watches from the corner of his eye as you walk past him and back the hallway. After a few seconds he silently stands up and makes his way back the hallway as well.

------------------------------

Vrrrr vrrrrrr vrrrrr vrrrrrr

Your pump makes its rhythmic song as it pumps away. You doom scroll on YouTube, watching shorts from your favorite YouTubers as the collection cup quickly fills.

Knock knock

You lift your eyes to see the door slightly agar and two hair tufts sticking out from behind it.

"Logan? You're not very sneaky, I can see you."

With a huff, he opens the door, slides in, and closes the door behind him.

"Need any company?"

He stands with his back against the door waiting for your blessing to let him come in further.

"Sure. Why not. You can help me bag this. I need to fill another beaker with this then I'm gonna probably bag the rest of it. I think hank wants a certain amount in each bag. Since I have such a huge supply in the freezer already, I don't mind giving the rest to the school."

You hand Logan the box with the beaker and fancy sterile bags to Logan and hand him a bottle of hand sanitizer to rub into his hands before touching anything.

"Oh, uh... OK, sure. I don't mind being put to work."

He shoots you a smirk and rubs the sanitizer into his hands.

"Here, fill that beaker for me, please."

You unscrew the collection cup and hand it to him before screwing on an all new cup for sanitary reasons.

Logan lifts the beaker and cup up to eye level to make sure he doesn't spill any of the liquid gold while pouring. The sweet smell of the milk wafts under his nose again, distracting him from the task at hand. He swallow hard, almost visibly shaking as he slowly pours the milk into the beaker. Once he fills the beaker to the line, he sets the beaker on the table beside him. Without thinking, he brings the collection cup to his mouth, licking a wide strip across the rim of the cup to catch any stray drips. The two of you pause for a second and make the most awkward eye contact you have ever fathomed.

"Um.... I don't think I can use that cup for freezing milk this pump anymore-"

"Fuck, I am SO SORRY, I-"

"No, no it's OK! I know the kitty gets thirsty for mama's milk."

You flash a shit eating grin at him, causing him to almost drop the cup on the floor.

"Go ahead, sug', you can have it now. Not like I can use it now anyways."

"I- w... i- uh-"

Logan stumbles over his words before finally clearing his throat, taking in a deep breath and taking a sip. The familiar heat radiates through him yet again as he slowly savors the rich, sweet cream gliding over his tongue and down his throat. He finishes the cup, almost whimpering a he looks at the empty cup in front of him. So pitiful.

"Still thirsty, huh?"

He almost gives you puppy eyes as he looks up from the cup, low key looking rather sad.

"Well damn, Logan."

He clears his throat and goes to stand up, which you stop him from doing by grabbing his wrist.

"I'm sorry, Lo, I didn't mean to pick on ya-"

"No, it's not that its.... I don't know. I really need to go-"

"Stay... please...."

He turns, making solid eye contact for a few seconds before placing his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you from your rocking chair into his lap on the floor, and bringing your lips to his. You wrap your legs around his waste and lock your ankles at his back. Logans free hand runs along your spine as his other hand slinks through your hair. Between quick kisses and nibbles, Logan pulls his unbuttoned flannel off and tosses it to the side, never miss a beat. He gently lowers you to the floor on your back, your legs still wrapped around his waste.

"Oh, you have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this, princess-"

His hands wonder along your stomach and under your shirt.

"Watching you every day with that little boy of yours, having you all to himself- I'm sure he wouldn't mind sharing, eh?"

His hands grab the hem of your shirt and peel it off of you before he dives into your neck, leaving nips and kisses as he goes.

"You have no idea how bad I've wanted to make you mine-"

His hands slink down your sides to the waistband of your leggings, tugging on them trying to push them down. You unhook your legs from behind him and lift your hips up, letting him pull your leggings off. His belt is soon to go as he quickly undoes it, whips it out of the loops and tosses it into the pile of discarded clothes. Using one hand, he peels off his wife beater shirt, panting like a dog feeling like he can't get undressed fast enough.

"Im gonna make you mine, princess."

He lowers himself back onto you and leaves a trail of kisses from your collar bone down to your navel. You lift your arms above your head and close your eyes, soaking in thr feeling of his sideburns and teeth leaving little love bites as he goes. His calloused fingers slip under the lacey hem of your panties and slowly slides them off.

"Pretty in pink, even prettier without them."

He secretly slides your panties into his pocket. Perv.

Logan places a hand next to your head to hold himself up above you as his other hand rubs circles on your clit, drawing little moans and bucks out of you.

"Atta girl, make those pretty noises for me. That's it."

You bring a hand up to your breast and cup it. Logan quickly grabs your hand and raises an eyebrow.

"A-aht, don't get too worked up now, that's my job."

He places your hand back above your head pinning it there before bringing his mouth to your nipple and licking a small circle around your areola.

"Ah- Lo!"

"Easy, mama, I got ya."

He takes your nipple into his mouth and gives a slight suckle, drawing foremilk from it. He almost purrs as he drinks you up.

"Damn. It's even better from the tap!"

You let out a soft chuckle. Logan undoes his jeans and slides them down far enough to release his member, springing from his boxers and hitting his stomach with a thwap. He wipes his hand across your soaked can't and uses your juice to rub over his cock before lining up to your opening. He looks up at you one more time as for a last minute nod of approval, then slides into you very slowly. Jeez, he's big. You let out a whine and close your eyes tight.

"Ssssh shh sh I got ya, you're doing so well."

He takes his time sliding into you until he is bottomed out, waiting to move until your ready. With a sniffle, you buck your hips to tell him you're ready. He lowers himself again over you, elbow proping himself up with one arm and the other to grab a handful of boob meat. As he slowly thrust into you, he brings your nipppe back into his mouth and helps himself to the buffet. The heat from your liquid gold and the feeling of your cunt has him almost in shambles. You wrap your arms around his neck and dig your nails into him, bringing a third feeling of pleasure to him. With every thrust, an ah ah ah ah spills out of you. Not caring if anyone hears. Thr heat builds in your abdomen and you clench down on logans member, making him lift his head up from yoir breast to let out a growl, baring his sharp canines.

"Ah ah- damn, that's hot, Lo- ahah"

He chuckles. Still showing his teeth. He speeds up, giving more forceful but sloppy thrusts getting near his climax as well. Milk rolls down the sides of your breasts as they bounce freely. You can tell he is near the end as he clenches his teeth and lowers his head to your neck, speeding up his pace to an inhuman speed. Without warning, he wraps his arms under your arms into a lock and pushes his hips deep into you, locking you two together as he finishes, flushing his warm seed deep into your womb. The two of you pant in unison, attempting to catch your breath. Logan lifts his head from your neck and touches his forehead to yours. You two give a winded chuckle. Still connected, Logan lifts you back up onto his lap and wraps his arms around you in a hug.

"Mmmmh my girl."

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck with a big sigh.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up, mama."

He stands up, you still latched onto him like a koala, and carries you to the bathroom. He sets you on the toilet seat and starts the shower for you.

"You relax and take a shower. I'll go get our boy from Ororo-"

Our boy? A tear rolls down your cheek as Logan gives you a kiss on the forehead before buttoning his pants and leaving the bathroom.

The past six months have been a doozy for you and your little one. From losing the man you thought was going to be your forever, to having a mutant son, to finding out that your a mutant yourself- now all of that isn't seeming like much now that you have the X men... especially Logan. You slide into the shower and let the hot water run across your chest.

Things are looking up for you and your little one, mama.

Tadaaaa. Hope you enjoyed it!

#breast milk #breastfedbaby #breastfeeding #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine smut

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