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jessilynallendilla · 15 hours ago

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DPXDC BATFAM FIC REC

TITLE/LINK RATING COMPLETED-WORD-COUNT SERIES

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let me know if the links aren't working and feel free to suggest any

& BRUCE

City Of Last Hopes (The Long Homecoming) T

Bruce Wayne became a registered foster parent at the age of twenty when he decided to take in a newly orphaned Dick Grayson. The state of New Jersey and the city of Gotham decided to utilize that fact. Over the years, Bruce has fostered dozens of children, though they were all kept out of the limelight for their own protection. Some he was able to keep in contact with after they moved on from his home. Others, he wasn't. But the ones he worried about the most were the two that should have been his but weren't, were taken away, instead. It's been eleven years since Bruce last saw Jazz and Danny Fenton, and while he's grateful to know they're alive, he dearly wished he'd found them sooner.

All I Am To You Is A Tragedy, Right? M SERIES

Two years ago, Bruce Wayne lost his son, Danny, to one of the Fentons' botched inventions. Return to present day, he's come to another universe to retrieve something from Fenton Works. There, he finds another version of his son, alive and breathing. If Bruce could not keep his son, thanks to their incompetency, why should they keep theirs?

My Best Friend, Danny G

He had been frothing at the mouth to see Bruce take on the Mantle of the Bat that he hadn’t even thought of how he became Batman, at least not realistically. He knew because the comics told him so, but here and now, feeling Bruce’s tears drying on his skin, the warmth of the child’s back as he rested his hand there soothingly, Danny felt his own tears start to gather. He curled himself around Bruce’s slumbering body and cried softly

Finding Solace T

When working on a possible case in Amity Park, Bruce Wayne didn't expect to find a kid that would burrow he's way into his heart. A strange connection built, and before Bruce knew it, he found a new addition to the family. Well before they really needed each other.

Rendezvous T 766 SERIES

a king from another dimension approaches Batman to ask for help. This isn't the weirdest thing Bruce experiences that night.

Wayne's Haunted Mansion M SERIES

Something is wrong. Bruce notices it when he's not alone, but he feels like he is being watched. The bad part? He feels it both as Bruce Wayne and as Batman. Who is watching him? He's determined to find out. He regrets it when finds out that there is another child in his home, but one who is in desperate need of help.

To Fail And To Succeed T 6,940 SERIES

A very tired Bruce Wayne may have revealed to Vicki Vale that he wasn't as dumb as he pretended, so Brucie Wayne needs a stupid business venture to throw money at. What better than two paranormal scientists who swear they can build a portal to the Realm of the Dead? He didn't anticipate the damn thing actually working. And he certainly didn't anticipate watching another child die.

The Absolute Fuckery Caused By One Danny Fenton NR

Jazz got Bruce Wayne to temporarily get care of Danny to prevent anymore attacks from the G.I.W. towards her brother. A few flaws with this plan, Danny doesn't trust adults, rich people, or people who want to adopt him. Which Bruce Wayne technically fits all of. So Danny has come to the conclusion if he is going to be shacked up, mostly against his will, with another Fruitloops, he is going to enjoy himself, and hopefully get himself kicked out in the process.

Found In Gotham G 4,026 SERIES

Months after appearing in Metropolis, a teen with glowing white hair appears exploring Gotham's skyline. He appears to be looking for the city's main vigilante, so Batman approaches him.

Monsters At Your Doorstep T 1,907

Bruce falls into a cave of bats and meets the darkness-- or whatever it is that lives inside it.

Summons NR 17,295

Phantom was next in line for the throne of the Ghost Zone, however, he was still underage. He wouldn't be king for some time, yet when they summon the Ghost King now, someone still has to show up.

Long Live The King (The Ghost King Is Dead) T SERIES

Ghosts are attacking across the nation. The Justice League Dark's supernatural entity contacts either don't know anything or they refuse to talk. The government facilities that the ghosts are targeting refuse to offer any information, rather they are pushing for martial law that allows them to declare war against the attacking ghosts. Bruce's last lead is Jasmine Fenton, daughter of the deceased ecto-biologists Madeleine and Jack Fenton, currently imprisoned in Blackgate.

Oh, My Humanity T 4.466 SERIES

In one timeline, Bruce learns about Phantom's identity as the ghost falls to pieces in his arms. In another, Bruce finds out like this. Bruce copes like he always does: by falling apart at the seams. Otherwise known as: an alternate sequel to oh, the humanity, now with more emotional impact.

Timeline Unraveling T SERIES

Clockwork rescues old Bruce Wayne, Terry and Matt McGinnis, Max Gibson and Dana Tan from a collapsing timeline and brings them safely to Danny, who delivers them to a Gotham decades before most of them were born. Not only is it in the past, but it becomes obvious very quickly that this new past is drastically different. Jason's alive, the Joker's dead, Bruce has another child besides Dick, Tim and Jason, and Bruce actually goes to therapy. It's a lot of adjustment for both the timeline refugees and the people of the new timeline who are helping them.

Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings T SERIES

Stumbling blindly through Gotham's night was not how Danny expected his evening to go -- but to be fair, Vlad injecting him with blood blossom extract was also NOT how he was expecting his evening to go. So it's a night of new surprises, and really Danny just wants to get away from his godfather as soon as possible before the man catches up to him, or before the blood blossom currently coursing through his veins and eating him raw killed him. Vlad is a man that likes to hide in the dark, it's unfortunate for him that Danny's learned to be a thing that hides in there too. From the corner of his unfocused eye he spots a man with horns dripping in shadows, hiding in an alleyway. Danny knows a kindred spirit when he sees one.

Zeus' Dice T SERIES

Two years, almost to the day, after the Great Amity Park Tragedy finds Danny Fenton, orphaned and alone, being handed over to his newest foster parent. But, unlike the others, this foster has a secret that could bring Danny back into the hero business. Because, unlike the others, this foster is a hero himself: He is Batman.

Ghosts Of Gotham T

Gotham has a ghost problem. And it's not the Amity Park kind of ghost problem. While Danny tries his hardest to stay out of the spotlight, his attempts to help the unseen population of Gotham lands him in a world of trouble. Now Bruce Wayne is offering him protection and he could be the only one with the ability to stop a new crime organisation from taking over his new home. OR People are going missing in Gotham and this new kid is keeping secrets. Bruce doesn't like this at all.

Voices That They Left T SERIES

When a new ghostly enemy cost Danny Fenton the lives of his friends and family, he wasn't expecting to get adopted by billionaire Bruce Wayne and move to Gotham. All he needs to do is survive two years until he can go back to live in Amity Park. Something dark is growing in him though, and it's stoking the bitterness and anger that burns inside.

& JASON

The Third Mother NR

For the past year, Jason Todd has been searching for his birth mother. There are three potential suspects for the identity of his mother. The first is an agent by the Israeli Secret Service by the name of Sharmin Rosen. The second is an assassin of world renown working under the name Lady Shiva. The third is revealed to be a false name. Dr. Sheila Haywood died before Jason was even born. When the first two leads turn out to be dead ends, Jason has only one way forward: visit Haywood's only living relative (who isn't off the grid): Her sister, Dr. Maddie Fenton. But the town of Amity Park has its own secrets, and they don't take too kindly to the Bats investigating their home...

Chasing Shadows T

As Bruce Wayne begins to slowly recover from the loss of his son, two separate mysteries open up old wounds. Who is the unknown leaving clues hinting at a return to Gotham, and who is the phantom pretending to be his lost son? Is it just a coincidence they're active in Gotham at the same time? Or are they connected?

Unearthed, Reborn M

24-year-old Danny isn't sure what, exactly, is going on when he stumbles on newly-formed halfa Jay in the Ghost Zone. Unfortunately, Jay can't really remember enough to give him any hints. Oh well, who needs to know their past anyway? This is Gotham; no one cares about your past here. Besides, Jay just got adopted by the weirdest trio of people he's ever met, so he's got more important things to focus on.

Ghosts? As My Therapy Animals? More Likely Than You Think. T 21,463

Jason is minding his own business, picking up strange green glowing goops with eyes, and living his not-very-best life. Meanwhile the Batfamily is tracking down flying dogs, overpowered Metas calling themselves ghosts, and someone is having far too much fun with the boxes around Gotham. But this ain't about them.

"Oh My God, I'm Becoming My Father." T

Dani needs money, there's only so long her human body can last without food, and she lost the credit card Sam gave her when she crash-landed in Gotham city bay. So, she decides she's going to go the one guy she knows exists in Gotham that will help a kid down on their luck no questions asked - Red Hood. Last time she'd seen Danny, he'd told her that there were rumours the Red Hood was undead, so he was the safest option for a halfa like her. So, she needed to ask *THE* undead crime lord of Gotham for a job. She didn't mean to get accidentally adopted.

The King Who Reigns Supreme NR

Jason rage episodes are getting worse and the family (reluctantly) calls for help. Enter Ghost King, and whatever is up with Todd is a lot more than what anyone could imagine.

Dead Men Walking T 2,406

“A knight who answers his King’s call is no interloper.”

“Do you answer my call, Jason Todd?” The Ghost King asks.

Before Those Hands Pulled Me From The Earth NR 1,626

When there was an alert about a disturbance at Jason’s grave the whole family was on edge. Or Danny wakes up in a coffin unable to faze out of it in his panic but Jason and Bruce come to his rescue

Reaper of Heroes (DC Edition) NR 1,527 SERIES

Once crowned Ghost King, Danny also gains another responsibility: reaping the souls of fallen heroes. After all, who better to collect them than a former hero like himself?

Dig Three Graves In Apartment 31c M 15,951 SERIES

Danny Fenton has the role of Willis Todd. There are lots of things to regret about Jason's upbringing

You're Not Yourself When Your Hangry G 2,803

Sam dragged Danny to a gala in Gotham while he is exhausted from fighting his rogues and school. He at least got to smuggle a thermos full of ectoplasm in, otherwise he'd have fallen asleep by now. Meanwhile, Tim and Jason are both just as sleep deprived as Danny, but still being forced to go to the gala. Some time after arriving Tim hides and a seething Jason goes looking for him and finds a tired guy that looks like Tim who offers him a thermos.

Batman's Cape T

Pain and Fear reverberate throughout the Infinate Realms, a wail rips through the air coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Meanwhile on a table the Realms King to be lay strapped down, that which should not be seen lay bare to the eyes of the two in the room. Those he once called parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton held tools that seemed to shift to the macabre glowing all the while. He made a mistake, he let his guard down. They touched it. TheytouchedithelphelphelpneedsafesafesafesafesafeDamiDamiDamiDamiDamiSafeDamisafe. Jason knew something was wrong, did he have to admit it? No. He had been hearing screems -young screams- reverberating through what sure felt like his whole body along with pain searing just under his skin for a week now on and off. Plus it didn't' help that once the pain was gone the pit would take over and he would wake up like 2 states to the west with questionably clean hands and no recolection on how he got there.

̶G̶o̶o̶d̶ Bad Habits Run In The Family T

̶J̶a̶s̶o̶n̶ Red Hood found a teenager hurt in an alleyway, and since he was responsible for the people in his domain, he decided to take him back somewhere safe to take care of him. Turns out, there was a lot more to the situation than Red Hood would have ever anticipated. Including the fact that he was growing attached to the brat who seemed stubborn about everything.

Law Of Retribution NR SERIES

Jason starts seeing ghosts. Danny comes back to the Living Realm for the first time since the Incident. He has a job offer for Red Hood

Baby Ghosts And Baby Birds T

This is based off the prompt I made about both Danny and Jason being considered baby ghosts and being kidnapped by the other ghosts because Gotham is a bad place for babies.

Spelunking T 7,341 SERIES

Danny had just arrived at Wayne Manor after losing everything and convincing Vlad to take a break from trying to mold the kid to be his perfect son. Now, Danny needs to figure out where to hide his souvenir (*soup*venir?) from the Nasty Burger explosion. While doing so, he accidentally finds the BatCave and an unmasked Red Hood. What was it with billionaires and keeping creepy underground lairs

Zombie Prince Of The Infinite Realms T

On a business trip to Gotham, Danny Fenton, CEO of FentonWorks (and King of the Infinite Realms), feels something shift in the fabric of reality. Now he’s got an undead teenager whose soul doesn’t really fit his body anymore, and a whole lot of questions about why the local psychiatric facility functions as a “prison.”

The Moon Will Sing A Song (I Love You Like The Sun) T SERIES

Sometimes, grief has a gravity that you never get up from. And sometimes, it leaves little boys that have glass in their teeth and punch-scraped skin with a hole in their heart and blood in their mouth, and a five-year long taste for vengeance over the murder of their best friend. Gotham claws its way into the hearts of its children and leaves oil-smears on their souls. For Danny Fenton, he is no different and no better than the rest of his fellow kids of Crime Alley. It doesn't matter if he's been gone since he was eleven. Blood has always been a part of him, so it's second nature for him to pick up his fists and turn them into claws. It's how he's been taught, after all. And what he's also been taught, is that arrogance kills, and the Joker has been long since due for his fill. What's one more death in Gotham's long list of them?

Cradled In The Wails Of A King T 1,491 SERIES

Danny is in a meeting when he hears the screams of one of his most trusted guard. Dame Gotham screams until she can't anymore at the grave of a small bird, gone too soon. He checks for a soul and finds something... not so much alive as it is something dead being reanimated. Someone else to protect.

Starling T

The kid went by ‘Danny Phantom’. The next file was where things got interesting. A corrupted blood sample analysis had been put through the computers, where, along with a whole host of unknown compounds and chemicals, the DNA pinged several alleles, proving a potential familial match. A familial match to him. It couldn’t be. No. But the boy looked to be about the same age as he would have been, after Jason did a quick bit of mental math. But the hair and eyes were all wrong.

Throwdown Therapy T 30,714 SERIES

Danny hears about a suspicious character lurking around Gotham and decides to befriend him. Jason has no thoughts on the matter — mostly, he has a lot of empty-head green-tinged rage on the matter. This is less of a roadblock than one might expect. Danny thinks he might even be able to help the guy, if he can form enough of a relationship to bring up sensitive topics like "you have the ghostly equivalent of lead poisoning or maybe rabies, we aren't quite sure".

Adoption Isn’t All It’s Cracked Up To Be T

Danny Phantom escapes the Doctors Fenton and flees to Gotham with Jazz. Unfortunately, he looks quite similar to a certain Jason Todd around the time of his death. Kidnapped by the Batfam in a case of mistaken identity, Danny doesn’t have a good time and Jazz becomes a supervillain to look for him.

On Any Given Day (We’re Only Six Feet Away) T

Jason follows a lead and finds something he wasn’t looking for.

All I Have Is Freeze Dried Peaches and Packet Ramen, And They Aren’t Very Good But They’re all I Have T 1,804 SERIES

Everything’s gone. And it’s all Danny’s fault. Or; Jason finds a teenager on a roof. He assumes the worst. Or, or; Danny’s always preferred being up high. And he wasn’t so surprised by the vigilante that stopped by. He seems nice. Danny’s sorry for scaring him

Brain Fried NR

Danny flees the GIW, crashing into a dumpster in Gotham. Lucky for him, another being like him finds him. Jason is confused and concerned.

And I Turn Away To See, Proud Evening Star T

Jason finds Danny in an alleyway soaking wet and definitely having a fever and well, adoption genes be kicking in

The Song Of Healing T 2,001

What if it wasn't the waters of the Lazarus Pitt alone that could heal someone back from the dead- but the creatures that lurk within them? Takes place during Jason's revival from the Lazarus Pitts.

To Join The Whispers T 55,630 SERIES

A contact for the Batfamily passed along a rumor that the League of Assassins were investigating a small city called Amity Park. The old man and Tim managed to find evidence of unusual paranormal activity in the town. While they weren’t entirely certain it wasn’t just infested with metas, the locals believed the entities that haunted, for lack of a better word, the town were actual ghosts. If there was one thing Ra’s al Ghul didn’t need to get his grubby hands on, it was ghosts. That’s probably why Jason was doing this. He had the unfortunate luck to experience both death and resurrection in a way he’d never recommend to anyone else.

At The Core T

Danny finds a guy with a rather sickly core. Thankfully Frostbite can probably help with that. Meanwhile the Bat family is worried that Jason has been missing for so long.

Shrodinger’s Bat NR SERIES

The dirt wasn’t packed in as it should be. These graves looked fresh. Danny counted five graves like this in total. One was an outlier. Two were suspicious. But five? Someone was digging up graves in Gotham. Nearly one year after the death of Jason Todd, Danny Fenton arrives in Gotham City. Why is he there? And what does it have to do with Jason?

Surprise Halloween Haunting NR 2,153

Halloween month was always chaotic for Gotham, especially for the vigilantes guarding her. This Halloween, the Batboys found themselves captured by some cult as sacrifices. Stripped off their gears and chained to a chair, Jason found himself calling for help to get out of the situation.

& TIM

Ghosts, Legacies, And CPS T

Vlad's latest and greatest plan to get Danny to be his son is really, stupidly simple. He called CPS. Annoyingly effective, Jazz began to look into their family tree to see where else Danny could go. One surprise set of adoption paperwork later reveals an entire lineage none of the Fentons knew about: the Drakes, of which the only surviving member is their cousin, Tim Drake. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so reaching out to Tim Drake it is. Meanwhile, Tim has been dealing with Ra’s al Ghul and a new player on the board calling themself Plasmius. Plasmius is a ghost, and a weird phone call reveals Tim’s related to ghost hunters, so obviously taking Danny in while CPS investigates the Fentons is just the logical outcome. Sure Bruce butts in, but ultimately, it just looks like an easy avenue for intel. Tim just didn’t anticipate Phantom and the utter chaos that comes with him.

Bones And All T

Tim comes along with Sebastian and some of his friends to a supposed haunted forest on the edge of Gotham City. They quickly find out that the forest really is haunted, but Tim comes to learn there's a much larger mystery at hand. And that mystery has to do with one Danny Fenton.

Teenage Hero Burnout #56: Interview With A Ghost. NR 2,881

Red Robin, (aka Tim Drake) decides to host a YouTube series called "Teenage Hero Burnout'' after he makes a video by the same name talking about his own experiences. He interviews current and past heroes who started their careers as teens and discuss how it shaped their outlook on heroing & life in general.

Phantom In Gotham T

On the run from his parents, Danny Fenton hides out in Gotham and catches the attention of the Bat family. Mishap after mishap leads Danny to be living on the streets, and going to school with Tim drake, who wonders about the strange new kid in his class. Will Bruce try to adopt another blue eyed black haired kid? Who knows!

Not Everyone Who Can Fight Is A Vigilante Or A Criminal G 1,461 SERIES

After a rogue attack on Gotham University’s campus, Danny and Tim notice that they both have impressive fighting skills. Danny suspects that Tim is a mob, while Tim suspects Danny is secretly a League of Shadows member and intends to gather more information about Danny.

I Can Feel My Body Shiver NR

Clockwork gives him a choice: to stay in the Infinite Realms and begin his term as the High King or to start fresh in another dimension. Danny is now living in Gotham. Even if it's definitely not a resort, he hopes he can finally find some peace so far from Amity Park. Of course, one particular bird notices him. Unfortunately, he isn't the only one.

A Bats Eye View NR 4,736 SERIES

Tims perspective from umm im an ambasador.

A Chill In The Batcave T

The Spirit of Gotham knows two things for sure… one, The Ghost King needed protection while he recovered and was able to form outside of his core. Two, The Dark Knight and his children were the best people to protect anything. So of course, she hides Danny’s core in the Batcave. Chaos and haunting ensues. Tim Drake is almost half certain that he didn’t used to hallucinate this much, even if he hasn’t slept in three days. And he was almost one hundred percent sure that they hadn’t gained another sibling while he was sleeping.

You're Gonna Be Sooo Haunted T

Tim Drake (aka red robin) accidentally "kills" a civilian while on patrol. Danny Fenton was not expecting to fall off a roof, but being the bored teen he was, decided it would be a great idea to mess with Gotham's vigilantes for a while.

TWINcognito Mode T 23,369

Danny, High King of the Infinite Realms, has been tricked into inhabiting the brainwashed and soulless clone of Tim Drake-Wayne. Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Industries and Red Robin, found a clone of himself that fought against Ra's brainwashing enough to request help. So Tim and Danny, upon both being cognizant enough to be on the same wavelength, looked at each other and decided hey; it's a free twin. Now how do we make that everyone elses problem?

A Successful Sacrifice T 3,065

Tim as Red Robin was killed when being sacrificed to summon Danny who was forced into his body

Serotonin M 3,388 SERIES

After his Accident, Danny had been prescribed antidepressants. He... might not have taken them. It hadn't been a problem until Bruce found out about them. Tim feels the aftermath more keenly than he'd cared to admit.

The Haunting Of Drake Manor T SERIES

Timothy Drake, son of amateur archaeologists, comes into possession of an antique oil lamp. It's plain enough, despite it's historic value— and it takes nothing at all to figure out how to light it. Alone on his birthday and left alone with a flame, Tim makes a wish. Desiree wakes up in the corpse of a human woman.

Creation Both Haunted And Holy G 11,449 SERIES

After looking into a new tourist family in Gotham, Tim finds himself in unexpected situation. Or, the Fenton's visit Gotham and try to build a ghost portal. It goes as well as you think it would.

A Little Overshadowing Never Hurt Anyone T SERIES

Danny gets kidnapped by the Batfam and seeks a way out, a little overshadowing never hurt anyone, right?

& ALFRED

Life Assurance T 7,206

Danny has inherited all contracts made with Pariah Dark but doesn’t know it until he finds himself pulling a bullet out of Bruce Wayne. In which Danny now has to negotiate with a old man over a life assurance policy he purchased.

Glimpse Of A Lifetime G

After years of working for the Waynes, age is finally catching up with the butler. Alfred mind seems to be elsewhere, and he begins to forget important things. Bruce refuses to accept that and seeks every possible solution. When he is about to give up he stumbles with an ancient legend: The Yeti

A Comet’s Flare NR 1,582

When Alfred hears a knock on the Manor doors, he thinks nothing of it. Bruce is still at WE for a little longer and the children of the manor at school, so he opens the heavy doors to tell the guest as such and take a message. Alfred could not tell you what it was that made his mouth dry out and his steps falter. But he could tell you with certainty that it had something to do with the way he did not gasp or feel his heart stutter in his chest. Instead, Alfred feels a wave of melancholy wash over him and steps aside to gesture the man in. “Would you like some tea, sir?” Perhaps this was a conversation that needed tea. He’d been putting it off for so long now.

Of Children And Tea Parties G 5,792 SERIES

Alfred Pennyworth is grateful that the Wayne family wasn't murdered. He is very willing to work with Bruce to lure their savior into a warm and safe home. But does the silent child want to come?

They Might Be Giants G 4,397

Alfred Pennyworth receives a phone call and is given custody over his recently orphaned nephew Danny Fenton.

Rock In The Churning Sea G

Alfred is a constant, in the mansion. That’s a given. A staple of life, a steady rock, there whenever he’s needed. What few know, however, is just how much of a constant he actually is in that mansion. For there’s only few who know he’s died.

Hold Down The (Blanket) Fort G 1,062 SERIES

Alfred finds his grandson awake later than he ought to be. Danny has a sweet reason why.

How To Adopt, The Bruce Wayne Way By Alfred Pennyworth G 1,879

Step One, Find a child. Step Two...

& DICK

Flying Grason And Circus Gothica G 4,934

There's a new circus in town and the batfam surprise Dick by taking him to go see it. He wants to enjoy it, really he does. It's just that, he can't shake the feeling that the boy on the tightrope isn't performing willingly

Here Lies Daniel James Fenton NR 4,284 SERIES

"You killed a man…" Danny twisted his mouth in distaste; that statement wasn't quite right.

"My Friend killed a man." He got the same tight-lipped smile with dead eyes as before.

"You killed a man." This statement was punctuated with a sharp nod as if the man had solved a tricky problem.

Phoenix Down T SERIES

Danny is Dick's son. Neither take it very well, when they find out.

The Firstborn Son T 7,500

Danny Phantom, a somewhat established ruler of the Ghost Zone, has unwittingly acquired a baby. And. Well. He can't exactly keep it in Pariah's Keep. He's no parent, not to mention the huge problem of how the air and sky destabilize human cellular structure. It would be convenient to have the baby's other parent take care of it... assuming that the man is entirely innocent of the plan to sell their offspring for immortality. There has to be a way to prove that the man is safer than the home the baby comes from. ...But the man has his own ward. Hm. Danny can exploit this. What's an assessment without a little test?

The Haunting Habit Of Adoption G 4,073

Dick Grayson is Bruce Wayne's newest foster kid, and he is determined to convince Batman to let him be a vigilante. An unexpected visit from estranged son Damian and his surprise guest gives him the chance to change his mind.

Loli-Kolinaki T

Danny doesn't remember much before he was adopted. But he remembers the Drop. God, he's beginning to remember the drop. Or, where Danny knew Desiree far, far better than before.

Bludhaven's Ghost T

After he fails to save his family and friends in the nasty burger explosion, Danny Fenton runs from Amity to prevent his inevitable future. He finds himself in Bludhaven.

Grave Promises T 53,882

Danny Fenton had nowhere to go and no one he could turn to without putting them in danger. Except, perhaps, the hero who'd cared for, respected, and trained Danny for all too short a time. Dick Grayson had never told anyone he'd once been trapped in the Ghost Zone. He'd also never forgotten the promise he'd made sure to get from Danny Phantom. Jason didn’t know what was going on but he was really very pissed that there was another kid with a y-shaped scar on their chest and eyes that feel like frozen reflections of home. Thankfully, there were suddenly several new targets for his rage and Dick seemed rather more inclined to join Jason than stop him.

There’s Blood In The Water T

Danny, injured from a reveal gone horribly wrong, leaves Amity Park. Nightwing finds a kid bleeding out in an alley.

Myosotis T SERIES

In which the one-and-only Danny Phantom gets amnesia, a new city to protect, some other vigilante friends, and a slightly-overprotective father figure. Nightwing gets premature gray hairs

What Makes A Home (And Other Thoughts From Fever Dreams) T

Dick finds a strange scene on patrol one night; the small form of dying girl huddled in a corner and covered in Lazuras Pit green. He and his family work together to try and save her, but her consciousness dwindles to less and less each day and the time spent awake only provides more questions. Will they work out the mystery surrounding their new guest or will she be forced to say goodbye forever in a unfamiliar bed, surrounded by strangers?

& DAMIAN

Robin's Egg T

While out on nightly patrol, Robin finds a very injured Danny Phantom who is about to be forced back into his core. Now that the ghost boy is entirely defenseless, how is Damien going to protect the core from others? And even harder... how is going to keep Phantom's existence unknown to his family?

When The Ghost King Moves To Gotham City T

Danny is taking a break from being Ghost King 24/7 so he moves to Gotham to help some ghosts and go sightseeing. However, he is now helping a little Bird spread their wings.

Wait A Second T 18,844 SERIES

Danny gets mistaken for Damian at the mall, shenanigans ensue. Meanwhile Damian gets mistaken for Danny at the mall, chaos ensues.

I'd Punch People For You Any Day Of The Week, As Long As You Keep Bringing Those Cookies And Little Baggies Of Fruit Leather And Roll-Ups, Because I Have No Will-Power When It Comes Sugar T SERIES

Danny punches some kid for Damian. Damian approves of this new development. Bruce is tired and worried AND suspicious. Not a great combination. Dan just wants people to stop picking on his younger brother/younger self/past self/it's complicated.

How To Acquire A Ghost T 1,916

Damian jokes he has a new pet. Danny might have a new home.

Danny Kidnaps Damian (Not Actually) T

Danny doesn't like being summoned, especially by the league of assassins. Those guys suck. If you're going to summon an all powerful entity at least do it right. A sandwich or something would be nice. He still wouldn't do their bidding anyway but it's the thought that counts. The one time he mentioned this to the league they offered him a child. Well. If they're offering Danny's gonna get the kid out of there. I mean really. Who in their right mind would offer him a child without laying out parameters. It was insulting really.

FENTONS MEET THE WAYNES

Vacation Crashers T 91,237 SERIES

Batman crashes in the wilderness following up a lead in a recent case. Meanwhile the Fenton family was having a camping trip to celebrate Jazz's last year as a "kid", but considering who suggested the location, it spelt disaster. Now Danny and Jazz have to survive an onslaught of ghosts, take care of an injured Batman, and while worrying about their parents.

Family Bonding And Other Perilous Pursuits G

It started with Casper High failing to fail, resulting in winning the Thomas & Martha Wayne contest despite their best efforts not to, causing them to spend the summer as interns in Gotham. According to Danny, the miserable expirence ended after he spent the whole summer getting kidnapped because the average Gothomite was blind and couldn't tell apart a sixteen from a thirteen year old which went to it's logical extreme of him putting the Joker on life support after the clown stabbed Damian Wayne and his whole class nearly getting adopted by the Red Hood after they somehow took out the Russian mafia. According to the birth certificate Bruce found, this was still very much the beginning and why oh why did he always get surprise relationships?! And no he was not panicking, shut up dear children. The only one not freaking out is Damian who is eager to finally have a blood family member(s?) he doesn't have to worry about trying to kill him or usurp his place as the blood son.

Going Rogue! G

The Fentons visit Gotham for a spot of summer research. It goes about as well as you'd expect...

The City Never Makes Us Beg G 2,661

The Nightingales appear in the Bowery one day in the summer. There had been no moving truck, no arduous trips carrying boxes and furniture up the five flights of stairs to their apartment, no picking up keys from the super. There hadn’t been any paperwork done either, for that matter. They had simply appeared, fully settled into an apartment that had been empty for three years. The Nightingales moved to the Bowery one day in the summer. Hauling up furniture and boxes the five stories of steps to their apartment. The one they'd been lucky to get thanks to a mistake that hadn't been caught until it was too late. A broken family, trying to put the pieces back together after hardship, keep their heads down, get through the days. Same as anyone else this side of the city. There was no reason to pay much attention, save perhaps Jason's interest in tall women with red hair that looked like they could throw him across the street. The Nightingales were a normal family. Gotham made sure of it.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #batman #long post #fic rec

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veilkeeper · 2 days ago

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Act 3 Emmrichmance: Lich Edition

alt title: if you're really determined, "'til death do us part" is only a suggestion

okay so, after the point of no return some pretty major stuff happens in the romances. @/crossdressingdeath and i talked in DMs about how, as far as we can tell, all the romances have some sort of unfinished business going into the endgame. in the lucanismance, it's him cutting rook off from saying they love him, in the davrinmance it's a discussion about davrin's fear that one of them is going to die just as he's starting to imagine a future with them, and with emmrich it's The Argument™—which as i've discussed before, is emmrich and rook having an argument about his insecurities. in the lich path, which is what i'm specifically talking about here, the argument is about his concern that rook is going to die at some point, and his fear that he's going to mourn them forever. the argument is left unresolved after some pretty intense back and forth, where rook calls him out on pushing his insecurities and fears onto them, and they have to shelve it to head to tearstone island.

to their credit, they do try to apologize to each other. in banter on tearstone island, emmrich very clearly regrets starting an argument, but he and rook both agree that now isn't really a good time and that they'll talk when they get home.

and then rook almost dies in front of him and gets thrown into fade jail by solas.

uh oh!!!!

if this isn't the manifestation of all his fears, i don't know what is. for all intents and purposes, he has lost rook. he's sure they're alive—trapped in a prison meant to hold gods, but alive—and since he's a lich i have every confidence that there was not a moment of rest in the weeks it took to rescue rook. he's their fade expert, he's the best equipped to find them, and he has to, because otherwise the last real conversation they had was an argument he never got to apologize for, and he will have to live with that guilt for an eternity.

i really have to wonder if he ever would have been able to bring himself to stop looking for them.

and while i suspect their LI is always the first person to grab a hold of rook to pull them out of the fade, there's a special flavour to it when you're romancing emmrich. knowing that he's probably been obsessively trying to find them. the sheer relief he must have felt when he reached through the veil and was able to get his hands on them, to pull them through and back into the safety of his arms.

he fusses after them, too. urgently takes them to the necropolis so he can be extra certain that solas' hold on them is gone. he was afraid he'd lost them forever, he wasn't going to waste any time making sure they'd be as safe as they can be. and then he says,

"I will let nothing part us again, my love. Not in this nor any other world."

he says it in that level, sort of indulgent tone that he says all his romance lines in, so it's easy to mistake this as him being poetically hyperbolic. but let us never forget that this is the man with such a profound fear of death that he became a lich just to avoid it. he's not half as well-adjusted as he likes to appear.

when he says he would not let anything separate him and rook again, he is dead fucking serious.

he wakes them up at dawn despite knowing they need rest—i think, perhaps, because it isn't enough to have them breathing in front of him. that he needs to hear their voice and have the reassurance that they're here and real and alive and safe, at least right now. "I would move the world before I lost you again," he says later. before the final fight against elgar'nan, he says he has plans he wants to make with rook, that he wants to be safe and at home with them. if i had to guess, i'd say rook i going to have a hard time shaking him for anything after this. i don't think he's ever going to feel like they're safe if he can't see them. hope you like a clingy boyfriend.

it's kind of the inevitable conclusion to what i was talking about in my sacrifice of souls meta—none of his actual fears around death and dying and grieving have been addressed, and he's hitched his wagon to immortality. and now that he's almost lost rook, he's realized that there is no universe where he's ever going to survive losing them for real.

and we all know the lengths he's willing to go to stay alive.

#am i saying that emmrich is going to find a way to make rook immortal? well lets just say im not NOT saying that.#emmrich would become a fucking *husk* if rook died and you cant change my mind ♥#word count: 784 #emmrich #emmrichmance #dav #dav spoilers #dragon age #dragon age spoilers #veilguard #veilguard spoilers #mine #da meta #my meta #emmrook #emmrich x rook

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maxdibert · 21 hours ago

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Look who's back, I hope this isn't bothering you, but my friend really thinks that suffering violence doesn't justify being a violent person and I really need to talk to someone about Severus.

Not long ago I asked my mother with exactly these words “if a person grew up amid violence and only suffered violence, is it abnormal for them to be violent?”.

And she said: Not always, it depends from person to person. Some will be different from the experiences and environment they lived in, while others will not. But the chances of a child who has suffered violence also being violent is 98%.

And it made me think about how people see Severus as an exception and not a statistic. And, for some reason, they make it a competition of traumas and belittle his suffering because he is not a perfect victim who swallows his spite, forgives those who hurt him and pretends that everything is fine when it is not.

Experiencing violence doesn’t justify being violent, but it can explain it. There’s a substantial difference between justification and understanding. The reason why someone is the way they are doesn’t mean that behavior is acceptable, but it helps to understand their character. This is essential if you’re working with that person professionally, for example.

That said, this has many nuances because experiencing violence is just one of many factors that can lead to antisocial behavior. If violence occurs in isolation and the victim has resources and support, the likelihood of them developing violent behaviors is significantly lower. For example, take an average bullying victim. They may have suffered a lot at school, but that’s just one part of their life. What if they had a group of friends outside school? What if they had a stable relationship with their parents? And if none of that happened, what if they found a safe space with people who respected and valued them when they went to university? The environment is crucial both for healing trauma and for the development (or prevention) of problematic behaviors. The problem for victims of violence, in terms of their cognitive development, isn’t so much the violence itself but the resources and tools they have to heal afterward. And healing requires many factors.

Severus represents the case of a victim of violence who suffered it not just in one environment but in all of them. As a child, he experienced abuse at home, and as a teenager, he was bullied at school. He comes from an environment where he has no tools to cope with that violence because he grew up extremely poor, and his parents were participants in the abuse. The abuse continues at school, where bullies make his life hell, and once again, the adults around him not only fail to intervene but either force him to keep quiet or even reward his abusers (James being made Head Boy, for instance). He grows up in an environment where violence is normalized, and the adults in his life constantly justify or validate it. The only people who accept him are the Death Eaters, who are themselves a highly violent group. Everything around him during the most crucial stages of his cognitive development fosters not just a normalization of violence but a justification of it.

When he leaves the Death Eaters, instead of finding an understanding environment where he can start fresh, discover himself, build friendships, and maybe construct a new life, he is trapped in the same school that was a nightmare for him, with no tools or ecosystem that might allow him to heal or attempt to overcome his trauma. Dumbledore doesn’t help; he treats Severus like a soldier, trapping him in that violent cycle with his role as a double agent and feeding his guilt precisely to make him more effective for his plans. Severus isn’t a colleague; he’s a tool.

In my opinion, if he had been able to escape all of that, focus on his own life, and build something for himself, yet still remained violent, then his behavior would be absolutely inexcusable. He would have had opportunities. He would have had the chance to choose to change but refused to do so. However, a person with Severus’s past, environment, and position had no opportunity to change because he lacked the space or means to do so. No one offered him a hand. He was alone, he had nothing, and when someone finally gave him something, it was only to imprison him in the cage of his demons and use him for their own ends. He couldn’t escape from that.

It doesn’t make sense to blame someone for being resentful when their entire life has revolved around an endless cycle of suffering. People like that never end well.

#and i met a lot of people like him in my life #even worse #severus snape #pro severus snape #pro snape #severus snape defense #severus snape fandom #snapedom #severus snape meta #severus snape headcanons #harry potter #harry potter meta #hp meta

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tklpilled · 3 days ago

Text

ship in a bottle

with all the time idia spends on his computer, it should come as no surprise that he has plenty of things on there that he’d…rather not be shared. he has folders of (totally legally) downloaded animes, his collection both impressive and highly embarrassing. he even has them nicely organised, into categories like “super underrated, binge when sad. or when happy”, and “terrible ending, can’t have shit in twisted wonderland”. he’s had to tinker with the storage a few times to make it all fit while still running smoothly.

then, of course, his games, dating sims and gachas and horror on occasion. he’s played just about every game anyone’s ever heard of, and then some.

even so, all of that isn’t even close to the worst on there. plenty of people watch anime and play those types of games, after all, and the fact that he likes them isn’t any kind of secret. he doesn’t have anything bad on there, exactly, just things that he’d rather die a slow and agonising death than let anyone else see.

like that one thing—

“idia-san.” azul’s voice breaks him from his trance. idia snaps his head up, blinking a couple times. the board sits on the table, displaying a half-finished word game. “it’s your turn.”

“o-oh, yeah.” idia scans the board in search of azul’s most recent play. he has some odd letters, but he’ll probably be able to make it work—

he freezes.

of course that’s the word azul put down.

he stares at it for a moment too long, hoping that maybe he’d misread it, but the letters don’t change. five of the tiles, in a neat row. does azul know? no, he can’t. it’s just a coincidence. it has to be.

azul speaks up. “idia-san?” he asks again, tilting his head, expression laced with concern. “are you alright? you seem rather flushed.”

“fine!” idia chokes out, squeakier than he’d like. he grabs some letters from his tile rack, spelling out jukebox using previously placed u and o tiles. he doesn’t think azul believes him; hell, not a person in the world would believe such a blatant lie. still, the topic is dropped and the game continues.

—

“you should tell him, nii-san!” ortho encourages, bouncing on his feet. “you want to, so go for it!”

idia buries his face in his arms, his normally freezing cold room feeling way warmer than usual. “i can't! there's no way he'll ever think i'm cool!”

he regrets even telling ortho about his problem. he should have seen this coming. doesn't ortho get it? azul is basically idia's only friend. sevens, he'd rather confess his stupid crush on azul over this, and he can’t begin to express how badly he doesn’t want to do that. literally anything but this.

“azul ashengrotto-san isn’t the type of person to judge his friends,” says ortho. “plus, his affection levels towards you are higher than usual.”

“th-that’s the problem!” idia squeaks. “being friends with him is already, like, a secret route! if he finds out, it's totally game over for me!”

azul is nice enough, but idia is still nothing short of terrified of what his reaction would be. maybe he'd distance himself, stop coming to club meetings or quit entirely. avoid idia at every chance. tell the whole school what a fucking weirdo the ignihyde housewarden is.

(and yet at the same time, idia can't stop imagining, fantasising about the other possibility. that azul would just laugh, reassure him in his own azul-like way, move closer and closer until his hands are on idia's waist, nimble fingers instantly drawn to all of his most sensitive spots. the mere idea, however unrealistic, fills his stomach with butterflies. he can't think about it too long before he feels likes he's about to explode.)

ortho sighs. “it’s worth considering, at least.”

idia mumbles into his sleeves, “yeah, whatever.”

he’s not going to consider it for a second.

—

idia can't get the conversation out of his head. he can't really tell azul about it, can he? no. no way. out of the question, one hundred percent. possible reaction aside, there’s no way idia would even be able to say it.

azul clears his throat and idia snaps his head up.

“apologies,” he says, straightening his glasses. “there was a bit of a tickle in my throat, you see.”

great. of course that’s the phrasing he uses. idia nods, trying his best to act casual, even though the word makes him so panicky and now he can’t stop thinking about it. the way azul says it, how easily it falls from his mouth. he’s obsessed. he hates it.

there's silence in the empty room as azul moves his piece a few spaces. then, as idia is trying to figure out his next move, azul speaks.

“you're blushing again.”

huh?! well, his face does feel rather warm. his eyes widen and he stammers, pulling his hood over his head to hide the pastel pink tips of his hair. ugh. humiliating.

“um, s-sorry. it’s my turn, right—?”

“tell me,” interrupts azul, tilting his head. idia glances over at him, but doesn’t quite look up. “why do you get so flustered when i mention tickling?”

fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck.

it’s idia’s own fault, really. he’s the idiot for thinking azul hadn’t noticed. he was just so desperate, hoping that his most well-guarded secret would stay a secret—from the boy he likes, especially. he must have gotten careless at some point.

he realises azul is still watching him. idia coughs weakly, looking anywhere else. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about! it’s def just some sort of bug, i’m totally fine…!” he’s talking too fast, too high pitched. it’s not a believable excuse at all.

there’s something dancing in azul's eyes; amusement? excitement? “is that so? then, please,” he gestures towards idia, “explain why your face has gone so red.”

“eh?!” idia hides his face with his hands, peeking out between his fingers after a moment. “j-just…drop it, please…”

and, to his disappointment, azul listens.

—

at least, in a way. he doesn’t mention it outright, but every interaction with him from then on is a constant reminder to idia that he knows (some of it, at least), and he’s not above using it against him.

azul begins to bring up the word as casually but as often as he can, and sevens, why are there so many damn phrases that use it? he jabs idia’s side when he spaces out, squeezes his knee under the table, pinches at his waist when he walks past. each touch is brief, and it only leaves idia craving more.

he can’t take it.

“stop teasing me!” he gets the courage to blurt out over a game of chess one day. he can already feel the warmth creeping under his skin.

azul stares for a moment, and in that instant idia has a sudden feeling of impending doom.

and then azul laughs.

he doubles over, pushing the board away from him as he holds a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. he laughs like idia’s just told him some sort of joke, and idia wants to be annoyed by it, but the sight is just too cute. screw his stupid feelings.

when azul is done laughing, he looks back up at idia. “i'm surprised,” he admits. “i didn't think you'd say anything this soon.”

idia crosses his arms, glaring. his face could easily be on fire and he wouldn't know the difference. he can't say anything. he doesn't know what to say.

azul straightens the frames of his glasses, still smiling. “so, idia-san,” he starts, “what do you want?”

he must be dreaming. idia feels like he’s going to throw up, in some sort of excited way. is this not what he’s been wanting? what he’s been thinking about for ages?

this can't be real.

it takes a while to find his voice. “please,” he whispers. “i want you to t-tickle me.”

and azul…

…stays silent.

idia’s words linger in the air, neither of them moving an inch. idia stares a hole into the table, his hands trembling as he clenches them.

azul isn’t saying anything. he’s not doing anything. shit, he’s never going to want to talk to idia again, he thinks idia is some sort of freak—

idia stands up suddenly, preparing to run, but azul’s hand grabs his wrist before he can move. idia, finally, locks eyes with him.

“okay,” azul says, smiling so genuinely in a way idia has never seen before. “i'll tickle you.”

and idia stops thinking altogether.

azul guides him to the ground, lays him on the floor of the classroom and hovers over him, practically straddling him. their position in the end would surely give anyone who walked in the wrong idea; but then again, maybe that assumption wouldn't be too far off.

“okay?” azul asks once they're settled, tilting his head. he's waiting for idia's go-ahead—as if he would say no.

idia can't find the words in him, so he merely nods.

he flinches almost violently when azul's fingers meet his stomach, both because his hands are cold and he knows what's coming. he gasps in a breath of air, but it doesn't matter. the moment nails begin to drag across his skin, he falls apart. he couldn't keep from laughing if he tried.

“az-azuhul-shi! wait, plehease, please…!” he doesn't even know what he's begging for. he doesn't want it to stop, but he doesn't think he could handle any more.

azul giggles, a light sound that barely carries over the sound of idia's desperation. “please? is this not what you've been waiting for? make up your mind.”

idia can't remember ever laughing this hard. he doesn't even remember the last time he was properly tickled, if it ever happened at all. he didn't know his body could even be this sensitive; it's overwhelming, any attempt at a coherent thought being instantly washed away.

yet at the same time, it's euphoric. he can't deny that he loves this, even as azul manages to find the spots that make him practically scream. it's such a relief that all the classrooms are soundproofed.

“please,” he begs, “dohon’t stohohop!”

#tklfics #twst #twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #idia shroud #azuide #idiazul #tickle fic

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ray935sworld · 1 day ago

Text

Valentino Rossi's academy of supernatural rider (Chapter 20: Not just empty threats)

TW: mention of suicide, violence, threats and death

Vale was walking through the corridors. He didn’t ask where he had to go. He knew it in an instant. He didn’t even question who he was so sure to find his way in a place he had never been before. He knew where to go and how to get there without being noticed.

And he didn’t hesitate as he pushed the door away. He heard a dark knock as the door hit the wall. It sounded violent. He didn’t care. He couldn’t. He just didn’t had it left in him.

All he felt was pain. He felt hate. He felt fear. He felt the bussing feeling of loneliness in his head showing him that his brother was almost gone. Only his wolf remained. He hated that feeling. He wanted to rip his head open and destroy it himself.

26 year were too short of a time to stop being able to have Luca close. And all he wanted was to hug his baby brother. He wanted to hold him close, give him a kiss on the forehead and tell him that everything would be fine. He wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter who said what about him, because he would never be alone. He would always be by his side, even if the world was against him. Noone could separate them.

Vale wanted to comfort Luca, like he had done so many times ever since the young boy had been born. He wanted to hold him close and protect him from the world. He wanted to dry his tears and distract.

But he couldn’t and as he stared inside the room, he saw the reason right there.

Alex sat up straight, taken aback by the sound. He immediately froze on the spot as he looked up. He felt his mouth hang open and his eyes widen. He was the last person he had expected. He hadn’t expected anyone. Maybe Luca. But he never thought he would see him right now.

There was a lot to say after all and he really didn’t had the strength to say it now. He just didn’t want to deal with him now.

But here he was.

He took a deep breath, ready to say something. He wasn’t even sure what he’d say. He wanted to explain. He

wanted to say they should step outside to give Marc some peace and quiet.

Marc was sleeping. He didn’t want to wake him up right now. He was still weak. Alex hoped the Italian would at least have the heart to leave Marc out of this for now while Dani stayed there to make sure the new werewolf didn’t do anything stupid.

Well and then there was this werewolf issue they had to deal with. So lots of conversations, Alex didn’t want to have.

But why now?

This whole situation seemed to only be getting worst and Alex started to wonder if fate was currently laughing at him with all the different turns his life had taking in the course of 4 days.

He took a deep breath, ready to ask Rossi to leave Marc out of this but he didn’t. He couldn’t. The pure rage on Vales face was enough to silence him.

It was such a raw expression. His eyes cold. His pupils were smaller than usual. He pulled his lips up revealing teeth clearly too sharp to be human. If it hadn’t been for Dani’s explanation that both brothers were werewolf, he would question that.

Rossi was angry. That surely couldn’t be good. The only reasonable explanation would be Luca. Alex assumed he had called him and explained everything that happened.

Luca must have mentioned Marc’s injury, the change, their fight… And for some reason that was enough for the retired rider to just show up.

So where was he?

Had he left him alone again but this time with an angry Vale? It somehow felt like another betray. Like Luca was throwing Alex to the wolf. To Rossi.

“YOU!” the Italian hissed loudly. “You fucking bastard-!” before someone could do anything, Vale was already next to Alex, grabbing him at the neck of his shirt. He pulled him up and pressed him against a wall. His hands were on his collar. He used all his force to press him against the wall.

It was inhuman strength.

“What the fuck have you asshole done to my brother? What have you done to him?” He almost screamed. He pressed Alex against the wall who could help but let out a sound of pain. The cold stones were pressed against his spine.

Vales eyes were wide and crazy. He looked like he was about to lose his mind.

“Vale, calm down!” Dani had gotten up just as quickly. His hand went towards Vales, trying to ease the grip around the shirt of the young man. “Calm down?!” he spit back. The disgust was clear in his voice as his hands reached for Alex jaw.

Violently. He pulled his face up. He pressed the back of his head against the wall. It was a lot. Alex wanted to scream but he felt like any sound would just make this worst.

“I am this close to bite out his vocal cord and fucking swallow it and you’re telling me to calm down?!”

Alex whined. He was afraid. He was so fucking afraid because he believed Vale. He was serious about hurting him. He was already conflicting physical pain and his level of anger was so high he definitely could be able to. And he didn’t know how Vale being a werewolf affected this all.

He wanted to cry. He felt weak. Like a child. He was helpless and he didn’t understand what was even going on. He wanted to be protected and his first thought was Luca. Luca always said he would always protect him. Against everyone and everything.

So where was he? Why was he letting him down? Again?

But Dani was there and he didn’t care about Vale’s strength. Dani was ready to defend Alex against everything and everyone. Alex was his little brother just as much so he took the Italians attack personal.

“Yes I do!” The Spaniard replied, forcefully ripping his hands of the boy. “Because right now you are acting like a stubborn 5 year old that is angry because his best friend talks to someone else. You are a grown man, get a fucking hold of yourself and act like it!” Dani screamed.

Screaming was for the calm man unusual but he would not accept Vale speaking to Alex like that.

Vale slightly turned to him. His murderous glance now directed at the other retired rider. “Careful, Pedrosa. I am much stronger than you are” he said, letting his teeth flash in the artificial light.

Jorge looked from his husband to his former teammate. He would get in between them in a heartbeat if Dani was in real danger. But right now it were just threats and no real risk. And he knew that his husband could handle Vale better than anyone else. Especially like this.

“Try your luck, Wolfie. I am not scared of you.” He replied coldly. He took a step towards him, looking up at him. He pressed him slightly away, giving Alex the chance to make a run. Quickly, he dogged away and fled to the other side of the room, where Jorge put a protective arm around him.

He pulled him close, feeling him shiver for a moment. He wanted to kill him right there and then just for scaring Alex. They wouldn’t let anyone threaten their boys.

“You are just angry because your little brother is in a relationship with someone you don’t like.” Dani said in the meantime. “And I know the Marquez family aren’t on top of your preferred in law list, but Luca and Alex are a great couple. They… It is complicated at the moment but every couple has their fights. I’m sure they’ll-“

“Oh shut the fuck up! You think I care that he is fucking my baby brother right now when he-“ “Baby brother?” Jorge interrupted, his arms crossed in front his chest. They wouldn’t be easy for any of them. “We are talking about a grown ass man. He’s closer to 30 than to 20. Fucking act like it.”

Vale used the moment to give his ex-teammate a look of ‘shut the fuck up’ before he replied with a stern “Baby brother. Still. And he will always be. Asshole.”

“Hold up…” Alex said, after having found the trust in his voice again. “If… If this is not about me and Luca dating- “ He just decided to go along with this version as he had no interest in explaining his dating and moral dilemma to the angry brother of his boyfriend or potential ex-boyfriend. “Then what the fuck is this about?”

Vale went from completely ignoring him to staring at him in disbelief. The look on his face was priceless. He was taken aback by that. The shock or surprise seemed to cover his hate for a moment. Obviously, it had been clear to him that whatever was going on, should be well known to Alex.

“You – You don’t know, do you? You have no idea what you done to him?” There a laugh at the end of his sentence, but it only made him look insane. Not happy. Or relived. It was an insane laugh, like he could believe what was going on.

“What I did to him?” Alex repeated and now he was the one that felt close to insanity. He tried to go over everything in his head. What had he done? He remembered everything and for a second the hurt came back and he just wanted to cry and disappear. But he didn’t. Marc was back. He was save. There was no reason to break down again.

He pulled himself back up. Marc was alive. Luca was who knows where after their fight.

“You have no idea what went down here the last days” he stated, his voice slightly shivering. He was so close to just scream and let all the emotions he gathered during the last days out. But he wouldn’t give Rossi the satisfaction of knowing that he got to him.

“So don’t you dare fucking judge me.” He was proud of himself for standing his ground. He felt Valentino look him up and down. It was a judgy look. He looked angry and just as Alex was about to call it a win for him, the Italian responded “You really are an as arrogant asshole as your fucking brother” and the other froze on the spot. Because what is that even supposed to mean?

“Okay, Vale, that’s enough” Dani said annoyed. “If you’re just hear to insult Alex, just fucking leave.”

“Trust me, I will. I would love to do nothing else but leave but before I can do that, I need to know what this cunt did to my brother that he lost his mind!” “Lost his mind? Are you delusional?” Alex scoffed. This was starting to get ridiculous. There was no sense in his words.

“We had a fight. Okay? Yes, I said some mean things after he tried to murder my brother. Sorry that I have emotions!” he said, his gaze not leaving Vale. Alex was fed up. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be with Marc, who was still sound asleep, unaware of the events in his surroundings. He wanted to be with Luca and talk everything through. He wanted his boyfriend back. He wanted the relationship back he had a few days ago when everything was good.

Rossi however was not on the list of people who he wanted to deal with.

“But fucking hell” the younger Marquez took a deep breath as he continued. “He is an adult. I am sure he can handle some insult and being yelled at without you playing bodyguard or whatever the fuck you’re currently trying to do.”

“You really have no idea what you did”

Alex was really close to just throw a book at him for his cryptic statements.

“Valentino, I…” he sighed. For a moment he actually considered just calling security and throwing him out. He was very close but he assumed it would just complicate things further. This particular Italian really wasn’t known for being able to handle rejection well. “Luca and I –A lot has happened, okay? You can’t blame me for saying things I shouldn’t have said in anger. You’re the expert in that, after all” “Oh fuck off, Marquez”

He had no hesitation so he just replied with “How many times have you said that, hoping to end an argument” “Careful with your words, fucker” And Alex scoffed at that. That boy was done. He almost lost his brother. The love of his life had lied to him for years. And now he had to deal with Marc being a werewolf and a fucking Italian with anger issues and attitude problems.

“No.” he said, deciding enough is enough. He didn’t act rational. There was no justification for it. So he refused to put up with it. “You come here, in my brother hospital room and attack me. You have the audacity to physically attack me, threaten me and scream at me cause I had a fight with your brother? Grow the fuck up. Luca is an adult. This isn’t pre-school so I am pretty sure he can handle some insults and yelling in a tense situation.”

“What you called being yelled at, caused him so much pain that he has lost his human side which basically equals death for a werewolf”

But that however, seemed like a good reason for Vales behaviour.

Alex brain stopped for a moment. He took the words in. He repeated them again and again. He tried to make sense of them. He tried to connect them with a meaning in his head. Luca lost his human side? Because of him? Which could kill him?

Luca could die? Because of him?

He felt like he couldn’t breath as he understood it. Losing Luca? No. No, please not.

A shiver ran down his spin. Yes. He had cursed at Luca. He had wanted to throw him to hell. He wanted him to disappear so he never had to see him again and deal with whatever remained between them. He only wanted to hate him.

But that was when he thought that he had actively wanted to hurt his brother. Now he learned the truth. Now he knew that whatever he did wasn’t out of spite or hate or to actually bring harm to Marc. It didn’t made the situation easier. It made it worst actually but now he had to deal with it.

“Wait what?” he asked quietly and as he saw how the tension left Rossi’s shoulders, he realized he was just as exhausted as he was from worrying about his brother. Alex saw the hurt in Vale’s eyes the same way Vale saw the fear in Alex’s eyes. There was shock and fear and disbelieve.

“He has lost you” he said, anger still lingering in his voice. It sounded like an accusation. Like he had blood dripping from his hands. Like he was really responsible that Luca might be… Somehow… No longer here.

It sounded ridiculous. But so did the existence of werewolves. Or his brother getting healed in minutes from a fatal injury. So nothing sounded impossible to him right now. “And as much as I hate to admit it” he continued as Alex looked up again. ”Luca loves you. Desperately. You’re his soulmate and he lost you. That… It can drive a werewolf in insanity to lose their soulmate. And if a werewolf goes insane, there is no human left to be saved.”

Too much. There was too much information. And too less at the same time. There were too many worlds that hold too much meaning he didn’t understood. He wanted to ask 1000 question but he feared to hear the answer. He was scared to learn what it really meant.

“I don’t understand.”

Vale sighed. He looked at him. There was pain and pity in his gaze. He wasn’t sure for who it was.

“The pain of thinking he lost you” he explained. His voice sounded on edge. “for whatever reason or in whatever way, was so painful that his wolf took control” Alex wanted to scream and cry. Nothing made sense. This wasn’t right. It didn’t sound like Luca. A part of him was still yelling that Luca was human. But he knew he wasn’t. “Vale, you’re making no sense”

“We balance human and wolf side. But if something happens that’s dangerous, sad or enraging, we lose this balance. The side that can deal better with it, takes control. And sometimes – when the pain is really bad, we lose the connection to the other part of ourself”

He stepped closer. Anger returned to his eyes. All the explanation seemed to shake him up again. Alex swallowed hardly. Whatever followed wasn’t good.

“And whatever you said to him was enough to hurt him so much that his subconsciousness decided that he wasn’t able to deal with it as a human. He pushed him back and locked him out his own had. So right now, my brother is a wolf, hiding somewhere in the woods and refuses to change back.”

“But he can just change back! Let human Luca take control again, push the wolf or whatever away!” he threw back. His mind refused to accept that he might lose Luca. It wasn’t on the table. He had to hold onto that. “He can’t!” Vale yelled back, his anger lurking through again. He stared at him with hate. His face twitched. He was losing control. He looked like a wild animal.

“I lost my brother. Don’t you understand? Are you such an asshole that you don’t understand?” He took a few steps towards him. “Luca is basically killing himself because of you! And what did he do?! Tell me what he did to deserve this? What did my baby brother – MY BROTHER – DO THAT HE DESERVES TO DIE?!”

Tears were shimmering in his eyes. They hit Alex like a tones of bricks. Vale was worried. He wasn’t angry at him. He didn’t hate him for being in a relationship with Luca. And this had nothing to do with Marc either. This was just about them. This was just an older brother worried that he might lose his younger brother, a boy he saw grow up since he was a baby.

It was a brother worrying for a brother.

Alex understood that. Especially after the last days. But now he was somehow responsible for that.

“I… I am sorry” he admitted. Because he was. He had no idea. This wasn’t meant to happen. He was angry but actually losing Luca? No. He refused to. “Oh fuck off. That wont bring my baby back.”

“Vale, that’s enough.” Dani said, taking back more control over the situation at the sight of a devastated Alex. He had seen enough. He had heard enough. Vale wasn’t himself anymore and he was just using the younger one to inflict emotional pain.

“What do you want him to do? Right now. What can we do to help Luca? There has to be a way. Surely you know how to get Luca back? Cause those accusation don’t help anyone”

“Oh they do. They so do… ” He stepped closer to Alex and whispered in a dangerous tone. “If my brother dies, I won’t kill you-“ “Vale shut up” Dani exclaimed. He was ready to punch the werewolf again. “No. Let me speak, Pedrosa or I’ll make sushi out of your husband”

He was being too serious not to take him serious. “So… Alex…” He turned back to him. Slowly. Like a predator, torturing his pray, knowing there was no escape. He took his time. Because he could.

“Like I said before I got so rudely interrupted… I won’t kill you. Don’t worry.” A grin, filled with hate spread over his face. “Instead I will make sure that you know exactly how I feel. I am going to make your life such a hell that you’re going to kill yourself. I will destroy everything and everyone you love-“

He knew he should hold back, but it just escaped his mouth. “You’re gonna kill Marc?” he asked anxiously. “No… That’d be to painless. He will live – for now. Instead I will make him go insane. He will be the monster you saw in Luca but now in reality and it will be so much worse than anything you could imagine. I’ll make sure of that.”

Alex flinched. Going after his brother?

“You see… Marc once told me, back in 2014 that he would do anything to keep you safe. Really sweet actually… You’re very close. But the thing is… So are Luca and I. And I would also do anything to keep him safe. But I would also do anything to revenge him.”

Alex couldn’t breathe.

“If my brother goes insane, it seems like an appropriate payback to turn your brother into an actual monster. A real, feral werewolf with no ability to change back. Luca changed him, didn’t he? So he has not learn how to take control yet. So... No control. No holding back… He’d be a wild animal, still hurt from the change, angry and confused cause he’d have no idea what’s going on. Do you understand? All the primal urges and instincts would be there. But much more aggressive and no natural fear.”

The way he said it, made so much sense to Alex that he was sure he would cry. “How would you feel seeing him like that? Because of something you did?” Marc? Like that? No. No, he had to do something. He had to stop that. He had to prevent this.

“He wouldn’t even recognize you. All he’d see is a source of danger. He’d attack everything and everyone blindly. Even you… Maybe I even get him to kill you.” He laughed slightly and the insanity was written all over his face. He spoke slowly. There was no rush in his voice. Every word was a dagger that he used to slowly kill Alex.

“Oh imagine that… He changes back – And yes I can force that, very violent, very hurtful and harmful – and he’s all alone. He doesn’t understand what happened to him. Or where he is. But there is blood on his hands. He looks down and sees a familiar face – if you’re still recognizable that is. Maybe he doesn’t leave enough of you in one piece that even he’d be unable to recognize the boy he spent his whole life with…”

Not even Jorge was able to recognize Vale as he spoke like that. But it had never been about Luca.

“Marc would think he just killed a random person and he returns, searching for you only to slowly realize that you’re not coming back. Maybe he wonders if that stranger was closer to him than he though. Maybe he spends his whole life questioning if you were that poor soul whose life he ended that violently or if you ran away when you found out what your big brother has become.”

Dani just stood there frozen. There was nothing he could do to stop Vale, as it would endanger them even more to anger an emotionally hurt werewolf. He wanted to pull Alex away and prevent him from listing. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t save Alex and Vale still continued.

“Or he leaves your face more or less alone. You’re staring up at him as he looks down. Still looking up to the golden boy. Right? Older brothers… You kids always look up to them. But even in death? Would you still look up to him if he tears your heart out your chest? Would you forgive him? Cause it wouldn’t be his fault… Right?”

Poison. His words felt like poison.

“But now your body is laying to his feet, bleeding out. You’re completely covered in your own blood. Cold or warm? What would be worst? And the taste of your flesh and blood would still be lingering in his mouth after he tore you apart. It probably would never leave him alone. He would spent the rest of his life knowing how his baby brother tastes… Tell me, Alex… What would do you think that would do to your beloved brother?”

#motogp rpf #motogp #VR's academy of spn riders #rays writing #UPS #SORRYY

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rip-headphones-users · 3 days ago

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Updates to this list #1:

Missing textures-

Kasper DOES have the ability to fuck with/remove textures, but was not previously aware before infected entered his mind. (Conversely Unpleasant is able to replace/add textures onto things that already have texture, being a literal texture and all)

Removing the texture of an object messes with it’s collision/boundary.

Players/npcs are damaged by the way their bodies clip through an object (imagine you go to touch a block of concrete and your hand just… slides through. Now imagine your nerves feel like they’ve been coated in menthol (mint) when you do this)

Occasional exposure causes the body to go pink, repeated/extended exposure will cause someone to become textureless entirely.

This does not effect Infected/Kasper

If he focuses hard enough, kasper/infected could learn how to manipulate the actual placement and look of the texture of other players/object models properly. (unlikely. He is ADHD manifest), but he can still target specific objects and change them at will.

Kasper/Infected will rapidly replace/get rid of the texture of objects nearby in moments of high stress, including those on himself.

Kasper could technically use the messed up collision boundaries to walk on walls, this discovery would be purely on accident.

Kasper could also potentially use this to clip out of bounds completely. This takes a LOT of focus though, and he can bring other people (with even more focus)

Infected specific-

Infected lucid dreams like CRAZY (when he manages to sleep)

Lived in windows vista/ref

Regularly microwaves grapes

Infected has NO rizz. Sometimes it horseshoe’s back around to being incredible rizz though.

If Kasper knew infected would be this bitchless he wouldn’t have emailed him to take over his brain.

Infected itself is a furry, kasper is not.

Infected has a “irl things to do” bucketlist since its possessing Kasper

Partynoob thinks infected is more fun than Kasper, but occasionally finds themselves wishing he were more chill again.

With infected controlling the frontal lobe, folly has a more difficult time tracking down Kasper specifically.

While it can’t transfer hosts now, infected adopts the same gender identity as whoever is actively hosting it. On it’s own though, infected uses all pronouns, especially neos expressed through coding languages.

Infected “not knowing” who Kasper is is purely a playful front. It frequently comes off as mocking or malicious, especially towards Lampert, who knows about this.

Kasper specific-

Kasper usually sits on the balcony of his apartment to smoke weed.

Had one of those COMICALLY long name/description tags when he went to roblox highschool

“Kasper/Hot/Gamer/Chill/Rich/Lone Wolf/Mysterious/Popular/Alpha/Builderman Is My Dad/Likes Cats/Single/Will Swear Word At U”

He often feeds the stray cats around the elevator, hoping that they’ll eventually gather in his apartment, since he misses having animals around.

Kasper is a fan of homestuck, and therefore has beef with the furry fandom.

While he didn’t think it would work, Kasper “received” infected as a chainmail virus with the intention of it fully taking over his body and mind, but didn’t give it enough time to scrape through his files in order to imitate him to its best ability

Kasper has learned that he is the worlds worst backseat gamer since infected showed up.

While the website infected was found on was obscure as is, Kasper has since made sure to delete the email itself that infected him when it was his turn to use the body so that nobody else could read the original email by accident.

Kasper has a “things to do before this thing kills us both” bucketlist

Kasper will rarely speak as himself or take control outside of his apartment, infected will usually do whatever he feels like with little to no rebuttal from him.

This excludes conversations with Lampert, where kasper finds himself desperate for conversation with him, resulting in a runny nose/nosebleed from the internal “its my turn to talk to the lamp” argument.

Whenever Folly does manage to find Kasper, they are able to communicate almost perfectly through the dream realm.

Non-specific/both

He will regularly try to kill Unpleasant, but due to it’s bizarre properties, unpleasant cant be killed permanently/respawns the next day.

Has to be tripsitted very carefully so that he either doesn’t clip into the floor by accident or he doesn’t cause the textures to go haywire.

Has managed to gmod ragdoll himself all the way across splitsville (split found this hilarious)

Kasper would shoplift intentionally while infected now shoplifts unintentionally (doesn’t know he has to pay)

Idk how I didn’t put this in the OG post but UnpleasantGradient is Kasper’s Step-Sibling/Step-Thing/Step-Gradient. He frequently tries to deny any relation.

Unpleasant and Infected are pretty much forced to live in the same apartment.

My Headcannons for how Infected and Kasper operate

Buckle up, this is a long post. Thinking about how characters function in relation to the world around them is basically a hobby of mine, so expect more. (I have others planned for both lampert and unpleasant at the very least)

(Not ship related) (angst heavy sorry)

Kasper’s infection is a brain-rooted/cognito-hazardous parasite

He got it after purposely ignoring a chainmail curse, both as a sort of “fuck around and find out” as well as an outright form of self-harm/self-sabotage.

The parasite is the one that primarily controls all the conscious actions of infected, while kasper now acts sub-consciously.

Its less of a split-mind situation and more of a Venom + Eddie or Gundam + Pilot situation they are two separate entities inhabiting the same body that can potentially act at the same time

It just so happens that the parasite from the chainmail curse has VERY similar desires/interests/motivations to Kasper, so the host/parasite relationship actually works very well.

Infected accidentally makes Kasper lose a decent chunk of weight after it takes over, due to it not being able to feel when Kasper is hungry and forgetting to let him eat

Kasper and Infected can be addressed separately (Lampert, UnpleasantGradient, Folly and maybe a few others know this) and Kasper tends to choose not to respond due to his own apathy, instead opting to let Infected take the lead.

Being able to respawn/no permadeath on the regretevator is the reason why Kasper opted to infect himself, as he saw it as the next closest thing to death/suicide.

Allowing infected to enter his mind has radically reduced Kasper’s lifespan. (He’d be lucky if he made it to his late 30’s)

His nose bleeds when Kasper and infected try to act at the same time

Infected is only transferrable via chainmail

Infected doesn’t feel any of the bodily necessities that kasper has, so its not uncommon for him to collapse of exhaustion, dehydration, hunger, ect. If someone doesn’t remind him.

Infected doesnt feel pain either

Kasper feels it though. A lot.

In fact the whole process of infected entering his mind was incredibly painful as is.

Infected isn’t the reason why things in the elevator/on his own body suddenly lose their texture, neither of them know why that happens now.

They personally aren’t physically effected by it and both find it cool, so neither are bothered.

It’s probably just the result of infected’s malware (thats only technically supposed to effect machines) managing to attach itself to a human. Or maybe Kasper could do that and never previously knew. Who knows. ;)

Kasper/infected can phase through objects that are textureless, including parts of his own body. Anything else will collide as it normally would, and take damage.

Infected will always talk with full leetspeak, (L13k D1$) while Kasper will only have one letter/number substitution (L1ke Th1s)

UG unintentionally named infected that. Basically just looked at Kasper, who had just let a parasite into his mind, and looked at the chainmail virus on his computer, and it went “huh… Bro’s Infected”

Bro is, in fact, infected.

#finally posting this headcannon update after going back and adding to it like 5 times lmaooo #made this one even longer lmao #regretevator #regretevator infected #regretevator kasper #infected regretevator #kasper regretevator #headcannons #regretevator headcanons

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espectres · 1 year ago

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@reclusedesper SENT:

i don't know how to be anything more than this.

THE OFFICE IS STILL AN UNFAMILIAR SPACE, yet he ended up there at the brim of his day for some reason, huddled on the couch with his knees hugged close between his loose arms. Kaa-chan left for a meeting out of town, and it appears everyone else is as busy as her, except for good old Serizawa. Shou finds interest in the floor as the other esper continues talking, but he can't find himself quite engaged in the conversation, feeling all hazy and heavy in the flooding orange lights of sunset and the shadows of his and Serizawa's shapes on the grounds. But he tries to listen carefully, despite himself.

❝ But you can learn, right? ❞ He looks up to study the man, sadness and hope and determination layering each others in every curse upon his features, in the dull -very present- shine to his eyes, and the small childish frown to his lips. It puzzled him, scared him, made his heart stutter in weaknesses he could never fathom. The idea of people like Serizawa and himself becoming helpless in the face of change and new strange hardships like nothing they've ever seen.

❝ Isn't that why you're working here? Why you take night classes and do homework? Doesn't any of it teach you how to ... ❞ How to become something, how to wake up in the morning without feeling like you don't belong in "your room", how to play truth or dare or daruma-san, how to greet neighbors in the convenient stores. Shou doesn't know, really, he doesn't know shit and he has fully accepted that fact, but if there is anything he wouldn't accept, it's that all the things Serizawa has been doing are for nothing. It just can't be, there must be something out there for him, he has come so far and Shou refused to think of it as helpless.

He turns back to admire the shadows, long and weird and barely visible as night creeped in and claimed all the light. And Shou remembers he hasn't gotten a deep night's slumber ever since this same time two days ago, when he's woken up from a groggy terrible four hours evening nap. ❝ You're just nervous, you're always like that. ❞ He yawns, small tears of exhaustion collecting at the corners of his eyes. He wonders what's beckoning him to sleep, maybe it's the desire to help Serizawa to relax, or the comforting feeling of the familiar aura, engulfing him in waves and waves of strange nostalgia and yearning for times he wouldn't even like to remember.

But the feeling is there regardless, and he doesn't fight how nice it feels to close his eyelids, but he fights to finish his sentences before his head lulls to the side, dangerously weighing on his neck before it finds safety against the side of the man's arm. ❝ You're gonna learn... and you'll teach me as well... that sounds nice ... ❞

#isn't that right Serizawa?#and then he sleeps #AFGSGGDGGDG #mousy im literally going to CRY #this is the softest thing I've written since FOREVER IM IN SM TEARS #shou believing in serizawa with his whole heart #and genuinely wanting to see him grow & change #all while not being able to find hope in himself #im so UNWELL!!!! AND SOFT!!!!!#ショウ ; distortion confronts both heart and mind. / writing.#ショウ ; we scraped our bones to get fire. / inbox.#reclusedesper

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hangingoffence · 2 years ago

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u dont get it how much luke as the symbol of unwavering hope even in front of true darkness and despair means to me.

#growing up from a naive farm boy to a jedi master while never giving up or loosing his hope for himself and the people around him :')#and how obi wan or ahsoka and even anakin himself weren't able to see past vader and see that anakin was not truly dead #luke being the only one who had hope for his father and pushing past all the darkness to find anakin still alive #oughghgh #he means so so much to me #luke skywalker #star wars

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nezuscribe · 1 month ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

summary: gojo satoru was the most notorious man across the land. he was the strongest soldier the north had ever produced, the most brilliant of minds, and somebody who slept his way through the noble ranks. his parents set him up in a marriage agreement with you, hoping that a tie with a ring would help save his image. you know gojo never wanted this, and you try to act as if that was normal. but soon, without you or even him realizing it, he comes to the conclusion that while he never wanted this marriage - he's beginning to want you.

warnings: 18+ mdni: arranged marriage, angst, slight no comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated for a bit, heavy making out, eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, (naoya)

word count: 19.7k (sorry)

note: inspired by this drabble. i'm so happy this behemoth of a fic is done!! art credit: _3aem

jjk masterlist + series masterlist

Gojo Satoru was the most powerful man alive.

Not only physically, though some people chalked him up to being half god, but his name held even more control. The Gojo family of the North was as old as the gods themselves, and they’ve been making sure it’s been kept that way. They owned so much land that you would walk to the ends of the earth and circle back around and it would probably still be theirs. They had armies of unfathomable sizes under their command, so much riches that they could probably buy an entire nation and still have plenty to spend.

His presence was just as large as his name created him to be. Any ball he went to, all eyes would fall on him. On the battlefield, men feared to see the flash of white hair, knowing that his strength was unbridled.

And his physical beauty? Most people assumed he was blessed by the gods himself. Gojo had a certain look that just made your knees weak, your heart palpitate, and your cheeks heated up. The handful of times you’ve seen him from afar you’ve been able to understand why all the girls (and some of the guys) yearned for his attention. His eyes were a piercing blue as if somebody had held a mirror to the sky when creating them. His hair had grown whiter with the years, as white as the snow that sunk deep into the grounds of the north. Gojo had the build of a soldier, and he towered over most people. His bulky build was intimidating, but you heard some girls whisper behind their hands about how he must look underneath all those ceremonial garments.

The lord of the North was power itself.

Which would make you, by martial association, the North's most powerful lady.

And for somebody who grew up with the same respect as a stable boy, it was all too much too soon.

And yes, while on paper you still had your father's last name and legacy tied to it, you weren’t really a daughter to your parents. Your mother, though you had to call her by her name whenever you weren’t in public, seeing how she wasn’t really your mother, made sure it was kept that way. Your other three half-sisters should have been in your spot, either one of them more true to the family name than you. But seeing how they’re already married, you were the final resort.

Gojo Satoru, though you’ve seen him countless times (something common because of how close in ranks your families were), had only acknowledged you a couple of times. You didn’t care much, never did, because that's what you were used to. After all, it was a common fact that you were what they nicknamed “the bastard daughter” of the West.

But it didn’t seem to matter much to his parents, as they offered their son up to you in a marriage arrangement.

And who were you to turn that down?

They, his parents, assured you that their son was looking forward to this union. He was the one to offer it, they said, which you were skeptical of but weren’t stupid enough to question. You knew how much Gojo Satoru was tarnishing their reputation with his promiscuous ways, but as long as he was okay with this arrangement you couldn’t find any part of you that would disagree with it.

After all, you knew that this marriage wasn’t out of love, fascination, or even a mutual understanding, but because of the strength your own family (more so your father) held, and how you were the only feasible option for a bride.

So, after weeks of rocking back and forth on agreements, paperwork, dress rehearsals, and grueling dancing lessons (and still no sight of the man himself), you found yourself standing at the end of the aisle, your arm linked around your fathers as a large smile plasters itself on your face.

Ever since you were young you had convinced yourself that the only man who would want to taint his name enough to marry you would have to be either a troll or an ogre, so that fact that your future spouse was human was better than anything you could have asked for.

And you’re not daft. As your heart hammered loudly against the limited space of your chest, waiting for your cue to start walking, you reminded yourself that this was just a mutual agreement. It’s hard for people at your level to marry for love, but even then, you can’t help but hope that you can make a decent friendship out of this.

You glanced at your father next to you, catching his eyes as he nodded once, staring ahead of him into the small crowd of just your two families, and patted your arm.

You still remember the music playing, the instruments harmonizing together as you took a tentative step forward, feeling warm under the eyes of people you didn’t know, but you kept reminding yourself that this was the best thing that could’ve happened to you. Either you died as an old maid in the little room you had near the kitchens at your old home or got married to some warlord who wanted an entire village as family.

The orchids that surrounded the venue still infiltrate your nose as you think about it, the way the silk of your dress felt against your skin that had been scrubbed raw earlier that morning.

And there you saw him, standing at the end of the aisle. At that moment you realized how much of a mistake this was,

Because the man that stood there, the man who you were about to marry, seemed like he’d rather be dead than be your husband.

—

You blink out of your trance, sitting up straighter in your seat as you mindlessly stop tearing up pieces of your bread, rubbing your fingers together to get rid of the remnants of flour.

The dining hall was huge, far bigger than the one back home. Though you rarely ate there, you could still remember it, and it definitely wasn’t as big as this. Yet, despite its size, you felt like you were a little grain of rice in its vastness.

The Gojo estate itself was humongous. His parents resided in a smaller house near the ocean now that you’ve moved in, but you would bet that the word humble they used to describe it was anything but humbling. You’ve been here for weeks and yet you feel like you’ve only discovered half of what this place has to offer.

There were guards at every corner, but at this point, you’re convinced they're just for decoration. If your husband is as decorated a warrior as they say he is, he could protect this entire estate with no help necessary.

You stare at your plate, at the array of food prepared just for you, different sorts of cured meats, loaves of bread, cheeses, fruits, and juices from all over, and still, you feel no hunger.

Months ago you’d be ecstatic to see how much your life has changed. You get new clothes that fit you, food whenever you desire, people at your beck and call. Your room is no longer that cramped space you’d been given to hide you away from the rest of your family, but twice the size of your father's old bedroom. You wake up earlier and sleep later, do whatever you want, but none of it feels deserved.

The only thing you can bring yourself to think about is how the last time you saw your husband was the night of the wedding. The look on his face when you made your empty vows to one another, his faint lingering kiss on your cheek. You can blink your eyes and still see the way he left, his jaw clenched as he ignored the calls from his parents. How, even here, rumors seemed to follow you.

Safe to say, you spent your meals alone.

Not only that, but your rooms were entirely separate as well. You were told that you had to consummate the night of your marriage, but from what you’ve heard, your husband sleeps in an entirely different wing of the estate, with walls and corridors between the two of you.

You tried taking your mind off of things, pretending as if this was normal.

Most days you’d walk around, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout of the grounds. You’d walk the gardens a couple times each week, try to memorize the way back to different places, and stay in the library the other half of the time.

A part of you was happy to at least be away from that miserable home, but it felt like swapping one prison for a slightly better one. Your maids were kind, of course, but you didn’t know anybody here. They treat you like a lady of noble ranking, as expected from being the wife of the Lord in the North, but you’d rather be given an apron and start working around instead of this mind-numbing boredom of just sitting around.

You stare at your plate, chewing on a grape slowly.

Looking up you see the sun filtering in through the large windows, illuminating the long table that sits like an empty grave. Clicking your tongue you pick up another grape, slumping in your seat as you look up.

This is just the way things will be.

—

“Alina?”

You call out from your vanity, staring at your maid as she’s picking out different earrings for you to pick from for dinner.

It’s a couple of days later, and still no word from Gojo. But that doesn’t mean that you haven’t stopped for a single second to not think about your supposed husband.

You try not to care, pretend that you’re lucky that he’s not bothering you or going out of his way to remind you of this unfortunate situation, but above anything you just feel alone.

The maid looks up, a curl falling from her tight bun as she smiles at you in the mirror.

“Yes, my lady?” She stands up straighter, flattening out the wrinkles from her apron tied around her waist as she begins walking towards you with the jewelry.

“Is this…is this normal?” You crane your neck around to look at the different pairs she’s holding up, nudging your head to the red ones that shine bright, and watch as she sets them down on your desk, resting her hand on your hip as she stares at you quizzically.

“What do you mean?” She asks as you begin taking your earrings off, putting the new ones on yourself. In the beginning, she protested, saying that a woman of your caliber shouldn’t have to do such measly tasks. But the more you protested, she eventually gave up.

“Do husbands and wives usually sleep separately?” you say, feeling your chest contract in embarrassment at the stupidness of your question.

You watch as she swallows thickly, avoiding eye contact as she sets on fixing some parts of your hair.

Staring patiently through the vanity mirror as you watch her work, Alina wets her lips, her eyes downcast as if not wanting to answer.

“Was there somebody else he preferred to marry?” You decide to ask, twisting that knife that you knew was lodged in her side, one that was stopping her from talking, and watch as her eyes widen slightly in shock.

“If you don’t answer I’m just going to keep asking more uncomfortable questions,” you warn and Alina snorts softly, shoving your shoulder a little bit as you crack a smile.

She moves around, picking up a necklace, and begins clasping it behind your neck.

“I…I don’t know. He’s always been pretty secretive and,” she looks at you briefly, “Selective. I don’t mean to speak ill of my lord but it would be stupid not to acknowledge his old ways. But we never heard of a specific girl.”

Alina places a gentle hand on your shoulder, a sad smile on her face.

“You’re lucky my lady,” she says, her voice hushed, “Most wives don’t have the freedom to say their husbands don’t care what they do. Had you married that Zenin, you’d be pregnant by now.”

You shudder out a breath, nodding once more.

“I’ll see you after dinner, my lady,” she says, moving out of the way as you stare quietly at the floor before leaving silently.

—-

Tonight for dinner the cooks made you a wide array of different dishes, all from the Northern shore. There are different types of fish, each cooked in various ways. It looks delectable, a feast fit for a king.

You feel awful, though, seeing that you can’t eat any of it.

The last time you had fish your face swelled up and couldn’t breathe properly, so that family physician told you to steer away from it. But you’re here now, and it somehow slipped your mind to ever mention this little fact to them, so you’re awkwardly poking around some of the vegetables under the fish, looking for something to eat.

You pile some potatoes and carrots on your plate, scraping off any bits of fish on them as you hold this wasn’t your last meal.

The only sound that fills the room is your fork and knife sometimes hitting the porcelain plate, and you look up every now and then as you chew, looking at the paintings on the wall.

You’re so focused on a portrait of an old man that you don’t even notice the figure standing at the entrance of the dining hall, not until you hear a muted curse.

You look up instantly, your fork and knife dropping to the plate as you stare at the man in front of you, eyes wide at the sight of your husband.

He stands there, blinking slowly as you stare back.

You could swear time has never moved so slowly before.

You can hear him mutter a quiet shit under his breath, not knowing if he should make this worse by turning around and leaving or if he should join you.

He’s wearing a simple tunic, his face a little flushed, hairline beaded with sweat. Did he just come out of training? He must often do that, you decide, seeing how he must’ve felt comfortable enough walking in here without any clothing of import.

His eyes seem to track your little movements; the way your chest rises and falls in a slow movement, the way your fingers have frozen in mid-air, lips slightly parting. Your eyes dart around the room, everybody seeming to have tensed up.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’ve never been so moved to silence. It seemed as if years of learned vocabulary slipped your mind within an instant, and no matter how hard you tried, nothing was coming back.

Gojo looks behind his shoulder, at the large double doors he entered through, deep in thought. This would be the first time the two of you had seen each other in weeks, and his tirade of avoiding you has come to an end. It looks like an entire battle is being fought in his mind, and you don’t know what to do.

Suddenly, you watch as he shakes his head, deciding to give in and join you for dinner.

The seconds go by like hours as he walks up to the seat at the other end of the table, staring at his seat for a brief second before he pushes it out and sits there.

You don’t know what to do.

Servants and maids quickly swarm the room, setting up his plate, cutlery, food, and drinks. It was all so hectic and rushed, but you were glad that it offered some sort of noise in the drowning silence.

A part of you wants to say something about the fish but you know this isn’t the right time.

In the flurry of movements you allow yourself to discretely look at him a little better, seeing how the last time you saw him was so brief and hurried.

The man radiates a different sort of aura you’ve never experienced before. While your father was one of the most powerful men in the West, Gojo was the strongest throughout the majority of the North and East. His frame took up the entire chair, his muscular shoulders and arms visible even through the loose fabric that was draped over him. You feel a little disappointed, knowing that if you were a different girl you’d probably be able to enjoy all of this.

You try to make yourself seem indifferent, moving some of the vegetables in your plate around, but secretly just trying to shovel them down as fast as humanly possible to get out of this thick atmosphere.

One of the men who was setting up some of the plates in front of Gojo takes notice of this, a smile overtaking his face as you briefly look up from your plate, startled to see the man walking closer to you.

“My lady, I’m so happy to see you enjoying our Northern delicacy!” He claps his hands together as you stare at him with wide eyes, your mouth still full of potatoes as you try chewing faster to get it all down before he gets closer to you.

His eyes wrinkle around the edges, his graying mustache trimmed ever so carefully, and you can tell he’s trying to loosen up the tension, but you stare in abject horror as he stands at your foot of the table.

“Would you like some more?” He motions to the fish that lay untouched in front of you, and you glance over to Gojo, hoping that maybe he is focused on his meal, only for your heart to sink at the fact that he is staring at you.

“...y-yes,” you croak out, wiping some of the carrot remnants from the corners of your lips as you give him a wobbly smile, “It’s alright, I can serve myself,” you exclaim, trying to thwart him off as he quickly waves this aside, shaking his head as he grabs the tray, beginning to portion some hefty pieces of fish onto your plate.

You don’t have the heart to tell this jolly man that this amount of fish would kill you within an instant, or even that he was wasting this all on you, so you just sit there, giving him a tight-lipped smile as you try not to breathe it in too much.

“Is that enough, my lady?” He asks, setting the tray down as you look at your plate now full of different sorts of sea creatures you swallow slowly, looking back up at him as you give a wobbly smile.

“This is great,” you muster up and watch as an even larger smile takes over his face, and you feel awful for it, “Thank you so much,” you tell him, watching as he bows lowly, excusing himself as he, and the other servants, leave the room,

Leaving you and Gojo alone.

You’re grateful that he’s already dug into his meal, not looking at a struggling you that’s moving the fish around with your fork as you try to find the last bits of vegetables you had saved up for yourself.

The smell itself is enough to make your stomach turn, and you wince, reaching for your cup of wine to wash some of the nausea down.

“You have very good wine,” you say suddenly, against your will, and have an out-of-body experience as you realize what you just did.

Gojo looks up from his plate, a little startled as he looks at you and the goblet in your hand, his white brows furrowed.

He nods once, not saying anything, and you feel the strange need to continue, somehow enjoying the feeling of stabbing yourself in the foot.

“Our wine back home tasted like cow piss,” your eyes widened at your slip of crass language, “Er - not piss, um, urine…?” You wince even more, feeling as if a ghost with awful intentions had taken control over your body, “Not that I’ve had cow piss - urine!” You correct yourself, “But I imagine that if I had…that, um, it would taste like o-our wine back home...”

He’s staring at you, unblinking, and you smile awkwardly, raising the cup to him as a sort of cheers gesture.

You count twenty seconds of silence in your head as you set the cup down, playing with your fork as you glance back up at him. Gojo looks as if he is regretting his decision to stay, his fingers tapping on his knife in a hurried sort of way.

“I don’t really like wine,” you continue, feeling like the only thing that could stop you now was if somebody were to bludgeon you to death, “I like juice more. Oh, well, but I guess…wine is juice…?” you mutter to yourself, contradicting your own words mid-sentence, “Back home we had this mulberry juice and it tasted nice. Kind of like your wine,” he’s not even looking at you and so your words die, quieting down as you sink back into your seat, hoping it could eat you entirely.

“Do you like wine?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, smiling faintly, awkwardly, “Or juice? Or… mulberries…?”

He shakes his head, still not staring at you.

“Did you have a good-”

“I prefer eating in silence.” Gojo finally said, raising his head slightly as he stared directly at you, watching as your mouth clamped shut.

Your smile grows small, eyes falling to the table to hide the embarrassment in them. You give him a brief nod, mumbling a quiet apology under your breath as you begin moving some pieces of carrot around on your plate.

You can hear the clinking of his utensils against his plate, wishing you could somehow fit an entire fish down your esophagus to escape this moment.

You give it a couple of seconds, counting the groves in the wood of the table, and rise, stomach empty, heart churning as you finally excuse yourself.

It only takes you minutes to find your room, quicker than last night, and allow yourself to sink against your bed, rubbing your skin raw of the rouge Alina had applied an hour earlier.

—-

You don’t tell anybody of the awful encounter with the man that’s legally your husband, but you’re sure that those there to observe have already begun talking about it. You try to pretend nothing happened, but Alina could pick up on your closed-off demeanor that night, her hands gentler than usual when helping you take off your garments, her eyes filled with concern.

“How was dinner, my lady?” She asked, staring at you as you waved off her worries, mustering up a lame excuse of a smile as you took off your silk shrug, avoiding any sort of eye contact as you slipped into your nightly garments.

“It was good,” your words are void of emotion, “I had fish.”

The following days are empty of any sight of your husband, but you’ve grown to find that normal. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about how idiotic you acted, your big mouth never knowing when to stop, tossing and turning in your bed at your excuse of an interaction.

You continue with your old routine of walking around the estate, sometimes trying to track down Alina and your other maids, seeing if maybe they had some free time to spend with you. You know there’s a town nearby, the girls often talk about how they go there sometimes at night, but you’re too afraid of going out alone, not used to that sort of thing.

Sometimes you sit out near the fields with a book, twisting the ring that’s searing into your finger, mindlessly taking in the words on the page. Other days you walk around the gardens, picking out some flowers for the vase in your room. On the days when you’re feeling really adventurous, you’d go near the east wing, where you’ve heard Gojo’s room is, and look at what sort of things lie there. But most times you chicken out, going back near your side just as quickly as you went.

You never see him at dinner again, knowing he wasn’t about to put himself through that torture again, so you go back to eating in silence, sometimes pretending that the chairs were full of people and that you were in one of those balls you longed to go to as a kid.

They seem to keep bringing fish out for you, and it’s in so many days deep that you’re in this sort of limbo where you can’t tell them you’re deathly allergic to it without feeling awful for all the work they’ve put in just to realize it’s gone to waste, so those nights, tonight, for example, you try finding as many vegetables as you can.

The roasted asparagus and beets are lovely, but there was only so much of it. And you find yourself getting a little bit sick of it too, your stomach-churning as you try to chug as much water as you can to get rid of the dirt after-taste that the beets have.

You thank the cooks and the servants as you leave for the night, your stomach still relatively empty as you get to your room, telling Alina to leave early for the night as you get ready for bed by yourself, wanting to be with yourself just for a little bit.

You lay on your bed, staring emptily at the ceiling, one hand on your stomach as if gurgling, still hungry for more. You try to sleep, trying to pretend like you were at your old home, those nights when this would be normal, but it’s no use. You’ve been too spoiled at the Gojo estate, and no matter how much you try to ignore the pang of hunger, it continues to bite you back.

So you find yourself twisting off of the warm comfort of your bed, sitting in silence as you contemplate what you’re about to do, but give in, lighting a candle as you slide into some slippers, leaving your room as you try to find your way down to the kitchens.

Thankfully, it’s well into the night when everybody is asleep, so this embarrassing walk of shame is only seen by the guards on duty. You walk down the testing staircase, careful to look around the corners for anybody there, but you’re alone.

You make your way to the kitchens, not hard to find seeing that they’re near the dining hall, and you peep your head inside, a sigh of relief escaping your lips to find that it’s completely deserted.

At your old home, your room was behind the kitchens. You grew up in a small room, nearly the size of a broom cupboard, but you made do with what you had. One benefit of this situation was that you were raised by the smell of different sorts of food, by people who specialized in the art of cooking. You knew how to make meals that nobody else in your family could even imagine, which you’re grateful for right now as you fumble around the kitchen, trying to find where they put different ingredients.

You rummage through the cupboards, finding some eggs, bread, cheeses, and seasonings. You’re able to find the pots and pans a few feet away and start assembling everything for a little omelet.

In your hurry of trying to be quiet and careful, you somehow manage to miss the large shadow figure that’s standing near the doorway, observing you.

You crack the eggs into a bowl, beating them together with a fork you found, too tired to look for an actual whisk, turning around to throw the eggshells away when a cry of surprise escapes your lips.

“Oh!” Your heart nearly falls right out of your ribcage, your hands flying to your chest as you find yourself staring at him, cheeks heating the way they seem to do whenever you’re looking at your husband.

His blue eyes are tracking you, watching what you do, brows furrowed slightly as the two of you can’t do anything but stare at each other.

“I…” You can’t find anything to say, looking at him and then behind your shoulder, to the things you have found, and swallow thickly, wetting your lips as you straighten your back up, suddenly aware of just how flimsy and bedroom-worthy your outfit is.

You can only stare at the ways his arms are crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, and lips pressed into a thin line. It seems like he wasn’t planning on seeing you here, yet another moment in which he’s probably going to regret somehow finding you in such a large estate.

“I’m making an omelet,” you finally say, your words falling like a whisper from your lips as you point to the eggshells now discarded in the trash, “I tried to be quiet…” you shake your head, eyes dropping from his heavy gaze for a second as you glance back up at him, lips upturned in an apologetic smile, “...sorry.”

Gojo doesn’t say much, you’ve noticed that, but now you’re wondering if he has some sort of impediment that stops him from speaking to specific people.

His chest rises briefly as he inhales, his white hair a little tussled as if he were sleeping. It doesn’t make sense why he’d be awoken, though. The kitchens are a far walk from the east wing…?

“I wasn’t asleep,” he finally says as if reading your mind, his voice deep as you feel it rattle your bones.

You nod once, not knowing what to do with the information.

“Well…um,” you fidget with your fingers, “good, that’s good.” You nod once, as if that was all you were going to say, and look at the slight wrinkles in his clothes, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling naked with the way you’re not wearing any undergarments under your little nightly dress.

“I’ll call for a cook,” Gojo murmurs, looking you up and down one final time as he turns to leave, seemingly done with this conversation.

You sputter, shaking your head as you watch him turn to look at you through a confused stare.

“No! Sorry…no, no need,” you say quickly, taking one step forward as if to stop him, “Please, it’s alright. I can cook myself,” you motion once more to your eggs and little station, noting the way he’s looking at you strangely, and so you feel the need to continue talking, perhaps one of your worst flaws.

Gojo looks at you finally, his fingers tapping on his arm.

You notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring, your chest filling with a strange feeling as you try to hide your ring-clad finger. “Do you not like their cooking?” He asks, and it takes a second for you to blink out of your stupor, a weird sensation in your throat as you shake your head slowly, trying to pull your eyes away from his hand.

“I do,” you assure him, the words falling thickly from your lips, a lump in your chest, “I just feel bad waking them up right now,” you shrug as if you weren’t feeling any of these strange emotions, “And as I said, I can cook…so…”

He nods, seemingly not believing you, not picking up on the storm that happening inside your head at the fact that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t an actual marriage, the ring was only for show.

“Did you not eat dinner?” He continues, pressing, and your eyes widen slightly.

You’ve always been terrible at lying, never able to do so. Even when your father's wife continued to drill you on who ate the candies from a party when you were younger, showing her your chocolate-stained fingers that you had hidden behind your back, not even a minute into the interrogation.

“I did,” you say slowly, rubbing up and down your arms to warm them up from the chill breeze that seems to have picked up from the open windows, “The beets and asparagus were very nice,” you agree, not knowing what else to say without blowing this weird secret you’ve been holding onto.

His brow raised slightly, lips pursing slightly.

“And the fish?”

You swallow once again, fidgeting with the fabric of your slip, your hands, your ring, and you don’t notice the way his eyes fall to the gold on your finger, darting back to your face when he notices you staring at him.

“I…” you feel your face heating up beyond human measures, laughing awkwardly as you tug at your necklace chain, wishing that you hadn’t made that stupid decision to leave your comfortable bed, should’ve listened to your gut instead of your stomach, cursing your past self for being so rash, “I, um, I can’t…eat…fish.”

Gojo’s stoic face, so sure and confident, seems to falter for a brief second.

His arms tighten over his chest.

“...what?” He eventually asks after a couple of seconds of mind-bending silence, his head tipping in utter confusion as you sway from side to side on your feet, chewing your lips raw as you wish the ground could open up and never spit you back out.

“The fish always looks great, don’t get me wrong,” you say quickly as if that’s going to do anything, “But I can’t eat fish. Otherwise I’ll swell right up and um, die…probably,” you wince at how bad you are at talking to people, your husband especially.

He lets out a little puff of air that sounds like a shocked scoff, eyes falling to the floor as he shakes his head, not understanding what you are saying.

“But they’ve been cooking fish almost…four times a week?”

You nod, smiling awkwardly, looking at the painting of a fish on the wall as you look back at him.

“They have,” you affirm, leaning against a counter as he stays frozen in his spot at the door.

“And you…you can’t have fish?” Gojo questions incredulously.

“I’ll swell right up,” you repeat with a little smile that he doesn’t mirror, clearly not a man of humor, and you drop your hands to your side, “...kind of like a pufferfish.” You add quietly, looking at the ground as you say it.

He coughs, his hand covering his mouth as you glance up at him, only to see him trying to hide the shocked laugh that had escaped him.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” He finally continues, and you hate the way all your hard work of just saying quiet isn’t working and is in fact, coming back to bite you in the ass.

You shrug once more, shoving a grain of rice that was on the floor with the tip of your shoe.

“The first time it happened I figured I’d just tell them next time, but then that man kept on giving me more fish so I felt bad and I just never said anything.”

Gojo stares at you, his eyes squinting together as if he were figuring out an enigma, a war strategy that even his best generals couldn’t get a grasp of.

You look away, feeling like a fire was being lit under your skin.

“Alright,” you say, clapping your hands together as your stomach grumbles once again, reminding you that it is still in desperate need of food, “I’ll be done soon. And I’ll clean up,” you promise, but you doubt he even cares as you begin to inch away from him.

You watch as a strand of hair falls into his face, watch as he goes to move, never breaking his eye contact with you, until he looks behind you at the eggs and bread, and then to the window behind you, the moon as bright as ever.

He nods a final time, looking over you a final time before he exits.

You make sure he’s far gone, letting out a heavy breath as you hold yourself up by the table, eyes wide at the fact that you had spoken more than two words to the man who seemed to despise your entire existence.

You go back to your eggs, whisking them in silence as your mind reels.

—

Gojo is there, for dinner, the following night.

You enter the dining room to see him at the end of the table, already eating, and glances up briefly when he sees you walk in.

Trying to hide the shock on your face you quickly look away, finding the way to your side of the table as you look around to see what they’ve given you tonight. A sigh of fleeting relief escapes your lips at the lack of fish, glad you’ll be going to sleep full of food tonight.

You serve yourself, piling roasted meats and potatoes onto your plate as you fill your cup with water, not trusting wine after the last time you had it in his presence, and pretend that everything is normal as you pick up your knife and fork.

His words rang in your mind from the last time, the fact that he ate in silence, so you forced yourself to clam up, knowing that it was probably from the best and save you from any more mortification.

Your eyes fleet up now and then, grateful that he’s never looking up when you do, and give yourself some time to really take him in. Maybe in another universe where everything was normal, this could’ve just been another regular thing, and you try pretending that it is.

He’s probably only here because of a timing issue, you tell yourself, maybe this was the only time in the middle of training, state affairs, or other things that he was able to have dinner tonight. Yes, yes, that has to be it.

You look back down at your plate, chewing as quietly as possible, missing the way he lifted his head to look up at you.

—

Dinner with Gojo becomes a strange weekly occurrence.

The two of you eat in silence a couple of times a week, and every time it happens you’re so sure it’s going to be the last.

On one of the nights you find yourself accompanied by the man you decide that the silence is more choking than whatever it is you find yourself saying.

“Have you been notified about this…gathering in a couple of weeks?”

This gathering was something you were told about that morning by Alina. One of the smaller families allied to the North, the Tokoshi’s, had invited you and your husband to join.

“Yes,” Gojo says, and you’re a little surprised that he didn’t just give you a faint nod, “It shouldn’t be too big.”

He cuts off a piece of his lamb, dipping it in some of the gravy as he glances up at you.

You try to hide your excitement, not only from the fact that he’s spoken to you but also from the fact that this was an actual ball you would be able to go to. You knew that marrying him meant attending more of these sorts of events, but seeing how this was your first one, it was hard to not act a little giddy.

“You have a lovely library,” you speak after carefully chewing through some of your food, your pointer finger resting on your fork as your legs crossed.

Gojo glances up at you, those mesmerizing blue eyes finding yours from across the long table.

“At my old home,” you pause briefly, wondering how he feels when you refer to his estate as your other home, “I wasn’t allowed to go into our library unless my tutors asked to have some of our sessions there. So I just wanted to say thank you for letting me - um, go there,” your words quiet down at the end, looking at the roasted pig in front of you momentarily as you wonder what you were even trying to get.

He takes a sip of his wine.

“The grounds are as much mine as they are yours,” he says, but his words sound rehearsed as if he were told to say this.

“Even the east wing?”

You regretted it the moment you asked it.

Shit.

Gojo opens his mouth and then shuts it. You chew on the inside of your cheek, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything, but it reverts to that same silence that floods your senses and makes you aware of every other sound in the room.

Your burst of what you attempted at comedy seemed to keep coming back instantly in your face, a form of punishment for somebody who never knew how to make uncomfortable situations better.

Suddenly, all of your appetite is lost. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you can only chide yourself, the food in front of you, no matter how good it looked, felt like it would taste like ash on your tongue. You kept feeding this burning fire that was your marriage, expecting your hay-like words to act like water.

There’s a thick tension in the room, and you look around, blinking slowly as you fidget with your fingers.

You try to go back to eating.

You were wrong,

That initial silence was better.

—-

That night you found yourself back in the kitchens.

You’re wiping at your cheeks, hoping that the therapeutic motions of baking can help alleviate some of your many turmoils.

When you were younger, you were used to silence. People normally avoided you, and those who didn’t weren’t ever your age. The cooks at your old estate were kind, but they were usually too busy to entertain a little girl. You would usually help the maids out with their washing and folding, rather doing something than nothing. You would listen in on their gossip and stories, always happy to be included.

You assumed that it would be the same here.

But the maids assured you that a lady of such high rank shouldn’t be meddling in such lowly tasks, and the cooks here were cooking for such a larger number of people that you knew you couldn’t bother them the way you used to.

So you find yourself with a lot to say but nobody to say it to. The jokes and ideas that pop into your head fall flat because the old ladies who helped clean the bedsheets and used to laugh hearing them are no longer here. In those moments you’re with Alina or your other maids are sparse, and so you sometimes imagine that if you speak more when Gojo is around, he might warm up to you.

You also had to remind yourself that your track record with men wasn’t the best either. Those fleeting crushes on some of the other boys who you’d see at balls always ended with them scurrying away from you as if you were the plague. The only other marriage offer you’d gotten was from a man who had struggled with finding a woman who could keep up with his awful ways. So the fact that Gojo Satoru, the most well-known man in the realm, didn’t want much to do with you wasn’t shocking.

And Alina was right. A lot of wives aren’t as lucky to say their husbands don’t care, but you wondered how it would’ve been if he did. You exclaimed to her a couple of nights ago that you should’ve just married Naoya, but deep inside you knew that’s not what you wanted. A part of you knew ever since you agreed to this arrangement that you wouldn’t be getting an actual husband out of it.

You sniffle, your eyes blurry. You don’t like crying in front of people, and so you allow yourself to do so in the pale moonlight of the kitchen, the only sound other than your ragged breathing being the repeated sound of flour falling softly in your mixing bowl.

Baking was something that nobody ever could judge you about. You were good at it, and you knew you could do it with no error. Your cakes and pastries always turned out well, save for the minor problems you ran into as a kid, but you sometimes act like you’re baking for a group of people, about to take it out to see a sea of smiling faces who are happy to see you and your deserts.

“I thought you only cooked when they served fish for dinner.”

A voice, one that’s seared into your memory, says from behind you.

It takes everything in you not to jump from surprise, and it takes even more willpower not to turn around.

You quickly wipe at your cheeks, breathing in to make sure your voice won’t come out in bits and pieces. You keep your back to your husband, continuing to sift your flour in the bowl, a continual motion like waves hitting against the dock.

“I’m baking,” you specify, cringing at the way you sound like you’re fighting a nasty cold.

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a beat and does nothing to move. You’re glad he doesn’t, too scared that if he saw your puffy eyes or your tear-stained cheeks he’d begin to think that you have no backbone at all. It felt almost pathetic to have the world's strongest warrior see you recover from crying alone.

He hums in the back of his throat at your words, and you wonder what he looks like right now.

“I doubt these walls have seen a lady of such high rank before,” he comments, and you look up briefly from the mountain of white building up in the bowl, “They must whisper to themselves once you leave.”

You let out a little puff of air, something resembling a soulless laugh.

“Everyone whispers to themselves after I leave,” you say, reaching for a whisk, “I’ve heard more whispers than my own name.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you quickly try to wipe at the corners of your eyes.

“You come down here a lot,” it’s posed as a question, but Gojo says it like a statement. He must have eyes everywhere, reporting to him what you’re doing. You wouldn’t be shocked, but you just nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you begin to whisk your dry ingredients together.

“I hope it’s okay,” you throw in a pinch of salt as you mix, “I like the kitchen.”

He let out a little breath as if he was about to chuckle, but then he got confused. You decide to spare him the endless questions that must be going on in his head, wondering why somebody in your position would prefer the kitchens rather than anywhere else.

“My bedroom used to be behind a kitchen. I’d have to go through the pantry just to reach it,” you turn briefly to grab your bowl with the wet ingredients, pouring it slowly into your flour and sugar mixture, mixing it in slowly and carefully.

“My father’s wife wanted me out of sight. That estate had never used one of its actual bedrooms to sleep the daughter of a whore,” you can hear him inhale sharply, “I woke up to the sounds of people shouting for different ingredients, to pots and pans clanging against each other. I learned how to cook and bake when I was young, and I usually helped them cook the food my family would eat for dinner.”

When your batter is all mixed through you go to find the pan you have buttered and dusted with sugar, pouring it in as you wipe off the side of the bowl that had some remnants of batter dripping from it.

“They never asked me to, but I liked it. I liked feeling useful,” you peek over to your side, seeing him leaning against the wall adjacent to you, silent as a mouse.

You walk over to the other side of the kitchen with your pan, careful with the lid to the brick oven, heated with the fire you had lit an hour ago, and slide your cake pan into it, closing it shut as you stand up straight.

Finally, you look over at him.

His eyes rake over your face, lingering on the circles underneath your eyes, the redness that stained the whites of them. He’s clad in the simple tunic and breeches he had worn to dinner hours ago, his large shoulders leaning on the wall as his arms lay crossed over his chest.

“I won’t go to the east wing,” you say in a whisper, your voice quiet but heavy as it falls from your lips as a promise, trying to muster up a smile but it comes out wobbly, “I was just trying to make you laugh.”

His lips looked pinker than usual as if he had been chewing on them, something you often did when you were deep in thought. His white hair had been messily pushed back as if his fingers had been combing through them continuously.

“These grounds are yours,” Gojo says, his words thick from his throat. His exhale and inhale mirror the way you breathe, your two chests rising as though living with the same lungs.

You shrug, a melancholy look on your face as you shake your head.

“Maybe if I was your wife,” your words are said without any malice, “But I’m just another person who sleeps here.”

Gojo tilts his head slightly as if your statement had somehow wrenched itself into his mind, weighing it down. Even in the limited light, you could see the way he looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I know I took away your chance to marry somebody you actually wanted, but my father told me you were okay with the arrangement. I wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise,” you twist your wedding ring around your finger mindlessly, a little habit you’ve grown over the weeks here, “I never wanted to be selfish, and I truthfully never wanted a husband. I just wanted a friend.”

—

Ever since that night, you eat your meals in your room.

Alina protested, saying it’s not right to eat alone, but you told her not to think about it, saying how you liked the silence.

You mustered up the courage to ask some of the coachmen to take you to the nearby town, starting by looking around at the little shops, keeping a hood over your head in case somebody saw a new stranger.

Sometimes you’d go inside the shops, finding little trinkets that you thought your maids might like, or ornaments that might help fill up the empty spots around your room. You’ve never been able to decorate before with how small your old room was, so you decided to take advantage of its space.

When you’re walking around you sometimes see Gojo, either in the training yard or walking around with one of his advisors. There have been moments when the two of you catch each other's stares from across the room, but you’re always the first to look away, making sure you’re going in a different direction than him.

You knew that you’d have to talk to him eventually, especially with the gathering that was coming up at the Tokoshi manor, but each night you pretended it was another day away, instead of one day closer.

Your maids came bustling in and out of your room more often than usual with preparations for the night that was closing in, shoving you into different dresses, not satisfied until they found the right one.

Alina noticed your shift in demeanor, never picking and prodding at it, but silently observing. You could tell she knew something was wrong, but you didn’t know how to put exactly what you were feeling in words.

It didn’t help that the closer you got to the night of the event Gojo seemed to be everywhere you were. The gardens, the library, the field, the stables. He probably just had business to attend to, but it didn’t help that whenever he saw you it looked like he wanted to say something. It also didn’t help that you’d scurry away when you saw him open his mouth.

The weeks turned into days, the days into a day, and that day into hours and you found yourself perched uncomfortably on a chair as three different women attended to your face, hair, and accessories.

You watch them work silently, taking in all the jewelry and makeup that you’ve been looking forward to wearing. It’s nothing too drastic, but that

girl who longed to wear pretty things inside of you is gleaming right now.

“…Lord Gojo requested for her to wear another pair of earrings,” one of your maids says, looking at the earrings Alina had picked out for you.

Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, watching Alina as she perks an eyebrow up.

“When did he request that?”

The older lady looks at you in the mirror and then at Alina.

“A couple of nights ago,” she shows Alina another pair, a sapphire one that seems to gleam brightly, “he dropped them off when she was…away…” the maid trails off, noticing the fact that you were eavesdropping.

Your eyes dart away as if that would help, but she quickly changes the topic, and you huff in annoyance as Alina sends you a knowing look.

“Your husband is a strange man,” Alina mutters in your ear as you giggle quietly, rolling your eyes as she playfully shoves your shoulder.

You don’t say anything in retaliation, and sit back as you put in your new earrings, grateful that they still complimented the color of your dress, and try to pretend you are going down for dinner rather than a gathering with people you didn’t know.

You’ve been learning this entire week how to properly hold a spoon and fork, and how to cut your food appropriately. You’ve been taking dancing lessons, discovered how to properly greet people, and even learned how to gracefully enter and exit a horse-drawn carriage. All things you should’ve probably learned earlier, but were never able to.

Alina helps you out of the chair when they are all done, giving you a second to look into the mirror. The dress they had wrangled you into was beautiful, your hair done in the way you liked. You thanked them all, expressing your endless gratitude for their hard work.

You take a deep breath as you exit the room and go out into the hall, leading yourself down the stairs and through multiple corridors, trying to calm down your palpitating heart.

It takes a few minutes but you find yourself at the front of the manor, standing alone and looking around, trying to see if you were at the wrong place. But in the distance, you can see the coachmen and the carriage, the door shut, still waiting for you.

You take a tentative step forward, nearing the entranceway that leads outside, but feel a soft touch hovering above your elbow.

It’s strange how he usually finds you before you find him, but as somebody who’s trained to know and find things before others do, you suppose it makes sense. You glance to your side, already expecting to see those cerulean eyes as you look up.

Gojo looks good, somehow better than usual.

He’s clad in dark blue garments, intricate with Northern design, and your eyes look up and down his entire body. His usual muscular build seems to be outlined by the stretch of his overcoat, the way the fabric is sitting snugly over his chest.

He seems to be doing the same, though. You can feel his gaze drop to your dress, to the way your lips are a little redder than usual, your hair done in a way that suits your face. His eyes linger on your ears, and there’s a small, barely noticeable tug to the corners of his lips.

“Ready?” Gojo asks, the first time he’s spoken in a couple of weeks, and you hum.

He takes his hand away from your elbow as he rests it on the small of your back, and you feel heat travel from his fingertips through the fabric, through your corset, your undergarments, and straight to your skin.

They bring the carriage out a little closer, a coachman opening the door for you. You brace yourself, heaving your dress upwards as you go to grasp the rail on the side.

But Gojo moves swiftly, offering you his glove-clad hand as you look over at him in surprise, taking it after a moment of hesitation, and haul yourself inside.

It’s far bigger than the one you usually take to town, and you settle for a corner on the left-hand side near the window. The walls of the carriage are lined with this sort of fabric that feels like it’s lighter than a cloud, colored the traditional blue of the Gojo family. You’d guess it could fit at least an entire family comfortably, so you’re not too worried about the underskirt of your dress taking up too much space.

You watch Gojo follow you in. He looks around, having to duck his head (and a lot of his back) as he sits in front of you, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

The two of you sit in awkward silence, your gaze settled on the door that they shut after Gojo entered, and your eyes quickly fall to your hands resting in your lap, neatly folded.

The carriage starts a little bit later, the wheels humming to life as the coachmen yip at the horses to start. The sudden rocking movement that you’ve become familiar with sways you side to side, and suddenly you're totally aware of the fact that you’re alone in a limited space with the man you’ve been avoiding for the better half of two weeks.

You can feel his stare boring into the side of your head, can hear the way his breathing is coming out strangely as if he wanted to talk, but kept stopping himself off before he could say a word.

“Did you like the earrings?” Gojo finally asks, and you glance up, eyes narrowing for a second in confusion as realization suddenly comes rushing in.

“Hm? O-oh, yes!” You quickly stutter out, your hands flying to your ears as if you forgot they were there, “Yes, thank you. They were beautiful. They kind of looked like the inside of a belly button,” you say.

Your husband blinks, brows furrowed slightly as you think about what you had just said, eyes wide in shock.

“Er…well, gods, no, not bellybuttons,” your head falls to your hands as you shake your head profusely, “Sorry, they don’t look like belly buttons-”

But you stop when you hear a small laugh from him, quiet as he looks away for a second, a tiny slightly visible grin on his face as he looks back at you.

“Did you know that sometimes,” his eyes are a little upturned as if he fighting back an actual smile, “I make a bet with myself about what you’re going to say?”

You smile slightly, your head cocking to the side.

“Have you ever won?”

Gojo chuckles, and your eyes suddenly fall to his hand, at the way he’s fidgeting with his ring, his wedding ring, the same way you seem to do whenever you’re thinking about everything and anything all at once.

“Not once.”

You grin, and though you still feel this heavy weight of unspoken things resting in the middle of you two, you decide not to acknowledge it at the moment. Things unsaid, unheard, weaved through the air, tying you and him together like a tapestry.

You fidget with your skirt, looking out the window at the moving scenery.

Gojo breathes deeply through his nose, his pointed finger tapping on his thigh.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he finally says, and your eyes dart away from the trees and the sky to look over at him.

His bottom lip is caught underneath his teeth, his blue eyes shining with a different hue. He takes up a lot of room with just his size alone, but it looks like he’s trying to make himself seem less intimidating, less of a warrior, and more of a…person.

You don’t say anything, opting to stay quiet to see what it is that he is trying to formulate into words.

“That night,” Gojo twists his ring back and forth with his thumb, “I…” It’s weird to see somebody so sure of themself struggle to speak, and your brows crease in the middle, not knowing what it was he was trying to get at.

“I wanted to tell you that you too had a right to a good husband. Somebody who didn't rush you into a marriage because of his own mistakes…somebody you wanted.”

Where is he going with this?

You suddenly feel your throat dry up, swallowing thickly as Gojo looks out the window momentarily before looking back at you.

“My parents never told me who I’d be marrying,” Gojo explains, his voice hoarse, “I figured out the day of the wedding,” he twisted his wedding ring, looking at the way it shined, “And I wanted to hate you,”

His words punch you square in the gut, but you can only bring yourself to keep on looking at him.

“I wanted to hate you so much because it would be easier to act like this wasn’t my fault if I could…but,” he sighs, his chest rising and falling, “I don’t think it’s possible to hate you.”

Your lip trembles slgihtly, a sheen over your eyes. What is he doing?

“I’ve been raised in a way most people our age aren’t. My parents wanted me to be the strongest so was put into training since I was four, and I think this entire time I’ve been trying to approach you like a…military strategy. You were this map in my head that no matter how I approached it nothing made sense. But that night, in the kitchen, everything finally did.”

Your eyes flitter downwards so that he couldn’t see the waver in them

“You didn’t deserve how you were treated in your old life, nor this new one,” his hand covers his chest, and you feel lightheaded, “And I promise to you I’ll do everything in my power to make this one better. If you don’t want me as a husband, than as a friend.

“I’d like to be your friend, if you’d allow me,” he whispers thickly, his voice heavy. He fidgets with his fingers, moving them together and back out again, and you notice how he does this a lot whenever you’re near.

Your heart is beating so quickly that you feel like it's going to stop, and your mind is working so hectically that you don’t know what to think. This is the same man who looked at you as if you had torn down the moon and stars when he saw you the first time, the man who never seemed to be that interested in what it is you had to say. The very same person who would’ve rather married a broomstick than you.

…right?

And yet he’s here, asking to be your friend. Something that nobody has ever asked before, something that people wouldn’t ever dare to murmur out loud to you. He had no beneficial gain from doing this, no ally that he would please if he offered to be your friend.

Your heart twists because why does he look like he cares about what you say? His eyes are creased slightly around the edges, his lips pressed together as if he were preparing for whatever outcome it was to what you said.

Nobody has ever told you those things, the things that made years of pain and hurt strummed into one beat that your heart never wanted to drum to. This man, your husband, Gojo, was supposed to be another cog in that old machine, one that hummed and spurred like it was about to eat you alive.

But the more you look at him, the more you let your unspoken words speak in silence for you, you realise that he isn’t lying.

You open your mouth to speak but are cut off when the carriage comes to a sudden halt.

The two of you look at each other and then to the door, watching as it opens up, greeted to the sight of a large manor with multiple people walking in hand in hand. You swallow your bile, not knowing what to say, deciding to flee instead of face him like you should’ve.

—

The gathering itself was far more boring than you imagined it to be.

You and Gojo had the mutual understanding to act more…well, like a couple, than you actually were. You didn’t comment on the way his arm circled around your waist a couple of minutes into making your rounds talking with people or the endearing way he referred to you as my wife.

You’re glad that he doesn’t do anything to talk about what he had told you in the carriage whenever the two of you were alone, acting like nothing was wrong and everything was normal as he inquired about your day.

You told him brief things, still trying to shove his words out of your mind, but it was no use. I’d like to be your friend, your mind kept repeating, and you were too scared of brining it up in case he had changed his mind in between those minutes of quiet.

People you had never seen before congratulated you on your new marriage, their brows raised in that excited way as they motioned to your stomach, hinting at a special little someone who might be joining your lives soon.

“Soon!” You said with a curt laugh, glancing momentarily at Gojo only to see him already looking at you, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

He made sure not to stay with people who were strangers to you for too long, not wanting to bore you to death, and allowed you to take in more of the well-lit and vastly decorated manor.

Though its size was incomparable to the Gojo estate, it was still massive. The Tokoshi family had been a family with the Gojo one for centuries, so there was no question that the riches they had amassed over the years by being trading partners with them had culminated in this.

Gojo told you earlier in the carriage, before everything else, how the young Tokoshi couple were good people. They liked to throw parties a couple of times a year, inviting only a select few. He liked them far more than a lot of the other people he had been forced to grow up with over the years.

You look at the dining hall, at the corridors with openings that allow you to look outside without the glare of glass. His arm never left your body, holding you close to him as he let you walk around, your mouth hanging open slightly as you craned your neck to look at everything. Candles were lit everywhere, the bouquets of different assortments of flowers decorating the stone flower holders carved into the walls.

You mentioned to him in the privacy of the carriage, that you hadn’t ever been able to experience a party of this sort of caliber before. You could see how he wanted to ask more questions, but you could see the answers already formulating his head as to why.

“We probably look like one of those couples where the wife’s dying and the husband takes her out to see the stars one last time,” you whisper to him, still looking around in a stunned sort of way at the beauty of it all.

Gojo’s head ducks down a bit, trying to hide the chuckle that had broken out and made its way onto his face. He coughs into his fist as if that was the issue, but you look over at him to see the humor in his eyes.

“Did you lose your bet again?” You ask, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes as he looks like he’s fighting the grin that’s threatening to take over.

“I’m always losing that bet,” he tells you.

Though he doesn’t do anything to bring up his conversation, you can see it in the way he looks at you, as if he’s still teetering on an edge, wanting to know what you were thinking in that frazzled mind of yours.

You decide to push past it.

“Can I get in on it?” You ask, turning slightly so that you face him, very aware of the fact that his hand hasn’t moved from its spot on your waist.

You try not to think about it, reminding yourself that it’s just for show, but you can’t stop the feeling of heat that travels wherever it is he seems to touch you. His hand is larger than an average one, his fingers moving mindlessly up and down on your corseted stomach.

“Do you need the extra coin?” His voice is carrying a strange tone…is he teasing you?

But again, you try not to think about it, it’s all for show, (you also try not to think too much of the fact that you’re pretty separated from everybody else).

“No, I just need coin,” you explain, fixing one of the medallions on his chest that had been slightly slanted, “I have nearly nothing left.”

Gojo moves barely away from you, his eyes searching yours as if to find the joke.

“Have you run through my family gold already?” His voice is still toying, but now it’s filled with a little confusion.

“No, of course not,” you snort, rolling your eyes as you tilt your chin up to look at him better, “I haven’t touched any of your gold. I just ran through mine.”

His brows quirks upward, mouth parting slightly.

“You’ve emptied the gold your family sent up?”

It’s your turn to be confused.

“What gold?” You ask, moving away from him, his hand falling to his side, and you suddenly miss his warmth.

You remember your father talking about how the Gojo family had rejected your initial dowry, saying something along the lines of outlandish practices, but aside from that, you weren’t told about any other sort of money that was supposed to be sent with you.

He pinches the bridges of his nose, sighing deeply.

“The gold that they sent with you? It wasn’t supposed to be a lot but it was supposed to suffice for the journey here.”

You blink owlishly at him.

“What gold have you run through?” He specifies, plastering on a fake smile when he catches the eyes of somebody behind you, but then focuses his stare back to you.

“Well…” you shrug, “My gold.”

Gojo looks like he’s about to make a new bet, one that’s with every time you’ve almost given him an aneurysm trying to figure out your strange riddles and rhymes that are supposed to be actual words.

“I used to make some gold at my old home,” you explain, keeping your voice low in case somebody was somewhere that you hadn’t seen, but realizing that Gojo was lost, you continued, “The stable boy gave me some of his salary if I took care of the horses and cleaned the stables. Sometimes he’d give me extra if I could haul in the large bags of hay.”

He scoffs, shaking his head slightly.

“Why?” That seems to be a question he’s been asking lately.

You shrug again, feeling his hand circle back around your waist as some people come near you,

“I needed new clothes and my shoes had holes in them. My father’s wife didn’t let him give me much, so I tried to fill in the gaps.”

You smile at one of the couples that are coming near you, going back into your other persona as you begin chatting with them. Gojo pulls you in tighter to his side, staying silent. You don’t notice the way he hasn’t stopped staring at you, nor the way his heart seems to have churned so painfully in his chest.

—

The night progresses and you find yourself inside the dining hall, being shown to your seats by one of the maids, finding your name next to Gojo’s on a name card.

The two of you sit down, watching the people the file in, the sound of laughter filling the room, the clinking of china against each other filling in the rest of the silence. You take it all in with a smile, looking every and at everyone.

“I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” you whisper as you lean closer to Gojo, an apologetic smile on your face as you sit further into your seat, “This is all just so new to me.”

You don’t see the ways his eyes soften, his hand inching closer to yours as he shakes his head.

“You’re not embarrassing me,” he murmurs back, leaning his head closer to yours, wanting his words only to be heard by you, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” The smile that makes its way onto your face could power the universe, and Gojo feels like the wind had been knocked from his lungs, far worse than in training when somebody's foot slams into his chest.

“I am!” Your enthusiastic and hurried words are hushed, but he can still hear the way you’re trying to hide your joy. The small talk is horrific,” he laughs a little bit, “but still I love it.”

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the sound of a knife hitting glass.

“Everyone! Give me your time, just for a moment!” Miyo Tokoshi, whom you spoke to briefly, stands up, his chair behind him.

All eyes in the room fall on him, people still smiling, their teeth glimmering in the light.

“I cannot express my joy to be in a room with you all tonight,” he says, looking around the room, making sure he saw everyone for a split second. “And my wife and I couldn’t be more ecstatic to host the first gathering of the season!”

You look at the woman sitting next to him, Lana, who you had also met momentarily, is gleaming at him, her face full of genuine adoration. She, along with everybody else, claps, laughing joyfully.

You wonder if this is what a real husband and wife should look like, and you look briefly over to Gojo, your mind reeling with the charade the two of you have been playing this entire night.

“And we couldn’t be happier to welcome the first couple of the year,” he exclaims, pointing his glass over to you and Gojo, saying your name and then your husbands as he claps his hand softly against his wrist, “May every moment you spend together be better than the last. We wish the two of nothing but a lifetime of happiness and prosperity.

Gojo raised his glass to him, his hand grasping yours as he lifted it to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it.

You feel like you’ve stopped breathing with the linger of his lips on your skin, the last time that happened on the night of your wedding, and watching him grasp it even tighter when he sets it back down, weaving his fingers through yours.

Stop, you chide, raising your glass as well, a shaky smile on your face, it’s just an act.

He winks at the two of you, nodding once more as he focuses his stare somewhere down the table, obstructed by where you are sitting.

“And to the future couple! Naoya and Freya!”

Gojo turned his head immediately to look at you, watching the color drain from your face, and before you knew it, the man, Naoya, was standing up, a hand over his chest in faux gratitude as he thanked the host.

You could never mistake that hair, the feline look in his eyes as he scanned across the room, a slimy smile on his face. You watch as it grows even wider when he finally catches his prey when he finally sees you, and you feel nauseous, like you’re about to throw up all those little crackers they had given you earlier that evening.

The hand holding yours squeezes, knowing he can’t say anything right now, and you swallow thickly, eyes darting over to his as you feel your head about to sway.

Naoya’s here. The man you turned down for Gojo.

The rest of Tokoshi’s speech is muted to you. It feels like your head is being held underwater, and you feel sweat dotting your forehead, your chest, and your palms. You can feel Gojo’s eyes on the side of your head and can tell he’s trying to tell you something silently.

The clinking of glass brings you out of your haze, looking up mindlessly as you haphazardly clink yours against Gojo’s, rubbing a hand down your face as if that would help.

You're grateful for the flurry of movements and noises, everybody talking to somebody, the people beginning to serve themselves the wide array of food places in front of them.

Gojo squeezes your hand one more time, and you finally look over at him, trying to muster up a smile but with how queasy you feel and the way your head spinning, it probably looks like you’re about to be sick all over him.

“I’ll be okay,” you say through clenched teeth.

Gojo nods, his thumb rubbing up and down your hand in a soothing way. It’s just for show.

“I’m sorry my palms are sweating,” you laugh mirthlessly, and he squeezes it again, you’re sure he’s only doing this because of the extra attention of the two of you ever since they realized you and Naoya were in the same room, “you don’t have to keep holding it.”

“Do you want me to let go?” He asks, and you stop poking around at the turnips on your plate.

No.

“N-no,” you croak out, desperate for his touch that’s grounding you, “No, please.”

Gojo nods, his thumb not stopping its comforting motion of moving up and down.

“Don’t worry,” he mutters, leaning closer to you as you duck your head so that your ears are near his lips, “My hands get sweaty too.”

You laugh quietly and it sounds like wind chimes. You look at Gojo and watch as his lips tug upwards into a soft smile, one you had never seen before, and one you thought you never would.

—

You tried to hide away the rest of the party, but Gojo didn’t seem to mind.

When it was time to leave you accepted the gracious hug of the hosting couple, promising them that you’d come back for a more private dinner, and let Gojo lead you out into the courtyard where all the carriages were held.

You slept the entire ride home, not wanting to mess anything up by taking, and you’re happy that Gojo didn’t bother you. You felt groggy when you returned to the estate, grateful for Gojo’s steady hand as he helped you out of the carriage. The two of you looked like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t, so you bid each other good night and went your separate ways.

Separate except for one brief moment.

You were walking away and up the stairs when you suddenly stopped, remembering what it was that you wanted to tell him. You call out his name, watching as he turns, white brows slightly furrowed.

“I…” you start but realize you didn’t exactly have a plan for what you wanted to say. He gives you his patience, not looking annoyed or frustrated when you try to think of the right words to string together.

“I…I would like to be your friend too,” you finally say, and watch as a smile forms on his face, his pink lips tugging upwards in a way that made his eyes shine, the way your earrings did in the candlelight.

He rakes his hand through his snow-white locks, pushing them away from his face.

“I’ll see you at breakfast then,” Gojo says, and you dip your head down in a small smile.

You give him a small wave, disappearing as you round the corner.

And since then, you found him joining you not only for breakfast or the sparse dinners but for any meal he possibly could.

Gojo talked more, about anything and everything, and you did the same.

You realized that he was actually an open person the closer you got to him, seeing that he too was capable of laughing and making jokes, his teasing eyes growing more frequent the closer your chairs got to the dinner table until you eventually just sat side-by-side, growing tired of shouting at each other across its length.

On the days he wasn’t busy with strategizing or talking to other lords, he’d walk around the estate with you, telling you stories from his childhood, the times he’d run amock around the halls. Other times the two of you would go into town, looking at the different stores together.

You could tell he was trying, could see it in the way he glanced at you from time to time to make sure that you were doing well.

He’d accompany you to the library if you asked him to, and you’d go down sometimes to the training yard just to see him. Gojo would never tell you how much he tried to show off when you were there and knew he never had to. You could see the way he tried to appear even stronger when fighting with one of the other men, the poor soldier coming out with bruises and cuts all over his body.

Over many weeks, you find yourself looking forward to spending time with him, and a part of your cracked self begins mending itself again.

It felt like after years of searching for somebody, somebody found you.

On one of the nights when his sparring had gone on for far longer than it usually does, you decided to head down to the training yard after your night bath, tugging on a large robe over yourself as you walked the familiar stone steps down to where you knew he was.

You could hear them before you saw them, a cacophony of fists hitting skin, groans, shouts from one another. There was a little perch from where you could watch what was happening below, and you usually hid yourself in a corner so that they wouldn’t see you.

You’d rest on a pillar, arms crossed over your shoulder as you looked at the men below. Gojo was always easy to find, the flurry of white hair a tall-tale sign of where he was. You had watched him before, but you never got tired of it. You found it almost inhuman the way his movements seemed to flow like water, the way his hits were precise and direct.

Gojo truly was the best warrior the North had ever seen, and sometimes you forget that you’re married to a man who brought down entire armies with just his bare fists.

You watch as he jests with one of his friends, his chest rising a little bit at an irregular pace, slightly out of breath, but happy to be there. He turns to one of the guys behind him to say something, but his eyes immediately track upwards to the figure trying to stay hidden, you and a wide smile break out on his face.

He waves at you, and it gets the attention of the other men there. They all turn to see where you are, their boyish grins and calls making you roll your eyes at their antics, your face heating up slightly as you wave back at them.

Gojo says something to the person next to him, and you hear the man shout at the other ones to wrap it up for the night. Some of them wave goodbye to you as they begin exiting, going back to their common rooms.

You make a move to lean slightly over the railing, your arms crossed over the wood as you peer down at the ground where Gojo remained alone, finding him to already be looking up at you.

“Care to come down?” He juts his chin at the staircase to your left, the one that leads down to the courtyard, and you nod, disappearing behind the stone pillars as you take the steps leading downwards.

You’ve been here a couple of times, as per your own request. You wanted to see what they did during training, what the training yard actually looked like from the ground. You lift the ends of your dress up slightly as you near the bottom, rounding the corner to see Gojo standing in the middle.

He’s waiting for you, his eyes tracking your movements as you come near to him.

His nose twitches slightly, his eyes squinting as he lifts his head in the air, suddenly picking up the scent of something unusual.

“What’s that smell?” Gojo asks as you come to him, his eyes looking over your body as if it were emitting from you.

You scoff, appalled, and then suddenly remember that Alina had applied some lavender oil to you after your bath.

“If it’s a good smell then me,” you cross your arms over your chest, nose wrinkling in disgust as you take in his smell of sweat and grime, “If bad then you.”

Gojo snorts, coming closer to you as he continues sniffing, exaggerating the sound. You step away from him slightly, the smell of sweat overpowering, and he takes notice of this.

“What?” He inquires, annoyed that you are moving away from him, and he takes a step closer.

“What do you mean what?” You tease, moving again as he tries to smell the air, “You smell like an army of unshowered men. I just took a bath.”

Gojo seems offended at this, trying to move back closer to you but you side-step him, apparently serious about this.

“You really won’t let me come near you?” He sounds like you’ve kicked him down, his cheeks stained pink from earlier, and you laugh slightly, shaking your head.

“I really won’t,” you affirm, shoving the back of your wrist to him to show him that what he was smelling was in fact you, “See? Lavender oil.”

Gojo just seems to be getting more annoyed the more you try to evade him, his blue eyes swirling with an idea as you look at him in worry.

“No, the smell is coming from somewhere else.” He argues, changing his footing so that he stands right in front of you and you let out a shocked laugh, not expecting this as you take a step back.

You don’t know where else he can smell the lavender oil. Alina dotted it to your wrists and your neck, but surely can’t differentiate the difference in location…right?

“Come here,” he almost whines, “I’m not going to rub off my smell onto you.”

You laugh again out loud, picking up the skirt of your dress as you try to outrun him slightly.

“You will!” You insist, motioning to the sheen of sweat on his body, “You reek of sweat. I swear it’s just lavender oil!”

He groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at this inconvenience.

“You’re killing me right now,” Gojo dramatically grabs his chest, “You won’t let me smell this strange aroma and it’s killing me,” his face breaking into a little pout as you laugh even louder, shocked at how petulant he was being. Your laughing seemed to spur him on even more, running towards you as you ran backward, hoping you didn’t trip on the fabric of your dress.

“You have a plethora of bottles of lavender oil in your own room,” you argue, “this isn’t something innovative that you’ve never smelled before.”

Gojo shakes his head, and your heart flutters at the way his smile is so playful and teasing, the way some of his hair falls into his face in that messy way when he’s usually training and not caring about his appearance.

“It’ll only take a second,” he reasons and you shake your head no, your eyes both shining with playful laughter.

The courtyards lead out into the large fields of the Gojo estate, and you look behind yourself at the opening. It’s night, there’s nobody around. Nobody would judge you for running away from your sweaty husband.

You look back at him, see the gleam in his eyes, and know that he’s not going to back down.

He can see the thoughts forming in your head, can assume them before they’re even created, and so he’s straight on your heels as you sprint away from him, a large smile on your face as you squeal out loud.

“Please!” You shout over your shoulder, running down the little hill as the moon lights the way for you, “I just took a bath! Leave me alone!”

You can hear the grass rustling beneath your feet, your screams of laughter contagious as you try to outrun the fastest person ever, and try not to slow yourself down by looking over your shoulder to see where he is.

But after a couple of seconds of running you realize that the only footsteps you hear are your own, and you pause momentarily to look behind you and are surprised to see that he’s not there.

Did he not come after you?

You look around the field, the large blades of grass looking like waves that move with the wind, and whip your head around every time you hear a twig snap.

You're a little bit further away from the manor itself, and the only thing you can see besides its large stone walls are the torches lit outside. You can make out the guards who are standing outside, but no sign of Gojo.

You try to catch your breath, confused as to where he could’ve gone when a force stronger than a horse running at full speed slams into your side.

The scream you let out echoes around the field, and you brace yourself for the harsh impact of hitting the ground. With your eyes squeezed shut you wait for the flash of pain, but peek them open to see Gojo framing your head with one of his hands, his body shielding you from the impact as he lays on top of you.

“How…?” You scream, your chest moving up and down with your fit of giggles, trying to push him off of you, “You’re a beast!” You cry out, moving your head to the side as he laughs along with you, his chest rumbling with the movement.

You shove his face away with the palm of your hands, shoving your wrist into his nose as if that would satiate him.

“I took a bath you behemoth!” You whine, thinking about the dirt and mud that must be staining your skin and dress right now, “Are you so void of any good fragrance in your life that you must hunt me down for it?”

Gojo tsks, shaking his head as he swats your wrist aside.

He’s also slightly out of breath, most likely because he ran across and entire field from another entranceway that you weren’t aware of to catch you off guard, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how close to two of you are together.

His hand is still cradling your head, the other one holding your hips. Truthfully he doesn’t even smell bad, which is frustrating that it’s just another one of his many talents.

He judges your jaw up with his nose, and you helplessly comply, your heart hammering wildly as he leans in closer to the skin of your neck, taking in a whiff as he looks back up to you, his eyes gleaming.

Gojo’s hand on your hip moves up slightly to hold your waist, not hard, but to stop you from squirming around.

“It smells different here,” he nudges your neck with his nose again, and your breathing hitches, “Smells sweeter.”

You swallow thickly, blinking slowly as you crane your neck slightly upwards to give him more room. It’s like your body is moving on its own, and you’re not to sure how you know what to do, but you just do.

“That’s not possible,” you try to argue, trying your best to keep your voice from wavering, “You just lack the nose for good oils.”

Gojo laughs lowly, shaking his head at your antics as he braces his knees on either side of your thighs, caging you in.

“I have a very keen sense of smell,” he boasts and you snort, looking away as he pinches your hip to which you yelp.

His hand moves away from your head and to your shoulder, to where your nightgown had slightly slipped off and runs a thumb down a patch of your skin where it was slightly raised, a faint scar on your collarbone.

“Where’d you get this?” His voice is slightly hushed, and you look down from your chin to where he is talking about.

“Hm?” You look around, see that he’s pointing to the tiniest little scar, and chuckle slightly, “Oh, that?” Your eyes squint as you try to remember, “I tried to climb up a tree once when I was little and fell.” Gojo huffs out a little laugh, his eyes still focused on your skin as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

“It probably looks far worse compared to anything you have,” you say sarcastically, “The family physician kept saying I wasn’t going to make it through the night.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your antics as he raises himself, moving away from you as he sits back down on the grass. You miss his warmth, the way his heat radiated onto you like a furnace.

“I don’t know how you keep surviving between your inability to consume fish and your near-death occurrences,” Gojo’s voice holds a teasing tone and you smile, moving up so that you’re facing him.

You rest your weight back on your hands, kicking your legs out in front of you as your skirt flows around the grass. A while ago you would’ve felt improper sitting like this in front of anyone, but you don’t seem to care all that much when it’s Gojo.

“I showed you my battle would,” you say, putting one leg on top of the other, “What’s your worst one?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in questioning.

Gojo purses his lip, thinking.

You imagine that he’d tell you or probably motion to where it was, but a second later you watch, shocked, as he tugs his tunic upwards, your face heating as he rises it slightly so that you can see a part of his stomach.

You hate how utterly built he is.

His skin is pulled taught over the smooth stomach of his abs, his chest huge with pure muscle, his arms, bulging through the sleeves. It’s something you thought you’d get used to, something you told yourself to stop ogling at, but never could.

But you shift your focus to a large scar that runs across his chest, from the bottom of his hip under his arm. It still looks relatively new, and the scar itself still pink. You could see the way it was jagged, not one smooth line, and gods, fuck, why do you want to touch it?

“Well,” you try to think of something witty to say, seeing the way he’s looking at you as if waiting for it, “Clearly not as bad as mine, but it comes in as a close second.”

He throws his head back as he laughs, his muscles contracting as he does so. You feel flushed, not able to look away from the scar, knowing that you were merely compensating for not knowing what to say.

“I know,” he says eventually with a shrug, looking down as he surveys the scar, “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

You pout slightly, thinking.

“Does it hurt?”

He looks up at you, at the way you can’t take your eyes away from it, and shakes his head.

“Not anymore,” he sits up a little straighter, closer to you as you watch him move, “Sometimes I can feel it sting, but it’s barely noticeable.”

You beg to differ.

The two of you don’t say anything and a part of you has decided that silence is bad for you. Because before you can really think about what you’re doing, you push yourself upwards, leaning in closer to him as you try to get a better look at it.

He doesn’t say anything, but if only you could see the way he could barely use his lungs to breath right now you’d make some sly remark about how the best warrior of the North was growing shy from just a look.

But suddenly you’re not looking anymore as you shuffle in a little closer, your fingers reaching upwards to touch the skin.

You can hear the wind move around you, the grass rustiling as your fingers run across the scar. His abs flex at the coldness of your hand, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. You’re studying it intently, wondering what sort of weapon could’ve caused this.

Gojo’s size dwarfs over yours, but you don’t seem to mind. Your lips as slightly pursed as you take it in.

“Did you fight a bear?” You finally ask, peeking up to look at him.

You’re startled by the way the flush on his cheeks has grown even more red, or the way you can’t see the blues in his eyes anymore. Has he always looked like that?

Gojo shakes his head, taking in a shaky breath, looking at the top of your head as you go back to looking at the scar.

“Nearly,” he tries to joke, but his voice is weak, laced with need, “But I doubt a bear would even want to be compared to the man who gave me the scar.”

You look up, your brow quirked in curiosity.

“Who?” You ask, shocked at how quiet your voice came out.

Gojo smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tongue clicks against his teeth, his hand rising up to grab yours, pulling it away from his chest. He can’t bear to have you touching him like that anymore, not trusting himself to restrain the pure desire that bubbling inside his veins.

“Naoya,” he says hushed, watching as your lips part and eyes widen.

There’s a beat of silence, a moment when you think you can hear your heart beating in the same rhythm his is.

Your hand curls into itself, shock taking over your features as your eyes drop to his scar and then back up to him. You find yourself wanting to say everything and anything, but can’t somehow find the words that you’re looking for. Gojo beats you to it, thankfully.

“I’ve been having this recurring dream ever since I fought him of that same moment over and over again when he cut me open. But it’s changed, recently,” He sits up straighter, so close to you that your chests are almost touching, “And I keep seeing him marrying you, what would’ve happened if you had said yes.”

“And gods, fuck,” he ducks his head down, raking an agitated hand through his hair, making it even more messy, “I…” He chokes on his breath, looking back at you, and suddenly you see the glossiness in his eyes, the way that tears brim his waterline.

And suddenly you see the Gojo Satoru, the Lord in the North, the most powerful man alive, cry.

“I keep reprimanding Naoya in my head about how awful he is, about how I’d kill nearly every person alive if he ever touched you, b-but I was just as awful. I think about the first time I saw you, about the first weeks you were here. I think about how you must’ve felt, how alone you were. Every day…” he wipes messily at his cheeks, his lips wobbling, “Every day I wake up and think of you. I think about your face, your smile, your eyes, your lips, the way your nose scrunches, that line between your brows when you're confused, and every night I go to sleep hoping that this was all an awful dream and I haven’t ruined your life, but then I wake up, and it starts all over again.”

“I know I’m a selfish man,” Gojo says with a wet chuckle, his cheeks wet with tears, “I know I shouldn’t, but I want you to myself, I want you forever. I want to be your friend, I want to be the person you sleep next to, the person you go to when you want to talk about your little stories. I want to hear your jokes and I want to see you laugh. I want to hold your hand, I want to put that ring on your finger every morning, and I want to propose to you each night.”

He shakes his head, swallowing his cries down, the moon lighting the tear tracks that start from his eyes and end at his chin.

“But I know you don’t want that. You told me that you wanted a friend, but…” he shrugged, his smile sad, aching, longing, “I think along the way of being your friend I realized I wanted to be your husband too.”

“I understand if you want to leave. I’ll tell my parents the truth, they’ll understand. I have a house ready for you near the sea, one away from your family, where you can start over.”

The wind rustles the hills, and you look at the field, watch the way it moves in tandem with the life around it.

You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, and know that even if you blink them away it’ll do nothing to actually hide them. There’s a burning feeling in your chest, one that you’ve never felt before, one that rings with Gojo’s words.

You run your fingers through the grass, looking up at him with a certain fire in your eyes.

“What if I don’t want that?”

He blinks slowly.

“I,” Gojo sniffs, nodding profusely, hoping you don’t see the way he crumbles, “I understand, I promise I do. The house is a couple days-”

“No,” you cut him off firmly, wiping your palms furisuly across your cheeks, to rid them of the pesky tears, shaking your head, “What if I don’t want that?” You move up to him, reaching your hand down his tunic, your fingers moving against is chest as you dig out the gold chain that’s wrapped around his neck.

The one that holds his ring, the one he told you about one night that keeps it safe whenever he’s training.

“What if I want this?” Your voice is cracking, and you tug the chain tighter.

“What if I want all those things? What if I want you to love me?” The ring shines in the moonlight, mirroring her pair thats wrapped around your finger, “I want to be your friend,” you stress, your brows strewn together as tears overflow from your waterline, “And I want to know what things you like. I want to walk with you all around the earth and walk back home again. I want to sleep next to you. I want to make you laugh, and I want you to make me smile. I want you to be my husband so that I can be your wife,” you cry out, your chest heaving up and down as he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into his lap as he tries to quickly wipe your tears away.

“I want you too, Satoru,” you whisper, broken with your wet sniffles, a wet laugh escaping your lips when you see him crack at the way you said his name with so much care, your thumbs gliding across his cheeks.

You slide closer into him, your legs splitting across his huge thighs as he hugs you tenderly to him, his head resting on your chest so that he can hear your heartbeat, make sure that this wasn’t just another dream.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs against your bosom, looking up at you with glistening eyes.

“Then fight for me,” you whisper, your hands on either side of his face, “Give me all those things. Give me more,” you smile when his arms wrap around your waist a little tighter, his hands holding you up, “And I’ll do the same.”

He nods, holding your hand that was still holding onto his ring to his chest, one hand moving to your back, and in the mess of tears and broken laughs the two of you seem to move together, meeting each other in the middle as your lips find each other in the dark shadows of night.

You gasp when his lips capture yours, and he moves towards the sound, wanting to hold it, keep it forever.

Gojo moves slowly, knowing that this is your first time, and cups your jaw, helping you move along with him as you lips slot and lock against each other. It’s messy and with no order, your chin staining with sweat as you moan against him, feeling delirious without the touch of him.

You know this isn’t the easiest position for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He groans against you, his eyes squeezing shut, trying to memorize your taste in case the world ended tomorrow and this was his last meal.

“Is this-” You cut him off when you swoop in again, his laughter cut short by your needienss, the way you paw at his chest, your hands winding up to his hair as you tug harshly on the soft strands.

He moans at this, at the way you grind mindlessly on his thigh, your need for each other bleeding out into the open.

“I love you,” he murmurs against you, kissing down your chin and then back up to you, his tongue swiping against your lips, savroing your whine, “I love you so much,” he says to everybody, hoping even those on mountains oceans away could hear, “I love you, my wife,” and you giggle, eyes bright when you hear those words.

“Say it again,” you ask, your nails drawing little shapes on his nape, and you see him break into a smile.

“My wife,” he repeats with a peck to your cheek, “My beautiful wife,” he kisses the tip of your nose, smiling at the way it scrunhed up slightly, just the way he adored, “My wife,” he kisses your jaw, “My wife,” your giggling nonstop and he hopes to bottle up the sound and hear it on his deathbed.

His hands travel back down to your hips, adusjsting you slightly so that you wouldn’t feelt he embarrassing hardening of his dick just from kissing you, and moves his lips down to your neck, hearing the way there’s a hitch in your laughter.

“Why’d you stop?” he nudges his nose at that spot pf your neck that still smells like lavender, his favroite scent in the world, “Hm?” Gojo hums against that spot, licking a wet stripe up it, sucking at the skin, feeling the way you arch into his chest.

“Y-your reeking s-scent infiltrated my nose,” you murmur, biting on your lip as he pinches your waist.

“Yeah?” Gojo continued to tease you, sliding the sleeve of your dress down, giving you more access to the skin of your collarbone, “Want me to stop?”

“No!” You cry, totally against your better judgement, moaning when he sucks another mark into the skin, biting it, and then presses a soft kiss to it as an apology, “Please, please, don’t stop.”

He chuckles darkly, shifting you around so that you are lying back down on the ground, his body framing yours as he continues tugging down your dress, going slow in case you ever wanted him to stop.

His fingers are quick at untying the string that holds you bodice together, unravelingit all until it falls off and he’s greeted to the sight of your heaving chest, the way your naked breasts rise and fall.

Gojo blinks for a moment, forgetting how to move.

“W-what?” You ask, a little self-conscience as he continues to stare at your chest, “Do they look wonky?” You move your hands to cover up but a deep gutteral growl escapes his lips, pinning your hands back.

“Beautiful,” he bites out, moving his head down, pressing a wet kiss in between the valley of your breasts, “You look like a fuckin’ statue,” he says, “You’re s-so beautiful.” Gojo repeats, and you can’t protest with the way he praises you, nor the way his lips hover over a nipple, finally leaning in fully as he sucks on it.

“F-fuck!” You cry out at the sensation, your fingers lost in his hair as you keep him there, back arching off the ground, “That, that feels…good,” you can’t speak, not with the way his tongue slides across your nipple, pressing little kisses around you areola.

His other hand goes to your other one, making sure she’s not feeling lonely, his thumb flicking over your sensitive nipples as you whine even louder.

Gojo switches and you feel your breath shudder in an embarrassing whimper, your eeys squeezing shut when he bites at you, wanting to mark you up for those wretched gods to see and feel humanly jealous over.

“So soft,” he murmurs against your skin, almost in awe, “feels like silk.”

You would’ve had a witty joke about this, you know you did, but you can’t fathom to think about anything other than the way his lips feel on your tits, the way he seems like he’d die had he not been here sooner.

But he then raises his head, and you whine in protest. Gojo almost break at the way you’re looking up at him, the way yor lips tremble from sheer desire.

“Want more?” He presses, his hands, warmer than the fire that’s burning in your belly, trailing down, down to where your dress was slightly parting, “Here?”

“Y-yes, fuck,” you moan, parting your legs to make room for him, not knowing what this feeling was but knowing that he was the only one who could soothe it, “Need it so bad Sa-satoru,”

His eyes roll back, swallowing his primal groan at the way you plead for him, and nods, pressing a kiss against your stomach before his hitches the fabric upwards, sliding down your body so that his face is closer to that heat.

You know you should feel more shame, but you feel like you’re going to die if your husband doesn’t do something soon.

Gojo’s hand travels up your calf, trailing up your thigh, and suddenly stops.

You go to beg, plead, for him, but cut yourself off when his lips find your inner thighs, pressign wet and messy kisses to them, getting dangerously close to where you felt like you were leaking.

“You’re divine,” he whispers against your skin, hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulls them apart, “Fuckin’ divine.”

His lips suddenly find there, you glistening cunt, and you mewl out for him.

“Satoru,” your chest is heaving like you can’t find any air, “T-there, please, there,” and fuck the way you’re begging him is so sweet that he can’t find it in himself to tease you.

His fingers seperate your wet lips, groaning when he sees just how much you’re dripping, and licks a tentative stripe upwards, your surprised gasp at how good it felt going straight to his cock.

Gojo carefully slides a finger through your tight walls, feeling the way you tighten around that, and lets his lips travel to your clit, pressing small kisses to it before he begins to suck. You clench around him, and your toes curl at the way he begins to pump it in and out, your essence soaking his skin.

“So wet sweetheart,” he groans swapping his finger for his thumb at your clit, his tongue diving into your walls as he nearly cums from your saccharine taste alone, “S-shit, fuck, you taste like fucking heaven.”

Your thighs tighten arund his head, but he craves the feeling, his tongue eating you out at such a fast pace that you begin to wonder if you need this more or him.

“O-oh gods,” your grips his head tightly, can’t find the sympathy in yourself to feel bad, “‘Toru, oh, oh my, don’t stop!

That coil in your stomach grows more taunt with each second.

He alternates, adding in another thick finger, feeling the way you try to stretch for him. He glides in and out of you with ease, but he wonders what you’d look like on his thick cock, how you’d preen as he split you open with his girth.

“Sweet,” he moans against you, his voice vibrating against your pulsing walls, “You’re so fuckin’ sweet.”

You nod at something, whatever he just said, not fulling understanding anything around you as he continue to stimulate your clit, sucking on it, his teeth gliding across it with a little bite, and you moan out even louder.

“I…” you can’t think, can’t breathe, “F-fcuk, ‘Toru, something, something’s happening,” you don’t know what this feeling is, this electric, all-consuming feeling that’s zapping through your body, making it numb yet aware of everything at the same time.

“I know, I know,” Gojo praised you, one of his hands holding your stomach down, the added pressure making you whine, “You’re doing so good for me, you’re there, come on come for me,” his hand travels up your body, finding yours as he weaves your fingers together.

“Shit, shit,” you mewl, “I’m coming, fuck, c-coming!” You cry out, your back arching off of the ground as your legs grow slack around his shoulders, your walls pulsing around him as that string tightens for the final time and then finally breaks.

You can see white as your eyes rolls back into your head, squeezing his hand as tightly as you can, your yes dotting with tears. Your climax was all consuming, making you gush around his fingers and tongue, seeming to be never-ending, your body shaking in his hold.

Gojo presses one final kiss to your cunt, licking off your release from his fingers, groaning at the taste, and lets you catch your breath.

When you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, you peek them over to Gojo, seeing the way he tilts his head back, your cum still glistening on his chin and cheek, and whine out in embarrassment.

“What?” He asks, eyes teasing when you go to hide your face in your hands.

“I can’t,” your words are muffled, “I can’t believe I just…”

Gojo kisses your forehead, wiping some of the tears from your eyes away as he kisses your brow bone.

“How do you feel?” He asks, his eyes scanning over your body, glistening with sweat, and you take in a gulp of air.

“Good,” you say finally with a soft smile, “Really good.”

You look from his little grin, one that you peck at, your thumb rubbing up and down his jaw, and then look down, to the obvious bulge that’s hiding behind his training trousers.

You’ve never seen a cock before but fuck he’s massive.

“What…” you trail off, sitting up slightly, and he helps balance you, “What about you?” you paw at his stomach, right before it leads down, and he lets out a shuddered whine.

“As much as I-” he bites his tongue, feeling like he’s going to cum if you continue to look at him like that, “As much as I want to…not here,” he looks around at the field, shaking his head as a definite no, “Not here.”

You go to protest, but he stops you, biting your fingers gently as you yelp, shoving his head away with little force as he chuckles.

You let him wrap your dress around you again, tying some of the knots so that it doesn’t open up when you’re standing, and let the silence wash over the two of you calm your beating down heart down.

He plays with the ring around your finger, and you watch as the ring around his neck moves with his little breaths.

“I want to sleep in your bed,” you say, and his blue eyes find yours.

“You’re crazy if you don’t think I’m letting you sleep anywhere else,” he says in a shocked sort of way and you laugh, looking over to the side for a brief moment, and then look back at him.

“Do you really love me?”

Your words as whispered, but it feels like the wind picked them up and scattered them all around the field, around the river, the ancient stones, and right into Gojo’s heart.

“I really love you,” he whispers back, kissing your eyelids, in between your brows, your forehead, the back of your hand, and murmurs the words, “my wife,” to nobody and to everybody at the same time.

You smile, pulling him down by that necklace of his so that you can plant a soft kiss against his lips.

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jackoshadows · 3 days ago

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I think you slightly overstate Sansa's looking down on Jon- it's pretty clear in the text they care about one another. (And let's not forget she is 12 when we see them interact)

I mean, prejudice is prejudice. There is no overstating or understating it.

For Jon, as he mentions missing all his siblings the only thing he can highlight for Sansa is that she treated him differently after finding out that he was a bastard. Does that make her evil or imply that Jon hates her? No. He certainly considers her part of his family - as he says he 'even missed Sansa' - but for the most part Jon seems indifferent to her troubles and vice versa and they don't have much of a relationship.

As for Sansa being 11 when the books starts, her younger siblings Arya and Bran are able to look beyond classist prejudice and their mother's dislike of Jon to build a relationship with him. Arya gained the devoted love and loyalty of a brother who ended up dying to save her.

And the fact remains, that Sansa is now 13 and she still holds onto those Westerosi classist ideals. Which was my point in the OP. That even now, she would be horrified if anyone told her that she had to marry a bastard.

Jon mentions her like 5 times in his 42 POV chapters - where she is included along with Arya - and Sansa mentions him like 3 times in AGoT and once in the most recent book. That's about it. Jon never shows up in Sansa's nostalgic memories of home and family and she admits to forgetting about him in AFfC until Myranda Royce brings up his name. And Jon's concern is mostly for Arya, Robb and Bran.

Jon Snow straightened himself and took a long deep breath. Forgive me, Father. Robb, Arya, Bran … forgive me, I cannot help you. He has the truth of it. This is my place. - AGoT

We can see this in the contrast of the heavy emotions that Jon experiences upon hearing about Arya's marriage and his total indifference towards Sansa being forcefully married off to the enemy.

I suppose what I COULD see in canon would be them sticking together because they're too traumatized to live with anyone who isn't a Stark.

This makes no sense. House Stark is nothing special for someone like Jon Snow who experienced isolation and being treated differently so much so that he wanted to leave and join the Night's Watch at 14. Why would Jon - who is traumatized by his bastardy and his childhood of stigma and ostracization want to be with someone who did treat him differently and is a reminder of the person who emotionally abused him?

Jon Snow has loved and lost Ygritte and envisioned a life with Val who is no Stark either. His friends like Sam, Satin, Grenn, Pyp, Toad, Mully, Halder etc are outliers of Westerosi society - again nothing to do with House Stark. Sansa would have nothing in common with Jon's friends (except for maybe Sam) and wouldn't even like them the same way she didn't like Arya's friends.

Again, the only special Stark relationship is Jon and Arya. These two are the only ones I can see as wanting to stick together at the end. Jon literally calls Arya his heart and thinks Arya's home is wherever he is.

But they do love one another, and I hope they get to reunite. And in a world where George's first draft had Ayra falling in love with Jon….. we can't discount any possibilities lol.

In a world where George's first draft had Arya falling in love with Jon, there is the possibility that Arya and Jon ARE STILL falling in love with each other considering that 90% of the story beats from the original outline is still around.

ALL of GRRM's incestual romance in the series happens between very close siblings and if GRRM was to go there then it would be with Jon and Arya - there is certainly the build up for it over 5 books with these two mentioning and missing each other and Jon ending up dead at the end of ADwD to go save her.

GRRM in fact changed the original AFfC/ADwD draft to include more Jon/Arya moments. And where Jon originally was supposed to die in Hardhome while ranging, GRRM changed that to have him break his NW oaths for Arya and then get assassinated by his men for oathbreaking.

The Stark sisters are not interchangeable. Arya and Sansa are totally different characters with different relationships with their siblings. Jon and Arya bonded over being different and kept secrets from Sansa. Arya went to Jon for consolation after getting bullied over her appearance by Jeyne and Sansa. One can't just randomly replace Arya with Sansa in the original outline because one wants Jon and Sansa to get together.

If GRRM was at all interested in Jon and Sansa then HE WOULD WRITE FOR IT. Like he has done for Jon/Arya and Jon/Dany.

If he was going to change Jon/Arya from the original outline for whatever reason - like the loss of the 5 year gap which means Arya, Bran and Sansa are still children - then he would go for Jon/Dany: the more age appropriate romance with parallel arcs and actual foreshadowing and logical plot building and which would make narrative sense.

They are two of my favorite character in the series and all signs point to them walking very different (Separate) paths. But they do love one another, and I hope they get to reunite

They maybe your favorite characters independently but in the series they don't have much to do with each other. Jon doesn't much like the traditional ladies who uphold Westerosi patriarchal ideals and is always looking for an Arya in the women/girls he loves and admires - Ygritte, Alys, random freefolk girls. Sansa in the meantime seems to be imagining kisses with someone like Sandor Clegane. Jon and Sandor couldn't be more different.

If anything it's very possible we will see a Stark civil war type situation in TWoW. GRRM loves to write about dysfunctional families and House Stark is no exception. With a darker, more wolfish resurrected Jon Snow being named KITN by Robb's will - which possibly disinherits Sansa - and Sansa being backed by LF and the Vale we may see some Stark in fighting over Winterfell.

Also this is not an attack on you or anything, but I am baffled that you like Jon Snow and he is your favorite character and you are then sleeping on the Jon/Arya relationship. That's literally Jon Snow's BEST canonical relationship in the books. One of the best platonic relationships in the whole series IMO. Just unconditional love for each other and they would go to the ends of the world for each other.

And then there's Jon/Robb - such a sweet, tragic relationship with Jon nearly abandoning the NW for Robb and Robb defying his mother to name Jon KITN.

And Jon/Bran - Jon's happiness over Bran being alive and twirling Tyrion around the table is such a sweet moment. Jon wanting Tyrion to help Bran in whatever way he can. Bran wanting to name Halys' bastard son Larence Snow the heir to his father because he was reminded of his bastard brother Jon Snow. Bran saving Jon at the Queenscrown.

As a Jon Snow fan, Sansa is way, way down my list of fun, emotionally heavy, important, canonical Jon Snow relationships in the series. GRRM has not written anything for them so they are not really a priority for him either. Fans liking them together and wanting them together does not make it a thing in the books.

Similarly Sansa's best sibling relationships are Bran Stark - who actually shows concern for his sister being a hostage and Sansa shows concern for Bran. And Robb who is so angry at Sansa's forced marriage that he wants to cut off Tyrion's head as compared to Jon's complete indifference and nonchalance about the same marriage.

Sansa has far better canonical relationships in the series than Jon Snow and I will be forever baffled by this need in fandom to see these two get together or unite in favor of their more emotionally heavy relationships in the books.

Like Jon is my favorite character and I have been waiting for him to reunite with Arya since they first parted ways - 'Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle'.

One reason for why I find shipping Jonsa as a canon ship hilarious is that book Sansa would be so horrified if anyone suggested she marry Jon Snow!

And I think it's because Jonsa shippers themselves think differently to book Sansa. They know that Jon is a central character in the series, that he is a decent guy, has some secret parentage issues going on with the possibility of legitimacy, is loyal and forward thinking etc.

However, these matters don't concern book Sansa. She is a Stark - one of the last remaining Starks in Westeros. She is the eldest daughter of house Stark. The eldest daughter of the former Warden of the North and one of the formerly strongest houses of Westeros which still has a lot of loyalty from other Northern houses. She grew up with high expectations for her marriage.

She was formerly destined to be Queen of Westeros by marriage to Joffrey. She was considered for marriage to the Tyrell heir and would have been Lady of Highgarden. She married Tyrion Lannister who is heir to Casterly Rock. She is currently plotting to marry Harry the Heir - future heir to the Vale upon SweetRobin's death.

So as is seen by her as her right, Sansa expects a marriage to a very high born noble. So far all her prospects have been heirs to big houses and kingdoms.

In AGoT she thinks that the Stark Steward's daughter Jeyne Poole - The Pooles possibly being minor lords with a holdfast near Winterfell - was far beneath Lord Beric Dondarrion.

"Lord Beric is as much a hero as Ser Loras. He's ever so brave and gallant." "I suppose," Sansa said doubtfully. Beric Dondarrion was handsome enough, but he was awfully old, almost twenty-two; the Knight of Flowers would have been much better. Of course, Jeyne had been in love with Lord Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in the lists. Sansa thought she was being silly; Jeyne was only a steward's daughter, after all, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lord Beric would never look at someone so far beneath him, even if she hadn't been half his age.

For the same reason, Sansa would think that the bastard Jon Snow was beneath someone like Jeyne Poole.

In fact in her most recent sample TWoW chapter we see she doesn't think much of bastards. Five books in, with the very last published chapter, we see her matchmaking for the 19 year old Mya Stone with the much older, very low born, not good looking Lothor Brune because according to her that would be a good match for a bastard...

Alayne wondered what Mya made of Ser Lothor. With his squashed nose, square jaw, and nap of woolly grey hair, Brune could not be called comely, but he was not ugly either. Though he had risen to knighthood, Ser Lothor's birth had been very low. Brune would be a good match for a bastard girl like Mya Stone, she thought. It might be different if her father had acknowledged her, but he never did. And Maddy says that she's no maid either.

Sansa would be utterly shocked if someone suggested she marry loyal, honest, good Lothor Brune. He would be very low born for her. And if Lothor Brune is not good enough for Sansa how would she feel about marrying a baseborn bastard?

As much as Sansa would be joyful to reunite with her last living relative Jon Snow, she would rather match-make Jon Snow with some low born girl, some hedge knight's or freerider's daughter than marry him. And she would still think that a baseborn like Jon Snow would be lucky to marry someone higher up the chain like lowborn girls - the same way she thinks of Mya Stone and Lothor Brune.

Remember, bastards don't have any lands and are stigmatized as less than, being treacherous and lustful by nature of birth. Ned Stark gave Jon Snow no lands, instead packed him off to the Night's Watch.

Remember Alys Karstark dancing with Robb Stark and not Jon Snow because her father took her there to meet with the heir and not the bastard?

Look at Jaime's thoughts about Sybell Spicer:

"Your lord father promised me worthy marriages for Jeyne and her younger sister. Lords or heirs, he swore to me, not younger sons nor household knights." Lords or heirs. To be sure. The Westerlings were an old House, and proud, but Lady Sybell herself had been born a Spicer, from a line of upjumped merchants.

Or Lady Sybell's reaction to betrothing her son to Joy Hill. And this is only house Westerling.

"I have two sons as well," Lady Westerling reminded him. "Rollam is with me, but Raynald was a knight and went with the rebels to the Twins. If I had known what was to happen there, I would never have allowed that." Even from the grave, Lord Tywin's dead hand moves us all. "Joy is my late uncle Gerion's natural daughter. A betrothal can be arranged, if that is your wish, but any marriage will need to wait. Joy was nine or ten when last I saw her." "His natural daughter?" Lady Sybell looked as if she had swallowed a lemon. "You want a Westerling to wed a bastard?"

Also recall that the original arrangement was for two bastards to marry - Joy Hill, Gerion Lannister's bastard, to marry a Frey bastard.

So imagine Sansa's reaction to a suggestion that she marry the bastard Jon Snow... She would think it's a joke and laugh. She would be aghast and horrified. She would be repulsed and see it as punishment.

That's just how the high born Westerosi society thinks. Bastards are seen as the lowest strata. This is how feudal classism works in Westeros.

So unless Sansa gets suddenly and magically enlightened on classist prejudice, then Jonsa is something that is never, ever, ever going to happen. This is not even getting into what Jon Snow thinks and feels about the high born traditional ladies upholding Westerosi patriarchal ideals of femininity.

#Jon Snow

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starmapz · 30 days ago

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hiromi higuruma is your divorce lawyer, and he thinks you might be the most beautiful person he's ever laid eyes on. ❦ cw ; mdni. 18+ only. f!reader. divorce themes. fluff. p in v. fingering. oral (f!receiving). slight body worship. unprotected. creampie. kinda hurt/comfort if you squint?

masterlist

divorce lawyer!higuruma who makes a point of not dating clients, but he can’t help but think that you’re gorgeous.

divorce lawyer!higuruma who feels his blood boil during the first meeting with your husband- ex-husband- and his lawyer as the asshole tries to defend himself for cheating. he can hardly bear to see the way you cover the fact that you’re holding back tears with nothing more than a glance at the table and a dejected smile.

divorce lawyer!higuruma surprises you when he suggests a more aggressive split of your belongings, favoring you of course. it wasn’t previously discussed but you don’t argue and when the opposing side agrees, you feel a weight lifted off your shoulders knowing you can support yourself.

divorce lawyer!higuruma doesn’t say a word when you return to his office and cry. he’s no stranger to having those recently divorced cry in front of him, but this time there’s a very real and raw pang in his chest.

divorce lawyer!higuruma offers to take you for drinks. it’s not a date, no formalities, just his way of offering you some comfort. you tilt your head so cutely as you contemplate his question, wiping your tears with the back of hand as you decidedly nod.

divorce lawyer!higuruma feels his grasp slipping on his self-imposed rule to not date clients. you’re so kind, so caring, so beautiful, that he wonders how your sleazy ex-husband ever let you go.

divorce lawyer!higuruma pays for all of your drinks and your uber, much to your dismay, insisting it’s the right thing to do.

divorce lawyer!higuruma looks forward to your next meeting, in spite of the fact that he’ll need to see your ex-husband. there’s a sort of pride blooming deep within his chest when you speak of the divorce to your ex, but look to hiromi for encouragement. he offers you nods and smiles and you relax somewhat, seeming much more at ease and confident.

divorce lawyer!higuruma who has a smile on his face walking out of the meeting with you as your ex-husband seethes over the fact that you’re squeezing more money out of him, and doing it with a smile.

divorce lawyer!higuruma doesn’t even think twice about accepting when you insist on taking him for dinner as a thank you once the proceedings are finished. he intends nothing more than to have a friendly dinner with you, but after several hours and his insistence to make sure you get home safe, you find yourself sharing a kiss.

divorce lawyer!higuruma hasn’t even had a drink, but he thinks he’s drunk on you. you’re so saccharine sweet and the way you sweetly invite him in with bright eyes is irresistible. he doesn’t even mind potentially being a rebound if it means getting the chance to show you what it means to be taken care of by a real man.

divorce lawyer!higuruma carries you so confidently to your guest room that you just giggle when you tell him it’s the wrong room, directing him to your bedroom. there’s something so sweet and charming about the whole situation, the way you’re able to laugh together, that he hopes he isn’t just a rebound. but for you? he will be, if that’s what you want.

divorce lawyer!higuruma spends the night practically worshiping your body. he takes his time kissing each and every inch of your skin, so gentle and caring even as his cock absolutely throbs in the confines of his slacks, because he wants to show you exactly what you’ve missed out on.

divorce lawyer!higuruma absolutely snaps when his tongue is buried in your pussy and you begin to beg him to cum as his ministrations are so slow, drawing your pleasure out. it’s like he’s a different man when he meanly strokes long fingers against your g spot while he sucks your clit until your body is trembling with pleasure.

divorce lawyer!higuruma’s words when he talks dirty send you into a spiral as he asks if your ex-husband could get you off like he is, if he knew how to make you beg and scream and shake while he pounds your poor cunt in a mean mating press. what sends him into a frenzy is the way you tell him he’s the best you’ve ever had.

divorce lawyer!higuruma doesn’t relent as your moans turn to babbles and your nails rake his back. he relishes in the sting, knowing he’s hitting your sweet spot with each stroke as white hot pleasure courses through your body and with a cry you hit your climax. You cling to him as your arousal coats his cock, your walls tightening around his length and with only a few more thrusts, he fills you with his seed when you beg him to cum inside.

divorce lawyer!higuruma still fears being a rebound, but there’s something satisfying in seeing him seeping from your folds and soaking the sheets beneath you.

divorce lawyer!higuruma takes his time caring for you, cleaning you gently with a towel as he asks if you enjoyed yourself before he lifts the sheets and blankets over you, comfortably holding you against his broad chest as though you belong there, and he wonders if you feel that sensation too.

divorce lawyer!higuruma who tries to leave early in the morning, as a courtesy to you, under the assumption that he’s a rebound. a delicate hand around his wrist has his eyes widening as he tries to step out of the bed, but you don’t let him, a hurt expression on your face as you ask if he’s leaving.

divorce lawyer!higuruma who realizes he’s underestimated you in every way as he comfortably holds you against his bare chest again in the early hours of the morning, basking in the feeling of being wanted. the feeling of being wanted by you, nonetheless. he wonders how your ex-husband ever let you go, how any man could possibly bear to not see the entire sun, you, each and every morning upon waking up.

divorce lawyer!higuruma relaxes into you, forgetting about your ex as he falls into a deep slumber, silent plans to take you on countless dates and spoil you rotten floating in his mind if you’ll allow him to. little does he know, you’re as smitten with him as he is with you.

masterlist

❦ a/n ; just a lil something for hiromi while i work on my last kinktober piece and my sukuna college au ♡ as always, likes, reblogs, and comments super appreciated!

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joelsgoldrush · 1 month ago

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“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind.

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later.

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words.

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?”

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out.

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being��a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture.

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them.

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable.

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position.

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes.

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know.

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell. It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more. He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration.

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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