#doctor doom x reader

[nekoannie-chan]

Armchair

Pairing: Victor von Doom X Witch!Reader.

Word count: 401 words.

Summary: You tried to not use magic to assemble your new armchair.

Warnings: Magic.

A/N: This is my gift for @rodtsssss-blog. HAPPY BIRTHDAY RODRI!

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou​  @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817​ @angrythingstarlight​ @shield-agent78​ @charmed-asylum​ @caplanbuckybarnes​  @sapphire-rogers @nana1000night​ @talia-rumlow​ @writingshae​ @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga​ @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare​ @endlesstwanted  @chemtrails-club @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm​ @patzammit @kmc1989

Victor von Doom looked curiously at the package he had just taken, the sender was you, but he found it strange that you had asked for it to come to him instead of your home.

He didn't know what it was, but his suspicions were high when he saw the shipping address. He knew you were a witch and that this might be a magical item. You weren't good at modern technology so it was very strange to him so what could it be?

He wondered what you had bought as the products you used to use were not sold just like that in the supermarkets in town or at least not the ones he knew about.

He looked at the seal on the box, it was your magic symbol, there wasn't much doubt that the package was for you. He began to open the box with a large fork and slowly knowing well how dangerous it could be to open it unprepared, and when he peeled off the last layers of paper, what he found was an electric chair. He stared at the chair confused, you had never asked for something like this before, but now he feared he had messed things up, maybe it was a gift for him and he had already opened it.

He was startled when he heard you, and then he asked you about the chair.

“I thought it was nice," you replied. You raised your arms a little, you would put it together with your magic.

“You don't need magic to put it together, it's very simple, you just have to follow the instructions," Victor said when he saw you.

“No, it's not easy. "

“Come on, you can try. "

You made a grimace, but you would try, you started to see the instructions, even if he said that you had to follow the instructions.

You grimaced, but you would try, you started to look at the instructions, and even though he said they were simple, after almost an hour, you managed to finish it.

“You saw it wasn't that hard... "

The armchair somehow fell apart.

“I give up if you want to assemble it yourself," you answered.

“I... I... have things to do in my lab," he immediately left.

“I knew it wasn't going to work “and with a wave of your hand, you put it together, magic never failed you.

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N Stark deals with Tony and his Doom variant arguing…

Doom: shoot him!

Tony: no shoot him!! Y/N!

Y/N: which one of you is my father?!

Doom and Tony: (unison) I am!

Y/N aims the blaster…

Y/N: describe changing my diapers growing up!

Doom: well it was quite-

Blam! Y/N blasts Doom…

Y/N: trick question. Dad never changed my diapers.

Tony: yeah I don’t like being handed things. Especially dirty diapers.

[librababe99]

Kinktober Day Fifteen: Victor Von Doom (RDJs Version)

Victor Von Doom x Female Reader | corruption |

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Fingering, dom/sub dynamics, manipulation, emotional corruption

Summary: In Victor von Doom’s grip, you thought you could resist—but with every touch, every whispered command, he unraveled you, claiming not just your body, but your soul.

Word Count: 1.2K

| Day Fourteen | | Kinktober Masterlist | | Day Sixteen |

The air between you and Victor is suffocating, thick with the weight of what’s already begun. His presence dominates the room, a dark, commanding force that draws you in and erodes every shred of willpower you once had. You stand before him, every nerve in your body electrified, your breath coming in shallow, ragged pulls. There's no escape from this—not anymore. Victor has you exactly where he wants you.

"Do you even remember how it started?" His voice is a low rasp, sending a shiver down your spine as he circles you, the soft whisper of his cloak brushing your skin. The power in his tone is unmistakable, just as it always is. His intellect, his dominance, it all radiates off him like heat from a fire, pulling you closer even as the darkness within him promises to consume you.

You tremble beneath his gaze, unable to answer. The truth is, you do remember—every moment of how you fell into his orbit, every step down the path of your inevitable surrender. You fought him, at first. You told yourself you could resist him, that you could stand against the allure of his power, his touch, his intoxicating control. But that was before. Before the corruption seeped in, curling its tendrils around your soul, until you couldn’t tell where your desires ended and his commands began.

Victor’s lips curl into a smirk, as if he can read the thoughts flickering across your mind. He moves closer, his broad frame enveloping you in shadow, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin upward so your eyes meet his. His touch is deceptively gentle, the leather of his gloves smooth against your skin, but the force behind it—behind him—is undeniable.

“You wanted this,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, teasing, his eyes dark and intense, burning with a fire that makes your pulse race. "You still want this."

You swallow hard, your throat tight. His words are a statement of fact, not a question. He’s right, of course. You’ve wanted him since the first moment you laid eyes on him—wanted his power, his intellect, his control. But more than that, you wanted the way he could make you feel, like you were his and only his. Even now, as you stand before him, helpless and trembling, your body betrays you, leaning into his touch, craving more.

“I…” you try to speak, but the words die on your lips as his fingers tighten around your chin, just enough to make you gasp, to remind you of who’s in control.

"You belong to me now." His voice drops lower, and your knees weaken at the sound. The truth of his words is undeniable, each syllable like a chain tightening around you, binding you to him. "There’s no going back."

His other hand slides down your arm, trailing over your skin with a deliberate slowness that sends a rush of heat straight to your core. He’s teasing you, savoring your surrender, watching with dark amusement as you struggle to keep from collapsing under the weight of your own desire. Every touch, every look from him is a calculated move, designed to unravel you, to strip away whatever resistance you have left.

Victor presses closer, his body brushing against yours, the cool metal of his armor a stark contrast to the burning heat of his presence. His lips ghost over the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as his hand moves lower, fingers grazing the soft curve of your waist. You can feel your pulse racing, your body instinctively arching toward him, desperate for more of his touch.

"You've fought me long enough," he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his voice sending a bolt of electricity straight through you. "But now… now you’re mine. 

Your breath hitches as his hand slips lower, finding the heat between your thighs. He moves with such deliberate precision, every touch calculated, every stroke meant to drive you closer to the edge. You gasp as his fingers trace a slow, agonizing path over your slick folds, your body reminding you how much you need him. 

Victor chuckles darkly against your neck, his lips pressing a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat as his fingers slip inside you, filling you with a relentless, almost punishing rhythm. Your hips buck against his hand, your body moving of its own accord, lost to the pleasure he’s pulling from you with every stroke.

"You feel that?" he growls, his voice dripping with possession as he pushes deeper, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that makes you cry out, your hands clutching desperately at his chest. "That's me inside you. Twisting you. Corrupting you. There’s nothing left of the woman you once were."

His words hit you like a drug, dark and potent, clouding your mind until all you can think about is the way his hand moves against you, the way his lips claim your skin, the way his power consumes you from the inside out. Every touch, every movement feels like a descent into something darker, something more dangerous—and you can’t stop it. You don’t want to stop it.

"Tell me what you are," Victor demands, his voice a low growl that rumbles through your body, igniting something deep within you. His hand tightens its grip on your waist, pulling you even closer as his fingers continue their merciless rhythm, pushing you closer to the brink of oblivion. "Tell me who owns you."

"I—" Your voice is barely a whisper, broken and breathless as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your core, until you feel like you might break apart at the seams.

"Say it," he commands, his voice sharp, the edge of his control dangerously close to slipping. His lips press hard against yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your gasps, your moans, as his fingers move faster, pushing you right to the edge of madness. "Say you’re mine."

"I’m yours," you gasp, your body trembling, your mind barely able to cling to anything but the raw need coursing through you. "I… belong to you."

The moment the words leave your lips, Victor growls in satisfaction, his mouth claiming yours once more as his fingers drive you over the edge. You shatter beneath his touch, your body convulsing, pleasure flooding through every nerve as you cry out, your mind going blank under the force of your orgasm.

Victor holds you tight against him, his hand still working you through the aftershocks, his lips still on yours, hungry, devouring. When the pleasure finally begins to ebb, leaving you trembling and weak, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze burning with triumph.

"You see now, don’t you?" he murmurs, his voice dark and dangerous. His fingers slide from you, wet and glistening as he brings them to your lips, pressing them against your mouth until you open for him, tasting the evidence of your own surrender. "You’re mine, in every way that matters."

You can barely speak, barely think. All you can do is nod, your body still thrumming with the remnants of your release, your mind lost in the aftermath of what he’s done to you.

Victor smiles, a dark, knowing smile, as he watches you crumble beneath him, your resolve utterly shattered. His corruption is complete.

And you’re powerless to stop it.

"You'll crave this darkness," he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple, a dark promise of what’s to come. "Soon enough, it’ll be the only thing you want."

And deep down, in the place where his power has already taken root, you know he’s right.

taglist: @strangeeaglepost @iloved1lfs0 @chaoticweirdogeek @5soscrack @icy-roulette @Therealnekomari @ahreumnim @superstar-lover

[multifandomfanficss]

My Masterlist

My fanfics can also be found at adriansglasses on AO3.

This lists each fandom in alphabetical order and lists the characters I have written for before. I will add to this list when I start writing for more characters or fandoms. Most fics are gender neutral reader unless otherwise specified.

Doom Patrol/Dead Boy Detectives

This is the version from Doom Patrol with inspiration from the 2014 comic run

Doctor Who

The Doctor

Ghostbusters

Egon Spengler

Good Omens

Crowley

Crowley and Aziraphale

Gotham

Ed Nygma

Peacemaker

Adrian Chase/Vigilante

Christopher Smith/Peacemaker

Sophie Song

All 11th Street Kids are heavily featured in some fics

The Boys/Gen V

Hughie Campbell

Annie January

Sam Riordan

The Crew

Jake Martin

Time After Time

HG Wells

Twisters

Tyler Owens

[comicexpertt]

Maybe they played a logical role in making Iron Man's actor Doctor Doom. In this comic, Doctor Doom became Iron Man. At least he was fighting against the villains. His costume is really cool.

At the same time, the author of Micheal Bendis is one of the greatest comic book writers of all time.

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Coven of Chaos: Day 407

Agatha: “How did you not realize you were becoming morally corrupt?”

Wanda: “Excuse me?!”

Y/N: “Yeah, by the time your crown started to resemble devil horns, it should have been a sign for some introspection-”

Agatha: “-Don’t forget the mirror dimension in Kamar Taj-”

Y/N: “-Another literal indicator of your need to self reflect on your descent to corruption via the Darkhold”

Wanda: “And how would you recognize this?!”

Agatha: “It’s called narrative symbolism, duh!”

[paisholotus]

Chapter one

"Doctor Von Doom?"

Reed Richards and Ben Grimm head toward the soaring glass-box atrium of VDI Headquarters. "Designed to inspire awe, it does. High open space, exposed structural elements. Obviously aimed at first-time visitors to create feelings of... smallness, inadequacy." Reed said, smiling lowly, looking around.

Ben glances at Reed, who looks a little nervous. "Good thing it ain't workin... Reed, what are we doing here? This guy's fast-food, strip-mall science --" Ben said, glaring at Reed, but he is cut off with a look. "This wasn't our first stop, in case you forgot NASA. And Victor's not that bad. He's just a little..." he trailed off, seeing the statue of Victor Larger than life. "Yeah." They move past the statue, into the sprawling atrium. "He's financed some of the biggest break throughs of this century. Ben You'd never know it. He motions to a high-tech ORB, showing FOOTAGE of VDI's accomplishments: a safe and clean nuclear facility, the first private Space Station. All images have Victor front and center, glad-handling George Bush, Tony Blair, shady International Leaders." Reed said, vouching for Victor.

They head for the elevator. Reed carries a small, black box. As they enter the elevator, steel doors shut. A large, dark office. Ben in the corner. He yawns, watches bright holograms.Stars and Planets, They hover in the air, making the room feel like a majestic portal into outer space.

"My research suggests that exposure to a high-energy cosmic storm born on solar winds might have triggered the evolution of early planetary life." Reed stands among the holograms, speaking to a mysterious figure in shadow behind a desk. An ominous, pulsating red cloud covers the stars. It washes over a hologram of earth.

"In six weeks another cloud with the same elemental profile will pass Earth's orbit. A study in space could advance our knowledge about the structure of the human genome, and help cure countless diseases, extend human life --" The shadow clears his throat. Reed speeds up, emotional. "Give kids the chance to be stronger, healthier, less prone to --" Reed is cut off once more, "Turn it off. Please." The figure's deep voice pierces the darkness.

"But I haven't fully explained my --" Reed said, frowning at the shadow. "Yes you have... Imagination. Creativity. Passion. Those were always your trademarks." The deep voice said. Lights brighten, revealing the face behind the Victor Von Doom. A 35 year old, handsome and commanding. He looks almost... airbrushed. He drops a WIRED magazine to the desk.

Reed is on the cover over the words: RICHARDS BANKRUPT, GRANT CUTBACKS. "But dreams don't pay the bills, do they?" Victor said, with a condescending smile. "Same old Reed, the hopeless optimist. Still reaching for the stars, with the world on your back." He sauntered towards him.

"Reed you remember in school we talked about working together. That's what I was about to explain..." Victor trails off. Reed presses the remote. Another hologram appears: A SHUTTLE slowly approaching AN ORBITING SPACE STATION. Both bear the VON DOOM INDUSTRIES logo.

Victor smiles, more intrigued. "So, it's not my money you want. It's my toys... tell me if NASA doesn't trust you, why should I?" Victor is a step ahead. Reed pauses, thrown for a beat. Ben wakes up, suspicious. Victor notices. He notices everything. "I can't take this." Reed said, low and quiet. "This is business. Just work. I don't expect someone like you to understand." Victor cracks a smile, enjoying the tension.

"And... Sue, Saraya. Good to see you both" Victor said, looking at Saraya, but mostly eyeing Sue. "Happy my Directors of Genetic Research, Susan Storm and Saraya Macallnster." Victor said smirking. "Heya Susie. Raya" Ben said, under his breath, smiling.

"See, you all around. Sue, my office please." Victor said, walking out. Sue huffed and smiled apologetically, walking behind Victor.

[tremendouscreationperson]

hi I just wanted to say your Logan story has me in a chokehold. And when it mentioned iron man wouldn’t look right in green, were you referring to rdj’s new role in mcu?

omg I love you!! I'm glad you like it 🥰🥰

yeah of course, i have no issues with him being Doom but like everyone else I was so so confused !!

I have the feeling they're gonna need a Stark variant and will find one who turns out to be Doom, idk i hope they do him justice because the last versions havent been him

[mylifeinfiction]

Marvel 1602 by Neil Gaiman

"But hope, like heroes, can prove hard to kill."

Marvel 1602 —Neil Gaiman's singular take on Marvel's legendary collection of superheroes—deftly delivers a story that subverts what readers know about these characters by transplanting them from present-day America to 1602 England. This process allows Gaiman to tap into the core of these characters—celebrating the universality of their core values and the timelessness of their most resonant themes—while telling an urgent, exciting and fresh story of persecution, rebellion and selfless heroism; the exact type of story we've come to expect from our Marvel heroes.

I enjoyed this one, but didn't love it. These versions of these characters are interesting, but never so much so that I was blown away. And while a lot of this has to do with the artwork and character design, most of it has to do with there just being too many characters involved for the story at hand. I had similar issues with Kurt Busiek's Marvels *, but they're more glaring in this story, and made a lot of the second act feel far too sluggish.

7/10

-Timothy Patrick Boyer.

*But to a much lesser extent than here, thanks to our perspective being on the outside looking in.

[freepalestinebastard]

@decolonize-the-everything

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

— i’m in love with a dying man

rating: mature. or explicit? i’m not sure. angsty study on grief in unconventional forms. (mild) smut purely for poetic reasons

word count: 4,1k

pairing: viktor x gn!reader

cw: terminal illness. several mentions of death. everyone is horny in a heartbroken way, so grab a napkin—but not for the reasons you think. and yes, you may dox me for making you even sadder after whatever happened in ep 6.

—

He licks a tear off your cheek, and it seeps in between the bumps on his tongue, all prickly salt running down your face in two glossy trails of sorrow. Stinging, when his calloused thumb swipes over a puffy eyelid, only to inevitably fall to your lip and tug, nudging your mouth agape. His desperate grip softens when you oblige and arch, letting him grunt over the slope of your throat; wheezier than you remember, raw, rhotic and ravenous. The hard shift of his lungs is palpable under your hand, ruckling heavily in his sternum. It almost breaks down to a cough when he cants his hips into you, slanting one last slow, weak slam. Spilling all his pent-up frustration deep inside you through that bitter orgasm, leaving a clumsy mess of stickiness to dry on your inner thigh. Stilling for you to hold him through that collapse, grateful for the shaky hand that you firmly fist into his hair. Not receding until at least a few kisses are strewn upon your shoulder. 

It’s always like this now. Viktor clings to you, and you cling to him, nails digging into handfuls of him hard enough to draw blood, each embrace so tight your ribs might just break if he doesn’t retreat in time. And god does he wish to let it linger, to drag it out until eternity tumbles in—even if his eternity is reduced to a question of mere months at best, even if he must crawl out of a casket to have your touch back. 

The night you almost lost him still has you in shambles. You remember it all too well—hell, it’s almost like that acute smell of hospitals and doom still coats his skin, more slimline than it ever was, its once ivory shade fading to chalk-like disaster. The utter horror of crushing verdicts, endless heaps of bloodied handkerchiefs and palms so cold that even the heat of your breath fails to make the feeling of him any less chilling. 

The dark humor of sneaky death: she’s right around the corner, the cruelest of all mistresses. Ready to snatch him away whenever your fingers ghost over his spine, stroking a languid count over each prominent vertebrae. And no matter how tight you curl up beside him, she will supplant you, and her proximity can’t be measured in miles, feet, or inches. Because death is a termite—she gnaws at his very heart. And blooms metastases everywhere you still have him. She’s inside him. She’s merged with him into one.

At first, you denied it. Knuckles drummed against the wall in a frustrated fistfight, painting that scabrous canvas bright with your frustration. White and crimson—the speckled pattern of your hysteria. You recall how bad it stung, and how shame creeped up your spine—frightening and so, so sticky. Throttling, when he tended to that self-inflicted disaster, bandaging your smashed hand in motions sick to the core with gentleness. 

And it felt so ugly. Like you’ve grown to loathe everything around you: the doctors, for their disgusting prognosis; life itself, for being hardly fair. And even Viktor. Especially him—for slowly slipping out of your pale-knuckled grip. Well, red-knuckled, more like. That angry stunt did cost you a decent injury. White and crimson, remember? 

Naturally, grief doesn’t always progress by the book. However, denial always comes first. It’s an axiom, an invariable component, and you’re sitting on Viktor’s hospital cot, hand in trembling hand, eyes snapped wide and ferocious. Wrapped up in fear while the silence rings in your ears. 

His doctor addresses the quandary. It doesn’t feel vicious—at least, not yet. Flimsy, more like. Deceptive, too. Like if you just blink it away hard enough everything will snap right in place, and you’ll find yourself at home again—where that aseptic smell of medication can’t reach either of you. 

Well, of course, there’s always a possibility of postponing the inevitable. Winning over a year or, even, two—if Viktor’s lucky enough, that is. But you both know that he’s lacking in that department.

And yet, you grab your little hope by the throat: to look into later, when your comprehension is intact again. Surely, it’s just not plausible: so what if Viktor’s cough pulls you out of sleep every night, so what if every shirt he owns has tiny blood stains on it? Yes, he spends more time in bed than he does at the lab. He’s simply tired. He needs the rest. Not in peace. 

The retraction doesn’t linger, though. It survives a few more blood tests and a lengthy, dreadful discussion of his calamity—most strikingly frightening when the doctor talks him through each option. And not a single one manages to appease you. To stop your fury from retching out and causing an ugly scene. 

So you fling the door to his room ajar and leap inside with a bitter scowl, teeth gritting hard enough to crumble into powder. Arms a tight crisscross over your chest, step wide and listless—punctuated with a muffled clack of heels. Viktor’s eyes follow your tremulous circles—a lazy, sheenless flick of pupils, each widened into a bleak void from the rancid dose of painkillers. He lays supine, with his hair ineptly slicked back, umber waves awry, loose and sweat-damp. He’s almost mellow, tongue barely a glide over his chapped bottom lip—a martyr-like stiffness, the carrion of a man. 

But you don’t look at him. You pace, and pace, and pace—in that same tiring route, all around his creaky cot. Viktor rasps something indistinct—a muffled plea that tickles the back of his throat, rupturing yet another coughing fit. You silently hand him the speckled handkerchief. 

He looks up, eyes the saddest shade of buckwheat honey—dark with remorse; seeking comfort. But you don’t have any to give. You stare past him, gnawing at your tongue hard enough to draw fleshy copper. Dodging the kiss he tries to press to your wrist—pulling yourself back and out of his loving grip, igniting a staring competition full of glassy eye-daggering. Blink slow and borderline drowsy. 

“Milackú,” he pleads. Pulls at the corner of his mouth to wipe the bloody evidence of his withering. 

Your tear catches in your bottom lashes. 

“Milackú,” he rasps again, kicking the blanket aside. Stepping one bare foot on the cool tiles and reaching for you: arms, legs, and heart—all yours for the taking. If only you consider crawling under his minty sheets again. 

You don’t. 

“Why?” It’s so meek you barely recognize it as your own. Taut throat tightens even more, and, suddenly, you’re choking on a gasp. “Why did you turn down the treatment?” 

“Please, if you could just—“ He husks, but you can’t hear him through the ringing in your ears; the room already smudged into wattery, astigmatic lumps, Viktor’s face but a bunch of fuzzy dots you’re struggling to make out. All missing jigsaws, blurry little fractions. 

“What did I ever do to you?” You yell, shielding your eyes. Turning away from the arm he extends, his weak fist clenching to grab thin air, then tumbling as he stares at his palm in sheer dubiety, upper lip trembling. 

He winces. Ceases you by the hand and tugs as hard as it gets—frail enough for you to easily nudge him away—but you don’t bother this time. Your knees ungainly bend into shaky arcs, drifting apart when he clasps around you and pulls until you finally land on the sheets next to him, your tears mingling with his cold sweat—a salty fusion of mutual suffering.

Then comes a sequence of guttural, squealing whines and you stay twined with him for a while. Lithe fingers run through your hair, spreading to untangle an occasional knotted strand—up, and down, and over your shoulder in a caress. His lips purse on your temple, sucking an indistinct kiss. His heartbeat trails off under your fingertips the second you rake them over his thin hospital gown, growing frenetic again when you tug at the fabric, demanding closure.

“Please. Please don’t do this to me.” You exhale your choked up entreaty into his neck and it pours over his skin in a rigid breath, aftertasting of stinging desperation. His hand seeks your face, taking a forcefully gentle hold of one puffy cheek, drinking in your unsightly, woebegone rebuke. Looking at you like a repentant devotee, his timid eyes meeting your fierce ones.

“This is not about you,” he wheezes, too stern for your liking. Presses his forehead against yours and holds you through yet another shudder—and there’s no avoiding his pleading stare. “I’m not trying to get away from you. I merely want to escape my conundrum.” 

“These aren’t mutually exclusive, Viktor,” you hiss, voice simmering with betrayal. 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately?! Is that all you have for me right now?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

He sighs like he means it. His words keep slipping away from him, drowned in coughs and ambiguous humms. You get it, though. Your semantics became sparse the minute Viktor almost died in your arms. 

You melt into one-another in a teary, sniffling twine—simply breathing, trading tense silences. His stately stance collapses into a lifeless hunch, straightening a bit only when your fingers billow over his shoulder-blades—chiseled like ones of a famished dog. There are plenty of dog-like things about him now—the pleas lodged in his glances, the newfound hunger for your touch. Especially for the way you’re holding him; every embrace like a loving headlock—and the pressure soothes him. 

“I’m tired of taking risks,” he finally whispers against your temple. “All these… labored efforts for mere fractions of peace. Decaying steadily. Constantly hurting. I’m spent.” 

“Exactly. Which is why you need the treatment.” 

His lashes shudder against your cheek in a prickly tickle. They keep fluttering when he recedes, shaking his head with a bitter frown.

“But its success is… highly improbable.” 

“Yes, but there’s still hope—“

“It’s running thin as we speak. I shouldn’t squander it on… the imminent.” 

Viktor’s irksome choice of words had you springing backwards in glossy-eyed delirium. Staring in disbelief as if he’d requested something inexorable: which he did, inherently so. 

He curses when tears slice your face again—tends to them with the softness of a man most contrite of his omission, shaky hands already catching holds of your waist, using your temporary pliancy to swiftly nudge you into his cot. Curling up close enough to have your weeps reverberate in his sternum. 

“I’m sorry,” he repents with a deep rasp. “Please, don’t cry.” 

He held you in reticence again: this time horizontally. Offered you every solace his body could provide: your fingers in his hair, fumbling mindlessly (he put them there himself). Tangled legs. Apologetic neck-kisses. His head heavy on your shoulder, its weight a welcome tranquility. And only when your last tear soaks his pillow does he commence with his explanation. 

“I don’t want to spend what little time I have left miserable,” he tells you, drawing a breath. “Yes, the treatment might win me a year—a year I would spend bedridden, nauseous, and weary. A travesty of life. An illusive salvation. I’ve had enough of those.” 

Your hand stills in his hair, nestled within unkempt strands. You’ve run out of tears, so this bitter truth is met with nothing but a piteous sigh—the only thing you can still master after crying your heart out into his skin. Now you can only stare at the ceiling, chewing on your cheek in cruel denial. 

He’s right. He always is. 

Viktor sees the shift in your face—knits his eyebrows together in tender pity, tucking himself firmly against your face. Wincing, when he feels the aching tension in your temple. 

“I know I’m asking a lot of you. Too much, even.” He’s sincere when he says that, and you can sense the gratitude in his voice—for even allowing him to utter this excruciating of a thing, for attempting to understand. 

You simply nod. Yes. It is a lot. But you want to hear everything he has to say. 

So Viktor continues.

“I would hate for your last memories of me to be tainted with despair and hospitals only for all the struggle to go to waste when I inevitably pass away. I have no desire to postpone this torture at the expense of growing indifferent towards everything that makes me feel alive.” 

“But what if we manage to cure you?!”

“That’s too much of a ‘what if’ to risk dying a grim death for. I want to die…content. I want to enjoy myself before I do. Please. Don’t take that choice away from me.”

His eyes brim at you with every ounce of guilt he possesses, big tears wallowing in his eyes like an earnest plea—tacit, weary, earnest. Yes, it’s not like you have a word in his terrific decision, but Viktor wants your blessing. It’s only right that he includes you. Even if he’s intending to refuse the treatment regardless. As absurd  a bid as that is. 

You clasp his face like it’s about to vanish. Like you won’t be able to make it out when he’s gone if you fail to remember it right this instant, your gaze frantically jumping from one feature to another, seeking to embroider the image into your very eyeballs. Roaming over the artifically-white hospital light hallowing every streak of his hair. Indulging in a bittersweet smile when you note how prettily it spills over the pillow. Lingering on the patterns in his ochre irises—almost fully swallowed by his void-like pupils. Observing how they match the insomniac, mauve shades under his bottom lashes. Tracing every convex little thing—two lovely moles, thick eyebrows, the pointy mouth. Everything you’ve grown to love so dearly. Everything his illness keeps taking away from you. 

You wince, cradling his cheeks, your thumbs dipping into the hollows of them gently. Urging him to scoot closer—eye to eye, lips on lips. Breath over shuddering breath. 

“Are you sure?” You mouth the question on his skin, barely even uttering it. Hot pressure meanders into your head like a prickly impulse. It’s timid like motion sickness—borderline nauseating, too—all murky splashes of trippy lights under your closed eyelids. And the unease is diluted only when he finally kisses you—an approbatory, guilt-ridden thing. 

He’s certain. And for that, he’s so, so sorry. 

You try not to think of it, focusing on the feeling. No tongue, no teeth: just sheer tremor and so much rawness. A soft, soothing exhalation straight into your mouth like the gentlest of placebos—and yet, it works for you, slaps your pulse out of its frantic antics, and the stiffness slowly leaves your limbs under his touch. 

When it’s over, he winces at you in that sleepy, adoring way of his. Attempts a wry, sad smile. The cold light besieges his head into an even clearer halo—a foreshadowing of what is to come, an inconspicuous little thing. But everything about him is conspicuous to you. Loving Viktor has made you wary, and you wanted to hold onto that attention to the detail before it eventually slips away alongside him. 

 “Are you sure?” You repeat, tightening the inadvertent chokehold around his neck. The grip weakens only when he pulls away to clumsily clear his throat. 

“Yes.” And you know he means it when his face turns just as solemn as when he confesses his love to you. 

“I’ve had a nice life with you,” he adds, hoarsely. “I want it to feel nice when my time comes, too—whenever that might be. Sooner than later, I presume.” 

The figurative knife in your stomach twists anticlockwise. 

“Will you stay with me?” He dares to inquire. Meek, shaky hope tingling in his throat. “For however many months I have left?” 

And when you look up at him with a hurt frown, he’s reminded not to ask you rhetorical questions. 

— 

A few days later, Viktor is discharged from the hospital and insists that you both go back to normal. Well, to the new, tainted definition of it—where one spoiled napkin less is considered an ephemeral improvement and grief is a fixed variable by your side. 

Your slow-paced, quiet life that keeps turning even more timid in a frail attempt to savor what’s left of it. Faux preservation, but he allows it—savors it just as earnestly as you do, and your weeks weave into a darling, familiar routine. With some minor, necessary changes, no less: rest comes before the lab now, all deadlines fashionably late to accommodate this newfound tempo. Mandatory hourly breaks. Weekly check-ups. Four days off for every three he spends bent over the parchment. But this time, he doesn’t protest. His body demands it, inconveniently so.

You don’t tell anyone about your horrific arrangement—not yet, at the very least. It’s all you can think about, and the words threaten to slide out every time you speak—but you’re forced to swallow them with a smile so lopsided that everyone around you can only suspect the worst. A mantra of countless ‘What’s wrong’s irritating your ears with pure sincerity. 

What is wrong with you, indeed? You’re a spectator to death—not just any death, but the one you dreaded most. And not only are you witnessing it in the making, but this decision was never forced—you handed Viktor the choice and accepted whatever he went with so obediently that it felt absurd, and it had your skin crawling every time someone vaguely mentioned anything even remotely related to his condition.

But they—whoever that refers to—could never get it. They wouldn’t know what it’s like: to be stripped of your selfishness for the sake of Viktor’s peace. Defying your needs. Forcing yourself to find relief in demise. You might’ve failed to intimidate her into allowing you to keep him, but you could still accompany him into her arms and make it glorious. Here it is. Your new, appalling reason. It’s all that you want now.

Or is it? 

There’s plenty of nobility in being his chaperone—welcoming him into bed every night, painfully aware that it can become his death one. Treating every new invention of his like a soon-to-be postmortem legacy. Mourning the living. Anticipating the inexplicable. Marking every shared kiss the last, just in case. 

But then it came—unabashed and sudden. That blurry line where mourning merges into something dubious, a confusing paradox that leaves you full of filthy carry-over somewhere within your gut. The scorch his lips engrave into the column of your neck. The way it ignites a swell you can almost convince yourself is actually tangible, running your fingers over it recursively like a tactile little prayer. The gaze he throws at you across the lab ever so sneakily—a figurative punch that feels surprisingly close to a kiss. And you never resist turning it into one. Escalating. Claiming. Indulging those ambiguous, yet-to-be-defined things and having them wash over the remnants of your decorum. 

You try to fight it when it first happens, but it doesn’t last. There’s no place for restraint in grief—not when it turns into a beautiful desire to be all over him, to take everything life has to offer before he runs out of it. And Viktor doesn’t judge you. He encourages it. He craves it, just as bad—if not more—than you do. How many more undoings can he claim before the final one absorbs him? You’ve already lost that count. So much for having your love bleed on every inch of his skin.

Tonight you let it bleed mouth to mouth—a sweaty, heartfelt thing that commemorates your hunger for him in a kiss so dizzying that he has to lean back with a silent, breathless plea for brief interlude—foggy eyes staring up at you so devotedly. Shuddering, when your arms wander over his chest to feel the rasp, pointed lips bruised full of spit-slick swell. He’s a beauty—exquisite, albeit worn-down, his lines and angles blurring together into one eager, contourless essence, and you cage him in a firm straddle—your bare thighs over his clothed ones—grinding in a whiny attempt to reach him through his pants. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, leaning back to let him breathe. He’s sprawled out beneath you, tortuous hands already busy with tugging his tie off—impatient, clumsily nervous. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” you say at last, averting your gaze almost shyly. His fingers lurch to your hip, locking it in a gentle cradle, stilling above your backside in hesitation—asking for a laze caress, pushing your flimsy limits. As if forgetting that you never set those for him. Or, perhaps, he simply likes hearing your excited ‘yes’ every time. You can’t quite figure out which it is. 

He grabs a handful of you with reverence, and yet there’s something resilient about that grip—like he dreads that you might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on possessively enough, staring up at you with his head thrown back in a curious, admiring droop. Aiming to dispose of your shirt in a nimble pull. Plotting a sequence of kisses from neck to collarbone. 

You expect it when he rises on his elbows, then grips the bedframe to shift beneath you in a silly leap. Inelegant, but he couldn’t care less, releasing his hips from the hedge of your legs to make you slide up his crotch instead—a most welcome, brusque change that you adapt to in a squealing instant. Your moaning mouth agape under his grin. His hips thrusting through restraining fabric. Shaky. Erotic. With your arms tumbling astride his shoulders. 

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor insists in a lulling whisper, switching to a cautionary nip on your ear. “I’ve missed you, too,” he confesses somewhere into your hair, brushing through it with a tip of his nose—breathing you in through a tender whiff.  

Your words get lost in a deep fluster, rolling back into your throat and lingering there in a suffocating lump. They have you stiffening, heavy eyelids squeezing shut—a voluntarily blindfold to help you explore him through touch only. An invitation to feel you where he pleases. And, well—it just so happens that your whims align with his—a cohesive, welcome collateral. 

Viktor starts at the slope of your shoulder. Pulls the shirt down and traces that lovely curve—fingers first. Throws a brief, askance glance at your face to make sure that your eyes are closed, and, when met with the flutter of your lashes, gets back to his lovely tease. Tender, warm lips taste your skin with delicious, savoring sounds. Getting wetter when his tongue makes a fickle appearance—leaves a slick, capricious lick in the dip of your collarbone, fluffy hair tickling your face when he bends to tend to your chest, too—and you shiver as he sucks a plum love-stain that you’ll proudly wear under your shirts. 

“See,” he cooes. “Whatever gets into you must be contagious.” 

You give in to a half-lidded peek and find him begging for your assistance—a sweet request that you understand in half-nod. Arms up in the air and over your clouded head when he unleashes your skin from the thin garment—throws it on the floor for you to find later in the morning. 

“But it feels wrong.” You sigh. “Ever since we found out…”

“I’d rather you quit talking about that in bed, please,” Viktor reproaches, eyes heady with want. His fingers slide into your underwear, contemplating its fate—should he make it join your shirt or pull it to the side in hasty fashion? Either approach had him shivering at the thought. 

But the sudden sorrow stops the rush, rendering your urge for consolation. It wraps you around him all over again, legs locking in a tangle around his waist, drooping hands combing through his hair in a brusque, fervent tug. Seeking succor. Heart to heart and thumping an anxious march. 

“I’m afraid,” you admit, but it’s not a revelation. All shuddering shoulders under his idolatrous caress, and you pang with guilt at that, too—it’s you who should be fondling him this delicately, warm reassurance seeping into his ears—not yours. But Viktor wants to be your comfort. If anything, it’s the only thing on his mind.

“What are you afraid of, beloved?” A little shiver at the unforeign endearment—a rare occasion. His thick brows still drawn together in a concerned arc. They relax only when you rake your fingers down his body—counting ribs, toying anxiously. The hurry is gone, there’s only caution now: his enamored eyes, waiting for you to find your slippery words. 

“Of losing you before I get to show you how much I love you.” You whisper, suddenly tasting teary salt in your mouth. His thumb comes to the rescue, swiftly flicking the wet trails. So you chuckle at the affection in a silly stagger to bump sweaty foreheads together.

“Nonsense,” he insists. “You’re showing me right now.”

“Indeed.” You shrug. “But… Is this the right way?” 

And when he puts your palm over his eager heartbeat, you’re reminded not to ask him rhetorical questions. 

—

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @nausicaaandhermouth @thehistoriangirl @vyshnevska

[fandomnerd9602]

With Katie McGrath as Toni Stark, does that mean we get her as Victoria van Doom as well?

Y/N walks into find Toni standing there with her doppelgänger…

Y/N: I-um…hi

Toni: Y/N…babe this is Victoria Von Doom

Victoria: (purrs) oh I wish I had someone like you on my world.

Victoria wraps her arms around Y/N’s shoulder…

Toni: she’s a conqueror from another universe

Victoria: I’ll spare your world if you share Y/N

Toni: always wanted a three way

Victoria: indeed

Toni and Victoria each caress Y/N as they lead them to the bedroom…

A/N - 😩 my desire for strong powerful women

[criminalminds4eva]

secret polaroids - spencer reid

summary: secretly dating your coworker, when it all coomes to light due to a blurry polaroid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

“wait, whos in the picture behind your phonecase?!”

doctor spencer reid, the genius with an eidetic memory, one of the fbi’s brightest minds, your coworker. who you’ve been secretly going out with for the last couple of months

it all happend over spilled coffee, you had been rushing over to the office, holding cups of coffee for the team working on a case out of town. as a new member of the team you wanted to make a good impression, hell maybe suck up to them a little.

so when you walk in the precint and spill the coffee all over your clothes, the work of a small town cop running into you, spencer offers to drive you to the hotel, to change into clean clothes.

“that was so embarrasing god what an idiot” you said covering your flushed face as spencer drove to the hotel

“the cop ran into you, besides you were doomed from the start carrying 8 cups of coffee in the same hand, and statistically speaking, it's actually quite common to spill coffee, especially when multitasking or under stress, the brain can only process a limited amount of information at once, which leads to small errors in motor control.” spencer looked over at you and chuckled

"you know it amazes me how much information you have stored up in your brain, i mean i know about the phd´s and everything but still its so amazing" you said looking over at him as he parked in front of the hotel, you can see his cheeks start to form a little red to them and naturally yours do too

and after that, a couple of weeks later full of small glances, smiles and of derek telling him how painfully obvious it was that he likes you and liked him. he asked you out

"you know people who share common interests and engage in meaningful conversation tend to form stronger connections and, well, i really enjoy talking with you, so i was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me sometime? i promise i won’t ramble about statistics the entire time" he said as he tried to hide the blush in his face so the rest of the team wouldnt know what the both of you were talking about in your desk

"spence, id love nothing more than to hear you ramble over dinner"

one dinner became two then three, then you found yourself kissing him goodnight as he dropped at the door to your apartment

he leans in slightly, hesitating for a brief moment, as if calculating the perfect timing and then gently kisses you

"i really enjoyed tonight" you said after the kiss "would you like to come in for a drink?"

he pauses for a moment, trying to think clearly then says "id love too"

after a while you both end up getting wine drunk in your apartment floor, which leads to the decision of your bringing out your polaroid camera

"come on spence smile for the camera" you laughed trying to get him to take his hands off his face but he wouldnt so you snap the picture anyway

"alright enough, your turn" he said taking the camera from your hands and taking a couple of pictures of you.

he wobbles a little setting his wine glass down in the counter, eyes half-focused but full of affection. "you know,ive been thinking, well, not just tonight, but, like a lot. you’re amazing and smart, and funny, and so beautiful and i think your definetly out of my league and if i were to kiss you then go to hell, i would. so then i could brag to the devils i saw heaven without entering" He fumbles over his words, blinking slowly, but his sincerity is clear. "maybe you could, um, be my girlfriend? statistically, we’re, uh, compatible, and I think we could you know be really happy together what do you say?" he offers a lopsided smile, clearly a bit nervous despite the alcohol.

his rambling takes you back "did you just quote shakespeare to me?" you chuckled as you leaned in to kiss him once more

"is that a yes i take it?" he said kissing you back

"yes doctor reid, i want to be your girlfriend" his eyes wide open to your response, and for a moment hes speechless, he laughs nervously rubbing the back of his neck and grabs the camera once more

"come on we are taking our first official dating picture" he smiles shyly but brightly taking a blurry polaroid of the two of you in front of the mirror

the two of you knew it was better to keep the relationship private, spencer's face flushed when you mentioned the thought of how derek would tease him, or how he wouldnt hear the end of it from garcia being all happy for the both of you. knowing they wouldnt do it to harm either of you but since this was quite new and being coworkers, you decided to keep it private but not a secret. the team knew spencer was seeing someone, emily said his face seemed brighter and suddenly he couldnt stay overtime to finish the files jj had sneeked him in his desk. and they knew you were seeing someone too since garcia said she caught you smiling while you were texting, they hoped you guys were seeing each other but since neither of you ever mentioned the date or maybe it was the fact that you really were able to mantain a professional front while working, they hadnt been able to fully catch on that you were dating spencer

that was until you decided to put the blurry polaroid of the night he asked you to be his girlfriend behind your phone case

"wait who's in the picture behind your phone case?" penelope squealed with exciment catching the attention of the rest of the team

"is that your boyfriend y/n, do i officially have no chance with you" chuckled derek leaning against your desk as you nervously took your phone from garcia

"oh come on now she will tell us when she wants too" emily approached then took your phone from your hands "besides you cant really tell who it is in the picture" as she looked at the picture trying to figure it out despite your efforts to take the phone from her hands.

derek stood beside her also looking at the picture "hey but doesnt it kind of look like.."

"morning what are we looking at" spencer appeared at your desk, his face blushing when he saw the picture emily and derek were looking at, they looked at spencer, then looked at you burying your face in your hands

"oh my god, no way really?!?" garcia said with a bright smile "doctor love oh my god i cant belive it" she said hugging spencer

"so i guess the cat is out of the bag huh?" you said looking at spencer

"you owe me 20 bucks i told you they were dating" emily said playfully punching derek in the shoulder

"wait you guys had bets on this" spencer said laughing nervously letting go of the hug with garcia

"well pretty boy we didnt actually think you would even ask her out how long has this been going on for" said morgan looking playfully hurt "baby girl let them breathe" he said pulling garcia from you

"a couple of months" you mentioned letting go of the hug with a cheesy smile

"alright, we have a case" said rossi joining the team by your desk. the team grins weider as they notice spencer blushing as he stands next to you "were really happy, for the both of you" said derek as they started to walk away. you get up from your desk following the team and squeeze your boyfriends hand, a signal that all was well

"did you really think we wouldnt figure it out?" rossi raised his eyebrows as he looked at spencer watching walk away while the team playfully teased you "im happy for you kid" rossi patted him on the back

spencer shakes his head with a half-laugh trying to hide the blush in his face as they joined everyone.

⋆｡°✩

a/n: feedback would be super appreciated, i hoped you enjoyed reading <33

[multifandomfanficss]

pls post your fics on ao3 too! i love reading them here but its so much easier to reread things on ao3 :)

i love the new fic!

Okay! So! I didn’t have the best summer mental health wise and this seemed like a very big task for me at the time, but I’ve actually completed transferring my fics from the last 3 years to AO3. My username on there is adriansglasses. I have 25 Peacemaker fics (mostly for Adrian- including 2 series, but there’s also some Chris and Sophie in there too), 2 Doctor Who, 2 Good Omens, a Dead Boy Detectives/Doom Patrol, a Time After Time, and a the Crew so far. I’m excited about this! 🥰

[backinmyphase]

Not your wife

Synopsis: The walls of the Gojo estate were big as always. The atmosphere cold like before, more than ever since the sudden end of Gojo Satoru's and your honeymoon. And the meeting with the higher-ups was coming near...

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 6200 words Masterlist

Contains: arranged marriage, generational trauma, jujutsu clans and higher ups, much Angst (I'm saying, MUCH angst!) Angst to comfort at the end, after this part will come more, but this will be the end of their introduction to each other

A/n: Alright it took awhile, but I still hope you will like it and it will be worth the wait for you! Like always I'm happy about any comments, they make seriously my day <3

Gojo Satoru was always the strongest and most powerful man in jujutsu society, you knew that.

You heard stories when you were a kid. Your father remembering the meetings with the Gojo Clan more than your birthday. And he was always fascinated by this boy with these absurdly godlike talent.

And then there was his daughter. You didn't have any talent. No, you didn't have the power to make any adult cower before you.

And you were a girl.

It was only natural your father forgot you or at least tried to. Then how could he look at his child and see that he was not the one his Clan prioritized, because he didn't have a worthy heir.

You were an only child, much to your parents dismay. Your father was… Well he couldn't have more kids. You could still see the doctors, and the screams of your father. The crying of your mother. You were six, when you realized you were doomed.

Doomed as the girl who ruined her father's life and name.

It could have been worse. Your parents didn't treat you too bad. They mostly left you in the hands of the maids and Servants. You ate alone since your eighth birthday. Your father couldn't stand eating and looking at you and your mother didn't want to be alone with you.

But it wasn't the worst. They didn't hit you or anything like that. They were frustrated, of course and they still are, but they knew you could still be useful to the Clan. And you knew that one day you would have to marry some man, hopefully a clan leader, to make up for the fact you weren't a boy.

Your mother did teach you personally. And even if she just did so you could get a husband, it still showed she cared.

You didn't live like the golden boy Gojo Satoru.

No, you knew he was special since your father told your mother and you that 'this one boy could be the rising of the jujutsu society to a new level!'.

Your Status was so different from his, you could laugh.

There was one time you saw him, before you two married. And of course that wasn't in the arrangement time, he didn't show up to meet you personally, but it was at a Clan meeting a couple of years ago.

How old were you? Fourteen? Maybe even fifteen. And your parents were arguing about if you should even come with. Your father was livid. 'How could I show myself, when she is there to remind everyone?' he yelled.

But your mother insisted that you should show yourself to start leaving an impression. 'She has to find a husband.' your mother was ice cold. 'And she has to start young. Don't you want a connection to the Gojo Clan?'

'As if Gojo.' He looked at you and that was the first time you had heard him laugh. 'As if she and Gojo…'

The difference between you and Gojo was always clear to you. And you knew that everyone else knew too. But your mother pushed through and took you with her. The ride was silent and you could stil see the empty eyes of your father.

His ego was so easily bruised.

As you made your way into the big estate of the Clan, you could feel the stares of the maides and the servants. Even they knew what you were. Who you were. And why your parents scowled as they came with you.

'So lovely to meet you.' Mrs. Gojo had that same smile you would see on her years later. And when you thought about it, she and your mother had tension between them even back then.

'And who is that beautiful lady?' she smiled at you, her hair was perfect, her dress made perfectly for her. She was a lady in power. But everything was only held together by the pretty golden ring on her ringfinger. Pretty but heavy, you knew that even back then.

'Our oldest daughter.' you father held up this nothing saying face but you could see his frustration.

'And your only one.' Mr. Gojo spoke up behind his wife and had the same but more smugly smile as he looked at your father. And you didn't miss the clenching of your father's teeth.

'Where is the young Gojo boy?' of course even back then your mother searched the control in the situation. And she always did a good job in directing the tension into a different direction.

'Oh, he is out playing.' Mrs. Gojo waved her hand. 'Some of his friends came by.'

He was out playing. His friends visited.

That was the moment you first really realized just how much different you lived. You had to beg to go outside, to attend meetings. He could just leave when his friends asked for him. Hell, he was allowed to play with friends! It was almost surreal how such an important figure had such a normal relaxing life.

'You can join them of course?' Mrs. Gojo smiled at you. Not much later you were send outside into the little yard of the estate.

Gojo laughed with some kids. They were running around, made dumb jokes you didn't understand and furthermore didn't talk to you. You were the weird stuck up girl to these boys and boys shouldn't talk to girls. That was stuck in their dumb teenage brains.

But in Gojo's eyes was something that ticked you off. This look of knowing. Maybe it was your paranoia but even back then you were sure of it, that he understood your different status and what it meant.

So you couldn't say you were that surprised.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"How was your Honeymoon, my Lady?"

You tried to smile as you looked at Hina. She was smiling softly and only now you realized just how much you missed her. The cold walls of the big house were not missed.

"Lovely." you held your things close to yourself, most of your baggage already brought into your room. The uber behind you drove away, now that you were back home. If you could really call it that.

"You look exhausted?" she didn't miss the eye bags under your eyes. But they weren't hard to miss, after all every night was a fight.

"Just missed my own bed." you moved, Hina taking some things from you. Your steps steady, determined.

"Is that why you came back so abruptly?"

You couldn't help but stop in your tracks. And you wished that was the reason. But it wasn't. It was also not the reason your husband wasn't in the uber with you. It wasn't the reason why you longed for your own room.

"Yeah. Just was a bit exhausted." you smiled at the lovely girl in front of you. "Will you excuse me?"

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"My lady?" Hina's voice was soft, like it was scared to speak to loudly. "Dinner is ready and Mr. Gojo is waiting for you."

Your room was dark, the curtains closed and your back to the door. Since hours you were laying in your bed trying to sleep, to relax like those nights when you slept well. But it didn't work, nothing worked.

"I will be there in a minute."

You heard her steps distancing from your room. And with a heavy feeling you stood up. Your gaze dropping to your night table. The hairpin of your mother laying there, neatly. So put together.

Next to it the letter of the higher-ups. It reminded you of the following Friday. The meeting that was waiting for you.

And the husband that was waiting for your presence.

It wasn't easy to get up, to take all these steps towards the room with the person you really didn't want to see. In fact you didn't want to see anyone.

The table was big as always, filled with food you knew wouldn't all be eaten. Your seat open and waiting for you. And across from it, he sat. Satoru.

His head was down, cutting his meat as he chewed. He didn't look up as you sat down, no he gripped his fork harder as he ate. The nerve of him.

"Did you get home safely?"

"Yeah, I did." you took a bit of the food around you, even though you were nowhere hungry. "I wouldn't be here if not, would I?"

He stopped chewing for a second, his eyes almost going up. But he didn't and swallowed. "I guess."

The silence that flooded the room was filled with tension you felt familiar with. It was like when you were eight again, the dinners after it was revealed you would be the only child of your parents.

He was mad.

He cut his food like he hated it. And his blue eyes were like storms, fighting and brewing. In the end you still didn't know this man.

"Will you go to meet them?"

He had no right to look at you like that. No right, to make you feel guilty, to make you feel like the villain here.

"Will you disappear for a mission again?"

He was silent. And he should be. It was humiliating, how he left you to ride alone home again. Just mumbling of having to work instead of talking to you.

The sound of chewing and eating was the only thing that filled the room and it wasn't too long until you were finished. He stared at you, watching your doing. Now you couldn't bear yourself to look at him.

"You could have come to me. You could just tal-"

"I want to eat alone from now on again." you cut him off. You didn't want to hear his oh so great ideas, as if he knew your position.

He was quiet again. You took that as a sign to continue. "And I want to promote Hina, if that's okay. I still need a personal maid, to help me prepare for our later Clan events."

You stood up, the conversation was finished for you. You couldn't bear to hear his accusations, feel his piercing eyes on you and endure this tension in the room.

You hurried to take the steps to your room, Gojo not speaking up again.

Maybe you were overreacting. But if you felt the way you felt, why try to act not like it? He said he wanted to see your real emotions, he could feel it.

After yesterday you wouldn't need to be told twice to give him the cold shoulder.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺ Yesterday

"What is this?" he held the cursed piece of paper up, the one you didn't know about. The one he just stole from you.

"A letter for me."

You looked into his eyes, your face was scowling now. He didn't have the right to just take your things, sneak around in your business and then act like you did something wrong.

"From the higher-ups." he let out a low joyless laugh. "You talk to them regular?"

He was intimidating. His body seemed so much bigger suddenly, his eyes like blades and he towered above you.

"Talk about me with them?"

"Stop." you narrowed your eyes as he let out another of these scary chuckles.

"Do you tell them all the things I do?" he shook his head and a scary smile mirrored his laugh. "Tell them everything about our marriage?"

"I said, Stop." you snatched the letter from him, finally having it secured.

"Is it true you meet up with them regular?" he didn't smile anymore. Didn't laugh. There was only this vulnerability and you did feel bad. But in this moment all of it clashed down on you, your exhaustion and everything on top made you overwhelmed like no time before.

"Why do you care?" you turned around trying to hide the tears that were clouding your eyes. Suppressing the heavy breathing and the hiccups. The shaking. Everything was becoming so loud, so alive.

"I care!" he became louder. "If my wife is talking to old hags more than to me! I care when she meets up with the people who controlled my whole life, and discusses me with them!"

Now it was your turn to laugh. "You want to talk about control?" you shook your head. "Gojo, you had freedom! My whole life was built up to marry you, that is my whole purpose. You had control, you had the freedom to have a childhood! It is my duty to meet up with them, I have no other choice!"

Now you could feel his infinity. It felt unstable, uncomfortable, just awful in your back. "But you do." his voice was eerily calm. "You could have talked to me. You could have come to me, instead of working with them!"

"Oh please, do you hear yourself? Working with them, what do you think they talk with me about?" you turned around to look at him and the sight shocked you. He looked like a whole different person. What a smile does to a lerson right? And how the disappearance of one changes one.

"Well it's worse enough that you feel the need to keep it from me."

"What do you expect from me?!" you screamed now, the exhaustion now making your head dizzy. Or was it really just the exhaustion?

"Do you expect me to tell you everything? To immediately trust you? I don't know you, Gojo!"

He flinched at that, the anger in him was rising. "At least I try to get to know you! You just run away from me and don't even consider us working together! How should I know you, if you don't open up?!"

"How do you expect me to just open up?" you hiccuped, the tears now falling, the paper in your hands getting wet. "Since the beginning of the discussion of this marriage you rejected my existence. You made me deal with our Clan relationships alone since our wedding day, how do you expect me to just share all of it now with you?"

Your breathing was uneven, the tears blocking your lungs, making it oh so hard to breathe.

"But I am trying right now-"

"I know, okay?" your voice began to fall apart, becoming more hoarse. "I know you try, but a couple of conversations don't fix everything! I don't expect you to fix everything right now, but you have to forgive me if I can't switch up after a couple of days. This isn't your issue, it's mine."

His body was shaking a bit. He was still so tall, you couldn't look at his face, it seemed impossible. "I think our marriage shouldn't be discussed with these old hags. That isn't just your issue, it's mine too."

"It's not about how our marriage is going." speaking was hurting a bit, and the words were heavy on your lips. It felt so unfair. "It's about what… I should do. How my Clan relies on me in this. How I have to steady their relationship with the Gojo Clan." Through a heir.

"And how can I trust you on that?" his eyes seemed so coldly empty, it was almost scary. A person can be so different. His words stung and at the same time almost made you laugh.

"You talk a lot about me needing to open up and trust you, but at the same time you sneak into my letters and my business." You stood up.

"I think that says more about you than me."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

After that evening Gojo said he had to go on a 'mission' and that the Honeymoon would be fine to be cut short. He left the same morning. There was already an uber for you ready, the little hotelroom for yourself and his things long gone.

You really shouldn't surprised and you hated yourself for crying that morning after he left. But it still hurt. How he could always just leave. You felt so alone.

And now you were 'home'.

You couldn't stand looking at him for too long that was clear from the dinner yesterday. You couldn't stand his anger.

You just wanted to curl yourself in a ball and sleep forever. But even the sleep was a chore, the nightmares still not leaving. The only good time was with the young Hina, who made you go outside and for the first time you explored the big mansion you were living in.

And even though it was tiring, you were happy she made you go through the big halls. It gave you a task, a new adventure, something else than the next meeting with them to focus on.

The garden was beautiful. All the flowers, some you have never seen or heard from before, blooming in these varieties of vibrant colors. The big trees giving a safe place from the sun and a small lake, which you could sit next to.

"Do you feel better, My lady?" Hina was desperately trying to make you feel better, she was really a sweet girl.

"Yeah, it's calming here." the breeze which made your hair float a bit was refreshing.

"I'm glad." she smiled, "I was a bit worried after you ate without my lord this morning.

The cold that came over you made you shiver. What should you tell her? What would she think of the truth? How would she react? You'd better not tell her, hina had other problems. Hina shouldn't find out what you're going through and even if she did, would she tell Gojo? Would she tell him what your mother said to you? No, you couldn't risk that, it just wasn't reasonable.

She was such a nice girl.

So caring. So open minded. How were you so lucky? To have a face around you that's not stoic? You couldn't be more thankful.

"Oh, We just agreed to eat separately because of our different bed and his work time. And he has to eat early, that's why."

She locked a bit perplexed. And the little frown on her face told you that she didn't really believe you. But she didn't press anymore, just explained the flowers to you.

"Should we go to the library next?"

"That sounds lovely."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺ Satoru never felt so bad. Yeah, he felt guilty a couple of times but never like this. But at the same time he was hurt. It felt like something was pressed down in his stomach and pushed around, when he just thought of these old bastards working with you.

He felt terrible. How was he supposed to act now? he wanted to go talk to you, but at the same time he felt like that would only make things worse. You worked with these people, you tolerated their ways. These people who were the root of the problem of this doomed society.

Maybe you did it all for your clan, but shouldn't your marriage with him be your priority now? Maybe he was being a selfish asshole, but it just hurt so damn much.

And then there was the letter. He still had the second letter, the one from your mother that you had left on your bedside table.

And he just didn't know whether he should open it or not. Actually he wanted to, actually he had to, because he wanted to know what was really written in there, but…

There was also the hurt look on your face when he had opened the other one. Every time he closed his eyes he saw this vulnerable expression on your face.

Would you even be able to forgive him then?

At the same time, you had lied to him and he just didn't know what to believe anymore. What should he do?

The paper in his hands was heavy, hard and incredibly uncomfortable in his hand, it was as if it was cursed.

He still knew the letter from the higher-ups by heart.

Dear Mrs. Gojo,

We are pleased to inform you that your little misstep is being forgiven. We hope you have a good honeymoon. Despite everything, we are still very unhappy with the incident and hope that you have learned from it to let us know before you act. But we are glad that you have taken the matter into your own hands and wish you happy days in which you hopefully get your husband under control.

See you at the next meeting.

The paper rustled in his hand and although his heart was beating incredibly fast, almost like to stop him, he opened the paper with his shaking fingers.

He was in the jujutsu academy near his old classroom. His mission was long finished. Earlier this day he wanted to talk to Geto about everything that has happened but his friend had accepted a mission that would probably take a while.

And now Satoru was alone to make probably a bad decision.

On the letter were numbers, no rather a date not so far away, which made him shiver.

Something was odd with the way the letter was written, the writing of your mother felt eerily. And he felt cursed energy. No, there had to be something wrong with your mother.

Should he really read it? Was it really his business what your mother was writing you?

The last week he got to see and hear you cry every night. Whispering your mother's name in fear. Maybe you did because you missed her. But something about this woman ticked something in him off.

He didn't want to sneak around behind your back.

But it began to be his business, the moment he started to care about his darling wife.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The Friday knocked on the door of your mind every minute of every day. And even though you didn't want to open the door for it, it did come around.

And you knew as you woke up that it would be torture.

You were tired. It was surreal how you could even stand up. How were you supposed to attend a meeting like that?

With a heavy heart you got ready and your eyes fell on the old hairpin your mother had given you - she really was everywhere.

This morning hina hadn't come by your room at all to tell you that gojo was eating breakfast.

Was it really still that early? No, it was almost noon. Oh God, noon! You had to get ready, you should be there soon!

Once again, they had scheduled so much time that you felt horrible. Would you have to listen to them babble on for hours again, the nasty words about your clan and how you would defile it?

"Hina?," you picked up your things and got ready. "I have to go now, would you please let the cook know that I'm not eating here today?"

There was no answer for a long time but eventually the girl came in with wide eyes.

"What do you mean, you are going?" she asked.

"Of course, Ihave to go to the meeting, didn't I tell you? Ihave an appointment." you took your hairpin and this time you even got ready with it.

"But why today?"

"I told you I have to go today. It's Friday, isn't it?"

Hina seemed different, somehow more tense than usual and it didn't make you feel good.

"If you say so." she said and picked up a few things that were dirty. "But please come back on time, not as late as last time, my lady."

A chuckle escaped you, as you saw her worried look. Why was she so tense about this?

"Don't worry, I won't die."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Did you make any progress?"

You wanted to eat your words. Since you came into the building you once called home you felt like a corpse. Your mother wasn't here, the maids telling you she got sick this morning.

You thought it wouldn't be that bad without her but you were mistaken. Normally she would sit beside you on the other side of the table, but now you sat there alone, like you were fighting against them on your own. Like no one here was on your side.

"My Honeymoon was lovely, thank you." you didn't know how the sentence slipped past your lips, but your exhaustion made your tongue slippery and your attitude bigger.

"Be careful young lady, you can be very thankful you are even still his wife! After your little misstep you can be very grateful for our forgiveness." an elderly woman spoke.

Every meeting she picked at you and took you apart. She always seemed so mad at you.

"I am." you lowered your head, hitting yourself for your carelessness.

"So there is a baby on the way?"

The leader of them, an old man with a long beard was looking at you with a neutral look. You could never read him.

The question scared you since you left for your honeymoon. This pressure on top of you was making you sick. The weight of it making you dizzy. What were you supposed to do? If you told them no, you could easily be banished back to your own Clan, and lose all of respect your mother had left for you.

If you told them yes, then you had to…

No, no, no, no, why? Why did you have to be a puppet for them? Why couldn't you just live? Why did you have to push all your emotions aside and drown them?

You were so scared of the night. So scared of the act you should have already done.

"It isn't, isn't it?" the elderly woman laughed as you gripped your stomach.

And even though it was empty, you felt like throwing up.

"I told you!" the woman stood up. "This girl shouldn't have been chosen for this! We need a woman who knows what is at stake here, not a filthy selfish little girl, who cries at the pressure!"

Every word pierced you, and you hated that tears formed themselves.

"Someone like your granddaughter?" The 'leader' of them raised an eyebrow. "Please, Kamo, that's ridiculous. And not in our control. Mrs. Gojo wanted to meet every girl and judge them personally. And be in control of the relations with other Clans."

His look at you was just as poisonous, regardless of his previous words.

"We have to work with this. Until we have found an alternative."

An alternative.

You were screwed. They had already a search going for a replacement. Were already ready to drop you and break the news to your Clan.

"I think she is misunderstanding something." A man, who was a bit younger than the rest, smiled smugly at you. "This whole thing isn't about love or wanting to do things. It's about what you have to do."

"So just get it over with and spare yourself the trouble?"

Your body felt so heavy, everything tense, fighting the urge to run away, to throw up and hide all at once.

Suddenly the door swung open and one of the guards came in completely out of breath and visibly agitated.

"I really tried, but I just couldn't stop him! That's just not in my power." he was out of breath.

"What are you talking about?" the old 'leader' stood up and suddenly looked so small. His eyes were big, something like fear was there.

"Well.." the guard looked uncomfortable.

And then you heard it. At first you thought it was one of them but then you realized.

"What do you think you are doing, talking to my wife like that?"

No, that couldn't be. How? How was he here? Why? What did you give away? No, this had to be one of your dumb dreams. Because it just couldn't be that Satoru Gojo just came through that door-

Oh.

Satoru had clothes on you had never seen on him before. It was an kimono, the usual for Clan leaders. His face was concentrated, didn't show any weakness in front of this important people. Instead it was almost belittling how he looked at them.

"There you are sweetheart!" his face lit up, as he spotted you, there was no sign of your fight and his anger. There was just Satoru.

He walked over to you, all these oh so mighty people clearing the way for him. He didn't even bat an eye at them. Without any hesitation he sat down next to you.

"Now, it really wasn't polite to not inform me of this meeting." he looked at them, with one of his challenging smiles. "But I will forgive it this one time. Now, what did you want to discuss with the Gojo leaders?"

You could see the shock in their faces. The elderly that screamed earlier, now glaring at you. Her gaze was almost cutting you, it was that sharp. And the old leader hesitated before sitting down.

"What are you doing here?" you whispered into his ear, careful to be silent enough that they wouldn't hear you.

"We will talk later." he grabbed your hand and squeezed it gently.

"This wasn't really a meeting with the Gojo leaders." the slightly younger man spoke up, breaking the silence from the mighty higher-ups.

"Oh, but I don't understand." Gojo tilted his head. "If it wasn't then why did you speak to my wife?"

A shiver went down your back as you saw into their faces. They didn't say anything. Suddenly the position of power was shifted and they were careful to say something.

"It was about her duties for her Clan." the elderly woman shook her head. "And she was specifically asked to be her alone."

"I wonded," His grip on your hand tightened. "What of these duties are so important, you can't discuss with me too? Because last time I checked, my wife's Clan was the Gojo Clan now. So what responsibility does she hold that I don't?"

Your hands began to sweat. All of these people were shooting daggers at you and you felt like you would be murdered if Satoru left the room.

"She still has to make the relation of the Gojo Clan with her old one better-"

"And why can't I be there too?" Satoru started to laugh. "That's the thing you don't really have a reason other than to play my wife against me. Don't you?"

You couldn't help but lower your head. The tears now pushing your head down.

"Well, she wanted to come alone with her mother!" the woman who seemed to be called Kamo spoke loudly. Now you could feel all of their gazes. "Didn't you, Mrs. Gojo?"

Your body began to heat up, fire embracing you, swallowing you whole. It was itching. Decisions, decisions, decisions, why were you not doing anything, why couldn't you move? Your own body felt like a prison.

"You dumb girl, say something!" you heard her scream again. "If you don't then-"

Suddenly her voice died down. You could feel the shift and pressure was falling off of you onto the ground. And as you slowly rose your head you saw the woman pressed onto the wall, the others all in a fighting pose.

"Be careful what you are saying." Satoru's voice was icy. His eyes were like a warning and he didn't even move to activate his cursed technique. Was that the great Gojo your father was so fond about?

"Anyone talking ill about ot to my wife makes themself the Gojo Clan as enemy. And you know what I'm capable of."

The woman dropped to the ground.

"I think we can move the meeting to another day, can't we?"

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Why were you there today?"

Satoru sat on the opposite side of the dining table, the car ride home with him long behind you two. You waited till home to talk to him, the courage finally growing.

He stopped eating and looked up at you. He still had these clothes on, the ones that mirrored his real position.

He shifted in his seat, his eyes avoiding yours.

Then he sighed and dropped his cutlery. "I didn't want you to be alone with them."

You shook your head. "Why? I told you, it's just about-

"Stop it." he raised a hand. "Please let me talk."

You kept quiet after that. Now it was your turn to look down.

"I've been so angry the last few days. You accused me of not knowing you, but at the same time you pretended to know what my childhood was like. How could you have known that? I've known these people since i was little, i know about their games, their desire for control and especially their obsession with strength."

His voice was slightly shaking. "I'm not denying that I had some freedom, but I want you to know that a big cage is still holding someone down. And these people have always controlled my cage."

You wanted to say something, but every sentence that your head crafted was forgotten in the next second.

"But," he began, his voice now a little firmer. "It still didn't give me the right to be like this to you. Mainly I want to apologize to you and that I came to the meeting today was not because I didn't trust you but because I couldn't stand the thought of them torturing you."

"I'm sorry for invading your privacy. I know it wasn't right and I'm sorry that I only realized it after I read the letter from your mother."

You pushed the chair back so violently, it fell over. "You did, WHAT?"

Satoru looked down, shameful.

"That's why you knew where and when we would meet up?" you couldn't contain the hurt in your voice, but for the first time you didn't care.

He nodded.

"Do you really think I'm acting against you, or-"

"No!" Now it was his turn to stand up. And in only a matter of seconds he stood right before you. "It's not because I think badly of you!"

His hands were going through his hair, making it much messier than usual. You saw how he bit his lip, and it felt surreal to see Gojo Satoru so vulnerable.

"I- All of this was just driving me crazy!" he sighed frustrated. "Knowing you meet up with these people and didn't even want me to know about it. Knowing these people were talking and seeing you more than I was."

Your mind went blank as you looked at his eyes. Were they always this sad?

"When you said you wanted to have a Honeymoon to get to know me, I felt so happy, so relieved!" he turned around and paced around the rooom.

"Do you know how you look at me?" his voice was shaking. "Scared. You look at me like you are scared of me. Like I will do you wrong. Like it's me that's pressuring you."

He stopped in his tracks and let out a shaky laugh. "And then I thought that I was maybe imagining that and you weren't scared of me."

He shook his head. "And then I saw the letter. I didn't read it right away, but when I asked you some things, you lied to me and had that scared look again. And… I don't know, it was so crushing to know you never wanted to go with me on our honeymoon!"

His voice broke down a bit at the end.

And as you stood there, you felt yourself becoming shaky too. You didn't want him to think that. You were mad at him, you were still hurt, obviously, but…

You didn't want him to be hurt too.

"Satoru…" you began, but he raised another hand to stop you.

"That still doesn't excuse what I did. I don't want you to pity me into forgiveness."

You shook your head. "I am at fault too." One step towards him. "I just have my problems to trust you right away. But you were right."

You smiled as you looked down. "I do accuse you of not knowing me, but then run away from you trying. That's unfair."

As you looked up, he was already looking at him. And you could see a slight redness in his oh so blue eyes.

"I will try to open up more."

He gulped as stared at you. "I will be patient. And- I will make it up to you, till you forgive me! Really, I will never invade your-"

You chuckled a bit, some of the forming tears in your eyes escaping. "It's alright Satoru. You don't have to promise the world right now."

"Let's take it slow. That's a start."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺ It was late at night. You were sitting on the couch in Satoru's big living room. You were watching a movie, he was begging to show you.

And for the first time since that night you were relaxed and all the exhaustion fell from you. Your head fell onto his shoulder, any feel of shame was long gone from being so tired.

He didn't move as you were drifting into your long awaited sleep.

"Hey, can you hear me?" he was whispering as you hummed.

"I still want to apologize. For not appearing to any arrangement meetings. I never did that."

His shoulder was really soft and you felt so heavy.

"I hope you sleep well, sweetheart. You deserve it more than anyone."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

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