#everyone wants to be with their families all the time and for ever and ever and never leave each other s sides

[yuujispinkhair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS

You show me colors I can't see with anyone else

You are stuck in an unhappy marriage, not brave enough to leave your cheating husband. Until you meet Sukuna.

Pairing: Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female) Word Count: 10k Warnings: 18+, fluff, hurt/comfort, smut, but not explicit, cheating (Reader's husband cheats on her, and later on, she cheats on him with Sukuna). Sukuna is a CEO (or can be read as a Yakuza boss, too). Sukuna + Reader are both in their thirties. The fic title is taken from Taylor Swift's "Illicit Affairs", but in this story, the secret affair has a happy ending. This story is super self-indulgent, but I hope some of my fellow Sukuna lovers will enjoy it, too! Minors don't interact. Divider @./lovwoung

You often ask yourself what went wrong. How did you end up trapped in this unhappy marriage? Maybe you were too young, too inexperienced, too naive when you met your husband. Maybe you were too insecure, convinced no one would ever want you, and so you gratefully settled for the first man who showed interest in dating you.

Your relationship was never like those romances you knew from books or movies, but you assumed that was just how things were in reality. Your mom, your aunt, and everyone else told you how lucky you were to have finally found a man willing to be with you. How lucky to have found someone with a good job and from a good family. They were also the ones who pressured the two of you to get married, and ever since then, things have gone downhill.

Your husband hasn't shown you any love or affection in years. The only time he shows interest in you is when he wants to have sex, but even that is without any real intimacy. He hasn't kissed you in years, and if he did at this point, you would probably be disgusted by it. There is no love in this marriage.

The worst thing is you know he is cheating on you. You already suspected it when he suddenly had to stay at work a lot longer than usual and when he began to hide his phone screen from you. And then one night, you woke up and walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, and that's when you overheard your husband talking on the phone with some other woman calling her angel and baby and telling her how beautiful she was.

Even though you didn't love him anymore, it still made your world tumble down around you.

You want to leave him, but you can't. Everything is too much, too overwhelming. You have always found it very hard to make decisions, and this one is huge. You have no idea where to go or how to get by on your own. All your savings went into buying this apartment, and now what?

And it's not just the financial aspect that worries you. Everyone has always told you that you would never survive on your own. They always kept you small, turning you into someone who is dependent on others. You got told that you are weird, not good enough, and incapable of ever taking control of your life. And at some point over the years, you started to believe that. Your self-confidence is non-existent.

You tell your mom about the cheating, and she tells you to stay with your husband.

"It's just a little fling. At least you are lucky that he doesn't want to divorce you. It would be such a financial disaster, and you know how you are. You don't do well on your own. Just stay with him and find joy in other things. Maybe pick up a new hobby. I could give you Kira's number. She just joined a nice Yoga class!"

You don't go to the Yoga class, but you also don't leave your husband. You try to pretend everything is fine. Try to gaslight yourself into thinking that maybe you are really just a hysterical, insecure, and overjealous idiot who misinterpreted things.

The months pass, and you catch him flirting on the phone several times. An annual business event is scheduled, which you always accompany him to, but he tells you it got canceled this year. Only to find out from the wife of one of his coworkers that the event took place as usual, but you and your husband simply never showed up. You know why. He didn't want you there. He didn't want to risk his little affair and his wife running into each other.

You've given up on love by now. You hate seeing ads for romance novels or rom-coms. You stop listening to music because most songs are lovesongs. For all you know, romantic love is just a made-up thing that people sing about and write about, but it's all just lies.

Or maybe it does exist in real life. But not for you. Maybe you simply aren't the type of woman who deserves to be loved. Maybe your mom is right, and you should just accept it.

So you stay with your husband, but you are dead inside.

Until you meet Sukuna.

He is everything you ever dreamed about in your secret fantasies that you started to develop to comfort yourself. A dreamed life, but now it's right in front of you, close enough to touch. Sukuna is a real gentleman. An attractive mix of a bad boy and a successful, serious businessman. Smart, confident, and sexy, with a boyish playfulness beneath his professional appearance.

Ironically, you meet him the night you try to save your marriage.

You are already sitting at the table for two you booked for a date in one of the best restaurants in the city. You put on makeup and spend an hour picking a dress in which you feel at least half attractive. And now you sit here, sipping your red wine, waiting for your husband to arrive, to hopefully bond with him again over a delicious dinner and a few hours where you can talk and maybe laugh together.

Only that your husband never shows up. You have already finished your first glass of wine and received several pitiful looks from the waitress when your phone buzzes with a message. It's your husband telling you he can't make it. "Something has come up at work. I don't know when I will be able to leave. Just have dinner without me."

You stare at the message for far too long, not even knowing how to respond. Feeling utterly humiliated, utterly hurt, and abandoned. Worthless. You know he is going to see his girlfriend instead tonight. His girlfriend, who is young and sexy, and can give him what he wants.

And suddenly, you can't hold back the tears anymore. You blink hastily, wiping angrily at your cheeks, trying everything not to ruin your makeup or have a breakdown in the middle of the crowded restaurant. But the waitress chooses that exact moment to walk up to you with an overly bright smile, asking,

"Excuse me, Madam. Would it be alright if someone joins you at your table?"

You look at her, caught off guard, really not wanting a stranger at your table in this horrid moment, but you are too polite to say no, and so you smile weakly back at her, pressing out in a tear-thick voice,

"Of course, I don't mind."

You wipe your eyes again, trying to will the tears away, as a tall man in a fancy-looking black suit and slicked-back pink hair comes into view. He is snapping at the waitress, clearly annoyed, saying something about how rude it is to forget his reservation and that this will have consequences since he is a regular customer, etc.

But he sits down across from you, still fuming as the waitress bows deeply several times, apologizing profusely for the mistake, promising that the man's food and drinks will be free tonight.

He lets out an exasperated sigh and orders a glass of red wine, which the waitress immediately scrambles to get for him.

You gulp hard, trying to regain composure, hoping you don't look as forlorn as you feel. You lift your head to nod at the man across from you, trying to muster up a polite smile because, after all, you have been trained from a young age to always be friendly.

You take him in and draw in a surprised breath. He is gorgeous. The most attractive man you have ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered with masculine but beautiful features. Angular jawline, intelligent maroon eyes, and sensual lips that are lifted in a smug smirk as he nods back at you,

"Excuse this inconvenience. I will make sure whoever is responsible will get fired."

And, of course, you splutter and are quick to try doing damage control, not wanting some poor person to lose their job over this.

"Oh no, please, it's no problem at all!"

The pink-haired man laughs softly, a low, husky sound that makes your pulse flutter nervously.

He looks intimidating with his tall height and muscular build, and the tattoos that line his handsome face. But he is distinguished and elegant, wearing a designer suit and an expensive watch. Clearly, he is a regular guest of a restaurant like this.

He looks like a successful CEO (or a Yakuza boss, your mind provides not helpful at all). He's definitely someone in a powerful position, judging by his whole appearance and the dominant and confident aura he exudes. But he also has pastel pink hair, a boyish grin, and a playful attitude that makes him seem not as scary as you first thought.

His wine arrives from a different waitress, and he thanks her politely, telling her,

"Put everything the lovely lady across from me orders on my card."

The waitress is quick to bow deeply with a polite, "Of course, Mr. Itadori," at the same moment, as your eyes widen, and you quickly argue,

"Oh no, please, I can't..."

But he smirks his charming smirk and lifts a large hand dismissively,

"It's the least I can do for ruining your evening in much-wanted solitude."

Much wanted solitude.

His words hit you to the core, making all the sadness well up in you again. If only it were true. If only you were truly a single, independent woman who came here after a successful day at work to enjoy dinner on her own in voluntarily chosen solitude.

But you are none of that. You are an abandoned and unloved wife with a boring job and no money, sitting here at a table for two because your husband ditched you to fuck his pretty little assistant in his office.

And suddenly, the tears are back in your eyes, making it hard to see. You quickly avert your shameful gaze, your hand grabbing your wine glass so tightly it almost breaks.

Your sight is blurry, but you can still see the shocked look on the man's face across from you. His eyes dart away from you but then back again, obviously not used to the company of a crying stranger. He clears his throat before he leans slightly across the table, lowering his voice to a soft murmur,

"Are you alright?"

You feel embarrassment flood you, feeling so mortified at your behavior. You wish the ground would just open up and swallow you! This is so typical of you, ruining this stranger's evening, because you don't have your emotions under control and act like a complete fool. It's something your husband would chide you for or make fun of if he saw it.

"I... I am so sorry! Please just ignore me."

You hate how your voice breaks, and before you can suppress it, a pathetic-sounding sob falls from your lips. You press your hands to your face, sobbing silently into them, trying to hide from the world and from the poor guy who's forced to share this table with you.

But then you feel a tentative touch, a warm hand gently brushing over your arm, and you pull your hands from your face, blinking at your table partner, feeling your lips tremble and your face burning, knowing that you must look so ugly right now with your makeup ruined and tears and snot coating your face.

Another apology is already waiting on your tongue, but he shakes his head, and somehow, it's so authoritative but also gentle that your apology dies on your tongue. Instead, you blink at him, as he cocks his head and watches you thoughtfully, that low voice so smooth and soothing when he says,

"Don't apologize."

You nod, trying to smile gratefully at him, but fail miserably as his kind reaction only causes more tears to fall.

He shoves his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a handkerchief. Not a paper tissue, but an actual handkerchief. He offers it to you, and you reach for it automatically, thanking him. But you freeze the moment your hand wraps around the fabric, realizing it's made out of fine silk.

He raises an eyebrow,

"Please, take it."

"But I... I will just ruin it with my makeup..."

He huffs, a soft smirk lifting his lips,

"I don't care. I'll just buy a new one. Take it. I insist."

"Th.. thank you, sir. That's really sweet of you."

His lips twitch,

"You're welcome. And for you, it's Sukuna, not sir."

You sniffle, pressing his handkerchief against your cheeks as you nod and tell him your name.

His smirk softens to a small smile, and he jerks his tattooed chin toward your empty wine glass.

"Do you want another one of those? Looks like you could use it."

You nod as more tears well up in your eyes, and Sukuna snips his fingers, instantly summoning a waiter to your table as if they are all hovering nearby just waiting for Sukuna to voice a wish.

Five minutes later, you have another red wine to hold on to and sip on, which causes a comforting buzz in your head, and suddenly, it all breaks out of you, and you tell Sukuna everything. You tell him about your failed marriage, about how lonely you feel, how unloved. About your cheating husband. About how pathetic you think you are for not daring to leave him because you have never been on your own before and you have no one who has your back.

You cry and sob and take big gulps of the wine while pouring your heart out to this beautiful stranger sitting across from you. This guy who, despite his intimidating look, is surprisingly gentle with you and who doesn't mind that you stain his silken handkerchief with your mascara and lipstick.

Sukuna actually listens to you. He looks earnestly at you, clenches his jaw when you tell him how your husband treats you, and shakes his head when you say under tears how stupid you think you are.

"No, you aren't. Don't blame yourself. It's him. He is the problem. He is the asshole."

Sukuna is the first one who tells you that you deserve better.

You feel an unexpected relief at finally being able to pour your heart out to someone. And just when you get yourself enough under control again to begin feeling embarrassed at your outburst, Sukuna flashes you a smirk and raises an eyebrow, asking,

"Do you want me to get rid of him for you?"

Which makes you forget the embarrassment and instead stare at him with big eyes and hurriedly splutter,

"Oh my god, no! This is not what I..."

You don't get any further because Sukuna begins to laugh, shaking his head slightly as his eyes sparkle amusedly at you.

"Don't worry. I'm just joking."

You huff a breath of relief, followed by a little laugh. Sukuna's comment managed to pull you out of your little moment of regret, and you feel better again, taking another sip from your wine and even managing to eat a few bites of the meal Sukuna ordered for the two of you, claiming that an empty stomach is never good.

Sukuna is nice to you. It's astounding to you because, with the way he looks with those face tattoos and the slightly dangerous aura surrounding him, you would have never thought a man like him could be so nice. It brings more tears to your eyes, feeling too emotional from all the wine. But you use Sukuna's handkerchief to blot them away.

He leaves with you when you say you have to go home, walks around the table, and pulls out your chair like a real gentleman. He offers you his strong arm when you sway lightly on your heels. He helps you into your coat and accompanies you to the exit.

You stand in front of the restaurant on the busy street, but all you see is Sukuna, who stands so close to you that you can smell his cologne, a sensual, woodsy scent that fits him perfectly, smelling expensive and sexy.

He puts a large hand on your tear-stained cheek, cupping it gently, wiping a few fresh tears away, and you take a step closer to him as if drawn in by a magical force, craving this tender touch, even if it's just a stranger touching your cheek in the middle of a busy sidewalk.

Sukuna is so tall and broad, making you feel so safe somehow, and before you can stop yourself, you lean your head against his broad chest, closing your eyes for a moment and sighing longingly. For the first time in so long, you feel as if you can breathe.

You reluctantly take a step back again, tilting your head to smile up at Sukuna, thanking him again for everything he did for you. And he grins at you and leans down, his lips brushing over your ear, while his hand still caresses your cheek,

"You deserve so much better than your asshole of a husband. Don't hesitate to call or text me when you need a break again."

And with that, he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. It's such a delicate feeling, so soft and gone again in a split second that you aren't sure if it really happened or if you just imagined it, but it fills you with such warmth that it almost hurts.

Sukuna pulls away with a smirk, and you see a business card dangling from his long fingers. You take it from him with a small, grateful smile.

+++

Several days pass, during which you firmly ignore the business card that's still in your purse.

Waking up the next morning after meeting Sukuna made you feel strange. Guilty somehow. As if you had done something wrong. It's ridiculous, of course. Nothing happened between Sukuna and you. And if someone was supposed to feel guilt, it was your husband. And yet you refused to even look at the business card, feeling like you would be doing something bad if you even so much as entertained the idea of adding Sukuna's number to your contacts.

No, you would never contact Sukuna. You would do as your mom had said. Just accept the circumstances of your marriage and create your own happiness. Maybe you should really find a new hobby. Or maybe you could get a pet? A cat or a dog?

For the next few days, you almost manage to convince yourself that you are fine with your life. You keep yourself busy by researching different cat and dog breeds and starting a new TV show.

But then you walk in on your husband flirting with his affair on the phone again, and you see red. This time, you can't stop yourself from confronting him, from snapping at him and screaming at him under tears to stop it.

It leads to nothing, though. He is so unbothered, so smooth, lying through his teeth, downplaying it, claiming she is just a good friend, making you seem like some nutcase who overreacts at every little thing.

You escape to the bedroom, sitting on the bed, staring off into space as tears stream down your face, feeling so helpless in your rage and misery. What are you supposed to do when your cheating partner refuses to admit he is actually cheating on you?

You wish you had the courage to leave him. Or better, you wish he would take the decision from you and leave you so you won't be the one everyone blames for ending this seemingly perfect marriage! And so you won't have to be the one who makes a decision that will change your whole life.

You yank open your nightstand, searching for some paper tissues. And that's when you see Sukuna's handkerchief again, peeking out from under a package of chocolate cookies.

You brush tenderly over the soft, silken fabric. A small smile lifts your lips as your fingers brush over the initials embroidered on it in one corner in a fancy gold thread. S.I.. Itadori Sukuna.

You let out a long breath, wiping your tears away with one hand while the other holds the handkerchief. And suddenly, the clouds seem to disappear as you remember the warmth you felt when Sukuna cupped your cheek and wiped your tears away. And suddenly you know what you want to do.

You jump up and walk to your dresser, pull it open hurriedly, and yank out the purse you had with you in that restaurant. You open it, impatiently emptying its contents over your bed, until you see the business card with Sukuna's contact information.

On any other day, you would overthink things and take an hour to even make up your mind about what to write, but in the state you are in right now, everything seems so clear.

You grab your phone, add Sukuna's contact, and open a new text message. Your fingers seem to do the work without you consciously having to think about it as they quickly type a message:

"Hey. It's your surprise table partner from last Friday. Thank you again for being so nice to me and for your handkerchief."

You feel triumphant as you place your phone down on your nightstand. And then it buzzes, and your heart jumps to your throat. There's a reply.

"I'm glad you finally texted me. You are very welcome. How are you feeling?"

"I am ok. What about you?"

You cringe at your poor small-talk skills, but Sukuna is surprisingly easy to talk to. He tells you about his day, about business meetings, and what he will have for dinner.

There's a strange feeling spreading through your chest. A kind of longing. You crave the feeling of being near Sukuna again. How safe you felt when leaning your head against his chest for a few seconds. How seen you felt when he listened patiently to you and reassured you.

You want to see him again. Want that feeling again.

"I want to give you back your handkerchief. Where can we meet?"

You know you sound weird as fuck, but it's the only way you dare ask him to meet you again.

"I don't want that handkerchief back, sweetheart. But we should meet up anyway. I quite enjoyed your company. How about you join me again for dinner sometime this week?"

Oh.

Your heart is racing uncontrollably, and your hand shakes as you stare at Sukuna's message.

This is it. This is where things become dangerous. You know the right thing to do would be to say no. It's what a married woman should do. But your husband is in the living room, probably sexting his little affair, so why should you be a good wife?

And so you text Sukuna back, letting him know that dinner sounds great.

+++

The dinner with Sukuna is nice. Really nice. You catch yourself feeling so much lighter, your lips lifted in genuine laughter, your eyes shining with happiness as you spend your evening with Sukuna. He is a very charming conversationalist. Cocky, but in such a playful way that it makes you giggle and feel your face get hot from all the joy it brings you to playfully joke around with him and let him tease you in such a charming and light-hearted way.

Your meeting is innocent, nothing that could be counted as cheating. Just a man and a woman who enjoy good food and wine together and chat about everything and nothing. The occasional small touches don't count, right? Like when Sukuna's large hand brushes over the back of your much smaller hand that's resting on the table.

Or when he reaches across the table to cup your chin and wipe some cherry sauce off the corner of your lips with his thumb. But just because his gentle touch makes your skin tingle and your pulse quicken doesn't mean there is anything going on between Sukuna and you!

Sukuna refuses to let you pay, saying it's a delight for him to have you keep him company. And you laugh bashfully and wave him off but feel so giddy. Sukuna offers you his arm when you walk out of the restaurant, and you take it happily, marveling at how tall he is and how safe you feel walking at his side, biting your lip when you wrap your hand around his upper arm and feel his big biceps flex under your palm.

You say good night on the street in front of the restaurant, and before you know what you are doing, you wrap your arms around Sukuna for a light hug. You intend to pull away again immediately, just a quick, friendly hug, but you get stopped by Sukuna's strong arms wrapping around you, holding you firmly, hugging you back, and not letting you go yet.

He rests his chin on your head, and you have the enticing scent of his cologne in your nose again. You feel so warm and comfortable with Sukuna's strong arms around you, his tall, muscular body pressing against you, warm and reassuring. It makes you let out a shaky breath, overcome with feelings, because you can't remember the last time someone hugged you like this.

Sukuna's low voice is a velvety rumble when he says,

"I am on the National Museum's VIP list. There will be a pre-opening event for a new exhibition this coming week. Heian era. It sounds interesting. Would you like to accompany me?"

You lift your head, looking curiously at Sukuna,

"What must one do to get added to the National Museum's VIP list?"

An amused smirk lifts Sukuna's lips, making him look so unfairly handsome,

"Oh, nothing much, just make one or two generous donations every year."

He shrugs, and you laugh, beaming up at him in amusement as you nod,

"I would love to accompany you."

"Sweet. It's settled, then. I'll text you the day and time."

You want to walk to the subway, but Sukuna stops you with a warm hand on your arm, saying he will drive you home. For a moment, you freeze, not knowing what to say. It feels wrong somehow to let another man drive you to the apartment you share with your husband. And maybe you should be cautious and keep a distance and not let Sukuna know exactly where you live.

But you shake yourself out of it. All of those things have been hammered into your brain all of your life, making you anxious and scared and never truly living your life. You are already meeting with Sukuna for dinner and will accompany him to a museum next week. The world won't end if he knows your address!

You smile at him and nod, telling him it would be very nice if he drove you. And Sukuna smiles back, a pleased look in his maroon eyes. He gently steers you towards the parking space with a large hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you stroll down the street.

You catch yourself having a more upright posture than usual, your head lifted, your lips adorned with a soft smile. You feel like the passerbies are all looking at you and Sukuna. Maybe thinking the two of you are a couple on a date, and the thought makes your stomach tingle.

Sukuna's car is a black Porsche. You don't even know why you are surprised. He grins lazily as he opens the door for you and helps you slip into the passenger seat, handing you your purse when you sit and carefully closing the door behind you before he walks around the front of the fancy sports car and gets into the driver's seat.

"Nice car," you say, and Sukuna turns to look at you with a teasing twinkle in his eyes,

"Well, I'm not a nice guy, so at least my car should be."

"Oh, I think you are very nice."

The two of you hold eye contact for a long moment, both pairs of eyes filled with amusement before you burst out giggling, and Sukuna joins you with his low laugh.

+++

You spend the next evenings at home, having dinner with your husband, who is busy with his phone most of the time, making the cold, heavy feeling in your stomach even worse.

Your only joy is the anticipation you feel in looking forward to Wednesday afternoon when you will meet Sukuna at the museum.

He is already waiting when you arrive, leaning casually against a pillar next to the entrance, tall and handsome with his perfectly styled pink hair and his Tom Ford suit. A dark red one this time, which makes his eyes look like red wine.

Sukuna is a beautiful man.

For a moment, you feel a nervous flutter in your chest, but it vanishes again when Sukuna grins at you and greets you with his warm, low voice and a large hand on your back, pulling you into a half hug.

He doesn't even have to say his name when the two of you approach the young man who greets the guests and ticks off their names on the guest list.

"Ah, Mr Itadori! Have fun at the exhibition. And thank you so much for your generous support."

Your hand slips naturally around Sukuna's arm as you stroll through the exhibition. It feels nice to be here. It makes you realize how long it's been since you last visited a museum. Or did any kind of activity, really. Your husband never had time for you during the last few years.

You can tell that Sukuna is genuinely interested in the exhibition. He already seems to be an expert on the topic, adding interesting facts to the already detailed info sheets next to each exhibition piece.

It's an equal amount of endearing and sexy how nerdy he seems to be about this. Attractive. You like smart men. You like it when a man is passionate about learning everything about a topic that interests him. And Sukuna is like that.

You hang on his lips, soaking up his knowledge, feeling way too hot when you watch the sparkle in his maroon eyes as he goes into a passionate monologue about political intrigues during the timeline of one of the exhibition pieces.

And he seems to like that you also show genuine interest in the exhibition and in what he has to say about it. He blesses you with a soft smile that makes your stomach flutter. You feel exhilarated, your heart pounding in your chest, almost bursting with happiness. A long-forgotten feeling emerging again after so many years.

You thank Sukuna profusely for the fun afternoon, and he grins that charming, boyish grin at you and tells you he is grateful that you kept him such lovely company.

This time, there is no doubt about whether he really kisses your cheek or not. His lips linger on your heated skin for a long moment, soft lips pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before Sukuna smiles at you and cups your other cheek with his hand, his long fingers caressing it slowly.

"Let's meet again for dinner next week, sweetheart."

+++

You pace your living room restlessly.

Your trip to the museum with Sukuna made you realize something. It made you realize what this giddy feeling is that has been filling you ever since you started to meet up with him. That light-hearted, fluttery, happy feeling you get when you see him or even just when you think of him (which is almost every waking second of your day).

You try to shut down those feelings, telling yourself it's dangerous to let someone make you feel so much again. It makes you too vulnerable. It will only lead to more chaos and more hurt.

Why would a man like Sukuna even be interested in anything serious with me? He can probably have anyone. Either he only sees me as a friend, or I am just a little fling to him. I have to stop this before I get in even deeper!

In the coming week, you cancel your dinner with Sukuna by sending him a short text telling him you have a cold. He sends you a get well soon message and asks if you need anything, which you deny, even while you sob silently because Sukuna is so caring, and all you want to do is run into his strong arms and forget about your joyless life.

But you stay strong and put your phone away, forbidding yourself from sending more messages to Sukuna.

Your husband makes a rare attempt to talk to you, and you already know what he wants. After tiptoeing around you for several hours, he asks you for sex. You join him in the dark bedroom, feeling nothing as you slip out of your clothes and climb into bed with him.

You have learned to close your eyes during sex and let your mind wander, imagining all kinds of fictional scenarios to help you feel anything at all. But this time, you don't think of a fictional love interest out of a romance novel or an actor you find attractive. This time, you think of Sukuna.

You feel dirty afterward as you stand under the shower and scrub at your skin. Dirty for thinking of Sukuna while you slept with your husband. But what makes you feel even dirtier is that you still let your cheating husband touch you even though Sukuna is so nice to you. It feels as if you are cheating on both of them.

You cry so much that you feel like you have no tears left.

+++

Even though you haven't met or talked to Sukuna in over a week, he is still constantly on your mind. You are haunted by images of him. That beautiful tattooed face. That sexy low voice and the playful smirk. That tall and muscular body that makes you feel so tiny in comparison and so safe when you are standing in front of him or leaning against him.

You sigh. One would assume that acknowledging that you are developing romantic feelings for Sukuna would make things easier for you. Clearer. But the thing is, even though you know what your heart wants, you are still too scared to end things with your husband. There are too many insecurities. Too many risks and you feel so useless and weak, just like your parents always told you you are.

You feel frozen, unable to make a move. There is this wonderful man who treats you as if you are special and shows you how a man is supposed to make you feel, and yet you lack the courage to get out of your loveless marriage.

You have always been an overthinker, always scared to trust your instincts. Brought up to always be sensible and make decisions with your head and not your heart. So how could you just leave the security of this marriage? Especially when you are trying to convince yourself that Sukuna would never want a relationship anyway.

No, you can't let yourself believe that you could have a future with Sukuna. This is just a stupid dream born out of your naivety, which your parents always warned you about.

And how could you even go about ending things with your husband? Sit him down and tell him it's over? But what then? What do you do when he just refuses to accept it?

Or should you just pack your bag and leave while he is at work, letting him return to an empty apartment and a goodbye letter on the kitchen table? But where would you go? To a hotel? You have no money. To your parents? You would feel so ashamed, and you fear their judgment. To a friend? You don't really have any friends anymore who you are close enough with to ask this of.

You sigh. None of it seems achievable. Not for you. You are too chicken to do any of it.

Your husband informs you that he will be gone for two days for a business trip, and you let out a breath of relief, happy about the freedom you feel when he is away and you have the apartment to yourself.

You open a bottle of wine, listen to your favorite playlist, and dance around the kitchen, almost able to convince yourself that things will be ok and you can just live a life feeling detached from the hurt your marriage causes you.

And then your iPad dies. You groan, quickly walking to the spare room you use as an office to grab your husband's laptop, only to get greeted by his e-mail inbox, where you see a booking confirmation for a romantic couple getaway for the next two days.

You stare at it wide-eyed. And then you sit down in a daze and go through the received and sent e-mails, only discovering more outrageous things. The escort girls your husband booked over the last year, the flowers he ordered for other women, while you never got any flowers from him in all your years married to him. The romantic getaways he booked anytime he claimed to go on business trips.

You can't even cry about it anymore. The sadness is replaced by cold rage. And by a strange feeling of resignation. You know you could show all of this to your mom and finally make her believe what you told her all this time. Finally, presenting her and everyone else with proof of how badly your husband treats you.

But even as you snap pictures of the e-mails, you realize you can't bring yourself to do it. And the infuriating thing about it is that it's not even because it causes you hurt, but because you still want to protect your husband. If you show your mom this, she will confront him and make a huge scene. And you don't want that to happen. Even after everything he did, you still are too much of a good girl to let him face the rage of your mom.

That's why you close the laptop again without doing anything. You make sure to put it back to where you found it.

But a different kind of conviction has settled over you. If your asshole of a husband can go on romantic getaways and sex meetings, you can allow yourself some fun, too, can't you?

It's not even that you plan to have sex when you text Sukuna. You just want to meet him for dinner or another trip to the museum. You just want to talk to him, and laugh with him and soak up the light feeling he gives you.

He calls you instead of texting back. Your heart races when you take the call, and Sukuna's velvety low voice fills your ear,

"I just came home from a big grocery haul. So how about instead of meeting at a restaurant, you come to my apartment, and I cook for you?"

You agree instantly.

+++

Unsurprisingly, Sukuna lives in one of the most expensive neighborhoods of the city. The luxurious apartment complex makes you feel nervous and a bit out of place. But that uneasiness slips from you the moment Sukuna opens his door and greets you with that sexy, teasing smirk and a playful little comment.

It's the first time you see Sukuna dressed casually. And it undeniably does something to you to see him in a pair of gray sweatpants and a rather snug-fitting white t-shirt that clings to his buff pecs and gives you a nice view of his muscular arms and more of his tattoos. You aren't sure what is more mouth-watering, the food that is simmering in one of the pots on Sukuna's stove or his big biceps that flex deliciously with every move.

Sukuna lifts you onto the kitchen counter, easily picking you up and setting you down as if you weigh nothing. A fact that makes you all flustered and sends your pulse racing, making you gratefully grab the wine glass Sukuna is offering you, so you can hide your face behind it and let the alcohol calm your nerves.

No man has ever cooked for you before, and watching Sukuna do it is one of the most attractive things you have ever witnessed. He is so sexy. Passionate and skilled, and still always taking time to playfully flirt with you or ask you to try one of his dishes, feeding you food from a spoon or from his fingers.

There is a special kind of electricity between you tonight. An almost touchable tension that makes your skin tingle anytime Sukuna brushes up against you.

His voice is husky when he tells you what ingredients he uses to marinate the roasted vegetables. And you can't help but let your tongue flick over his fingers when he pushes a slice of roasted zucchini against your lips.

Sukuna groans softly. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you look up at his tattooed face. You are met by a hungry glint in those beautiful maroon eyes that remind you of the wine Sukuna poured for you.

You are caught in Sukuna's intense gaze, unable to look away. Everything else seems to fade away.

And the next thing you know is that Sukuna is kissing you. Or maybe you were the one who pressed her lips against his first. You don't know. All you know is that you are kissing right here in Sukuna's kitchen while you sit on the kitchen counter, and he is standing between your legs. His large hands are cupping your cheeks and tilting your head back, and your hands are twisting in the front of his soft white t-shirt, pulling him closer to you as you sigh needily into his mouth.

Sukuna kisses you like you have never been kissed before. Passionate, fiery. Deep and sensual, making your head spin and your pulse flutter under Sukuna's hands.

You can't get enough of him and wrap your arms and legs around him as if you are scared he will vanish into thin air if you let go of him. You kiss him with a hunger unknown to you until now. Like a starving person being presented with a life-saving meal.

Sukuna's large hands trail down your sides, fingertips grazing over the sides of your breasts, eliciting a needy little whine from you, and further down until they reach your thighs. You are drunk on his kiss, drunk on him, melting under every little touch.

And Sukuna hums in the back of his throat and deepens the kiss even more. His large hands slip under you, cupping your ass, kneading it while he makes you moan around his tongue.

You have always been shy, but there is something about Sukuna and the way he makes you feel that makes you slip a hand under his t-shirt, feeling him up, greedily caressing his flexing abs, feeling dizzy at how good his firm muscles feel under your fingertips.

You both can't seem to stop kissing, both tumbling down further and further into this heated desire. You are faintly aware of Sukuna mumbling against your lips that the sauce needs to simmer for another hour anyway, and then he picks you up and lifts you easily off the kitchen counter while his lips claim yours again.

Sukuna carries you to his bedroom while never breaking the kiss, and you suck on his bottom lip and run your greedy hands through his soft pink hair and down his bulging biceps, wanting him so much that you think you will die if you don't get all of him tonight.

You sleep with Sukuna on his fancy bed, and it's nothing like it was with your husband. It's like you finally learn how sex is supposed to feel with a man who truly wants you.

Sukuna makes you feel wanted and desired, a feeling that is so new to you after all these years caught in a loveless marriage where your husband made you feel undesirable, unattractive, and like you would never be able to find anyone else with how your body looks and how lousy you are in bed.

But with Sukuna, it is completely different. You feel sexy here in his bed with the way he looks at you when he undresses you. And with the way he moans sweet praise in your ear before his lips and hands worship your body.

Sukuna is a real man. Experienced and confident, but so loving and patient with you when you get shy and tell him that you aren't very experienced and that your husband was disappointed in your skills in the bedroom.

At one point, you tense up, thinking Sukuna will get angry like your husband when you are clumsy during sex. But the opposite is the case. Sukuna is calm and gentle, talking to you in that sexy low voice, all soothing and sexy, telling you that it's ok and that you don't have to be scared or embarrassed.

He kisses you until your head spins and then asks you why you got so tense, asks you what you need. And you almost break out in tears, hugging him tightly, hiding your face in his defined pecs, inhaling his scent, and feeling so loved and so safe in his strong arms like never before.

"I just... I have only been with my husband, and he told me I am not good in bed. He always got mad at me when I didn't know how something worked. I am sorry if I am not what you are used to."

And you feel Sukuna's arms tightening around you, feel him tense up. But he isn't angry with you, only with your husband.

"That man is such a fool. Look at me, darling."

You lift your head off his chest and look at his tattooed face when he looks at you all earnestly,

"You are a beautiful woman, sexy and desirable, and I want to fuck you so good you forget your own name. Because that's what you deserve. And you don't have to be experienced or fuck like a pornstar. You are perfect the way you are, and you drive me crazy. And if you don't know how something works and you want to learn it, then I will teach you, and I promise I will be patient and gentle."

You nod wildly, feeling too emotional to speak, and instead press your body against Sukuna's and capture his lips in another needy kiss. You can feel his smile against your lips when he wraps his large hands around your waist and takes control.

Everything is so easy after that. No words are needed. Just hands and lips exploring each other's skin in heated caresses and bodies entangled in feverish passion. You let yourself fall, give yourself fully into Sukuna's loving hands. Let him take care of you like no one has ever done before.

He fucks you so good you cry.

All the years of feeling undesirable and not enough slip off you now that you are in Sukuna's bed under his gorgeous, tall, and heavy body, your nails leaving scratches on his broad back, hot tears of bliss streaming down your cheeks, and his name falling sweetly from your lips over and over again like a prayer.

It's like you are finally alive, like you are a flower that finally blooms after all these years.

+++

That first night in Sukuna's bed changed you profoundly.

You catch yourself smiling all day. There's a new bounce in your steps. You feel so much lighter. Your stomach is filled with butterflies as if you are a teenager again who has her first crush. Your chest feels so warm. You're filled with new hope. Maybe there is more to life and love than you thought, after all.

You feel like, for the first time, someone has really seen you. You weren't aware that sex like this existed in real life. That a man could make you fall apart like that. Sukuna fucked you in a way that was life-changing, making you feel like you gave him not just your body but also your soul.

And as passionate and nasty as the sex with Sukuna was, he made you feel respected the whole time. Adored. That is what makes you lose your mind anytime you think of it. You have been with your husband for so long, and yet even in the beginning, when the feelings were still fresh, he never made you feel adored or loved in bed. You didn't even know it until now, but he only ever made you feel used.

When your husband asks you for sex, you turn him down his time, telling him you aren't in the mood, and you don't even feel guilty for it.

You keep running back into Sukuna's strong arms over and over again. Into his bed, under his heavy body, where you feel loved and wanted. It's like he opened your eyes, and now you can see all those new colors that you only seem to be able to see with him.

+++

Your clandestine meetings continue for weeks. It surprises you to see winter turn into spring, and yet Sukuna is still texting you, inviting you to more dinner dates and to more intimate meetings in his bedroom. You always assumed he would end your little affair before things became too serious.

But somehow, he is still in your life, reserving his Wednesday evenings for you, buying you roses, and taking you to the best restaurants in the city.

One night, you sit up in his bed on the ruffled silk sheets and bite your lip as you let your gaze trail over Sukuna's naked body. His tattooed skin, his buff muscles, his beautiful silhouette. And you blurt out,

"Why do you keep seeing me?"

It's what you have been asking yourself from the start. What does Sukuna see in you? You are mediocre in every way. Average looks, no real talents, and no impressive career. A wife who got neglected by her husband because she wasn't good enough in his eyes. A woman in her thirties, who was replaced by a younger, more attractive version.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is gorgeous, powerful and rich, and his age only makes him more attractive. He could have anyone.

Sukuna hums softly and turns onto his side, lifting his head to watch you with curious maroon eyes.

"What do you mean, darling?"

You avert your gaze, sighing, bringing up your hands in a helpless little gesture,

"I... I mean, you are you, and I am me. And I just don't understand what you see in me."

Now, the noise Sukuna makes sounds a bit like a growl. You feel stupid for saying anything, already about to scramble out of his bed and flee before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. But you don't make it out of bed. Sukuna's strong arms wrap around you and stop you. He pulls you back into his arms and against his solid, broad chest.

"Don't belittle yourself like that. I keep asking to see you because I want to. Because I like spending time with you. You are so sweet. You make me feel so warm when I have always felt so cold."

His words hit you like a truck. You blink rapidly, your eyelashes fluttering against Sukuna's chest.

"R... really?"

He huffs softly, letting out a low chuckle as his large hand pets your hair,

"Yes, really. I used to only have one-night stands or casual flings. Just sex and nothing more. I used to think that was all I needed. But you showed me something different. Hell, I've never spent so much time with a woman before I slept with her for the first time. And I enjoyed every second of it! I like spending time with you to talk and laugh with you and just have this companionship. You make me feel like maybe I am not that cold-hearted asshole I always thought I was."

You gulp hard, tears filling your eyes. But this time, happy ones. You sniffle against Sukuna's naked chest and press a tender kiss to his tattooed skin.

"You are so sweet, Sukuna."

He laughs softly, and you can feel it against your cheek, a low rumble, where your face is resting on his chest,

"You are the first one who told me I am sweet. Are you sure?"

Now, you laugh softly, too. The insecurity you felt a moment ago forgotten,

"Yes, 100% sure. No one has ever treated me as sweet as you."

"It's what you deserve. You are so sweet that I want to be sweet for you, too. And..."

Sukuna's large hands tighten around your hips, and he flips you over. He rolls on top of you, covering you whole with his tall, broad body. His lips find your neck, trailing little kisses over it, his low voice a seductive murmur in your ear,

"You're not just sweet, but also beautiful and sexy, and you make me laugh, and I want to take you places and cook for you and also want to keep you on my cock all night and feel you squeeze around me and hear you cry my name."

Sukuna grinds his hips against you, pushing you into the mattress, taking you with one powerful, deep thrust for the second time tonight. You gasp and cling to his broad shoulders, your legs wrapping around his hips, welcoming him, craving him, needing him.

He takes it slow. Slow, deep thrusts, his forehead resting against yours, his low voice moaning sweet nothings in between deep, sensual kisses.

It's then that you realize that Sukuna is doing what no one else ever did to you. Sukuna is making love to you.

And you cry hot tears, drowning in his love and his body and everything he gives you. Your nails leave scratches on his broad back, your heels dig into his firm ass, as you throw your head back and cry out his name in the sweetest ecstasy.

He holds you afterward, lies behind you, and wraps his tall, strong body around you. He hugs you with his strong arms and nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing kisses onto your skin, not letting go of you, taking care of you, cuddling you. Something you also never had before. A man who is willingly holding you like that for hours after he came in you.

You sigh happily, still in a daze. The occasional tear still runs down your cheek as you snuggle against Sukuna's muscular body, and your hands caress his tattooed forearms tenderly. You never want to leave his arms again. You want to stay right here.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna's low voice murmurs against your skin again,

"I mean it, darling. I like having you in my life. So much that I want you in it all the time."

One of his large hands caresses your belly, so tender, so loving, sending butterflies fluttering in it like crazy. And Sukuna breathes in your ear,

"Be mine."

You draw in a sharp breath and turn around in Sukuna's arms, cupping his face with your hands as you kiss him, long and sweet, and in between kisses, you murmur against his lips,

"I am already yours."

You know it is the truth. Even though you are still married to another man, even though you are still living with your husband, you are Sukuna's woman now. You suspect you have been Sukuna's woman for several months already, long before you allowed yourself to admit it out loud.

+++

Two hours later, you are buttoning up your coat, about to leave Sukuna's apartment and the sweet bliss of his arms and return to your cold, loveless marriage, and your lonely apartment, when Sukuna stops in front of you. He reaches out, wordlessly helping you with the buttons, dominant in such a caring way, and somehow, that small loving gesture makes your lips tremble as you are overcome by emotions.

He is so good to you. Such a giant of a man, so tall and broad and powerful. And yet, he treats you so gently. Large hands buttoning up your coat for you. The hands that also cook Michelin-star-worthy meals for you, or wash your hair in his luxurious bathtub. The hands that make you see stars when they finger you oh so good. The hands that caress your cheek tenderly and brush your tears away with so much care. Hands that give to you over and over again. A hundred little acts of service that this powerful man gives to you.

"Sukuna, I..."

You trail off, not able to put into words what you want to say to him. How much he means to you. How much you want him. How he made you believe in love again. How much you crave to leave your old life behind and start over new with Sukuna even though you are so scared of change.

Before you can say any of it, Sukuna grabs your wrists, takes them firmly but gently into his larger hands, and looks at you intensely.

"Leave that asshole. He doesn't deserve you, princess. If a man can't see what he has in you, then he is trash. Don't be scared. I can take much better care of you than him. I'll fuck you good and make you only cry happy tears. I will appreciate you like you deserve. I will love you like you deserve. I will ensure you always have everything you need. I have money, and I can protect you. Tell me, darling, who would you feel safer with waking through the city in the middle of the night? That joke of a man or me?"

Of course, you know the answer.

"I love you, Sukuna."

"I love you, too."

His strong arms wrap around you and pull you into a hug, and you nuzzle your face into his chest, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne. And finally, here in the safety of Sukuna's embrace, you say those words you have been too scared to say until now,

"I will leave him. I want to be with you. Only with you, Kuna."

You can hear the smile in Sukuna's voice when he replies,

"I'll help you, sweetheart. I have one of the best lawyers in the whole country. I'll call him tomorrow to prepare the divorce papers. I'll take care of everything for you."

Sukuna cups the back of your head and leans down to kiss your forehead gently, reassuringly. He looks at you with that boyish grin you fell in love with and adds in a playful and husky voice,

"And once all of this is dealt with, I will make you my wife."

He takes your left hand into his, turning it around, inspecting the wedding ring you are still wearing, scrunching his nose at it,

"And I'll give you a much prettier ring."

+++

You let the door fall softly shut behind you one last time as you walk out of the apartment you had been sharing with your husband for over a decade. A smile lifts your lips. You are glad to close this chapter of your life.

You know that a braver woman would have left her husband sooner, would have moved out, or kicked him out the moment she found out he was cheating on her. Maybe even sooner, when she realized she was unhappy in that marriage. But you aren't brave. You have always been full of self-doubts and fears. Too ashamed to crawl back to your parents and admit that you hadn't been strong enough to endure your marriage. Too scared that you would never recover from the financial loss of the divorce. Too insecure to believe you could ever make it on your own.

But now you have Sukuna. And the fall doesn't seem so high anymore. You know Sukuna will catch you in his strong arms. He won't let you crash to the ground.

In the end, you think it doesn't matter how you got out of that unhappy marriage and into this loving relationship. All that matters is that you got a second chance to learn how love is supposed to be.

And it still takes bravery to leave your husband and walk into Sukuna's arms. To close the door of your marriage and open the one that leads to the man who came into your life as an illicit affair but has become your one and only.

OH SUKUNA, I NEED YOU 😭😭💗💗 He really took one look at Reader having her breakdown in that restaurant and was like, "I will steal that woman from that loser and give her what she deserves." Thank you, Kuna baby ;)

Thank you so much if you read the whole thing! This story became much longer than I thought, but the words wouldn't stop flowing out of me because this story made me so happy. I hope it could give some of you the same feeling.

I often see posts/articles that victim-blame the women who don't have the courage to leave an unhappy marriage, so I wanted to write something where Reader isn't a strong, independent woman but someone who needs a little encouragement and lots of love from a man like Kuna before she dares make the decision to leave her husband. She deserves all the happiness!

I hope you enjoyed the story and maybe fell a little in love with this version of Sukuna, too 💗

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[bunny-jpeg]

packing my husband's lunch

simon "ghost" riley - inspired by this

tags: smut & fluff, domestic, established relationship (marriage), housewife!reader, butcher!simon, food, body worship & praise, missionary,

a/n: changed a little bit of it for the fic, i hope that's okay! i hope everyone loves it!!

it wasn't supposed to be a big deal, these were little videos that you made when simon was at work. people did a lot worse on the internet! you were mostly in sweet aprons with your username embroidered onto them and occasionally one of the dresses that your loving husband bought you!

you wanted to keep yourself busy now that you were a stay-at-home wife and the income from being part of the creator's program was a nice bonus.

"thank you for the banana bread recipe, mrs. riley!"

"where did you get that dress?"

"i wonder what mister riley looks like! i bet she totally lucked out!!"

you built up a sweet little community that was mostly sharing recipes that you've aquired over the years. viewers were impressed of how well you could handle spice despite your gentle demeanour, but you once said in a video that you had been eating spicy food your whole life!

"plus, my husband loves it too!" that was the big mystery of the account, who was mrs. riley's husband? viewers knew he existed and that videos occasionally were about making his lunches. but he had never showed his face in any video.

you thought the comments were cute, you'd often show them to simon while you were in his lap on the couch.

"they think that you're like christian grey."

"who the hell is that?" simon chuckled as he rested his head on top of your head so he could look down at your phone, "sounds like a real prick with a name like that."

another day, another video. you worked within the kitchen explaining the recipe. "you have to remmeber to add the spices before it all comes together or else it won't have time to mingle with the potatoes or the carrots. the taste will be all off!" you tone was like a bird's chirp as you had one hand on yourhip and the other stirring the pot with a spoon.

"my husband loves this! and i think who ever you make this for, wife, husband, boyfriend, partner, family member, friend, they'll love it too! but i suggest if you're making it for your nana that you tone down the spices a little!" you talked away as you continued to cook.

it filled the near silence in the kitchen and allowed you to keep viewers engaged!

but this video ended a little different. while you showed off finished stew in a pastel pink bowl, viewers caught the sight of him. hulking mass of man in a white t-shirt with a suspicious amount of red stained across it.

"girl, are you okay?"

"who is that?!"

"pack him a sandwich in the next video if you need help!"

"hey girlie, close your fist with your thumb inside if you're not safe!"

you were confused by the comments, simon wasn't a bad guy? he had never hurt a hair on your head. you've been trying to get him into more experimental kinky play in the bedroom!

you heard the door unlock and peeked out of the kitchen to see your husband coming home. you were use to grime he brought home, you met at the butcher shop his long time friend price owned. so a t-shirt stained with blood was nothing new. but then it clicked in your head.

oh they thought that simon was some kind of serial killer.

before you could say anything to your husband, he pulled you in for tight kiss and held you by the back of the head with his strong hand. you smiled against his lips and giggled when he picked you up. you wrapped your legs around his waist and held onto his shoulders.

you weren't the lightest thing in the world, but simon had spent most of his life hauling things (meat) heavier than you could ever be. he eyed you from top to bottom and smiled. his smiles were rare to others but frequent with you.

"how's my love bug today? makin' more videos for the fans." he asked as he carried you to the couch and put you down gently. he then leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

"yeah, they think you're a serial killer though."

his blond brows raised, "serial killer?"

you looked at him in return, "you were in the back of one of my latest videos, i didn't notice anything until i realized that you were in a work shirt and it looked like you were a serial killer."

"i see, i see." he said as he sat next to you and laced your fingers with his, "tell them i'm not, i don't need rumours to start." simon didn't like being the center of attention.

he once told you that he married the brightest woman he could find so she could be the center of attention and he could be supportive from the sidelines. it was why people gravitated towards you while being a little afraid of you towering husband.

you pulled him closer to you and kissed at his scarred face. he was an active service member before he became a butcher, so much history on his body and you loved every molecule of him. when you kissed him, he deepened the kiss and held both your hands.

"simon."

"let me take you to bed." he replied softly before he pulled you to your feet and then pulled you up into his arms bridal style. it took you a while to get used to him carrying you. not that you were worried about him not having a good hold on you, but rather you not having a good hold on him!

he brought you to your shared bedroom and placed you on the bed delicately. he then got his shirt up and over his head, exposing his strong body to you. he wasn't model trimmed, he was built with proper strength.

i ain't no pretty boy, dove.

but you thought your husband was the prettiest of them all. slowly you started to take off your dress, you could feel your husband's hungry eyes on you as you undressed for him. your viewers saw a sweet little wife, bu simon saw that sweet little wife totally nude.

when the mis-matched pair of bra and panties ended up on the floor with the dress, simon felt like a new man. he worked hard to provide for your family of two and would continue to work hard every day. you were his wife, his everything. and he loved you more than he could ever articulate.

so he expressed his love by getting undressed and into bed with you. laid out on top of the covers, your head in the pillows with simon between your legs.

"look at mrs. riley." he cooed as he rubbed his rough hands up and down your bare thighs, "prettier than those little cookies you make.' he chuckled a little, "boy at work watch your videos all the time, you've been a big help to them, finally able to cook for themselves." he went in to kiss you on the lips.

"glad i could help." you replied as you held onto one of the pillows under your head. you arched your back a little when he lined his cock up with slick entrance and pressed himself in.

he leaned forward and braced a hand up against the headboard as he got his cock inside of you. the issue with a size difference like yours, it made it a little hard to have sex in certain positions. usually you were on top, but since you got married you've been able to figure out missionary.

"honey."

"i got ya, dove. you feel so good as always." he said lowly, "everything i have ya, it's a complete treat. you take good care of me, you know that. you are a good wife. happy you're making your little videos, and i'm happier i get to come home to you."

you blushed a little bit and wanted to hide your face but he stopped you by pinning your hand to the bed.

"don't hide from me, dove. i want to see my wife's face." he said with his voice tinged with affection. he loved the sight of you, you were beautiful under him, he couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of you.

"you make me blush too much." you said as he moved against you. your loving, caring husband moved his hips in a steady pace as he held onto your hand and the headboard. his thrusts were easy on you, not too rough but just enough to make you excited all over. you loved the feeling of him, there was just something about it that made you feel a twinge of excitement in your core.

he was a perfect lover and you loved him so much.

"all mine." he purred as he continued his movements. he watched your videos daily during his lunch break, happily eating the food you made for a video that morning or the day prior. the stews, baked goods and pasta dishes that you were known for.

your emphasis on couponing and how to store foods to make them last longer. it was an honour for simon to be with such a lovely woman. you encouraged food as a form of love. and you showed that love ten times over with simon.

he captured your lips and continued to move against you. he devoured the feeling of his lover up against him. you felt amazing, you felt like heaven. he couldn't help himself. he moved against you and continued to kiss you.

"work so hard every day, you work your ass off beautiful. and i love it, all of you. you know that. i can't get enough of you, how you feel against me. how i feel like our souls are connected."

you giggled, "no need to butter me up, handsome." you smiled when he placed another kiss on your lips. you moaned into the kiss, you eventually held onto his strong shoulders. you two moved against each other, husband and wife. quite the pair you were, and simon wouldn't want it any other way.

"baby." he cooed.

"shh, shh." you said, you opened your eyes and stared into his brown ones, he was so handsome. even when he tried to deny it, you knew the truth. he was quite the handsome man. the kind of man that made your toes curl with each hardy thrust of his hips.

the pleasure ran through both of you, the intensity of it made you kiss one another once more. he continued to work himself inside of you. live in each of this thrusts, affection in every movement. simon loved you and you loved him, hence why you held onto him so closely.

"oh, dove. look at ya. perfect for your husband." he cooed as he felt closer to his climax, it was an intense feeling. the kind of feeling that excited him greatly. he loved you and when he watched your pleasure reach its peak, he felt a swell of pride when you clutched onto him tighter.

"fuck, honey." you moaned as pleasure crushed down on you. you tensed up then relax, enjoying the feeling as it moved through you. you shared another kiss.

simon continued to work his body up against yours, and soon he finished inside of you. he rocked against you through his climax and then only broke the kiss when he stopped. he looked you in the eyes, those beautiful brown eyes.

you giggled lightly and pulled him in once more before he laid out on the bed beside you and held you in his arms.

"not too bad for a serial killer."

"yeah, i bet they'd never know that you're such a teddy bear." you dragged a finger across his strong chest and let out a small giggle. he felt so good against you. you soon sat up and said, "i have something i want you to try, i am working on a new recipe."

before you could get too far, he pulled you back into bed with him and wrapped his arms around you. he held you close and said, "whatever it is, dove. i bet it's amazing, but right now i just wanna hold ya."

-

the following day, on one of simon's days off. you set up the camera and stood beside your much taller husband. you were all smiles as you were ready to bake a nice spring treat.

"hello, love bugs! it's mrs. riley again, and today i have a guest!" you gestured to your husband. you whispered, "you'll need to crouch down a little." and simon bent his knees, "this is my husband, mister riley!"

you hoped that this would quell any concerns your fans might have. and while the comments were positive one made you blush.

"i used to think i had a crush on mrs. riley, but now i have a crush on mr. riley too!"

i hope you love this fic! if you have any suggestions, my open! till next time <3

[baepsays]

‧₊˚𓇢𓆸 I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN)⸻ clan head Gojo

Chapter One: Lord Gojo

𓍯𓂃 pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

𓍯𓂃 description⋙ navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.

𓆰𓆪 cw in this chapter⋙ canon divergence, nsfw, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, one sided conflict, one sided pining, suggestive stuff, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), internalized misogyny on reader's part, insecurities, dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, self deprecation on reader's behalf, angst, some fluff, condescending Gojo, they do stuff in bed idk how to explain, manhandling, love bites, hickeys and marks, teasing, so much teasing, very lowkey dirty talk, talk about virginity, mentions of breeding, there is reluctant consent, emotionally detached Gojo, Gojo is just a bit mean, sexual tension in the air or just need to runaway? reader in her early thirties, Gojo is in his mid thirties.

𓍯𓂃 a/n: hope you have fun reading <3 if you'd like to be added to the tag list, refer to the series masterlist<3

word count: 7.5k

The world of jujutsu was reformed drastically following the events of devastation that took place during the Shinjuku showdown. Many lives were lost, and many were left alive with the misfortune of living with the memories of the events. One such person happened to be the strongest himself, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru basically came back from touching death himself. 

The sheer surprise of his life being spared after all that he went through to have his students win a losing battle, and live a better life as a sorcerer—was enough to have rumors circulate that perhaps the now scarred up Gojo Satoru is just a shell of a man from who he used to be.

The intensity of his powers were apparently dulled, especially the six eyes. The great blessing and curse on Gojo Satoru’s name, his six eyes, were left intact, but rendered basically powerless. 

But it did not matter how much Gojo Satoru has weakened, how the current state of him could not compare to who he was. Because this was a man who has escaped death time and time, any fear that may have been there in those glowing eyes, was gone to say the least.

If one does think of it, Gojo Satoru is just as much of a changed man as everyone thinks of him to be, the nights he used to sleeplessly spent were now spent with a better sleep schedule. False pretenses were dropped. He was older, wiser, a man who has been struck with grief all through his life, and was now living a more predictable life. Now he just spent his days looking after his estate, staff, and helping his students as much as he could as a more powerful figure, in terms of not only his physical but also political capabilities.

The gruesome news of what took place in the room of the higher ups before the Shinjuku showdown was the first of such help. Just whispers were heard about the state of the room, if he was ever bravely asked of what exactly happened that day, the eerie smile was enough, on top of his now mostly left uncovered eyes.

The need for silence was more needed than boasting what he had done, with no remorse, as he never felt any for the vile people present in that room that day. As the jujutsu world was more or less at peace, the clan politics was still present, silently fuming away from everyone’s eyes. And as the head of the Gojo clan, he had to step up to his role more proficiently.

And with the newfound responsibilities and increasing age, the pressure to find a wife was becoming more and more vital. 

Hope was not something you relied on usually, or at all. As a person born with no actual cursed energy to wield them in a battlefield, other than being mildly able to see horrifying entities float around, it was hard. 

It was hard as it is to be a non-sorcerer born into a family of jujutsu sorcerers, it was probably harder as an unmarried woman, now in her thirties, surrounded by people who deem women nothing more than a womb on a pair of legs.

It was no concern to them if the world was burning down or if you were dying, your apparent reproductive clock was better understood by them than you. At least as a child it was a hush hush, and tease of sorts when the topic of your future husband was brought up, which was more often than not. This went on until you graduated university like any other normal human being, as the world of jujutsu did not seem to work out. 

You liked that life. The normal life that these people looked down upon, making normal friends, falling out with them over petty reasons than losing them to some blood hungry curse, going on trips them them, stressing about exams, pulling all nighters to submit a assignments, getting asked out on dates, growing plants, spending weekends by reading books and binge watching some show. 

There was nothing significant in the lifestyle these people aspired for and maintained.

And you did not want to end up in an unfamiliar house having to start from scratch, how to mind yourself and navigate the unprovoked stares of disgust. Especially by a man who was supposed to love you for better and for worse, til death does you apart—if it were up to you, you would not like to bind yourself to this man, to begin with. 

But then again, that was all wishful daydreaming. Especially when you are already sitting in a reserved private room at some fancy place, waiting to meet another prospective husband. At this point you have met at least over ten or hundred possible husbands, you have lost the count. To your parents and clan they were either too obnoxious, not as affluent as them, too egregious, not influential enough, or not as powerful as them. But this was no ordinary prospective meeting. After all this was the potential meeting that could tie your family to the Gojo clan.

He was everything they wanted to be, had all the qualities they were looking for in your future husband, and everything they despised. He was too egregious, too obnoxious, too condescending, righteous to a fault, and too giving. Yet, it did not waver their desire to have you tied down to this man. That was the effect of Gojo Satoru. It did not matter how much he had weakened in terms of physical strength compared to the new generation, it was how he boasted of that weakness and walked with his head higher than ever.

You did respect the man immensely. But you could not help but hold grudges against this man, whom you are yet to even meet. Grudges over how freely he lived. You have never in your life felt jealous of your peers’ powers, surely you have felt resentment. But that was over your own blood. But this man in particular you could not escape, probably even to the pits of hell he will follow you there to agonize your life.

The thought of possibly calling him your husband made your stomach fill with bile. 

Your silent thoughts ran wild as you waited silently, sitting opposite an empty chair, surrounded by people chattering anxiously about the absent man in question. Your parents, a few important members of your clan, and a few members of the Gojo clan started to become more and more weary about the clan head’s arrival. 

The clamour in the room stopped way before the doors to the room slid open. That was the sort of energy he exuded. Enigmatic and formidable. 

The man who walked in, adorned in the most finely made white haori, complementing his hair, with a scarf around his neck. He looked almost the part of the groom, with half the outfit already hanging off his shoulders. But it was not the careful stitching of the jacket, or his sculpted body peeking through the compressed shirt beneath his jacket, or the piercing blue orbs set on you, that made you static in your seat—breathless even. 

The three big scars that cut through his left cheek, under his right eye, and the one stretching from his chin down his jawline, accompanied by more scattered and faded out smaller scars, spread through every visible part of his body—that is what had your mind standing still in awe. 

“Ah! Greetings Gojo-sama. Such an honor to be in your presence, finally.” Your father’s voice brought you out of the blue pupils assessing every single cell on your body. The realization that you had dared to hold gaze with Gojo Satoru of all people, that too on your first meeting, ran your throat dry. Quickly training your eyes on the table in front of you, as if it was the most interesting piece of furniture, you reached for the glass of water served to you. Hoping, praying, begging that you did not just offend him. 

“Why? I made everyone wait too long.” The tone of his voice suggested anything but a polite question. Maybe steadiness and jest, but no place for ease. 

“No! Of course not, in fact you are right on time!” One of the Gojo clan members quipped beside him. Looking ever so slightly from the edge of your eyelashes, you presumed this was the usual. 

“Really? Then do you mind telling me if I'm actually on time or not? ” The question was directed to no one in the room but you. 

“Gojo-sama, how can she-” Satoru cuts off your mother before she could finish the poor excuse she was about to make, “I was clearly not speaking to you, was I? Now, are you able to answer my simple question or simply too fascinated by the table?” A calculative smile stretched across his face. 

“It is made out of cedar wood if you are wondering about that.”

The tone of his voice and that smile irritated something in you. All your life you have been a compliant decorative doll made out of unmoving porcelain, yet the sheer change in the inconspicuous inflection of this man’s words, pissed you off beyond everything. 

“You are 24 minutes late.” The words came out unusually harsher than your usual voice. “Gojo-sama.”

The last bit of that respect came from the instant realization of what you did, followed by your mother’s eyes almost popping out of its sockets and your father’s disappointed sigh. They were as sure as you were, that this meeting is not going to work out in their favor. You were, on one hand ecstatic to have ensured that you were never going to be called this man’s wife, on the other hand the anticipation of what was to follow this meeting once you get home, made your stomach drop.

The members of either clan were already engaged in a dispute of words. “How dare a woman born with no cursed energy speak in such a tone with the head of the Gojo clan!” one of the members of his clan spoke with displeasure, slightly sitting up in his seat.

“Please excuse her insolence, she does not know any better. Apologize. Right this instance.” Your father urged you with his teeth pressed together. 

You should’ve noticed the anger in his tone, but you were too busy observing the man sitting in front of you, from the curtains of your eyelashes as you held your head low. He sat with his grinning face held in his hand, the elbow of the said hand rested on the table, as he took a big sip of his tea. All the while boring his gaze in your, already itching with discomfort, skin. 

The sound of the cup of tea pressed between his shining lips, being set down on the cedar table made everyone stop their sharp words thrown your way. It was definitely not the sound that the cup made, but rather whose cup it was, that made them halt their charges.

“I see. Then I must apologize to my wife to be, for making her wait that long for me.”

Weddings are difficult.

It takes a lot of preparation. Mentally and physically, it is extremely straining and of course the preparation, just organizing a lot of things all at once, drives one insane. The venue, the guests, the font for the wedding invitation, gifts for the guests, flowers, color of the silverware etc. meticulous things. And it takes a lot of people to have two people unite, in the name of the law and society, with God as the witness. But it is particularly harder to realize the significance of the act of being wed to a person, when you have no idea who that person is beyond the whispering gossips and scars of battle adorning his pretty face.

When you had no contribution to the choices made for the wedding preparation, or the person you are to be wed, it all feels less magical and more of a fever dream. The days before the wedding, you spent them holed up in your room, not really doing anything more than what you were required to do. So you solemnly spent those swift days contemplating things over and over again. 

You thought you might not want to see your husband to be, before the wedding itself. But when the week before the wedding your father informed you that Gojo Satoru himself seeked out to have dinner at your house, you could not help but anticipate the sight of him. Wondering if he might show up in more casual clothing than his formal getups, wondering if the scar under his eye is still the same or did it somehow morph its shape, even if it has only been three weeks since you have seen him.

So you could not help but feel disappointment when he never showed up. All the food that was decorated on the dinner table was already cold, when an informant came to tell that, ‘Gojo-sama has sent the word that he cannot make it, and he is deeply apologetic to his fiance.’ 

Your shoulders sagged down as quickly as your father just asked everyone to start their meal. You did not understand the loss of appetite when everything before you was so delicious. It was all very confusing, maybe you just wanted to see him one last time before the wedding to reassure yourself. But then again, you cannot get rid of the doubt that did not stem from worry, but is fostered by fear.

“Are you ready?” your mother's voice made you look away from the reflection of yourself and instead your eyes focused on her. Because at least the harshness in her voice was more familiar than your own reflection.

“Time for you to enter. Everyone is waiting.”

The idea of being a married woman, to the strongest, at that—made the weight of the ceremonial kimono feel heavier than any piece of clothing you have ever dawned. The hood of the wataboshi  partially covering your face felt like a shield, because while walking down the aisle it hid your eyes from peeking a glimpse of your groom. As much as it felt like you were dying, with the way your throat was constricting, making it harder for any air to pass—you could not help but take a peek at your groom, from below your hood, who was already standing there waiting for you.

His back was facing the shrine’s altar, and his eyes were trained on you. He looked like no other groom. Probably because no other groom has ever welcomed his bride with such a huge grin, while showing his back to the altar. It was Gojo Satoru after all. When has he done anything the usual way?

“Goodness, felt like you took forever sweetheart.” 

His extended hand reached for yours, to pull you up to the podium, to have you stand beside him. The sight of his palms practically swallowing your entire hand, felt foreign. But the coldness emitting off his touch was worse. It was weird that he was touching you, but at the same time, it felt as if he was far away from your grasp. The distance and the coldness was far too sharp for you to keep holding his hand. And he probably understood that as well, as he loosened his grip to let you slip your hands out of his as soon as you could.

How the entire thing happened was beyond you. Your head was too occupied with how gorgeous he looked in his groom’s wear. Or maybe his blinding hair, or the scars scattered all over him, making him look more commanding than terrifying. It was all just very swift, if you had to describe it.

One moment you are contemplating whether you should make a run for it, not that it would help you. And then in another few seconds you two are already on your third cup of sake, completing the san-san-kudo ceremony, uniting yourself to him and joining your name to his.

“Still want to make a run for it sweets?”

You just looked at him, slightly horrified. “Anyone with two eyes can tell what you are thinking if they can catch a glimpse behind that hood, and I have six of them.” There was a tone of jest in his voice and the grin on his face.

“No. I, am just not feeling that well since this morning.”

“Then we must do something about that.” In one quick second, you were suspended in the air in his arms, your body was held close to his chest with the help of his arms. 

The yelp that left your lips sounded louder than it should have, because that room full of relatives and influential people fell silent to the ordeal in front of them. But your astonishment was not due to the fact that your newly officialized husband has decided to embarrass you in a shrine where god witnessed your union—it was rather how contrary to the earlier, he felt warm.

“You feel warmer.” you could not help but let your thoughts slip out in a murmur. “Surprised?” you nod hesitantly realizing how that slipped out in a murmur.

“My infinity was up earlier, I noticed how you got startled. And how dare I make Lady Gojo flinch. ” There was a sense of tease in his tone, but also laced with pride and maybe some joy? He never fails to leave you perplexed. You had nothing to answer to that. Lady Gojo. That is who you were. The weight of your title made your head spin as Gojo walked you two out of the shrine, with you still in his arms.

The reception went as smoothly as it could have. Honestly coming to the reception was harder than the reception itself. Being in an enclosed space with Gojo was really more scary than marrying him in front of thousands of people. Now you just have to do exactly that for the rest of your life, or until your services are required. 

He did not say or do anything much for the better part of the car ride to the location, other than handing you a water bottle and some packed riceballs, which were kept in the car before you two got there, with his instructions you presumed. You took it without any reluctance.

“Eat well. Who knows how much you might be able to eat there.” He was not wrong, you were expected to look and act as the perfect newly wed bride to the Gojo clan head, and that meant sitting there pretty and smiling at everyone. So you silently ate what you were given, unperceptive to those blue eyes staring at you with the intention of noting down every little detail about you, as a grin involuntarily stretched across his face, unbeknownst to either of you. Just Ichiji saw that in the rear view mirror and felt some relief for his employer. 

With congratulations coming left and right, the title of Lady Gojo, being thrown at you at the end of every sentence, you could only think that your husband was right. Even the people of your previous clan were more respectful to you than they ever have been. As nice as they all have been, the pressure still hung suffocatingly high in the air. And you understood it had everything to do with the Gojo name being attached to you now. Or maybe it was Gojo Satoru himself, attached to you at every step, who made them hold their tongue. Your groom made it his mission to follow you around wherever you went, and loomed over every conversation you had with every familiar or unfamiliar individual. 

“Will you let her breathe in peace?” “You really thought he was not going to be too much at his own wedding?” Two people chimed, with another man following them closely with solemn eyes.

“Sure, make my wife hate me . Some friends you guys are.” Never in your life you thought you would see Gojo Satoru pout. He was formidable, smug, maybe petty, and condescending, but the only thing you could think for a second was, cute.

Upon introduction you acquainted yourself with Geto Suguru, Irie Shoko, and Nanami Kento. Few of Gojo Satoru’s friends and comrades. They were probably the only people you had a sound and relaxed conversation with. Satoru seemed more at ease around them as well. They were in fact, the first bunch of people you felt were nice to you without any incentive hanging over them. The individual dynamic they have with your husband, and just all four of them together made you feel jealous of their bond. But again, that is something one only gains by growing up together or almost dying beside each other. And they have all of it.

The night ended soon after with everyone taking their leave, and the hall slowly becoming desolate. Satoru was ready to retire for the day as well. As he went to have the car fetched for you two to take your leave, your mother took advantage of that chance to catch you in the hallway, before you could leave after your goodbyes. 

“You do know what you have to do tonight. Yes?”

The grip she had on your arm became increasingly tighter as each second passed without an affirmative answer from you. “Yes.”

“Do as you are instructed. And just let him take it.” Those were the last words you heard from your mother. Any sane person would gag at such interaction, but it was no more a  surprise to you. Seeing your mother put on a faux smile as she entered the main hall, with one last glance at your way, ‘take it’ , that is all that you heard. You have been taught to just take it, all your life. If your male cousin likes your things, they can just take it. Your father is scolding you for speaking an octave too high, you just have to take that. You have to simply take all the snide comments and slimy suggestions, they are for your own good. When people made fun of your lack of powers, you were told to just take it as a lesser being. And now as you sit beside your newly wed husband, while being driven to his estate, you have to mentally prepare yourself to just let him take it.

After all that is all you were made for, that is all you are worth.

“Still not feeling well?”

The sudden question made you look at the source of the voice sitting beside you on the plush leather seats. “Yes?”

“Yes, you are not feeling well? Or yes, you were not listening to me?”

“Oh. I am sorry.” “Was that either of the options? Hmm?” The smile on his face was oddly comforting, and genuine. But that made it all more sickening.

“I did not hear you, I was just distracted.” “I guessed as much.” He did not say anything more, he looked away and went back to facing his side of the window, as did you. Or so you thought.

Satoru has been observing you since he came back from getting Ichiji to get the car up in front of the hotel, where the reception was held. He followed you closely from behind sensing the cloud of distress making its way back above your head. He somehow managed to get rid of them during the reception, and something or someone ruined all his hard work. And he did not appreciate that. 

Right now he was trying to get a glimpse of your reflection on his side of the window. It was not slick. Nor was it very effective. Trying to find your eyes in the dark tinted glass was making him annoyed. He just wanted to hold your face in both his hands and stare down in your irises to draw out all the unspoken answers from the depths of your soul.

But that would effectively scare you off more than you already were.

So the next best thing was showing concern through more subtle actions. Like running out of the car just as it stopped on the stone driveway, in front of the huge doors of the main entrance. He made his way over to your side before you could even open your door. And in a blink of eye you were back in his arms. Now without the Haori, his skin was much warmer through the fabric of his Montsuki.

“Don't want you to tire yourself out more." He mumbled, way too close to your face than you would appreciate, his eyes were focused on the stairs leading into the entrance of your new house. 

“Who am I if not your most obedient servant, Lady Gojo.” 

Now it felt like he was trying his best to embarrass you. Was he trying to patronize you? 

“You should not say something like that Gojo-sama, what if someone heard you?”

“If someone dared to eavesdrop on words meant for my wife, in the privacy of my arms— they know better than gambling with their lives.” The chuckle that left him was anything but humorous. The threat was very real behind those words, probably more present in his voice than his words.

The walk to the bedroom was long, it took many turns at long hallways to reach what seemed like the opposite end of the entryway. Where stood two sliding doors proud and all alone in that entire hallway. And every step he took to get closer to them felt like a sigh of breath leaving your throat to never return. And he probably felt that with the gripping dent of your nails in the back of neck, but he welcomed that. He felt nothing but contentment in you losing your composure in his arms. And he wished for nothing, but a lifetime of you letting yourself express your most hidden self in his arms, and have you leave your mark on him.

The bedroom was huge. And it was decorated with more than hundred candles, to perceptive eyes. All the expensive decoration, furniture, painting and scroll went invisible to your eyes—because there was only one thing in that room that caught your interest.

The bed. It stood on all its strong legs, near the huge windows overlooking the outside. It was surrounded by more candles, scented ones. And it smelled like the ocean and sweet tropical fruits. There were bouquets of roses and Lilies on each side of the bed, on the bedside tables. As Satoru placed you down on the fluffy and soft covers, the mattress almost engulfed you in itself. And it all became too real.

You might be Lady Gojo now. But the man hovering above you was Lord Gojo.

He can joke about being at your beck and call all he wants, but he was not the one married off to serve you. It was you who was instructed to just be a good wife and take it. You were here, on his bed, to serve him. To let him take you, take your virginity, and claim you as one of his many conquests. All you were good for, was to lie there and take his seed, to give him an heir and silently sit in a corner unless you are spoken to.

So why was he walking away from you? 

“You are not- going to?” the hand you used to hold onto his wrist, to prevent him from walking away from you, was shaking. 

“What do you mean?” The scrunch of his eyebrows made you think for a second he might be genuinely confused about what you might be referring to.

“You should know what I mean.” He truly is such a cruel man.

“If you don't speak to me clearly, I am afraid, I am too dumb to understand.” The smirk on his face said otherwise. “You are so mean.”

“How am i being mean to my own wife, if i don’t even understand what she is implying, hmm?” 

“How will it be any more helpful if I say it out loud?” “I don’t know? You might have to find out for yourself.” He was annoying you now.

“I am trying to perform our duties and get over this, Gojo-sama.” Hopefully your stern voice camouflaged your nervousness and fear.

“Do you want to consummate our marriage that bad, Gojo-sama?”

The incredulous look on your face upon being addressed by the same title as him, by Gojo Satoru himself, was the last thing you expected out of this conversation. 

“You- you, just- cannot address me like that!” “Why not? You are also a Gojo now. In fact, you are the lady of the clan now.” His argument was making more sound sense to you than your own head.

“I would have to argue your position is much more important than mine. From this day forward you are also Gojo-sama whether you like it or not. I hope you get used to it. And I don’t want to be called out by some title by my own wife.”

“You keep saying ‘my wife, my wife’, yet you are acting oblivious about our marital duties!” Suddenly the air was much heavier than how lightly it was circulating through the huge room. “You might get away with putting up a front, but my position in this marriage has been set in stone. So please spare me the questions and put an heir in me as soon as you can.”

You anticipated an array of reactions after such audacious proclamations. You guessed as much, the very second your tongue stopped speaking, the emotions on his face might be anything but that humorous and kind softness he has, oh so graciously, offered you up to this moment so far. And that made you look away from his face, which looked more halted than stoic, and in your experiences, surprises are almost always followed by anger or joy. And you were definitely not expecting him to clap his hand and offer you a big smile.

Your hand on his hand felt more foreign than before, so you pulled it off him. And it allowed him the satisfaction of at least not feeling your miserably shaking and soaking palm. And there it was, the anger. 

Just as you let go of him, his own hand grabbed a mean grip on your wrist. It was confusing to understand what exactly happened in the moments after that. One second he is pulling you off the bed towards himself, next he is bending down to reach you half way across and pushing you on the bed with the weight of his body. You were essentially pinned onto your new marital bed. Both hands pinned on either side of your head, with a mean grip on your wrists by his huge calloused hands, and you were sure that you were done for.

“Since you have already cooked up these false ideas about what this relationship might look like, how about I show you a little glimpse into these imaginations?” 

His face was probably close to yours by no more than half of one centimeter, you could feel his eyes searching for something in your own eyes, and you had no confidence to fake it. So you just shut your eyes real tight and waited for what was to come.

Satoru’s right hand glided itself from your wrist, to your forearm, under the sleeves of your kimono, until it reached up to your arms, where the bunched up clothing did not allow him any more access over your skin. The loud gulp you took, out of some sort of relief, was gone in a second.

Satoru was not a man to give up on the first hindrance, and people learn that usually the hard way. His eyes were more concerned with how your eyebrows were scrunched up, how tightly your eyes were closed and how your eyelashes were looking longer like that, or how you might end up making your lips bleed if you keep on biting down on them that hard. And how beautiful your neck looked, with the little knot in your throat going up and down with nervous gulps. 

His right hand started working to get rid of the belts on your kimono, and his hand was slipping past every layer of clothing to reach your body. While his mouth made itself useful on your neck, peppering the most delicate kisses from the base of your neck, collar bones, along the column of your neck, up to your chin. And with several little scattered kisses on your jaw, Satoru’s eyes found your mouth open in a small gasp. Thankfully your lips did not bleed. But your eyes remained closed, too afraid to see what was going on, in the dim light of the candles illuminating the room in an orange hue, you were too scared. 

You did not want to think about how his hand felt so cold and soothing on your burning skin or how his lips felt so warm and comforting. You did not want to see those blue eyes, or those scars spread all across his skin, particularly the one under his eye—it made you train your eyes back into those dilating pupils every time.

Satoru's hand was just below your breasts, it just stayed there. Sometimes moving an inch too close and then just going back to drawing circles around your torso, squeezing your waist at times—all while his teeth and lips worked all over your decolletage. Little bites and long intervals of his lips sucking marks around your neck, drew out hisses of pleasure out of you.

Who knew that being under your husband could make one feel this much pleasure?

His left hand never left its grip on your right hand. The platinum ring on his finger became warm over time, just like his cold hand, as it remained intertwined with your fingers. While his right hand found its way down your stomach, on the waistband of your panties. It was nothing impressive, not the sort of underwear one expects a newly wed bride to wear. It was a simple cotton panty, the bare minimum. Your family forgot that detail probably.

But Satoru absolutely did not mind. He liked the slightly loose elastic, it felt like any moment he could slip it off you, or slip his own hand inside. And it felt worn in, soft and malleable. He could tear it off you in a millisecond. 

“Get it off already.”

“Ordering me around already, Gojo-sama? Hmm?” You were losing your patience. Who could’ve predicted that? 

“Stop that.” “Stop what?” “You know what.” 

“Again, Gojo-sama, if you do not tell me how will I know? Your poor, poor husband is not that sharp.” His patronizing voice vibrated in the crook of your neck. 

“Stop. C-calling m. Me. Gojo-sama.” 

“I don't know? Should I?

“Yes! You sound ridiculous!” Your eyes finally shit open and you rose up to now lean on your elbows, to get a better look at him. The unfastened kimono slipping off you and pooling under you in the process. 

His eyes remained trained on you, hooded and shadowed by storms and turmoil in the blue sea, as he found refuge between your open legs. He was practically lying on your breast, with your bra on the verge of slipping off and giving him easy access to them, to mark them all over in pink and purple. Because clearly the plethora of lovebites on you, were not enough.

He did not say anything. Just the hand which was previously on your waistband, glided downward until it reached the back of your knees. His fingers worked with stealth while his eyes distracted you, like a predator. He grabbed onto your knee and pushed you back down on the bed, as both his hands found their place back on your wrists. While he cozied himself between your legs, and sat back on his knees.

He leaned in close enough to hover his own set of lips just above your own, just as they barely made contact—he moved his neck to glide those lips across your cheek, to your ear. 

“I am glad we agree.”

“Then I can count on you, to not call me by that title again, right sweetheart?” 

You did not have to see his eyes or his face to nod an instant yes.

“Use your words. Lady Gojo.” His voice came out harsher than ever.

“I won't call you that again.”

“Ah. What an obedient wife you are. Hmm? Your parents will be proud.”

With those last words dripping with nothing but sarcasm, he got off you. He silently fixed your kimono, tucked you in, and kissed your forehead with a whisper of goodnight. Right before he left you there to contemplate what just happened, and locked himself in the bathroom attached to your bedroom, for what felt like more than an hour. You did not really know if you were supposed to wait for him or not, what was he going to do when he came back? 

All sorts of thoughts raced through your head, as you drifted into sweet slumber, on the most soft and comfortable bed you've ever come across in your life.

While Gojo Satoru hunched over the sink, looking like a freshly ripened tomato. He stared at himself into the mirror, with nothing but disbelief at his own audacity. 

The morning came faster than it should have. It felt particularly premature to you when you spent the rest of your night, after the events that took place on your marital bed, by watching the ceiling above you with a blank stare. You did pass out for a brief while, but that was out of being overwhelmed to the point of losing consciousness. You were not sure if this was ok, to sleep in this huge room by yourself. But you could not, or maybe did not want to stop Satoru from storming out of the bathroom, and then speeding out of the room without sparing you a single glance. You wanted to enjoy one night peacefully in this bed, to compensate for many tumultuous ones to inevitably follow. 

Even when getting off your bed to pace around the room, to maybe tire yourself out, sleep did not come. But if getting married was not tiresome enough to knock you out, then maybe walking around the room won’t do you any good as well. So you decided to take a walk in that huge garden sitting outside the floor to ceiling windows nearby your bed. 

You did not make it much far into the huge garden. After the neatly arranged traditional garden, laid vast lands of grass and wild flowers, and bushes, and an arrangement of trees, including two cherry blossom trees sitting across each other, along the edge of a lake. It was lit with the reflection of the moonlight, falling on the surface of its water, scattering everywhere in a chaotic rhythm, because of the busy fishes moving around in it, probably enjoying the serene night.  You would have liked to go take a seat near the lake, on one of those benches placed around it. But when you approached the nearest bench, under one of the cherry blossom trees, you found your husband already occupying it. 

Maybe in another world, you went up to it and sat down beside him silently, maybe you spoke with him and tried to start a conversation. Maybe you two just sat together in silence, or maybe he saw you and walked away. But in this world, you could not even cross the five feet of distance that laid between you and that bench. Instead you walked back to your room, as silently as you could. You spent the rest of the night trying to get some sleep, as you laid on your side, and stared out of those huge windows by your bed, until the dark sky became blue.

Who knows what the outcome could have been if you walked up to that bench last night. Who knows what could have happened if only Satoru turned around and asked you to sit down instead of patiently waiting for you to come up to him. I mean, you should know better, five feet of distance is not that much for their presence to go unnoticed by him or his six eyes. Especially when it is you. 

The morning itself was more uneventful, compared to last night. The shower was particularly soothing. ESpecially where he touched you last night. Maybe it has something to do with his powers you told yourself, but you knew better. Why it was burning everywhere he touched or why those marks of his teeth and lips stung so sweet—was not something you really wanted to think about, as it made you go weak in  the knees.

It was all very uneventful, until you came out of the bathroom after your shower, to find Satoru sitting at the end of the bed. He was still in the black kimono from the wedding. He looked like he did not get any sleep either, or so it seemed, because this time around his eyes were covered with his blindfold. It was eerie, for most people to see Gojo Satoru without his black blindfold, but for you it was probably the other way around. It was weird to see him with it for once. And that person felt like an entirely different person, than the one you married yesterday. 

“Goodmorning, Goj- Satoru-san.” His given name did not roll off your tongue the smoothest. But he appreciated that you listened to him. 

“You can drop the honorifics as well.” There was an appreciative smile on his face as he spoke, but even with his blindfold on, you could tell that smile did not reach his face. “I do not know if I can.”

Satoru did not push you. One step at a time, right? Even if these steps did not come out of your own volition, but his petty threats, he still welcomed them with a humorous smile. 

“I wanted to apologize about yesterday.” He did not suit humility, that is what you thought when a grin stretched along your face. Seeing him squirm and look so uncomfortable was new, even when his eyes were covered, you imagined them to look more sorry than body language. Satoru really was just not familiar with saying sorry, but he never backed away from apologizing when he needed to.

“I really crossed a line there, just to prove a point.” you did not say anything back but just stood in front of him with your freshly out of shower wet hair dripped droplets of water on the carpet. “I would understand if you do not want to forgive me, I would like to make it up to you however.” He was trying his best. His best to not stare at you blatantly in that silken baby blue robe clinging to your body, that he personally picked out for you. Or the peeking marks he left on you, that made him go dizzy. It was all him.

“It is alright.” you went to sit beside him, but instead of sitting just by him, you sat on one of the corners of the bed, keeping the distance between you two. “Really?”

“Yes. I do not think I would have minded if you went all the way. I do not really have any say in that.” 

“What?” He genuinely looked confused for a few first seconds. Then something else creeped up on him, something close to pity or disgust. 

“I was wedded off to you to serve you and your bloodline. It is my purpose.”

Satoru felt disgusted. By everyone and anyone who has ever made you think about yourself like this. But he was mostly disgusted by himself.

“I do not know how much more plainly I can put it, and it is not just some opinion of mine, it’s just the truth. But you are wrong to think that.” He got off the bed, to stand in front of you. At an arms length he looked further away than he actually was. His shoulders looked stiff and his jaw was tight. You have somehow managed to piss him off by saying things you were instructed to say all your life, to not piss off your husband.

“You are wrong.” 

That was all he said before he stormed out of the room without a second glance. Exuding the sort of energy that said he might erupt like an angry volcano any minute.

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIEW . NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from jjk manga, and watashitachi wa douka shiteiru adaptation

honestly i have been cooking this for almost a month and i am so indecisive about what i wanted to do with him i do not want to make an angsty story where the angst if because of Gojo being an ass, lol i think there are plenty of those, done far better than wtv i can do. so this guy is still very canon adjacent, emotionally unavailable in a way you know the people you think you have all figured but then suddenly you are like wtf??? i do not know anything about you. so lol i am using my own emotional constipation as heavy reference. he has many many layers, i want to explore his death in the shinjuku fight, his powers which i have left intact mostly but in a more weakened state than his students and what not. i want to explore his thoughts on that. reader's insecurities i wanted to make them as real as possible so if i make anyone sad, it was the goal, also i am sorry. it will get sadder just saying. even though i will make them have so many suffocating with tension scenes. it will be happy eventually!!! and i hope you gusy likeee itttt

tag list (1): @cheralith @slayzzz @madamechrissy @gojosperms @naomigojo @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @tabalugax @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thetiredcollegestudent @tokyolhtl @emochosoluvr @moncher-ire @hyunjinspdf @younjunie @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis @em0cleo @novaisbebita @hisarmsaremycocoon @wise-fangirl @sheep-infog @arrozyfrijoles23 @ppejmurde @miizuzu @ricecake-mochi @tushkiiiiiii @ovela @69-gojos-wife-69 @fariylixie0915 @lxxnour @mereniss @theorphicangel

[onetruesirius]

Hello! Exvangelical and also a MAGA-cult survivor here, and I did leave! I left in 2019, voted with my gut in 2020, and fully left my faith in 2021. I am exactly the poster child for all the people who want folks to "just do the right thing and leave without support!" and let me just tell you:

Leaving was the best decision I've ever made for my conscience.

Leaving was also. The worst decision I've ever made in every other metric, that has completely and utterly destroyed my life in irreparable ways. If growing up in a cult shortened my life by five years, the stressful and painful process of extricating myself from that cult shortened my life by at least another ten.

I left in 2021, when I was about 20 years old. I'm going to be 24 this year and I'm still feeling the effects of my decision. I've had homelessness hanging over me for the past 4 years, I've got almost no social group anymore, no community, no support. I've encountered communist and leftist groups that talk big about all the things we need in this country, but when the rubber hits the road, the amount of support they can actually offer me in their community trends towards... not all that much, really.

Now, I'm vocally fairly left-leaning right now, which I've been steadily moving more left since I extricated myself from MAGA, but I did not start out so aggreable to left-leaning ideology, and folks would have hated and rejected me 6 years ago when I first actually properly left MAGA, and I wouldn't have gotten any material support from them at all—not that I'm really getting any material support right now, but it's the idea. The people who are freshly out aren't going to be particularly pretty or politically correct, they won't share your views and they will grow but they need time, and they're not gonna get forgiven by everyone and that's just life. We have to live with that, and we can't just ask people who maybe ARE willing to leave a cult, to fucking kill themselves [never stated directly, but if someone is going to die if they leave because they have absolutely no support system, and people are saying they should leave anyway and if they die then it's just collateral, that's pretty fucking callous if you ask me??] because they got indoctrinated into a cult at some point and therefore their lives are forfeit.

If you're doing that, if you're writing people off as disposable in the name of your cause, not gonna lie, you're doing exactly the same as the MAGA cultists do. If you're dehumanising a different group—still declaring people's lives forfeit in the name of your great grand vision of the world, then that makes you a scary, dangerous motherfucker and I do not trust you and I do not think you should be trusted. No one is immune to propaganda, it can genuinely happen to anyone, and especially people can be born to fuckers who are in a cult. That happened to me. And we've had this conversation before: no one should be written off and their lives declared forfeit just because they were born to the wrong people. Like that's also kind of the whole schtick of not being racist or ableist, if I remember correctly?

I'm not trying to toot my own horn here, but.... most people aren't me, and I have to live with that knowledge, and so do all of y'all. I'm a absolute cockroach of an individual and most people in my shoes would be dead. They would have killed themselves. I know they would have, because I nearly succeeded at that when I tried. Frankly, leaving very nearly killed me and ngl, it still very much might within the next 5 years, and I'm now indistinguishable from "one of you" leftists, and I'm not getting cared for in a lot of meaningful ways either.

Robust social services exist for people who are gradually or suddenly alienated from everyone they've ever known.

Yes, even the little old childless ladies. Yes, even for the crotchety asshole little old childless ladies who have alienated their entire extended family [ESPECIALLY FOR THE NASTY LITTLE OLD LADIES ACTUALLY!!! It's actually super important for the cause of reproductive rights for people to have the option to be childless and it to not be a death sentence; I could spill a lot of ink about this but I don't need to say more, because you're very smart and you've already figured this one out, right??...... Excellent, moving on.] Yes, even the people who don't exactly think like you. Yes, even the people who still stan Harry Potter or fuckin... whatever. I don't care. Even the transphobes and the homophobes, and the whatever-else. When the rubber hits the road they need to have the option to extricate themselves from their ideology freely.

Robust social services represents freedom to leave shitty abusive situations. Truly just "if it sucks, hit da bricks!" Leave a shitty abusive job, leave some shitty abusive parents, leave a shitty abusive ex, leave a shitty abusive ideological group. With social services that mean you won't die if you leave? It will still be inordinately painful to leave everyone you've ever known, and we still can't demand that of anyone, but those shitty abusive situations aren't holding literal life and death over their victims anymore.

These things allow people a chance to heal from indoctrination of various kinds, and not fucking die during the process of healing while they're vulnerable and lacking support systems and skills and they're not necessarily going to be pleasant people to be around just yet because they haven't healed, which takes time. It's so important to have these systems, so that the people who leave—leftists like me, the poster child of "doing the right thing and leaving without support"—can have a future at all.

I left MAGA. I left my faith. I did it. I won. And it was the best and worst decision I've ever made in my life. I got my sense of self back, I wasn't flattened into the image of a cult adherent anymore... but I lost.... everything else. All of my personal possessions, all of my friends, all of my family, all of my documents, all of my medical records... everything. I lost everything and building back has been painful and miserable and lonely as all goddamn hell, and I genuinely and truly would never ever wish this sort of pain onto anyone else in the world, not even my worst enemies.

And truly. If you want to inflict this sort of pain onto other people for you to feel morally superior, and you don't care if they get hurt or suffer or die, just because they were unlucky, just because they were born to the wrong people? From the bottom of my cold dead little leftist heart: Fuck you.

i think the hill i'm going to die on here is that lasting anti-fascist activism begins and ends with unrestricted social services.

protests are great. kind of indispensable right now. but in times when we can be less reactive, you want to know what you're protesting *for*, not just against.

today i saw a post elseweb saying "why aren't white women fleeing maga? they have to know by now that tradwife means sex slave". and like... it's very simple. they can't leave because they would end up like me.

they're, we're, deliberately made unemployable so that we'll have to marry whatever mediocre white man picks us out. as it happened, i was unappealingly intersex, fat, butch, and autistic, so none of the mediocre white boys of my generation ever took a second look at me, but that didn't give me job skills or career connections.

i knew multiple women whose husbands divorced them and took the house as part of their midlife crises. they had to send the kids to live with relatives and take dead-end jobs like bagging groceries because they were in their forties with zero job experience. if they'd rejected the worldview, if they'd alienated their families and what few friends didn't victim-blame them for the divorces, they'd have had nowhere to turn.

it's been over twelve years since i got out. psychologically, medically, i'm healthier. but i've chased a fresh start through half a dozen states. i spent my inheritance getting a degree. none of it helped. there are no supports for abandoning (or being abandoned by) your support network.

you won't defeat fascism until my people are free to leave the cult if they realize they want out. until we can access free housing to get away from financial abuse, free comprehensive job training and placement services to help us start careers, national healthcare so we can flee across state lines if necessary without losing any medical care we're lucky enough to have access to, protections for children and teens so they can flee without needing a parent's help... universal basic income would be really good but there are smaller steps that could help with financial independence.

and it all has to be available to everybody, including people you think are "unworthy". people who hold the wrong opinions. drug addicts. people whose husbands or parents make too much money. people who aren't from around here. unrepentant bigots. if they want out, you have to give them a path out. minds can change later, once people are less scared and less pressured.

(i'm ex-catholic. do you want to hear about what happens when you force people to profess certain beliefs in order to access basic assistance? i have two thousand years of examples.)

"but if they really wanted out they'd do the Right Thing and leave without support!" Better to be one man's sex slave than turning tricks on the street. "staying just proves they're actually evil and there for the bigotry!" Live in your car for six months in 100°F heat, twice, and then talk to me again. There's no virtue in cutting yourself off from society just to prove some kind of moral point. All that does is get you dead or worse.

("JT, you're not dead" I'm a fucking cockroach. Most people would be dead by now. Survival bias goes both ways; we're not all the same model of airplane.)

[taegimood]

— nudes?! (c.sb) ♡

pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader genre: best friends to ?, non-idol au, suggestive rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1k warnings: mention/description of reader’s nudes, brief mention of a blowjob, implication of sexy time at the end, soob has a boner, everyone’s horny synopsis: what happens when your best friend who secretly has the hots for you accidentally sees your nudes?

requested forever ago by @mapofthemazeinthemirror <3 [blog status: semi-hiatus, requests closed]

| yeonjun ver. | beomgyu ver. (coming 3/18) | taehyun ver. (coming 3/21) | kai ver. (coming 3/24) |

masterlist

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soobin is an honest guy, but he'd have to admit that he's been lying to himself a little when it comes to you.

you, his pretty best friend who he's always been able to tell nearly everything to — everything except for the naughty stuff, the kinks and the turn-ons that he keeps firmly clutched to his chest every time you try to teasingly weasel one out of him.

he has no idea how you can be so casual about that stuff with him, tossing out a joke about the last blowjob you gave while he sits red as a tomato at the mere thought, and as a result he's left with the burning question:

why is it only you that makes me feel this way?

but there's no time to think about that right now as he sits on the edge of your bed, waiting expectantly while you pull your phone out of your back pocket.

one of the things you and soobin had first bonded over was your mutual love for anime, so when you’d told him recently that you want to try cosplaying for the first time at this year's comic con, he readily agreed to be the beta viewer for your costume;

you had already taken the test pictures of yourself as yor from spy x family (merely hearing which character it was had him swallowing hard to begin with) and you're ready to sit down and show him when suddenly the stove timer beeps from the kitchen.

"ah right, the ramen. here - you can just look through them all. let me know what you think i should change!"

"alright," he calls after you as you hand him your phone and skip off to the kitchen.

his heart thumps in his chest the second he sees you in costume, scrolling slowly through the pictures you took, fingers hovering over the screen with the guilty temptation of zooming in a little on your peeking cleavage — shaking his head to himself as if to clear the thought away before scrolling on to the next.

but his brows raise subconsciously the longer he swipes as your poses seem to grow more and more.. he gulps.. provocative....

soobin freezes.

he blinks. once, twice- three times-

"f-fuck."

he stares wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the sight in front of him, a sight he never thought he'd ever get to see, his mind going blank as all of his blood rushes immediately straight down to his cock.

your body,

your naked body,

displayed on the screen in his hands.

you had removed the dress with nothing underneath, still clad in the thigh-high leather heels and golden headpiece, his eyes wandering hungrily over your figure despite every moral warning bell in his head telling him to quickly scroll away.

but instead he swipes to the next one, and your tits- god, your tits- he has to stop himself from groaning as the next picture has you leaning forwards, breasts pushed together deliciously as your tongue sneaks out to trace the fake golden dagger in your hand, and soobin's head is reeling.

he shouldn't be looking at his best friend this way, at these pictures that he clearly wasn't meant to see, he knows it, but.. soobin has obviously been lying to himself for more than a little too long as he swipes and swipes, dizzy as he reaches the end and finally forces himself to turn your phone off, gaze trailing down to the rock-hard bulge in his pants.

he doesn't even have time to wonder how to hide it or what he should do when you come back before he's suddenly jumping out of his skin at the sound of your panicked voice as you rush down the hallway, yelling,

"WAIT! SOOBIN, WAIT!"

he's like a deer caught in headlights as you burst back into your room, quickly coming to the accurate conclusion of what happened as he stares up at you with wide, panicked, guilty eyes, posture stiff and face redder than you've ever seen it before.

even if he were to try sputtering through a poorly executed excuse, he can’t; soobin is speechless.

"um....... okay. so, i.. forgot.. that those were in there."

and as if the fact that you're speaking to him suddenly gears his brain back into motion, soobin's mouth becomes a motor as words fly out of it faster than you even have the chance to answer them.

"i-i’m so sorry, oh my god, i shouldn't have looked! i mean- i- ok, fuck i-i looked, i'm so sorry i swear i'll just forget this ever happened and never talk about it again a-and i'm not a pervert i promise and you can even hit me if you want and- uh, w-wait that's not what i mea-"

"soobin."

soobin shuts up.

he swears that you must be able to hear his heart banging against his ribage as his hands grip the material of his sweatpants, leg bouncing nervously, and he swears he's about to explode or cry or both when your eyes trail down to the impossibly large boner that he forgot to try covering.

(he would have failed anyway).

"soobin..."

his eyes snap back up to yours. something in your tone has shifted and he's not sure what, but...

he inhales shakily as you step closer. the look on your face has his cock throbbing in his pants.

"soobin, do you want me to put the costume on?"

"w...w-what?"

you're so close that if you were to take one more step, you'd be standing right between his legs;

"i can put the costume on for you... and then, if you want..."

you lean in close to his ear.

"i'll let you take it off."

soobin is certain in this moment that he must have saved a nation in his past life to be sitting in this situation right now, as the strangled little moan that accidentally escapes past his lips causes your own to curl up into a smile —

it seems to you that you won't have to pine secretly over your best friend any longer as his hand tentatively comes up to caress your hip, and he breathes,

"yes, please."

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— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @kejingken

if you want to be added to my taglist and get notified whenever i post any writing, drop a comment or an ask and let me know! ♡

[valtsv]

Hi Mr Loveless, how does one make friends and hold onto them? I have so many friends who I call friends but they don't seem to remember I exist unless I am in their faces, in their inbox, it's never them approaching me.

Do I have to always be a bother to be acknowledged? Am I missing whatever it is that makes everyone accept zero interactions between friends for months as normal? Am I wrong to expect minimal effort from friends, like they imply, that they're not obligated to do it and it's insensitive of me to feel upset about being forgotten? That's not how it is for those who my friends call Their friends. It's not like I have different politics or can't understand their discourse either.

I'll be 25 next week, my friends are all too busy or haven't checked in in weeks or even replied more than an emoji. I'm frankly worried there's something wrong with me I'm never going to be remotely a priority to anyone but my family.

i've been where you are, and trust me when i say that i know how soul-crushingly lonely it feels when you wonder if you'll ever be the most important person in anyone's life, but here's the thing: that's insecurity, and it never goes away, but it's also not a true reflection of your reality. even the most joined-at-the-hip lifelong friends (or family, or lovers) won't be each other's top priority 24/7 for their whole entire lives - and that's a good thing! that level of commitment is a demanding, exhausting, and frankly nightmarish. there will be times when you are the centre of your friends' worlds and they're yours, and you'll feel like you've never understood someone and been understood in turn so perfectly. and there'll be times when you're on totally different pages; perhaps you won't speak at all for weeks, months, or even years. you might speak for the last time one day without knowing it. you might spend the rest of your lives in each other's orbit. the future will always be uncertain, and borrowing grief will never change that.

that's the bigger picture, however, and probably not particularly helpful to your immediate situation. i can sympathise with feeling like you're always the one initiating contact and never the one being sought out, and i know exactly how unwanted and unappreciated that can make you feel. it's worth keeping in mind that if your friends are receptive to you reaching out to them, however (even if only in the form of a very basic expression of acknowledgement like an emoji), then they probably do genuinely appreciate and enjoy your friendship. it's entirely possible that they're just currently in situations where they have less energy and time to devote to considering that you might not have anyone checking in on you the way that you do for them. unless they're all psychically linked, it's highly unlikely they know that you don't have anyone doing the same for you.

the only advice i can offer you is suggesting that you try to communicate that you'd appreciate more of their attention. perhaps the next time you reach out (if you haven't tried this already), mention that it's been a while since you last really talked, and that you'd love to get together and properly catch up sometime. ideally propose a way for you to connect, either virtually or in real life - feel free to encourage them to set the date, which will subtly hint that you want them to be involved in the process, and make it more of a mutual effort. be on the lookout for opportunities to connect over mutual interests, such as group watching (or listening to, or reading) media you both enjoy, or an event you can both attend, or virtual platforms with an interactive element like multiplayer video games. there's only so much you can do, and it shouldn't be entirely your responsibility to maintain a relationship, but it always helps to try expressing your desire for your feelings to be noticed and reciprocated before listening to the insecurity devil.

[writingwithciara]

paper rings -jack hughes-

summary: y/n's brother used to give her paper rings all the time. he did it for as long as she can remember. so after he suddenly passes away, y/n figures she won't see any new rings. but she is shocked to find a new ring in her mailbox every day following her brother's death.

word count: 6.8k

pairing: jack hughes x reader

notes: grieving reader, mentions of death. i loved this at first then i started hating it towards the end. not my favorite thing i've written, that's for sure. but you guys might like it :)

tropes: brother's best friend, childhood friends, friends to lovers, shared grief, happy ending

marcus was a good person. not a single bad bone in the guys body. wherever he went, he made friends with everyone. his favorite friendships were with the ones who resisted him briefly at first, who he eventually wore down.

his smile was infectious and he went out of his way to make sure nobody was ever left out. everybody loved him for it.

but nobody loved him more than his sister, y/n. and the love was the same for him. no one mattered more to him than his sister.

he loved his sister from the moment she was born. he had only been 2 but he remembered everything about the day their parents brought her home. she was perfect to him and he vowed right then and there that he would always protect her.

when she was 9, she was a witness to her parents constant fighting. marcus made sure she had everything possible to drown it out. he saved his money and bought her the best headphones in the store.

luckily, the fighting never lasted long. and just a few months later, their parents got divorced and their dad walked out of their lives. and that was okay because their mother was everything to both of them. she sacrificed so much to make sure her children were happy. their family was closer than ever and the 3 of them were happy together.

and then, out of nowhere, their mom got sick. she was admitted to the hospital when y/n was only 11 and she never left. it was where they had their final moments as a family. it killed y/n to see the family fall apart.

but thankfully, y/n still had marcus to hold on to. he kept his promise to protect her. he fought to keep them together and found a safe place for them in the home of his best friends family.

the hughes family immediately took them in once they learned about their situation and ellen made sure y/n and marcus knew they had a home for as long as they needed it.

everything was changing and although y/n didn't know how to feel, she knew she would grow to accept it eventually.

the only thing that remained the same throughout her life were the paper rings she received on a near-daily basis from her brother. marcus had learned how to make paper rings from a girl in his 4th grade class and he used the skills to make something for y/n to show how much he loved her. she was grateful.

jack once asked marcus about it and he informed his friend "from the moment i met my sister, i vowed to protect and love her for the rest of our lives. and she loves these so i'm happy to keep it up for her. i do it for her."

when she was 16, y/n watched as marcus and jack were both drafted to the nhl right out of high school. jack was going to new jersey and marcus was going to san jose. she wanted to go with her brother but she knew she couldn't. there was still the matter of her schooling. luke was still with her, luckily. and he made a promise to marcus to protect her.

at 19, y/n was in the middle of her freshman year at umich when her brother called ellen and informed them that he was being traded to new jersey. she remembered the conversation she had with ellen when they got off the phone.

"is there any possible way i could transfer to school in jersey?"

"i can check with your professors and see what's possible. any school you have in mind?"

"no. i just know that jersey is where i need to be."

and ellen knew what she meant. she understood that y/n and marcus couldn't be apart much longer and that their bond was never going to be destroyed.

so she talked to the right people and found a work-around for y/n to transfer to princeton.

y/n was happy again, being with the 2 people she loved the most. jack and marcus. they were her rocks and with them, she felt the safest she had ever been.

a year later, however, that happiness was ripped from her hands.

y/n had been stood up for a date by a guy she thought had really liked her. he had her wait outside the restaurant for almost an hour before he had the nerve to call her and tell her he was not gonna show up. he didn't even give a reason.

she didn't have enough money for an uber so she was going to have to call marcus to come pick her up.

as she she pulled out her phone, the screen was being covered in drops of water. when she looked up, she was just now noticing the rain was just starting to pour down. it was too late to cancel the call to her brother, as his voice filled her ear 2 seconds after she hit the dial button.

"y/n, are you okay? aren't you supposed to be on a date?"

"he stood me up, marcus. made me wait and hour before calling to cancel. and with no explanation."

"where are you? i'm on my way."

"no don't. i know you have plans. i don't know why i called. i'm just gonna call jack and see if he'll come get me."

"y/n, that is not an option. i'm already in the car and i'm tracking your location. be there in 5 minutes." he didn't give her time to protest again before he hung up.

y/n waited the 5 minutes. but her brother's car hadn't pulled up to the curb she stood on. she waited. and waited. and waited. for nearly another hour before another familiar car pulled up beside her. jack got out and ran to her.

"y/n, let's go."

"where's marcus?"

"we'll talk on the way."

"on the way where?"

but jack couldn't tell her. so when he pulled up to the hospital, he had to physically lift her out of his passenger seat and help her into the waiting room.

everything from that point on had happened in a slow motion blur. the doctor informed her of the accident but she couldn't believe it until she saw it. and she didn't want to see it. because to her, if she didn't see it, it never happened.

but she knew it had to happen sooner than later. so jack held her hand as she slowly walked into the room to say goodbye to her brother. her one constant in her life.

for 4 months following the funeral, she was lost. she stopped going to school and hid herself in her bedroom. her roommate, lydia, tried everything and even jack had tried to help coax her out of her room. but nothing seemed possible anymore.

all y/n did was stare at photos and videos she had created with marcus. it killed her to see his smile on the screen when she could no longer see it in person.

angrily, she tossed her phone across the room, knocking the shoebox off the top of her bookshelf. it tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents onto her rug.

"shit!" she muttered to herself before dragging her body out of bed and making her way to the mess on the floor. she had to stop for a second and prepare herself for what she was about to see.

the tiny paper rings had scattered across her carpet, and as she bent down to pick them up, she burst into tears. something she thought she was done with 2 days ago.

hearing the noise from the other side of the wall, lydia came rushing in to check on her. when she found y/n on her knees with her head in her hands, she approached slowly.

"y/n, are you okay?" she knelt beside her friend and rubbed her back gently. lydia was aware of how much the paper rings had meant to y/n and the meaning behind them. so she knew as soon as the question left her mouth, that y/n was not okay. it was confirmed when y/n shook her head and collapsed into lydia's arms. the two of them sat together for a few minutes before y/n stopped crying.

"i'm sorry you had to see me this way."

"y/n, you're my best friend. you don't have to apologize for being emotional. especially for something this valid. it's okay." lydia rubbed her back and helped her stand up. "i think you should get some rest. in my room."

"i'm fine, lyds. i promise."

"you need to be away from the reminders of him. and yes, i am aware that memories exist but that's a good thing. just, please go get some real sleep. i'll be here for as long as you need." she gently lead her roommate to her room and as soon as she made sure y/n was actually asleep, she called jack.

a few hours later, y/n woke up with a pounding headache. the room was dark but she could vaguely make out a figure sitting in the chair across the room. she thought she was seeing things at first so she tossed one of lydia's pillows into the darkness.

"ow." responded a familiar voice. the pillow came flying back towards y/n but she dodged it and it hit the wall. y/n turned on the lamp as jack sat next to her.

"what are you doing here?"

"lydia called me after she put you to sleep. figured you'd need me here." he gently rested his hand on top of hers and ran his fingers over her knuckles.

"you didn't have to come all the way here. i'm sorry."

"i promised marcus i would always be here for you when he couldn't be." he felt y/n stiffen at the mention of her brother. it was the first time anyone had said his name in her presence since the week following the funeral.

"i don't know why i got so emotional. it's been months, jack."

"i know. but it's okay. you miss him. we all do." he sighed and linked his fingers with hers. "he was all you had and i get it. it's okay to lose it every once in a while."

"i don't want to keep living this way. i want to be able to move on from his death." y/n looked at their connected hands. "i want to see a photo and not immediately burst into tears."

"lydia filled me in on what happened and i get it. those rings meant a lot to you and it's okay. i promise it's okay." he held her as she rested her head on his shoulder. "if you ever feel like you're in the midst of a breakdown, call me and i'll be there to help you through it."

"okay." she whispered, afraid to let her voice get any louder. "how long have i been wallowing by myself?"

"4 months. but that's alright. nobody's holding it against you."

"i didn't mean to shut you out, jack. i should've let you in." she could feel the tears pricking her eyes. jack noticed and he held her cheek, ready to wipe away anything that escaped.

"i'm here now. and i will be here. always."

"thank you." she whispered again and cuddled closer to her best friend. she was asleep within seconds and jack stayed with her for the rest of the night.

the next morning, y/n woke up in lydia's bed alone. she decided it was time to get out so she finally made her way to the kitchen. lydia and jack both looked up as they heard her enter the room.

"good morning." jack slid a plate of food over to her while lydia handed her a cup of coffee.

"how are you feeling today?"

"not great. but a little better than i have been." she sipped the coffee before taking a bite of the muffin in front of her. "i should thank you guys for being here for me, even if i was being difficult."

"you were most certainly not being difficult, y/n." jack took the seat next to her and tossed his arm around her shoulder. "i told you last night your feelings were valid. everyone processes differently. there's no set timeline for grieving. it's different for everyone."

"yeah. you took the time you needed and that's perfectly fine." lydia sat on the other side of the table and reached for y/n's hand. "we love you so much and we would never leave you alone."

"i love you too. and i'm for grateful you guys are in my life." she looked between them. "oh shit. i should go clean up my room."

"already taken care of, darling." lydia squeezed her hand. "cleaned it up while you were sleeping."

"yeah. i tried to help when i got here but she told me to be there for you when you woke up."

"what did you do with the rings?"

"i put them back on your shelf. but i put them lower so you could easily reach them if you ever wanted to look through them."

"thank you, lydia. that was thoughtful of you."

"he made you a lot of those rings, didn't he?"

"almost daily from 2nd grade until the week before he passed." y/n let out a shaky breath. "i'm never gonna get another paper ring again and i know it sucks, but at least i have the current ones."

"exactly." jack rubbed her shoulder. "he loved making them for you."

"i know. said it made him happy."

"it made him happy to see how happy you were when he gave them to you." jack wiped a stray tear off her cheek.

"what are your plans for the day?" y/n looked at jack, then at lydia.

"well, i was thinking i could stay here tonight again. if you wanted me to."

"okay. but that's later. what about now?"

"i have to get to work in about 20 minutes." lydia finished her coffee and brought the mug to the sink. "i'll see you later, y/n. bye jack." she waved and walked out the door.

"but i'm free." jack smiled. "well, i'll be free after practice. wanna come with me?"

"is that even allowed?"

"no idea. but i don't want to leave you."

"it's alright. i can be left alone for a bit."

"no. i can't do that. not when i made a promise."

"i don't want you to get in trouble, jack."

"i won't. will you please come with me?"

"fine. but if you get in trouble, i'm going home."

"fair enough." jack smiled and y/n stood from the table. "go get dressed and i'll grab your stuff."

y/n nodded and headed into her room. her eyes went immediately to the shoebox of rings and she walked over to it. instead of ignoring it, she opened the lid and pulled one out. it happened to be the green one she adored. marcus bought a special kind of paper meant for paper rings after the ones i first gave her got destroyed.

she slid the green ring on her finger and stared at it. she must've zoned out because jack was by her side when she turned her head.

"oh. sorry. i'll be ready in a second."

"no worries." jack's thumb instinctively swiped the tear off her cheek and he walked to her door to wait.

30 minutes later, they were pulling up to the practice arena. jack got out and went to y/n's side of the car.

"while you were getting dressed, i called coach. he said it was fine for you to sit in on the practice today."

"okay good. i'm glad." she took jack's hand and they walked into the arena. y/n sat in a seat behind the glass and watched the guys skate around. nico waved to her whenever he skated by. jack kept his eye on her the entire time and while one might think it would've messed up his concentration, it did not. he was capable of putting focus on more than one thing.

nico skated over to him while they were working on their final drill. "it's nice to see y/n out of her apartment. she seems to be doing better."

"yeah. she had a breakdown last night and her roommate called me over to help. guess it was what she needed."

"what did she breakdown over?"

"it took awhile for me to get it out of her but i guess she was going through her old photo album on her phone and got angry so she threw her phone. it hit her bookshelf and knocked down her shoebox filled with paper rings. one look at the pile of paper on her rug and she burst into tears."

"they meant a lot to her, didn't they?"

"yeah. marcus learned how to make them in 4th grade and he gave her a new one nearly every day since then. she loved them. they made her happy and he lived for making her smile."

"that's sweet." nico tapped his stick. "do you know how to make them?"

"i tried a couple times but none of them ever turned out as good as the ones marcus made her."

"i'm sure with a little bit of practice, you could make some and give them to her. she might appreciate it."

"yeah, maybe. but i don't know." jack looked over to where y/n was sitting. she was leaning forward, talking to sheldon through the glass. she had a smile on her face. it was small, but it was a start. when she lifted her head to catch jack's gaze, she waved. "she is so strong. i don't know how she does it."

"she's got you, jack." nico nudged his friend. "and you don't have to worry about replacing marcus. nobody could ever. but you're a good substitute for the love she lost when she lost him. but it could be different if you let it."

"what are you talking about?"

"you're smart. you'll figure it out." and with that, he skated in the opposite direction. jack headed over to y/n.

"hey. ready to go?"

"yeah." y/n met him at the entrance to the tunnel. "sheldon was telling me how glad he was glad to see me doing better."

"everyone was glad to see you, y/n. you might not know it but we were all worried about you. you're like the unofficial little sister of the team."

"that's how you see me?"

"yeah. we all love you. not as much as he did. but we've got the same intentions."

"okay. that makes me feel alright." y/n took his hand and they walked to the locker room. "i'll wait for you out here." she waited for 25 minutes before she saw his face again and she was instantly calmed down when he emerged. y/n found that he has been doing that to her for years and she suddenly always wanted to be near him.

on the way back to the apartment, y/n fidgeted with the ring she put on earlier. jack took notice and nico's words played in his head. maybe he really should make some rings for her.

a few days later, y/n was sitting in her room when lydia came in. she handed y/n a small package.

"what's this?"

"i don't know. but it was in the mailbox." lydia shrugged and sat down on the bed beside y/n as she opened the package. "so, what is it?"

"it's a," she ripped the tape off and opened the box. "oh my god. it's a paper ring." she pulled it out and held it in the palm of her hand. it was a decently made one, nowhere near the quality of the green one she was still wearing. "who sent me this?"

"is there a return address on it?"

"not that i recall." y/n flipped the package around but didn't see an address on it. "i think it was jack."

"why do you say that?"

"well, other than you, he's the only one who knows how much the rings mean to me. at least i think he is."

"okay. that makes a lot of sense i guess."

"oh, there's a note." y/n unfolded a piece of paper and read the words.

you deserve so much more but these rings meant a lot to you so from this day forward, i will make and deliver a new ring every single day.

she knew immediately, just by the handwriting, that jack had made this ring. and it touched her heart in ways she didn't think were possible.

"lyds, what am i going to do?"

"what do you mean?"

"this is the sweetest thing anybody has ever done for me. and i love it a lot. it's making me feel things. but it's jack. i can't be feeling these things for him. he's my best friend."

"but maybe that's exactly why you should feel these things."

"what?"

"think about it. nobody knows the pain you're going through more than jack does. you lost a brother and he lost a best friend. and sometimes, people connect in so many ways while they grieve."

"but....it's jack." y/n looked at the ring again. "it would be weird, wouldn't it? i mean, i've never even thought about him in that way before."

"okay so you're telling me you've known this really hot guy for years and you've never thought once about him in a way that wasn't friendly?"

"have you?" y/n raised an eyebrow.

"of course i have. like i said, he's really hot." lydia smiled. "but he's never going to be into me. not the way he's into you, at least."

"are you high? jack is not into me."

"dude, are you blind? you can't be serious right now." lydia chuckled and shook her head. "he drops everything when you call. or just to be here for you. he's been your best friend for years and constantly, he's shown up for you. even on days when you didn't ask. he's intune to your feelings. it's like he knows how you'll be feeling and he's prepared for anything when it comes to you." lydia looked at her friend. "if he's not in love with you, then my radar is way off."

"it's off. just watch. i'll show you."

every day for the next 2 weeks, y/n received a paper ring in the mail. each one better than the one before it. she hardly saw jack but when she did, he would only be around briefly. so she didn't have the opportunity to ask him about what she and lydia had discussed.

but even then, with each passing day, y/n was beginning to doubt her own words. jack was going above and beyond in her friendship but it didn't feel like things a friend would do.

she really needed to talk to him.

and she got her chance one saturday.

jack was packing for a road trip with the team while y/n watched him run around his room. she enjoyed the moments like this when it was just them.

"i know you're the one who keeps sending me paper rings, jack."

"it wasn't really a secret, y/n." jack stopped folding a shirt and faced her.

"but why?"

"the rings meant a lot to you. i wasn't gonna let you continue on with your life without those rings." he looked down at his feet. "i hate seeing you upset, y/n."

"i don't deserve you." y/n smiled before lydia's words came tumbling through her mind. they fell out of y/n's mouth before she could stop them. "oh, um, interesting story. lydia told me she thought you were hot."

"oh. really?" jack's face began turning red and y/n suddenly wished she hadn't told him that.

"yeah." she took the opportunity to gauge his reaction carefully. "so, what do you think of that?"

"well, honestly i'm flattered. and she's gorgeous."

y/n's heart constricted a little. "oh."

"but she's not my type."

"are you crazy? lydia is 100% your type, jack. she's blonde, gorgeous, smart and funny. how is she not your type?"

"she just isn't, okay? yeah she's all those things, but she's just not-"

"ready to go, jack?" luke interrupted his brother thenn turned to y/n. "oh hey, y/n. didn't know you were here."

"i come here before you guys leave for every away trip. how are you so surprised every single time, luke?" y/n walked over to the tallest hughes brother and hugged him.

"i know. just like to tease you." luke chuckled. "you gonna miss your boy for a week?"

"what boy?"

"forget about him and come back here for a second. i have something for you."

y/n walked over to jack and smiled when he placed a paper ring on her pinky finger. "what's this for?"

"it's my favorite one i've ever made and i was gonna have it sent to you from the road but since you're here, i figured i'd give it to you now." jack's smile was infectious. "do you like it?"

"i love it." y/n couldn't help but wrap her arms around jack. he immediately pulled her tighter while luke smiled to himself.

"okay, lovebirds. let's go." he grabbed jack's bag and headed out. while they were alone, jacks cheeks turned pink.

"uh, ignore him."

"i always do." y/n smiled and headed out to the living room. "i'm gonna miss you guys. make sure you win for me."

"we always try our best for you." jack put his arm around y/n as the 3 of them headed to the parking lot.

luke got in jack's car and waited for his brother. he watched as jack and y/n embraced for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour. and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why they were still dancing around their feelings.

by the time jack drove away, he had shed his sweater. y/n held it in her arms and smiled before climbing into her car and heading back to her apartment.

lydia was sitting on the couch when y/n walked in. her eyebrow raised when she noticed the sweater. "jack's?"

"jack's" y/n confirmed as she collapsed next to her best friend.

"so does that mean you guys finally had the talk?"

"no. we didn't. but i did tell him you thought he was hot."

"you did not!" lydia slapped y/n's arm and laughed. "what did he say?"

"he said you were gorgeous, but that you weren't his type."

"right. because you're his type."

"When will you let that go?"

"when you and jack finally have a talk."

"okay. so never?"

"it's like you love to piss me off."

"you love me."

"i do." lydia smiled and turned her attention back to the tv. "i can't believe THE jack hughes called me gorgeous."

"that just made your day, didn't it?"

"honey, it made my entire life."

a week later, y/n and lydia were watching the devils play the golden knights. when jack collided with eichel and they both went down, y/n jumped up from the couch.

"oh no."

"that looked painful."

"he's not getting up, lydia." y/n covered her mouth and watched as eichel slowly slowly got up. he leaned down to check on jack but he was still not getting up. "that looked terrible."

"it really did. i can feel the pain." she rubbed her shoulder. "oh. and it's the same shoulder from last season, isn't it?"

"i don't know." y/n grabbed her phone and sent luke a text. "i hope he's okay." she was surprised when her phone vibrated in her hand. she looked at the screen. "jack's requesting a facetime."

"answer it!" lydia jumped to her feet and joined y/n.

"hey. what happened?" y/n looked at the screen, only to see luke's face instead of jack's. "is he okay?"

"he's stubborn. doesn't want to believe it's as bad as it could be." luke turned the camera towards jack.

"stubborn, or stupid?" lydia shook her head.

"little bit of both." y/n and luke answered at the same time.

"who are you talking to? is it y/n?" jack called from behind the camera. luke leaned to get his brother in the frame. he smiled when he saw y/n on the screen. "i promsie it's not bad."

"jack, the doctor said you might need surgery again."

"i don't need to surgery."

"jack, what's going to be worse? continuing your season without fixing what could become a potential problem down the road? or getting it fixed quickly so you can heal faster and come back stronger?" y/n stared at her best friend.

"ugh. stupid logic."

"i do it because i care."

"i know. and i love you for it." jack chuckled. the doctor came back into the room to inform them of the extent of his injury. he wrapped the shoulder as tightly as he needed and left the room again.

"i'm sorry this happened, bro." luke sighed. "you're the star of our team. without you, we're basically screwed."

"don't say that, luke. you guys are still strong without jack. you proved that last season."

"y/n, babe, i love you. but last season, we sucked." luke chuckled. "i strongly believe it was because we didn't have jack."

"you're feeding his ego, luke." lydia shook her head and smiled. "hope you heal fast, jack. the team needs you."

"who's the one feeding his ego now?" luke playfully raised his eyebrow. jack laughed in the background.

"i miss you guys." y/n sighed.

"well i won't be home for a while. gotta fly to colorado and get some surgery."

"oh. that sucks." y/n looked at her best friend. "this isn't fair. you should be healthy. you deserve it for at least one full season."

"i know. but it's like i'm cursed or something."

"all of you guys have been injured this season and i think it's bullshit."

"it is." y/n looked away for a moment. long enough for her to miss the longing look in jack's eyes. but lydia noticed.

"hey, if you miss jack so much, why don't you fly to denver and keep him company before and after the surgery?"

luke, who easily caught on, nodded. "oh, that's a great idea. i'll book the ticket now and send it to your email." he was already typing on his phone before she could protest.

"this will be good for him, i promise." lydia whispered. "you'll have time to talk to him about you know what."

"you're never gonna give up, are you?"

"you know me so well. i'm gonna go pack for you while you're on the phone." lydia kissed her cheek and headed down the hallway. y/n turned her attention back to the screen just as luke was putting his phone away.

"done. flight leaves tomorrow evening. you'll be in denver in less than 48 hours."

"can't wait. kiss jack on the cheek for me and tell him i'll see him soon." y/n smiled and hung up the phone. part of her wanted to be upset with luke and lydia's meddling but the other part of her knew jack would enjoy the company.

so, when the plane landed in denver 30 hours later, y/n rushed to be the first one off the plane. luke had sent her a text with the hospital information on it so she got in a cab and gave the driver the directions.

when he pulled up to the hospital, she gave him a generous tip and headed inside. it only took a few minutes before she had arrived in jack's room. when he looked up, his eyes met hers and he smiled widely.

"hey. you actually came. i thought the discussion was all a dream."

"of course i came. you needed someone here with you." y/n set her bag down and sat in the chair next to his bed. "how do you feel?"

"better now that you're here." he smiled genuinely. "but still in a little pain. surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning and even though it's happened before, i'm a little scared."

"there's nothing to be scared of, jack. your doctor is one of the best in the country. he's had tons of successful surgeries, yours included." y/n grabbed his hand. "you're tough, jack. you can do this."

"wow. i didn't know how much i needed you here until just now. thank you." he squeezed her hand 2 times harder. "you take the pain away. for real."

"i try my best." y/n looked down at her feet, the blush inevitable. "jack, there's something i want to talk about and if i wait any longer, i'll probably chicken out." she took a deep breath before speaking again. "i think i may love you. a lot. and i never realized it until i lost marcus. you helped me out of my depression and you brightened my life up, even though i didn't make it easy. you are my best friend and i think that you making me these rings may be a sign that you like me too. and i might be wrong about it so if you don't feel the same, please tell me now." she waited for a few seconds. the silence was enough of a confirmation that she was wrong. taking a breath, she looked up, only to find that jack had fallen asleep. she let out a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair, never letting his hand go.

the next morning, y/n woke up to the soft sound of voices whispering to each other. she opened her eyes and the doctor was standing by the bed, talking to jack. his hand was still holding onto y/n's so when he felt her move, his head turned immediately.

"good morning."

"good morning." she sat up straighter. "what's going on?"

"the doctor was just coming in to get me ready for surgery."

"oh. okay. well, i'm gonna go get some coffee." y/n stood up and stretched. jack reached for her hand.

"wait. please?"

"okay." she sat back down and watched the doctor do his thing. when it was finally time for the surgery, the doctor began wheeling jack out. he looked at y/n.

"you're gonnabe here after, right?"

"of course, jack. i wouldn't leave you."

"okay good. i have to tell you something when this is all over."

"i'll be here." she watched the doctor take jack to the operating room. as she waited, she thought back to her confession last night. she had no idea if she would have the courage to say it all to him again.

a few hours later, jack was out of surgery and asleep in his room. y/n kept her eye on him while the nurses came in and out to check on him.

around 9 pm, jack finally woke up. y/n had fallen asleep with her head on the edge of jack's bed. he gently tapped the top of her head and she stirred. when she opened her eyes, she smiled at jack.

"hey. how are you feeling now?"

"better. a lot better." he smiled as y/n moved her chair closer to the bed.

"that's good." y/n held his hand for what felt like the millionth time in the past 2 days. but neither of them cared. it felt right.

jack's eyes travelled to their hands. "you're still wearing the ring."

"of course i am. you gave it to me. i love it."

"i love you." jack closed his eyes. "this was not the way i wanted to tell you though. you deserve better than a damn hospital room."

"it's okay, jack. i could be anywhere with you and it would be enough." y/n squeezed his hand and smiled. "i love you too, by the way."

"i thought that's what i heard last night but i figured i was dreaming." jack chuckled. "i heard your whole speech and i'm sorry i didn't reply."

"you were tired. i don't blame you." y/n looked at his shoulder. "i'm glad you got the surgery instead of being stubborn, like usual."

"well a really wise person i know made a really good point." jack smiled. "i'm gonna come back even stronger than before and it's all thanks to you."

"i'm sure your doctor would be very happy to hear that." y/n couldn't help but laugh. "i guess i'm gonna be the one to take care of you while you heal."

"hopefully you'll be a better caregiver than luke was last season when i was hurt."

"i'll be the best caregiver ever. but only for you. and sometimes lydia."

"does lydia still think i'm hot?"

"she does." y/n grinned. "but i think that she thinks luke is hotter. and even if she doesn't, there's still some vibes between them, right?"

"you noticed that too, huh?"

"yeah. i've noticed it before but that facetime call was like the icing on the cake."

"they'd be cute together though, don't you think?" jack grinned.

"oh for sure." y/n looked at the ring on her finger. "thank you for learning how to make these for me."

"they mean a lot to you, y/n. i like seeing you happy. it's gotta be the best sight for me."

"you must really like me then, huh?"

"i do. i definitely do. and i have for a while." jack looked away from y/n before speaking. "i know this might make me sound like an asshole, but the night you had that date with that one guy, i was hoping the entire night that it would be a terrible date. i wanted you to come home and complain about him. i had planned to tell you how i felt that night. but after everything, the timing just never felt right. i'm sorry about him, by the way. he didn't deserve you."

"i know. i was way out of his league. but i spent so long thinking the opposite. so when he finally asked me on the date, i was happy." y/n sighed. "it was supposed to be a good day. but it was the worst day of my life."

"i know. i remember picking you up at the restaurant. you were broken before i even brought you to the hospital. i felt terrible having to do it."

"it's okay, jack." y/n climbed onto the bed next to jack when he scooted over. "sometimes things have to happen. and it's not like marcus won't live on in our memories. he's always gonna be in here. and in here." y/n pointed to her head first, then her heart. "especially in here."

"good. never let him fade away." jack kissed the top of her head and sighed. "so, i love you."

"i know. and i love you too, doofus. we've established that." y/n turned to look at him. "maybe we can finally go on a date when you get out of this hospital."

"or we can have the first date here." jack raised an eyebrow. "the food isn't too bad."

"okay. you're definitely still on the drugs." y/n smirked.

"i wish. the pain is a little terrible."

"want me to get the nurse?"

"no. i have a better idea." jack dropped her hand and used his own to grab her chin gently. he leaned in and slanted his lips over hers. their first kiss may have only been a short one. but it packed a lot of emotions in it. jack rested his forehead against hers and chuckled.

"how's the pain now?"

"still hurts. but only a little now. the kiss definitely helped."

"good. i'm glad to hear that." y/n grinned and leaned on his good shoulder. "i'm proud of you."

"thank you for being proud of me." jack stroked her hair and closed his eyes. the two of them drifted off to sleep, content to finally be in each others arms.

[chaoticgremelin]

Neil is that stray cat who will scratch the absolute sh*t out of you if you try to hug or pet it

He needs ppl who will just accept his presence there, no matter how many cups he pushes off of the balcony(and he WILL push every mug or cup he has the opportunity to, bc he is just waiting for the time it is gonna be too much and everyone is gonna leave him, like he is used to) and ppl who will not bother or make a big deal out of it once he eventually decides to get close and lay on their laps or by their side. But getting close has to be his decision, bc his problem isnt that he thinks no one would ever show him love, his problem is that he believes he is too much and that this love will never be something permanent, at some point he is gonna cause too much trouble and ppl will give up on him. So he has to be the one to get close and he just needs ppl to be prepared for when he realizes they arent backing away, no matter how hard he tries to make them. Those are the Foxes. They respected all his limits (biggest example is the shower thing), stayed away as long as he needed to (but always in arms reach) and once he believed he had gone too far and nobody would be there for him (Baltimore), they still are there waiting. Thats when he opens up and allows them to come in his world. He would never survive the Trojans shower of affection or their worried intromissions in his life (not bc he didnt like them, but bc he would never see them as genuine, so he would see it as threat and run)

Jean is that dog that has been beaten and put to sleep on the outside way too many times. He doesnt know love, but he also doesnt know freedom. He doesnt need ppl to prove that they will stick by him, bc his abusers have stuck by his side all his life. He needs ppl to prove to him that they will stay by his side not because they hate or despise him, but because they love him deeply. Once he sees affection he will find it weird, but he will accept it (bc he was taught not to bite, unlike tge stray cat, that learned to bite and scratch at the smallest sign of a threat) long enough to actually start liking it. He will see the love he never had and even though it scares the fuck out of him, he will stay. He doesnt believe anybody would ever love him, but he has wished to be a loved qll his life with every cell of his body, so once he is in fact loved, even though it scares him and he doesnt think he desearves it, he cant help but to be drawn by it. For him it feels like a trap (why would anybody ever love HIM??), but he just cant help to fall for it. And once he realizes it in fact isnt a trap and that ppl actually like and find him worthy, he will also start to give this love back, bc thats all he ever wanted, to love and be loved. It still feels like ge is in a fever dream, but he just wants to enjoy every single part of it, like someone who has walked on a desert for days and suddenly finds a river with clean water

They are completely different, but at the same both Neil and Jean just wanted to find a family, to find ppl who would love and accept them for who they were and both have found it 🥹🥹

I just love them so much

The more I think about the differences between how the Trojans show affection vs how the Foxes do, the more I come to the conclusion that they unwittingly created the perfect environment for Jean and Neil’s arcs respectively.

Take for example the way Cat and Laila show Jean affection. The forehead kisses, the hugs, the endless reassurance and compassion. It may go without saying but Neil would’ve hated it if he ended up in that situation. He would’ve booked it faster than you can say Wesninski. But Jean? I mean sure he was baffled at first, but the way he grows to lean into it? The way he shows affection the same way back? Jean needed that brand of affection in a way Neil won’t ever. He needed to learn that he was deserving of such love; that there are people out there now who cared about him as deeply as he does them.

Neil on the other hand needed to learn a whole different set of lessons. The Foxes showing him that they care was less such obvious displays of love and more about patience in the face of his complications. More about their willingness to stick by him when the fabricated life he clung so hard to unraveled at the seams. Jean wouldn’t have flourished as much in that environment because he didn’t need understanding as much as he needed love. He didn’t need someone to help piece his life back together as much as he needed someone to love what was already there.

Neil is like an innocent looking stray cat that the foxes still kept even when they got bit; while Jean is like an abused show dog that the Trojans nurse back to health. And good lord do I love them both for it.

[4mrplumi]

( crow choir. entry three ) ── cloud pheonix ( m.s | prev/next )

author's note at the end

yeah, you feel gross. snot and tears are pouring down your face like oil, your breaths coming out heavy and painful in attempts to keep them down. you shouldn’t be this emotional really, shame pulsing like a boiling ache under the sad muscles of your chest.

“oh come on (name),” a voice outside the stall drawls, an un-gotham accent to it, too polished to match with the broken tiles on the locker room floor, “literally no-one cares what that hag has to say anyway!”

“you can’t”- go breaking down at every little thing, “go breaking down at every little thing, buddy…”

you manage a string of incomprehensible words, through a sob so ugly you want to curl into yourself and have your ribs cage you in. the cringe in her voice is obvious when she tries to coax you out, so undeniably perturbed you want to beg her to not be repulsed by you.

it’s been only a day since you shifted temporarily into your friend's run-down apartment from your equally run-down one.

you can consider it running away, being a coward, but really it was precaution. after cassandra’s surprise visit and dick and tim’s bugging, you’d decide to do the right thing and get off their minds for a bit. if you truly concerned them in any way, you could play it off as just visiting someone. you hope they forget to follow up on you.

some languid, hazy thoughts circle your head while you peel an orange for yourself, not having been able to stomach much but fruit and fruit-flavoured candy since well… ever. your reluctance to eat and loss of appetite had seemed to lessen from what it used to be, but only in small developments.

you still feel guilty for what you have, but after having lived in so much debt all your life, being guilty’s become second nature. yes, you’ll have to pay for the fruits of your luxury one day. but for now, you’re okay making peace with the bad electric fan in the living room.

today, you feel… self pitying. selfish, even. and you let yourself feel it, musing about the very people you ran- moved on from.

despite your hardened exterior, sharp scowls and reclusivity, you had been a little kid. a question that had haunted you upon their arrival in your life and still haunts you today, is why the whole family could so easily help, get involved, and better themselves together, but so easily managed to avoid you. why didn’t they try as hard with you as they did with everyone else? why was everyone so forgivable, except you? were you really so unlovable?

your mumbles for help could have been so easily heard if they bothered to listen. your fingers would have hooked to theirs if they didn’t so sharply pull their hands away. 

the small efforts you’d made for the first time were so easily dismissed. it’s not like there was much for you to go on, your concepts of affection included your hair being pulled by other children and your foster parents shoving an extra slice of bread (left uneaten either way) onto your plate. but maybe human instincts made you wish for more than was possible, allowed, for you.

it made you guilty. to want. it made you feel selfish. to be loved.

it was in a manner of awe you saw dick ruffle tim’s hair for the first time, beady-eyed and tight lipped. it took a lot of effort to stamp down the ridiculous want to be coddled and more effort to stamp down the disappointment and embarrassment you felt after staring up at dick expectantly, for him to just smile awkwardly at you and leave. 

in the manor, a year after you arrived, you’d observed with keen interest at a birthday party celebration at home. you can’t remember whose. 

streamers in the kitchen, with a lovely cake big enough for everyone, maybe takeout or alfred’s cooking too. but it was so… foreign. 

you’d asked alfred, tugging on his sleeve with hushed curiosity about what they were doing. you missed the slight flash of guilt in his expression when he realised you weren’t in the kitchen with them, instead simply stumbling onto the scene.

with a gentle pat on your shoulder, he’d told you he’d help plan out your fourteenth birthday just like theirs, indulge in whatever sweets or snacks you liked best. the prospect had made you excited, if not a little nervous, and you’d thought out balloon colours and card decorations, indulging in childish wants you hadn’t been able to indulge in before.

when the date came however, you didn’t remind alfred or anyone else, embarrassed at the idea of having to tell them it was your special day. 

not sure what you expected. them to call out to you instead of you going to them? they had so much on their mind, so much work. no need to burden them, (name). it only stung a little, as your excitement bubbled out as the day turned into evening. but it was already so late, you didn’t want to be entitled and tell alfred; risk making him guilty or rush himself into work he didn't plan for. you didn't want to hurt yourself either at whatever micro-expression he used to look surprised.

you went to bed that day with a small stone in your chest and slightly teary eyes. you didn’t cry though, over such a silly… useless little thing. big kids don’t cry, and your sister- no, your family would be disappointed at your immaturity.

you don’t think of it again, and nobody ever brings it up, no one seems to notice you haven’t had a birthday in years, no one noticed.

you’d whispered, insecure and horrifyingly shamefully, at a hand me down stuffed animal, asking the out-of-shape panda; “do you care about me? do you remember me?”

it responded, beady cloth eyes looking at you, that “no. i don’t care about you, and i don’t love you.” 

you’d fallen to sleep after dissolving into tears, pressing the plush close to your chest, hoping it could bridge the gap between your lungs that felt so large it hurt your insides.

you had to be strong, because you had long since come to the idea that no one was going to save you. 

bruce wayne, your father, didn’t save you from the guilt that clawed at you when your sister cried after work, the violent outbursts of emotionally repressed adults and children around you, or the dark crevices of your brain that seemed to get closer and larger everyday. he didn’t save you from your strength, you didn’t need him to.

you were strong enough without him, and care would’ve only made you weak and soft. you don’t need their help. 

a sick feeling stirs in your gut, the smell of the oranges becoming suddenly too strong and sweet. you think you’re going to throw up, exhausted in the speech that slurred through your head. you’re strong, and you can deal with it. on your own.

“what’s with them, huh?” a new, but familiar voice calls out, the rasp of it strangely sweet for such a place. your sobs ebb out, only because they wrack around in your lungs now as you try to shut up.

the shame eats you up alive. the last thing you need is two crows for friends trying and failing at being of any comfort, comfort you didn’t need or want.

you don’t want to waste their time.

you take a shuddering breath, wiping off the fluids on your face, angry and freaked out by your outburst. you mumble before the drawl answers for you, “nothing, nothing.”

the first voice huffs irritably, “i don’t know why you lie. if we had to make fun of you, we’d do it already (name)!”. the second is less unkind, but still a brisk demand of “if you can tell her, you can tell me too, can’t ya?”, possibly upsetting you further. your sentiments are so indebting. you don’t want to drag them down with your moping.

let them forgive you for hoping they could learn to be you.

“you got some nerve being here, grayson.”

you don’t mean for your voice to be as cold as it is, but this resurgence of anger that’s been kept at bay, and your terror at his presence makes it difficult.

dick’s face shifts from nervous to pained, staring down at you with a furrow of his brow so pitiable you want to kill him. he’s not supposed to be here. he’s not supposed to know.

he doesn't much recall what you sounded like, never having the thought oppurtunity of talking to you. but he's almost sure it's different.

“(name)...” “make it quick.” you hiss, interrupting. you can see the momentary frustration, a familiar anger bristle in his face, before it smoothes out perfectly. you’ve always thought him to be so perfect. 

“you’re not answering our calls, your apartment’s empty-" you feel your hear rate spike. they've been to your apartment? "-bruce’s been trying to contact you for days-” he gestures lightly in the air, eyes singling in on the small flinch you gave with grand grief, “-what’s going on?”

you hear your friend call out from inside the house, a loud “(nameee)? who’s at the door?”, and answering it with an equally loud bark of “don’t worry about it!”, before turning back to scowl at him.

“what’s it to you? my house, my damn rules, grayson. i can go where i fucking want to.” you know you're being childish, but don't much care.

he makes a face, one you can’t discern. that worries you deeply. it’s not like you to not understand. you don’t like accommodating change.

“kid, don’t get emotional-” “i’m not getting emotional.” “it’s just a bit concerning because-”

“-because it’s not like you.”

you have to pause, genuinely surprised. by the look dick has at your reaction, you’re not doing a very good job at hiding how appalled you are.

not like you? they don’t know the first thing about you. how the hell do they know what’s like you and what’s not?

how do they have the audacity, to saunter back into your life after being so casual about abandoning you to yourself, and lecture you about… yourself?

dick only hears a detached “what.” from his younger sibling before jumping at the chance to interrupt, salvage their exchange.

“listen, kid, why don’t we discuss this… outside?” he takes a simple tone, so conversant and friendly you feel your blood curdle, “you like coffee?”

“dick.” he snaps to look at you. you rarely ever called to anyone in the family by their first name (you barely called to them at all). a trait somewhat shared by damian. he wonders how well the two of you get along, did your aggressiveness clash or compliment each other?-

“i don’t know how you spied on me and got my address,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, dick’s reminded of bruce, “but man…”

“get out.”

dick pauses. 

what? 

did he say something wrong?

you repeat yourself, like someone trying to get through to a slow dog, an eyebrow raised; “get out. of my house.”. 

maybe being out of the manor and it’s gilded rooms has made you a bit insensitive, forgetting both the manners you’d picked up from alfred and the courtesies from your foster parents, because when he doesn’t leave the second time you tell him to, you shut the door on his face.

it’s satisfying.

he doesn’t knock again, and you don’t bother yourself with the anxiety of watching him leave from the keyhole. maybe he’s more sensible for what you took him to be, and dick lets you be. you really hopes it stays that way. 

care would make you weak and soft. you pop a de-stringed orange piece into your mouth from a bowl in the kitchen, idle and still processing what happened. your friend walks in a moment later, scratching her hair and doing the same, asking through a mouthful of pulp; “who was it?”

you answer in a similar manner, picking out a seed from your mouth; “no one important.”

oh my god. dick grayson was at your secret house. 

the orange becomes tasteless in your mouth , and you grimace.

the school bell rings, the mindless chatter of students drowning out most of it. you stand awkwardly in front of your teacher, your friends waiting at the back, looking anywhere but at you.

“if i was harsh on you earlier (name), you’ll have to forgive me,” she says, voice nearly patronising in its degree of pity, “you must understand that work ethics are incredibly important to our school. but if i may have been too strict in my way of trying to make you understand. i do feel bad.”

you can hear your friend scoff at the teacher’s sentiment, she’s the only one in this god awful establishment who gives a damn about the students’ measly feelings. it makes her so susceptible to rowdy classes and sneering students, you feel bad for her sometimes. 

you manage to mutter through your teeth, forcing your tone into understanding.

“it’s okay, miss…” it’s not, not really, “you don’t have to apologise,” you hope the guilt kills her, “i get where i went wrong.” you hate her.

when’d you become so sour?

hi... been a while crow choir...

finally getting into the main parts (due time) and i'm in a cross road between deciding whether to make batfam yandere before they realise their neglect or after

have most of the next entry planned out, so hopefull it won't take as long to update as this one.

thank you for reading!!

# taglist: @cxcilla @strwberryglass @c4xcocoa @yaoizee @secretsandwriting @sirenetheblogger @charlenexoxo1 @mirabilis-polaris @jsprien213 @tfimherewhy @yuyuzi-ling @crazycaoticsimp @m0na-lis4 @trashlanternfish360 @thehammerx4 @ninihrtss @kaitense1 @eyeless-kun @esposadomd

[luludeluluramblings]

I can't imagine Connor not rushing to Reader when they're giving birth. Or that he'd even miss it.

Like, imagine he's in a situation where he was originally being held hostage or something. But he hears Reader panicking and calling Alfred about them needing to get to the hospital for birth, and Connor turns into this machine of cold, calculative, determination. Uses every trick he's learned from the Bat Family under two different Robins. Just destroys all obstacles and threatens that he has to leave now. So either get out of his way or risk what it means when he doesn't care if you live or die. Breaks the sound barrier as he flies as fast as possible. Barely makes it in time to watch his baby being born and proceeds to allow himself to be used as a heating pad while guarding Reader and his new baby. While trying to do as much skin to skin contact as possible when Reader isn't holding them.

I don't think he'd allow Reader to go with the Bat Fam. Especially if it stresses Reader out.

But say he was off world for a quick mission again, and the baby was early? When he gets back, he's all confused as to why the Reader isn't at their apartment.

He then finds Reader, at the manor, crying from the stress of being a new mom while not even getting to use the baby things they picked! They're not in the nursery Connor painted for them! And the Bat Family won't. Leave. Them. Alone!!! They're going through heavy disassociation and depression. Cause being around all these people that they were sure hated them right before the baby was born? Makes Reader question if they only want them back because of the baby. It also makes Reader so broken.

How could they immediately love the baby, but couldn't ever bother with them?

Connor breaking the both out and flying back to the apartment.

This, this is getting too far ahead. But, it’s beautiful.

A fully yandere!Conner with a scared Reader that just had their newborn would be brutal and terrifying.

He wouldn’t kill anyone. That would just piss the family off more. But, they way he would cut ties with the family or anyone that sides with them would be done in such a cold buisness like manner, that they’d start doubting if they ever where actually friends with him.

Even Injustice!Superman had emotions.

But, Conner? That apathy is all Lex Luthor genetics shinning through. The part of him that makes it so easy to destroy those around him.

Though Conner is using it to defend his family, so he’s justified. But, it would be chilling.

Teammates would be paralyzed, and friendships shattered like some bones.

Do not fuck with his Reader or his child. And, God help you if you fuck with both of them.

As for the other part, I think that would make Reader have so many issues with motherhood if they were allowed to feel that way.

It’s so common for everyone to care about the baby and ask about the baby, when you’re basically at a physical low and exhausted.

I don’t think this would happen with Reader, thankfully. Being pregnant is a state that Reader was in to the family. A condition that bore results.

Some of the family, yes, would obsess with the baby right away. But, the big thing they the want is to watch Reader be themselves and a mother. They will ask, “Are you okay?” “Do you need something?” “Can I get you something?”

Those mommy issues are what’s triggering some of the absolute worst of their yandere tendencies. Anyone that intervenes on Reader being a mother to their child are a villain in the family’s eyes.

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

A snow day with your monster husband while visiting the kingdom where you’re from.

————

Snow.

Your monster husband had never seen snow.

He lived up north, closer to the equator and along the warm, tropical coast. Sun and sand were an everyday occurrence for him, but now he sat glued to to the window at your family’s estate watching the snow fall while the two of you visited the southern kingdom you were from.

It was endearing how fascinated he was with it.

“It looks soft” he broke the silence.

“Fresh snow is” you said.

“Snow” he answered back, struggling a bit with the consonant cluster in the beginning. His human common was pretty good, though his accent was heavy and he spoke slowly in common versus his rather rapid troll. “I would like to go out in it.”

“You’re going to freeze.”

“I will be fine. It gets cold over night back home.”

“Yeah, and no one goes out at night because of it.”

The two of you lived in the orcish capital city, far from his own village. Nestled into a ravine in the desert, your husband was used to dry, sweltering days and intensely cold nights. It had been a lot of whiplash for you, troll food and customs around the house and then everything else done the orcish way in the city.

Now he was experiencing the same thing here. He drew a lot more looks here than you ever did in the orcish city. He towered over everyone and drew incredible amount of attention between his blue skin, mane of dark leafy green hair, and long elephant-like tusks. Weirdly more people seemed caught up on the fact he was always barefoot.

You looked at how he was dressed now and knew there was no way you were going to get him to put on shoes or any warm clothes, not that you had anything that would fit him anyways.

“You want to go out into the cold snow like that?” you asked.

“It will be alright, the cold is not so bad.”

“Ok” you sighed.

Out in the garden he still didn’t seem phased, happily walking out into the fresh snow and reaching out a hand to catch a few falling flakes.

“Having fun?” you asked.

“It is quite different” he said, shuffling his feet as he walked to purposefully kick up snow. He tapped at the frozen water in the fountain, peeled thin sheets of ice off the leaves, and had to touch everything. It was all quite endearing.

You had done the same thing the first time you traveled to his village. As you walked along the shore you kicked up sand, grabbed every seashell you saw, and chased crabs up and down the shore as he just smiled and watched.

You reached down and mounded together a ball of snowed and threw it at him, catching him squarely in the back. He looked around startled before seeing your smile and the evidence of disturbed snow at your feet.

He tried throwing a fist full of loose snow at you, but the powdery spray didn’t come close to reaching you. Instead you taught him how to pack it together to make a snowball, which he promptly underhand lobbed at you with a big grin on his face.

You taught him how to make a snow angle and a snowman, and occasionally he lobbed more snowballs at you whenever he thought you weren’t looking. It was always nice seeing him so relaxed. As one of the advisers to the orcish king your husband could be quit serious, though under it all he was a deeply playful person and that side of him did come out when it was just the two of you.

“It may be a bit cold” your husband said.

“Oh? It’s a bit cold?” you teased.

“I am allowed to be cold.”

“Would you like to go in then?”

“Please.”

Back up in the room the servants had already lit the fireplace before you got up there and laid out tea and a few snacks, something your husband was never fond of. The concept of having servants baffled and annoyed him, especially coming from a more communal culture. No, around your house back in the city it was just the two of you, which was big adjustment though you did like the skills you had picked up by doing things yourself.

He poured tea for the two of you while you changed out of your many layers of clothes. His hand was ice cold when yours brushed against him as you took the tea cup from him.

“So, is the cold still ‘not that bad’? you teased again.

“It may have been colder than I was expecting, but I am fine” he stubbornly insisted.

You beckoned him over to sit on the bed with you and wrapped a blanket around you both while you sipped your tea. His arm was icy where it brushed against yours.

“Did you have fun?” you asked.

“I did, it was interesting, but I do not think I would like to live where it snows.”

“So maybe trolls do get cold?”

“I did not say that.”

“You feel like ice.”

“I am alright.”

“Ok, fine” you shrugged, “Then I guess you don’t want to cuddle up for warmth.”

“I did not say that.”

“Well I just didn’t think you’d want to be under all these blankets with me if you weren’t cold. I was nice and bundled up outside so I’m not too cold, but I thought you were cold and maybe you’d like snuggle up, but I guess not.”

Wordlessly he sat his cup of tea down on the table and then gently took yours also and sat it aside. He laid down and immediately pull you on top of his chest, his skin felt cool to the touch still even if he didn’t want to admit he was cold. You squirmed to wriggle out of your pants and he quickly caught on, eventually giving up and having to sit up to get his shirt off without getting it stuck on his tusks while you finished undressing.

The two of you laid back down now skin to skin and you happily traced shapes along his chest. He felt a little warmer now. You wiggled yourself down lower, playfully grinding against his erection until you felt him roll his hips up against you, looking for more friction.

“So you really weren’t cold?” you asked again.

“It was not that bad.”

“So you weren’t cold at all?”

“I am alright.”

“Are you really going to lie to your wife? Especially now?” you scooted back up onto his chest and he let out a whine.

“I can be a little cold and still be alright” he defended.

“Oh, so now you were a little cold?” you teased and nipped at his chest.

“Maybe a little, but that is all.”

You knew when to cut your loses and that was going to be the closest things an admission as you would get from him. Slowly you trailed kisses farther down his chest and scooted back down until he was slowly thrusting between your wet folds. He took his time as always, never in a hurry, until you felt his tip slip into you. You let out a moan against his skin, happy that at his size that at least he was more tapered than a human.

He continued his slow pace, one of his large hands on the back of your head just playing with your hair and the other on the small of your back to hold you close. With the exception of his rut, he was slow and gentle, dragging everything out as long as possible, making sure you were completely satisfied several times over before even beginning to think about himself.

You certainly had no problem with spending the hours between now and dinner finding all sorts of warms to stay warm with your stubborn husband. And so what if you possibly missed dinner? Surely no one would notice the disheveled two of you raiding the pantry later.

[lovesickhughes]

Hiii may I please request a sweetheart letter with Quinn for the prompts “Believe me, I will never be tired of you.” + kissing away their tears? <3

a/n: thank you for requesting my love! hope u enjoy <3 (not edited)

—

You hated seeing Quinn frustrated, feeling lost and hopeless after losses. It was the one downside to his career and you wanted nothing more than to be able to take away that aspect. But, much to anyone's dismay, it was a part of the game.

You were well aware of the hardships that sometimes came along the journey of Quinn's career, and unfortunately this year seemed to be obstacle upon obstacle, another barrier for him to get past, and it was only causing more harm than good.

Injuries appeared and slowly but surely tore Quinn down, and with that, alongside the pressure of being the face of a franchise, you knew Quinn was more stressed than ever.

And when comes stress, for Quinn, comes isolation.

You knew it was unintentional, you knew it was justified and you reasoned time and time again when he'd come home, short of words and reserved. You knew he was processing, and you never wanted to get in the way.

You had learned over the years of being with Quinn, that this was how he functioned, and due to his recent captancy, it seemed like the pressure had only intensified.

After missing the Four Nations tournament, Quinn was chained to his apartment with you, and although he was grateful to have your support, he still silently replayed the events of this season.

He was more quiet than usual, dismissive of your attempts to console him, and was more reserved; waking up before the sun had even risen and going to the gym for long hours, conditioning and strengthening to help his return, only to arrive at home and busy himself in a book, avoiding conversation.

It was a few days before the return to the regular season after the two week long break, and you felt the intense pressure slowly start to rise, uncertainty filling the air as everyone from family, to friends, to even fans anticipated Quinn's return.

You woke up to an empty bed, once again, a sinking feeling in your stomach settling and making your ribs ache. You felt so distant, so detached from Quinn, but you reasoned with yourself, trying to convice your mind it was all for his own well-being.

Making your way through the apartment, you ran yourself a long, hot shower, letting the steam fill the room as you stood in your thoughts, replaying the last few weeks. You wanted nothing more than to comfort and support your boyfriend, but any of your attempts were faced with his dismissal, leaving you to feel hopeless and uncertain.

You couldn't help but think of the possibility that there was an underlying reason to Quinn's reserved behaviour, maybe he was reconsidering things— you wouldn't know. It's hard to tell what's on someone's mind when they speak three words to you.

Slowly, you drag yourself through your shared apartment, brewing a coffee and cooking breakfast before you found yourself on your couch, watching whatever channel was last left on the TV. You watched, but your mind was elsewhere, being stuck on the thought of some deep-rooted motivation that was causing Quinn to be so closed off, so deep in thought you hadn't heard him enter the apartment, softly greeting you before walking to the fridge to grab a premade smoothie.

You felt the couch cushion dip beside you as Quinn sat next to you, his arm coming to lay against the back of the couch, his thumb lightly brushing your shoulder as he faced your frame, eyes still glued to the screen.

"Hi, baby," Quinn said softly, caressing your shoulder in attempt to grab your attention, but you couldn't gather the effort to divert your attention. Your mind was racing, stomach sinking and heat was spreading through your skin as you felt tears begin to fill the well of your eyes. They glossed over, and it was almost instantly that Quinn noticed, as you bit the inside of your cheek to contain your tears.

It had consumed you, the thoughts, the what-ifs, you couldn't help but let your mind wander if how Quinn was acting, was something deeper. Your lip quivered as you played scenario upon scenario in your mind, and you hadn't even noticed the tear slip from your eye and trail down your cheek.

"Baby, what— are you— what's the matter?" Quinn asked urgently, his voice gentle as he shifted closer to your frame, his free hand reaching to rest on your hip, pulling you to him to grasp your attention.

And when you look at him, seeing his concerned eyes search your own, you break down, realizing this was the first time since you could last remember a genuine interaction with Quinn, and that's what felt like your heart was being ripped into two.

"Baby, talk to me, please," Quinn pressed, his face scanning your own as the tears slowly poured down your face.

You shook your head, "It's nothing— I just, feel like," you sniffled between breaths as you tried to compose yourself. Quinn only pulled you in further, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you against his hoodie-worn chest. "I feel like I'm just a ghost to you, like you're so guarded because of what you're dealing with— that I just have magically gone away." You sobbed, and you knew you sounded ridiculous, but the way you cried into Quinn's chest and stained his clothes with your tears, you knew it was something that needed to happen.

Quinn let out a huff, blowing the air harshly through his mouth as he soothed you, his hand running against your back. "Baby, y'know it's not like that— I'm not trying to excuse myself, it's not fair to you." He said into the crown of your head, mumbling against your hair.

"I just feel like you're tired of me, and you're dealing with so much already, that the last thing you need is to have me pestering you." You continued, letting our shaky breaths. "And you're doing so well, with all things considered, like it's so admirable, and I don't want to cause you more stress." You confessed, pulling back having his eyes meet your sad ones.

Quinn only looked of more concern, clearly distraught at your confession, "Y/n. Sweetheart," He said, his own voice sounding like it pained him, "Believe me, I will never be tired of you, okay?" He said through a stern look, the sound of your sniffles filling the room. His hands caressed the sides of your arms to soothe you, and as you went to wipe your face, tears staining your cheeks,

Quinn pulled you into him, his lips finding your cheeks, peppering your face delicately as if you would break at any sudden movement, and his kissed your tears away. He trailed across your skin, before planting a sweet, loving, intimate and long kiss to your lips as his hands on your arms found their place against your back.

"You would never be a reason why I isolate myself, okay? Sweetheart, you are the reason I don't. You are my escape, my safe space, my everything, and it breaks my heart to think you were worried about that." Quinn reassured, soothing your back as he mindlessly drew shapes against your frame.

You sniffle and let out a small chuckle, "Just don't do it again, 'kay? Let me in and break down those walls of yours." You smiled sweetly, leaning in once again to place a kiss against his lips, feeling the texture of his beard tickle your own face.

[dc-posting]

au where there’s no huge dramatic reveal when Jason comes back. Instead he takes a more… unconventional approach.

It’s a rare sight, so many of the batclan together in the cave. Dick looks around at his mishmash family, trying to ignore the ache in his chest and the glaring hole missing from the picture before him.

Simultaneously, somewhere in a shitty apartment block in Crime Alley, Jason Todd logs on to the family streaming services and starts watching shit again.

Bruce gets emails about the new devices logging in, but he assumes one of the kids got a new phone or something. He looks up from his computer but nobody in the room is (visibly at least) on a device. He sighs and logs into Netflix, wanting to check if anyone has changed anything.

He pauses.

Jason. His profile name has changed. ‘Robin II :)’ has become ‘Batman’s Greatest Failure’ and-

He turns to his team, his children, his most trusted allies, furious. He clears his throat, turns the screen around, and… well… all hell breaks loose. To put it mildly. Accusations are flying, voices raise, things are quickly escalating past a point of control.

And then Dick gets an email from Letterboxd.

‘Jaybird has left a review for the first time in a while! Check it out?’

He feels his heart race as he clicks the link. It’s a review of a documentary.

‘The life and death of Jason Todd’

★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Movie was shit. Inaccurate. Jason Todd sucked and the guy who played him made him too soft. Also they couldn’t have given the guy contacts? Brown eyes? Are you fucking serious?

Also he hated poetry, everyone knows he was into classic lit and long form novels.”

It’s so bizarre and so clearly his brother that he laughs.

The sound brings the cacophony of bats to a halt, all turning to stare at Dick.

“Did you do this?” Bruce Batman asks, his voice cold. Dick takes a moment to breathe. Getting into another screaming match with his father won’t solve anything. Not right now anyway. There’s time for that later.

“‘No. It’s him, he’s alive, B.” Dick hands over his phone.

Bruce stands frozen for what feels like an eternity.

Everyone’s eyes are on him, on Dick’s phone clutched in his shaking hands.

“Oracle-” He starts, and it’s the most unsure the kids have ever heard him. “-can you trace this? Can you- he logged in from a new device. Can you find out where it is? Please?” Bruce finishes, never taking his eyes off the screen. Dick is pretty sure it’s already timed out.

“I’ve got a location, I sent it to your gps.” Babs responds, zeroed in on the Batcomputer.

“Do not follow me.” Bruce orders darkly, pulling on his cowl and beelining for the Batmobile. Dick doesn’t even argue that Bruce is still clutching his phone.

He’s gone in a flash of smoke, only the echo of the engine and the smell of burning rubber remains.

Dick chances a glance at the rest of the vigilantes filling the cave.

“Well, it’s a very Jason thing to do.” The joke seems to break some kind of tension, and after a moment, laughter ripples through them.

It is a Jason thing to do.

They move in synch, gearing up and moving out.

After all, what’s the first thing you learn as Robin?

‘Nobody listens to Batman anyway.’

[rainydayathogwarts]

perfect, pureblooded daughter - malfoy!reader

summary: being a metamorphmagus isn't easy, especially when your parents want you to be a perfect, pureblooded daughter, stoic and emotionless. this doesn't really have a character pairing, but the weasleys are there.wc: 0.8k+

Your strict, pureblooded parents had always been thrilled to have raised a perfect, exemplar child, putting all other pureblooded families to shame. There had only been one issue. No matter how well you could conceal your emotions with a respectful smile or a neutral stare, everyone always knew how you were feeling. Why? Well, being a metamorphmagus was both a blessing and a curse. Sure, in the long run learning to change your appearance at will could be insanely useful, particularly if you were to pursue a career as an auror, however having a child whose hair constantly changed colours to display their emotions could wreck some havoc. Especially if you were a pureblood, and all parents specifically trained their children to keep their emotions under control.

Luckily for your parents, you were a great actress, keeping a steady face no matter what your inner monologue was saying. However, it didn’t take long for them to notice that your face and hair were telling two different stories. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were not ones to panic, but when they realised that you were leaving to Hogwarts in two weeks and had zero control over what your hair was saying, they began pulling all the strings.

Tutors bored you though, and it seemed they didn’t understand that you were an eleven year old girl, not an adult. You had a limited attention span and didn’t comprehend any of the specialist terminology they used. So for the first time in their lives, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy gave up. You had instantly gone from the perfect pureblood to their perfect mess. You agreed that to some extent, people around you knowing your emotions could be annoying, especially when you tried telling Professor Snape you weren’t angry at his unfair treatment with a head of fiery red hair. But you were young, and your little trick brought you popularity at Hogwarts, so you weren’t complaining.

By the time summer rolled around again, your parents were prepared. They had found you another teacher — a good one — and this time her words stuck to you. So from your second year at Hogwarts, no one ever saw your brightly coloured hair changing in front of them unless it was to play a little trick on someone. Your parents could finally sit back and take a deep breath. This wasn’t to say that you never had moments, little slip ups, especially in times where you were surrounded by some of the most important people in the country.

You and Draco had been looking forward to the Quidditch World Cup finals for months. You’d both met Viktor Krum and had become pretty close friends, keeping up with his professional journey as a quidditch player when you didn’t have time to see him or exchange letters. Hence, you both showed up to the finals wearing red to show your support for Viktor. “Mhm, how the tables have turned.” You muttered to Draco as you walked to your seats, just next to the Weasleys. For the first time in Hogwarts history, they were clad in green whilst the Slytherins wore red. You didn’t pay the family any attention. Not whilst the game was happening, and especially not when the game ended.

But it seemed as though the entire family paid you attention. “No!” You had cried at the final score, hands thrown up in disappointment, but you quickly recomposed yourself, taking a deep breath before turning around, ready to leave the stadium. It wasn’t only the Weasley family and their Potter friend who had their eyes stuck on you. No, it seemed as though anyone whose eyesight could reach you was staring. Your parents looked concerned. “You alright darling?” Your mother had asked, giving you a pointed look. You had smiled politely at her, replying “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Well, there were several things pointing to that. Number 1: the slight twitch in your eye as you tried to smile. Number 2: the plethora of colours dancing through your hair as emotions overtook you. Red, blue, green, grey — anger, sadness, disgust, disappointment. Your father cleared his throat and that’s when you understood. The blue, green and green faded away. You were only angry now. “You’re seriously concerned about my hair right now!? So what if I’m upset? He caught the snitch for fuck’s sake and they still lost!” You huffed, heels loudly clacking on the floor as you sped away, Draco quickly following after you.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood with their jaws to the floor as they watched their children walk away from them, the Weasleys staring in amusement and shock whilst the Minister of Magic sat in the box next to them. Lucius felt his eye twitch. So much for having his kids meet the Minister tonight. He scoffed.

So much for their perfect pureblooded daughter.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes

[hopegrasping]

I think we fundamentally value different things in art. I think you're someone who has access to college and values professionally made art over the hobbyist art I do and the art my family makes and their family before them because they didn't have a college education but still made do with what they had and they did damn good too.

I'm not saying you should never buy another piece of professionally made clothing ever again or that untrained people will 100% always do a better job than people who've had "proper training" or whatever you call it. I'm the "those with disabilities" you're talking about and we still try our best and we work within our limitations given we are at all capable. Don't discount disabled people simply because we have disabilities, we are not your counter argument. We are real people and not a nebulous hypothetical demographic of unfortunate souls with no skin in the game we have conviction and values and while we might not be able to do As Much As Often as the next guy, we do what we can where we can and that's a lot more than a lot of people regardless of their disability status can say. some may not be able to diy at all and that's okay but this post obviously isn't For people who literally can't do a diy project and those who are disabled and unable to do diy are aware of that. It's for people who feel intimidated bc all they every fucking hear is about how fuck ugly their seriously basic handicraft is going to be bc society has been conditioning us to thing only special people are artistic and I simply know that to not be true so I said so.

I say diy isn't inherently going to look like shit 100% of the time that that is a true and productive statement. and that every effort made to better your skills, while it may not be Product You Can Sell Quality, or The Cure To Sweatshop Labor Everywhere, it's a damn good thing to do, for other people, for the environment, and for yourself I have no idea what crawled up your ass to even give this post a wack ass rebuttal as if it ever needed one to begin with, but your "uh actually, you'll never be as good as a professional and thus should never sew a button bc it's gonna look terrible just trust me bro" reads as elitist at best.

I can't tell if you think poor people can't make things work (we can) or if you just love to blatantly ignore the real life daily abuse we know is happening as we are constantly directed to fund it but maybe whatever you got going on is a you problem and maybe you should read the room and step off my cringe ass hopecore Tumblr account during these trying ass fucking times? I'm trying to inspire people to be brave and do something good for others and themselves to keep myself afloat emotionally on this god forsaken planet and you are SO pissing in my Cheerios with your weird defeatist projection

you realize before you graduated you were still making incredible things, right? Things you should probably be proud of? You were building your knowledge with experience and learning as a supplemental part of the process and you Made Stuff? Since you were a kid? We're doing that too. Everyone is allowed and should feel beyond welcomed to do so. We will learn our own way and do without college or the proper materials because we don't Need college or the proper materials to make a wrap skirt or tote bag. I've made repairs using my own hair before because I couldn't afford thread, let alone a new piece of clothing and it looked FINE no one bothered me or noticed and I want everyone to know they have That much freedom to diy. I have thread now and my current diys are amateur yeah but they're Nice and I Like Them and that's all most of us need. People are incredible and amazing and I believe in our ability to excel in our endeavors regardless of our access to college, end of. Normal people making normal art because that's a normal thing you don't need to be special or wealthy to do that is what I am saying. Nothing more. Nothing less. Do you know how insufferable it is to say "Hey everybody! Let's do a little crafting! You can do it! :D" and wake up to someone the next day pisssssssing in your Cheerios? It sucks! It's stressful! You obviously weren't my target demographic! Leave people alone if they aren't hurting you! Go sew or something idk ur good at that right? I am, and that's what I'll be doing, I encourage everyone to do the same. Literally any of you can message me I will help you find resources if you couldn't tell I really believe in the moral and beneficial nature of diy I think even one project a year makes a difference but the more the better.

I can't believe I can post something with punk in the tag and have Anyone go "NUH HUH SEWING ISN'T ACCESSIBLE" there have been days where I had acess to a sewing needle but not food. It's inaccessible to buy all your tools at once and the exact fabrics you need from the fabric store, or even to thrift every item just to add bits and bobs to an already pricey piece. But myself and other and others before our time have been poor in style for decades and for centuries. You salvage thread from clothes you legitimately can't wear anymore. You sneak a pair of scissors from school if you're young, you'll find a needle eventually if you look at ground enough and pick up enough litter. Worst case needles are 1.25 at the dollar store. So is thread. Everyone should have access to sewing. I think that is important and I think it is important to not discourage people from engaging in diy

Let go of the idea that diy will inherently look shit. All your clothes are handmade you just don't see the people doing it.

[babybearnation]

Lance stroll x dilf teammate reader. I uh you know that vid we discussed of Lance on the couch

-🦊

my title below this is a gob full lmfao - also lowkey forced a birthday on reader, soz everyone who's birthday isn't october 29th

lance stroll x male!dad!f1 driver!teammate!reader

cw: suggestive content (mentions of breeding kink)

you weren't that much older than lance, only six years, but you:

a) had a child

b) had years of race experience over lance

and c) radiated such dilf energy that lance was falling for you way before he could stop himself

plus you two shared a birthday, so lance claimed you as his from the get go

you were fast, faster than him, and lance always praised you when you finished in the points

his flirting was painfully obvious but you didn't mind it, especially since no one wanted to flirt with a man with "baggage"

that baggage was an ex-wife who realised at twenty-six that she was a lesbian and an eight year old daughter who proudly bragged about having the best parents in the world

but okay

and sure, it might've been weird to some people that you were still close friends with your ex-wife but lance knew your story and he didn't care

in fact, lance used your ex to try and get with you, something that you loved to tease him over after the two of you got together

he's also so sweet with your daughter, something that warms your heart to no end

the first time your daughter called lance dad, he literally melted - she was the cutest

lance says she got it from you...r ex-wife and you start tickling him, making him giggle and laugh, bringing a smile to your face

genuinely though, no one can deny that lance is such a good dad to your daughter, especially when they take naps together and you can see the blankets and stuffies he got for her

your daughter wears a t-shirt for you, and a (badly-fitting) cap for lance and she proudly screams her lungs out for you two

your ex-wife lowkey does the same

even though you're both cis men, lance will absolutely beg you to put a baby in him during sex

drives you fucking insane and usually leads to 3-5 more rounds

you gotta make sure it works, right?

and even though lance knows begs for it with tears in his eyes, he isn't actually too upset that it's not possible - he's very happy with your odd family

when you met your ex wife's new girlfriend for the first time, you expect it to be awkward, but her and lance hit it off instantly, both of them bonding over you and your ex-wife and your daughter

she ends up being added to your family and now your daughter proudly brags about having two mums and two dads and therefore her family is the best of everyone at her school

racing celebrations depend on if your ex-wife or daughter are there or not

ex-wife and daughter? you and lance are hitting the clubs, usually to be found making out in a dark corner, whilst your ex-wife looks after your daughter (she agrees to it, of course)

no ex-wife and daughter? the exact same thing except you & lance stay out even later that night

no ex-wife but daughter? yeah, no, you and lance are on dad duties tonight, get back to that hotel!

if you ever worry that lance is just with you for your body, lance will nip that in the bud instantly

whether it's on accident because he's playing with your daughter and making your heart melt

or on purpose where he confesses all of the non-physical reasons that he loves you

it always work and lance will refuse to let you feel insecure and/or doubtful over your relationship

genuinely, you can't feel insecure or concerned around lance, he's just too in love with you for that

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