#i just love that he isn't as hollow as he thinks

[neverpathia]

you, my good sir, are a gem 💞💞💞 love all your stuff 🩷 any thoughts on how a smittunist meeting/conversation would go if they meet on or after happily ever after?

WAHOO and i know this probably isn't exactly a writing request but here's a funny thing, i actually kind of had a scenario like this in mind, and i was kind of thinking about writing it out and posting it when this ask came in! so i might as well just kill two birds with one stone (heh) and answer this request while writing out that excerpt here mwahah

sigh. have i said that romance wasn't really my thing? perhaps fortunately for you all, I may have lied.

so this came out a little more shippy than intended, and it's a bit long so I'm sorry if it gets boring, and it's kinda ooc but it is what it is I guess

===== ===== ===== =====

What had he done wrong?

What had he done wrong? What had he done wrong?

What had he done wrong, what had he done wrong, what had he done wrong what-had-he-done-wrong what-had-he-done-wrong? The finest garments a Princess could ever have been clad in. The most lavish settings a Princess could ever have stepped into. The best meals, the best games, the best of everything that she could ever have asked for. It was perfect. All of it ought to be perfect.

The Smitten had given her everything, but for that, he had been reduced to nothing.

Less than nothing.

Because 'nothing' at least required a 'something' to define it, and she was supposed to be his 'something'. Once upon a time, she had been his 'everything', and she would have remained so for all of eternity. It was their happily ever after. Everything would have been bliss. Perfection. The last chapter of their story; the closure they had been offered once and for all.

But there was the Princess, and there was the rest of them—the rest of him—dancing under the starlit sky he had shunned so. Dirt beneath their feet, grass-blades scraping the skin of their legs.

And here he was, trapped in the cabin. The torches no longer burned and only the dark was left. He, too, was the dark now. He was one with the bleak nothingness inside, left to rot away as they pranced and laughed.

They all no longer required him. Perhaps they never had in the first place.

So he watched them dance as he faded, because it was the only thing left to do. Their movements were graceful, elegant, and so natural. There was something about it that his 'grand paradise' had so plainly lacked. He couldn't comprehend it. It lay beyond raw passion, beyond what he thought was-

"May I have this dance?"

Something, someone had entered the cabin. Someone familiar. Like that other heroic voice, or like the Smitten himself; he was a semi-corporeal shadowy echo floating just as he did. He seemed to know him, though he didn't recall meeting him. This one was wily and devious. He shouldn't have liked him.

Yet he felt inexplicably drawn to him, like they were meant to be one. He could tell that he had been a piece of the Decider, the Hero. They both had. And the Smitten had felt the same pull at the banquets and games, but it had been resisted for all their sakes. How had it not been enough? How had it not been enough?

"Why have you come?" The Smitten's voice, once reserved only for the Princess's ears, came out far too hoarse. "Leave me be. Allow me to decay in solitude."

The other one, the Opportunist, cocked his head. "Hm, no, I don't think so."

Before the Smitten could respond, the Opportunist grabbed his hand and yanked him back onto the grand carpets. He pushed him—pulled him—twirled him around—

"Begone." The Smitten, weakened as he was, could only manage a low angry murmur. "I did this. It was I who failed to cover every eventuality. And she is unhappy. I made her unhappy. I...made...her...unhappy."

"Yes, that's true," said the Opportunist, but he continued with the dance.

Here they were, cavorting about a hollow mimicry of a palace, when at least one of them should have been dancing with the Princess instead. Outside. Where the Smitten had failed to take her; where he could have saved everything.

"So?" Resignation sat heavy, thick and bitter beneath Smitten's tone. He tried to wrench his hands away from his new partner's, but for some reason, he couldn't. "Isn't that what I deserve? Harken, am I not the true villain of this new story? Go forth. Enjoy your happy ending while it lasts."

Opportunist stepped to the side, his fingers still splayed across Smitten's palm as he shrugged with one shoulder. "Well, this ending looks like the Princess and the Decider's. Doesn't have to just be theirs, though. It could be ours too."

"I do not remain one of you any longer," Smitten spat. "For how should I?"

The Opportunist smirked, a horrible mirror of the Smitten's own smile at them from across the table earlier. "But you were! At least I remember you. Besides, this can still be a happy ending for everyone! Including you."

He brought his mouth closer to the Smitten's ear. "Or, forget about you, I'm the one who wants this dance."

Smitten was too tired for rage. "Why?"

"Well, I can't quite put my finger on it myself," Opportunist mused. "But it's like, the Decider and that other one and you and me and the Princess, we're all fragments of the same thing, you know? Except there's two major parts, us and the Princess."

Opportunist paused for a bit, silent in contemplation, but he and Smitten continued to move in tacit harmony.

"There it is," said Opportunist. "Of course I'm drawn to the Princess, we all are. But I feel more drawn to you. Because the Princess and the rest of us, well, the crack between us is too wide and we're too separate. And even if I'd joined their dance, there's still a missing piece somewhere, and I suppose it must be you. But you're a closer thing to me than she is. We fit tighter, better perhaps."

Opportunist bowed forward and Smitten leaned back in response. Their bodies pressed close together: chest against chest, hand clasped in hand, fingers gently intertwining.

"So that's how it is." The Smitten stared into the Opportunist's eyes, but he didn't know how to read them. It all felt so right and it all felt so wrong; it felt so impossible; it felt like something that he should never have been able to feel.

And he couldn't understand it at all.

"How dare you?" Smitten rose, forcing the Opportunist backwards. "How dare you utter such...balderdash?"

"It's just how I felt, since I know you like feelings so much."

"No. This is nonsense! The Princess is the only absolute right. We must be with her, you must be one with her. How could you forgo such a chance? How could you forsake her, how could you choose to stay behind in this wreck and deny your true happy ending, how could you? Do you go against her? Are you mad, are you impertinent? For we have wronged and I may not make right, but you...you. How dare you?"

"How dare me?" This angered the Opportunist. "As if you did anything right! As if you're not the one responsible for her suffering in the first place! We ate and we ate and we ate then we played and we played—do you know how boring it got? How stale? And then it all lost its meaning and everything was just so empty! And you caused it, and you forced her to sit through everything! She was so scared! So before you even think about going all 'oh, how dare you, how dare you,' think about that first."

For a few beats, no one spoke. And still they danced, two shadows, graceful blank silhouettes amidst the vast unlit chambers.

"Alright, I take everything back," said Opportunist. "In the end, you've lost. Look at you. You were so powerful that reality itself bent according to you and your simpy little desires. And now, what are you? An exhausted little thing."

The Opportunist led the dance, steering him this way and that, with but a few flicks of his wrists and turns of his heels. He grinned. "So I'm still a winner, and you're still the loser here."

Smitten glared at him. "Have you no shame?"

"Not one bit, no."

"You have come to gloat, then? To laugh at my fall?"

"Why, yes I have! Can't say I don't enjoy it. See? I've come up on top. Just as I've always wanted."

And the Opportunist did laugh, throwing his head back as he cackled and shook. Amused, he veered aside, dragging the Smitten with him in a circle.

"So that was you," Smitten seethed. "The one who said we could stay in the cabin, she and I. The one who started everything. You caused it. You. You!"

"Yes." Opportunist sighed. "Fine, I admit it. I did something wrong there."

He violently jerked Smitten's arm backwards with his own, as if he wanted to wrench it from its socket.

"But who was the one who ripped our heart out?" demanded Opportunist. "And who made this whole place like this, and did everything he could to keep her unhappy? That definitely wasn't me. No, I think it was—"

"No more, I beseech you." Smitten interrupted. "I..."

He hesitated.

"I did make her unhappy. And right now, she's happier. Without me."

"Of course she is. You brought this loss upon yourself, lover-boy. Now isn't that satisfying."

Smitten didn't speak.

"I do agree with you, to be honest," said Opportunist. "You do deserve this. To fade away alone and unloved."

Smitten looked up at him. "Then why do you still take my hand in yours?"

Opportunist didn't respond either.

And there was another moment of silence. They quietly dared each other to pry apart their hands, to cease this dance, to stop these motions altogether.

But they didn't.

"Something about this still feels whole," said Opportunist. "I'm more complete here. Don't you feel it?"

"I don't know." The Smitten averted his gaze. "Truth be told, I don't know how it's meant to feel. But I think I do."

A few more steps. A few more turns. Pulling together, falling apart, pulling close again.

"This feels more complete," whispered Smitten.

"It does," said Opportunist. "But I still don't like what you did."

"And nor do I," said Smitten. "You vile, scheming wretch."

"You delusional lovesick psycho."

"..."

"...Are you scared to let go too?"

Something grey threatens the edges of their sight. Yet they dance still.

"I am."

Something ancient pulls at them, passes over the walls and floors. Yet they dance still.

"But you know I still can't forgive you, right?"

Something feathered reaches out and away, consuming, morphing, becoming. Yet they dance still.

"I know what I've done. I'm sorry, I truly am."

Something taloned stretches into the long quiet, and a mirror is touched. And the dance ends; still they stand hand in hand.

"I hate you." The Opportunist reaches out and pulls the Smitten into an embrace.

"I hate you." The Smitten reciprocates, resting his head against his shoulder, pulling him in, ever closer.

Shards of broken glass dissipate into oblivion.

[my-halo-is-a-little-broken]

Now, let me preface this by saying I only really have FB to keep in touch with family and friends, so I try to cultivate it to have my interests on my feed, and Arcane is currently one popping up a lot.

And, uh, some people have "interesting" takes 😬 like, there can be valid criticisms of the show and how it handled some things, but these feel reach-y or even completely miss the point.

1. I don't think the show is trying to say "magic (power) makes disabled people evil." What I do think it is trying to say is that when you get a taste/knowledge of what life could be like when you're more able/powerful, it can be intoxicating and misleading. Viktor genuinely thought he was making things better, and he thought he saw how he could get there, so he took it, in an "ends justify the means way." He tried convincing Jayce to work with him. He didn't truly want to align with Ambessa until he felt he had no other choice. Other examples we see of power infecting people are littered throughout the show. Cait, Jayce, Ambessa, Mel, Silco, Singed, Heimer. Power infects and can twist people.

2. Yes, it did feel hollow at some points. But I don't feel they were saying what the person thinks they were saying. Jayce even essentially says that the Zaunites have no reason to trust them, and he basically begs them to work with Piltover because he knows the destruction that awaits them. It wasn't just "defending the oppressors way of life." A literal apocalypse could happen. It's defending everyone's way of life. As for the "Savage Brown Hoardes" bit, the only people of color we really see of the Noxians are Ambessa, Kino, and Mel, 2 of which prefer talking and seeing fighting as a last resort. Everyone else is (seemingly) white. Maddie is white, Rictus appears to be white, and what we see of the Noxian soldiers, they seem to be white. Even if we go farther and look at the Noxian champions in LoL, a good chunk of them seem to be white. As for the faceless communism metaphor, while I can see it, this was a legitimate threat to Piltover, Zaun, and the world as a whole. Communism is a boogie man in our world, yes, but it wouldn't lead to the *literal apocalypse*. That's more capitalisms' style. And there's plenty of distrust and anger between Pilties and Zaunites, even if we don't get to see as we would have liked. A good chunk of the Zaunites don't join the battle until late because they *don't trust the Pilties* but realize that this isn't going well and will end badly, so they decide to help. We see that Sevika, despite being on the council, doesn't trust the Pilties, and they also don't trust her! Coming together to save the world doesn't mean that all the issues are erased. It simply means they were put aside for the moment. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

3. Yeah, they fumbled on keeping up Zaun vs. Piltover, but the Medarda war didn't come out of nowhere. In the 1st season, we have Ambessa trying to encourage war. She's a WARLORD. War within her was coming, one way or another. Mel always stood in opposition to her, even if she loved her and tried to reason with her. Ambessa was always going to be one of the main antagonists and major plot points. Look at her song. If you want something outside of season 1 that points to that there was always going to be war. "No war, no peace 'til I lead them all". She does what she does for her family's gain, yes, but also for herself. She didn't show up to Piltover to visit Mel, ever, until word started to spread. It reflected badly on Piltover, on the council, on Mel, which in turn reflected badly on the Medarda name and *her*. "I can use who I want, and I taste what I please". Ambessa isn't above doing whatever she sees fit to get what she wants/feels is right. She will always try to get what she wants, and what she wanted was war with Zaun. War within Zaun weakens Piltover, which is already partially under a Medarda's control. We've seen that Ambessa takes over places and conquers them. It's never confirmed, but it's not a stretch to make an assumption here that she wanted to bring Piltover and Hextech under Noxus' (hers) control, and what better way to do that than weaken it's defenses and strength? She made Piltover "stronger" but only by putting herself in control of Cait, her puppet, who she, despite not being from Piltover, made Piltovers leader.

4. I don't think this was Jayce saying that Viktor needed to stay disabled. I myself am disabled, granted not like Viktor is, but I didn't feel this was Jayce saying that. To me, this was Jayce telling Viktor that it's *okay* to not be perfect. That it's okay to be disabled. Not that it's a good thing to be, but that it's not a horrifically bad thing either. Jayce *loves* Viktor (platonically or romantically, your choice, but they're soulmates no matter how you slice it). We see Viktor go from a mostly confident and sassy young man to a shell of himself who believes he's unworthy of standing next to Jayce even though they're partners. Viktor was never unworthy, no matter how his disease progressed, and that's what Jayce is trying to emphasize. Jayce is telling Viktor, "You are loved, I love you, and nothing will ever change that no matter what you think." It echos Jinx and Vi in a way. Jinx thinks she's unlovable, bad luck, but Vi doesn't. She'll never give up on trying to help and love her sister, and the same way Jayce will never give up trying to save and love his partner. Jayce isn't telling Viktor he should have stayed disabled. He's telling him that his disability doesn't make him less of a person and who he is, that perfection does nothing but hurt when it requires impossible standards.

[reckless-rider]

Hiii~

I was really curious and wanted to what your favourite thematic concepts in Hell's Paradise is, like a running theme you really really enjoyed?

Mine personally is the inversion of the emotionless badass trope with Gabimaru and how despite being born into violence, he sees it as something thats often unnecessary and how those feelings that have been taught out of him have aren't actually a weak point but make him stronger on the island.

Hello!!

Honestly that's my favorite too, it's quite refreshing ngl Seeing him absolutely adore his wife and just wants to get back to her, believing her in the fact that he is not hollow is really nice to see. Yui better be fucking real or I swear Him starting to embrace that he is not hollow and treating Mei with the kindness she deserves is great, trusting Sagiri, etc etc

Also the concept of Tao is pretty interesting to me. Like to have a balance between weak and strong and that's what Gabi has understood.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Market based mistakes.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[forcebookish]

damn remember when ichigo went full hollow and orihime was terrified of him but when ulquiorra, someone she has only known as a hollow and kidnapped her by threatening to murder all her friends and spent her whole imprisonment intimidating her, asked her if she was afraid of him she said she wasn't

🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

LIKE WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT????????

[suits-of-woe]

you can tell i'm too deep into shakespeare studies because i've started developing a mental list of plays that are not good, not bad, but interestingly bad maybe on purpose in a way that makes them somehow loop back around to being good

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Mildly upsetting to learn that the hollow knight is hollow hollow. But that's very "I don't know what I expected."

[thebirdandhersong]

"Life is filled with such terrible joy. What happens, happens, and then we are gone" and that's what I didn't enjoy del Toro's Pinocchio

[mithrun-house-of-kerensil]

I think about Lycion and his relationship with beauty soo much

Looking at him, we can see that he easily meets the elven beauty standards. He has long silver hair, clear skin, and androgynous form: he's the picture of a youthful, pretty man.

And yet.

He experiences such a visceral reaction to his own body. Despite looking like your stereotypical pretty boy, he doesn't fulfill the expectation of being vain in the slightest (at least not in this form).

In fact, we see in the extras just how badly his body dysmorphia got to him. This was not a passive discomfort or a shallow desire. Lycion was trying to destroy his body. He hated living in his skin so much he was actively self harming in multiple ways in an effort to punish himself.

It's not until he uses ancient magic to get his beast form that his perspective of himself changes. The magic required him to be heavily tattooed over his whole body and we can clearly we can see that he wears these marks with pride. But that's not where any of this ends for him because despite having the solution to his problem, Lycion can't be a wolf all the time.

This means that he has to learn to cope with existing as an elf still, and what stands out to me is how Lycion's hair is almost always in his face. Even now, in the body he likes more, he hides. Whether this is a lingering discomfort or just a habit, there's no saying, but it makes me sad.

Especially in this panel, where it's clear that a lot of his hair had been pulled forward to cover his face rather just the few strands. His expression looks so hollow. He looks tired and uncomfortable. This isn't the casual playfulness he usually has. I think this is a peek into the idea that it's very self soothing for him to use his hair as a shield when he's forced to stay in his human body for too long.

I think that his hair is so important to him because we can see that it's the only trait that carried over into his wolf form. This means that when he's forced to be human he can cling to the single part of him that's shared between his current body and his preferred one.

In summary: I love him so much

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY ONE: degradation with sub!gojo

kinktober masterlist

The strongest, the fastest, the greatest.

Satoru Gojo knows that he is all of those things—he's told it every day. People dote on him, idolise him, praise him like he's holy—and lavish worship can only go so far before it starts to feel hollow.

Satoru likes being loved, don't get him wrong, he revels in the praise he gets. To know he's so admired, such an effigy of power, is intoxicating. He's constantly in a state of egotistical bliss—which is why it's so rejuvenating when you take him down a notch.

Because as strong and tireless as he is in the real world, your Toru is the opposite in the bedroom. It's the place he gets to relax, to melt, and he takes full advantage of shedding the title of strongest, even if only for a night at a time—because god does the way your chiding roll from your lips turn him on.

You can't help but smile at the beautiful blush that dusts his cheeks, it matches the pink tip of his throbbing cock that pulses in your hand. His hair, soft and lovely, rests in a mess against the pillows as you stroke him lazily, sitting on his thighs, lips curled into the wickedest of grins. He frowns, whiney pleas escaping form his throat.

"Please, just fuck me," he's so hard it hurts, and the delicate stroke of your fists over his cock isn't enough. He needs more of you, he needs all of you.

But you just hum, "so needy. This isn't good enough for you, Toru? You think you're worth my time, honey?"

Honey. So sweet in comparison to the sickly tone you use with him. He's not worthy, not of someone like you, and the suggestion makes his hips buck. "Please," he bites.

"Fucking desperate," you let go of his cock entirely and instead ghost a nail from his base to the tip. He gasps, face scrunching up, "you know you're pathetic, right baby? What's all this about you being the strongest—you're barely holding yourself together."

A pause. Satoru swallows. His dick twitches, his cock growing thicker and harder than he thinks it ever has been. "Please, you're… too much," it comes out hoarsely. He feels pathetic and small as he begs, but you ignore him, fingers still circling his sensitive head until it throbs painfully.

"What do you want to hear?" You purr, leaning down to press a kiss to his tip. "That you're being so good for me? Because you really aren't, Toru—not until you break for me. C'mon, baby, I know you, what you are."

You reposition yourself to sit over his cock, lining him up with yourself, smiling at the ay he squeezes his eyes shut in carnal need. You lean forward a little—enough to emphasise your words—"you're my Satoru, who needs to get fucked like the desperate whore he is."

And as you seat yourself on his cock, not bothering to hide just how blissful the stretch of his overbearing size makes you feel, Gojo swears he could cry. You're right, he is desperate, a whore—achy and teary-eyed and already close to cumming with just how good you feel wrapped around him.

"Not without permission," you read the tremble of his lips. Your hips roll against his, the drag and pull of his cock inside of you enough to drive the poor man crazy. "What do you think the masses would think if they saw you like this, huh? All dumb for me, Satoru Gojo—my favourite toy. You think they'd still think you're the strongest, baby?"

"Mm, fuck," his tongue near lolls out of his mouth at your words, you can feel him twitch inside of you. "Y—y…"

"Too stupid to even use your words huh? Can't even get a decent ride out of you. Look at you, I know you're close—can't hide from me."

He's gone red in the face, and avoids the urge to hide behind his hands in favour of meeting your gaze with his beautiful blues. Glossy and pooling with lust, he looks at you like you're the god he is to worship. He wonders how anyone can think he is worthy of praise when you're right there—god, he'd lay himself down for you before any of them could even think to. He's got no choice but to accept your approval though, and if it'll get you to keep fucking him, he'll be grateful for anything.

It's too much for the both of you to handle. Your own orgasm crests just as you think Satoru is going to unravel, and you place a finger in the middle of his toned chest to ground him. "Beg me."

"Ple—"

"No," you shake your head, trying to keep your breath in check as you quicken the pace of your rolling hips. "Thank me, for giving you so much already—more than you deserve. Thank me properly and you can cum."

He doesn't hesitate, he's beyond devoted to you—if he could thank you until the end of time he would. "Thank you," he says softly, voice thick with relief. You feel him shudder underneath you, a few more thrusts of your hips and he'll come undone. "Fuck, thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou, I love you, god I love you."

"Prove it," a moan breaks through your sharp words. "Cum with me, Toru."

Your name tumbles from his mouth like a prayer, raw and desperate, and he gives a shaky nod. You clench around him as you allow yourself to finish, and the sight of your orgasm spurs Satoru on. As his climax crescendos and his body jerks beneath you, he's sure he can never look away from how beautiful you are in your release despite the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and bathe in the overwhelming pleasure that washes over him—nirvana.

You collapse atop him, panting. You lie there while your muscles unwind, waiting for you heart to calm and your lungs to expand enough for your breath to steady. Once Satoru has finished jerking his hips up into yours, and he starts to come back down to earth, you push yourself up to hover over him again. The stern look that had been in your eyes is gone, and replaced with a gentle softness he knows all too well—he replicates your smile with his own.

"Good?" He raises his eyebrows, ready for the onslaught of love you tend to give him after sex like this.

"Perfect," you hum and lean down to kiss the tip of his nose. "You are perfect."

"And desperate," he coos, reaching up to wrap his arms around your waist.

You nod, a smile pulling at your lips. "Yeah—that too."

tags are in the comments, because tumblr is an opp!

[queenpiranhadon]

Can I request bkg and reader getting in a fight so they still share the bed but sleep while facing away from each other. But then reader gets nightmare about him dying and clutches to him. How do you think he would react??

A/N: Sobbing because the manga has me in shambles TY ANON FOR THE REQUESTTT <33 Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Mild cursing, you and Katsuki get into a fight, he's a little hot headed but he means well, you both love each other so much, you both are dating, mentions of an anxiety attack, nightmares, angst to comfort, mentions of blood and death, slight spoilers, reader is called princess and baby, f!reader.

Pairing(s): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

"Katsuki you can't keep doing this to yourself!"

"Jesus baby, ya know that this is my job, I don't have a choice! I can't just stop savin' people 'cause my girlfriend wants me to."

It went on like that for a while, back and forth, between "You can't just keep coming home like this, it's not healthy!" and "It's my fuckin' job - what the fuck do ya want me to do about it?!" as well as every single variation of the two.

It was exhausting.

You were understandably worried sick about your pro hero boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugou, you always had been. You loved him to death, you always would, but your heart simply couldn't take the sight of him coming home bruised and bloodied and on the brink of death.

You believed in him, you really did, but the little voice in the back of your head never seemed to stop asking the one question you wish never had to be asked in the first place.

What if it finally became too much? What if one day, he didn't come home back to you?

The scenarios that voice would create were almost as bad as having to experience it in real life, and Katsuki's blatant disregard for your feelings only made it worse.

To him, you didn't believe in him. Your worries made him feel weak - your worries made it seem like his skills were incompetent, as if he wasn't enough. After all, when you see a hero like All Might on the screen, no one is simply worried for his wellbeing, because they know he'll win.

Why don't you think he can win?

The two of you don't speak to each other for the rest of the night, still sleeping in the same bed but turned away from each other.

And it was hard, trying to fall asleep without the other, so accustomed to falling asleep in each other's arms, but you finally managed to do so.

However, without Katsuki's presence to soothe you in the night, the voice in your head decided to take the reins on your dreams.

Except it was much more worse than that.

You were on a battle field, there was so much happening except there was nothing happening at the same time.

You can't see your hands, or the rest of your body, eerily making you a spectator to the chilling scene around you.

The ground was slate grey, and then it wasn't, crimson blood staining the ground until all you could see was red.

You try to scream, but you can't because you have no body, and consequently, no mouth.

Still you persist, opening an invisible mouth to let out soundless screams in the hope that someone, anyone, can get you out of this soulless empty hellhole.

And then you see him.

It's Katsuki.

He looks fine, unharmed except for the hollow look in his eyes.

Your heart aches and you reach out an invisible hand to do something, to apologize for losing your temper, anything to have him back.

But the moment you blink, Katsuki isn't fine, or unharmed anymore.

Now, there was a gaping hole in his chest, and half of his face was stained the same crimson that was splattered across the ground.

You could only watch in horror as Katsuki's life was sucked out of him, seeping out through the blood that dripped out of his body, staining the ground even further, pooling at his feet.

You scream even more, but nothing comes out. You can't do anything, and the love of your life is bleeding out and you're just standing there.

Shit!

You didn't realize you were crying until you feel two strong hands gently shaking you awake, finding yourself buried in Katsuki's chest, clutching onto his shirt like it was your lifeline. Or in this case, his.

"Princess? I'm here, baby I'm here...everything's okay..." he murmurs, his gruff voice soothing you as he strokes your hair, allowing you to soak his shirt with your tears, not minding it at all.

You look at him, and his heart breaks at the broken look in your eyes.

"Katsuki...?" you whisper, and he looks at your with those piercing vermillion eyes, ridden with guilt.

"Baby, m'so sorry I talked to ya like that.... I'm so stupid, damnit." he whispers angrily, not to you, but to himself.

How had he not realized how bad your anxiety was?

He sighs - he wasn't the focus right now, you were.

He brings a large and gentle hand around, cupping the back of your head and tenderly pressing it against his chest.

"Feel that princess? That my heart, beating for ya. And only for ya, ya hear me?"

You giggle softly, feeling your heart warm. The two of you fall asleep together like that, and the little voice in your head finally gives you a few words of assurance.

Katsuki's okay.

[brainddeadd]

Sugar Daddy Bang Chan

Bang Chan x f!reader

Synopsis: Chan becomes your sugar daddy, except y'all are in love

Warnings: daddy kink (duh), oral (m & f receiving and giving), unprotected sex (pls don't), breeding kink, face sitting, aftercare (always, no matter what), pregnancy - let me know if I'm missing anything

BestFriend!Chan, who was your friend first. You'd met years prior while he was a trainee, and the friendship had stuck. One day, he learnt that you were struggling with money and offered to help - insisted really, he wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Channie, I can't let you do that."

"Yes you can, I'm offering."

"Channie-"

"Don't argue with me on this, please." He pressed his lips to your forehead and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. "Let me do this for you."

BestFriend!Chan, who isn't surprised when you beg him to let you repay him in some way, he knew it was coming, knew there was no way you'd let him spend money on you and not do something in return.

"What do you suggest?"

"I don't know Chan, but I just can't do nothing!" You're frustrated, hands swinging in the air. "I'll do anything, hell I'll even suck your cock, just let me do something to repay you!"

That gets Chan's attention from where he's sitting at his desk in his studio. He splutters but you barely notice, pacing back and forth as you ramble.

You're quickly cut off when Chan's hands fund your cheeks, eyes broing into yours as he looks for any sign of discomfort.

"Say that again." You try to tilt your head in confusion, but Chan's hands are holding it in place. He sucks in a shakey breath.

"You said you'd suck my cock." Your eyes widen and Chan fears he's made a grave mistake, hands falling from your face, stepping back as he scrambles to think of a way to fix this. His thought process is cut off when you sink to your knees in front of him.

There's a smile on your face when your hands find his thighs, eyes peering up at him.

"You don't-" another shakey inhale. "You don't have to."

"Oh Channie, I've wanted to suck your cock for years." He groans at that, eyes closing and head falling forwards as his hands flex by his sides. "Please, let me suck your cock."

He nods and yanks the chair over from behind him before reaching around you to grab a cushion from the sofa in the corner of the studio.

"Stand, baby, don't want you to hurt your knees." His hands help you stand, the cushion falling to the floor as he holds you to him, close enough that you can feel his hard cock pressing into your stomach.

"Channie-" you trail off and he raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, baby?"

"You don't have to-"

"Don't you dare tell me I don't have to worry about your comfort," Chan's voice is stern. "Your comfort is important, you're important."

Leaning up, you press a kiss to his lips, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he holds you close. Pulling away, you smile, hands moving to push at his chest so he sits in his chair.

"Let me, please."

"Let you what, baby? Use your words."

"Let me suck your cock, daddy," the look that crosses over his face is downright feral. Sinking to your knees on the cushion he's placed, it's easy to pull his cock from his shorts, mouth opening in shock at the weight and size.

"Fuck, baby, 'm guessing you like the look of my cock." Nodding you lean forwards to press a kiss to his tip, relishing in the hiss that leaves his lips.

"Fuck, Channie, you're so big-" Wasting no time, your lips part to take the tip of his cock into your mouth, hands moving to stroke the rest of his length, his hips bucking when he feels your tongue trail over his slit. Shuffling forwards on your knees, his tip slips further into your mouth, making him groan and grip the arms of the chair.

"Fuck, baby-" He's cut off when you hollow your cheeks and sink further down his length, one hand moving to cup his balls, gently rolling them in your hands, making his hips buck. "Baby-"

Pulling off, a trail of spit connects your lips to his tip, and you look up at him through your lashes.

"Fuck my mouth, daddy."

SugarDaddy!Chan who hopes to God that it wasn't a one time thing and isn't disappointed when you suck his cock again the following day.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, takin me so well baby, fuck- Chan's running his mouth as his hands hold your head still, his hips bucking into your face wildly. "My pretty baby likes this, yeah? Likes the way I fuck her face?"

Moaning around his length, you know you must look pathetic, hand down your pants and makeup running as you squirm while he fucks your face.

"Listen to you, my baby's moans are so beautiful. Keep moaning for me, baby. Just like that. Keep moaning while I use you."

SugarDaddy!Chan who can't help but beg to eat you out after he's fucked your face.

"Baby, please, wanna return the favour."

"Channie, me sucking you off was returning your favour."

"Then let me eat you out cause I want to."

SugarDaddy!Chan, who fucks you for the first time after six months of your arrangement.

"Shit, pussy feels so good, fucken made for me sweetheart." He's got your legs over his shoulders as he thrusts his cock into you from above, body moving frantically, hands gripping your hips tightly. "Fuck, cum for me baby, you gotta cum for me, cum all over my cock."

His hand moves to slap your clit harshly, your body shaking as your pussy spasms around his cock, a squeal leaving your lips.

"Fuck fuck daddy fuck I'm cumming, fuck, please don't stop, fuck-" Chan's hips are moving faster, thrusts harsher and sloppier as he hurtles towards his orgasm, grunts forcing their way from his lips.

"Where baby?"

"Inside daddy, fuck, fill me up, please, fuck-" your pleas for his cum are cut off by his lips sealing over yours as his warm cum floods your pussy, ropes painting your walls and seeping out the edges.

SugarDaddy!Chan who holds you close after he's cleaned you up, arms around you, hands stroking your skin. He presses his cheek to the top of your head and relishes in the feel of your skin on his.

SugarDaddy!Chan, who comes running when you call him on a night out with the girls, voice shakey and quiet as you whispered about the guy who's been bothering you all night. He's in his car before you've finished your sentence.

"Baby!" You hear him before you see him, his voice carrying through the door of the women's bathroom.

"Channie!" You're colliding with his chest a few moments later, his hand cradling the back of your head as he holds you close.

"Hi baby," he kisses your cheek. "You ok?"

Nodding, you press further into him, asking him to take you home.

SugarDaddy!Chan, who asks you to move in with him after that night. He claims it's because he wants you safe, but it's really because he wants you close at all times.

SugarDaddy!Chan, who slowly acts more and more boyfriend like, until the lines are too blurred to decipher.

SugarDaddy!Chan, who introduces himself as your boyfriend to everyone you meet, until one night, during post fuck cuddles, you ask him if he would ever date you.

"Would you.. ever date me? Like, for real?" He looks over, alarmed.

"We are dating for real!" His face falls. "Aren't we?"

"I don't know, we never made it official or said anything so I just kinda.. assumed we were- I don't know, fucking."

"We are fucking." His voice is monotone but his face panicked. "But we're also very much in love."

There's silence for a moment.

"Aren't we?" He sounds desperate, broken.

"I am." His body relaxes, arms tightening around you as he rolls to hover over you.

"I love you, baby," he grins and presses a kiss to your lips. "Now, be a good girl and let me show you how much."

[noctuaism]

When it’s time for his daughter to get her vaccinations it’s Satoru who almost starts crying more than his daughter. Your daughter is notably more composed than your husband who looks at your daughter like she’s about to disappear on spot.

“Do we have to do this?” he asks for what you think is tenth time. “I can protect her. I’ll keep my infinity on and then she won’t have to worry about bacteria or viruses or boys.” He says the last one with a shiver like it’s the worst possible thing on the list.

“Yes she has to get her shots,” you say, not bothering to look up at him. You already know he’s pouting. Instead, you keep your eyes on your daughter, secured to the car seat between you and Satoru. Gently you run your finger over your daughter’s cheek. She gives you a wide, toothless smile that has your heart clenching. It was hard to believe that she was just in your belly just over two months ago. She was growing up so fast. “And no you can’t keep your infinity up forever, you’ll burn your brain out.”

The man continues to mutter anxiously, only worsening your own anxiety. You hated seeing your baby cry no less than he did.

“What if I hollow purple—” he starts again and you send him a withering look, feeling a little bad when he gives you an anxious look. Fatherhood is possibly the only thing that has ever made Gojo Satoru second guess himself. You reach over and gently squeeze his hand, both an apology for the harsh look and for reassurance, and watch as his face softens. He squeezes your hand back before taking his turn at entertaining your little baby.

The rest of ride to the hospital is filled with your baby gurgling joyfully at her father as he makes silly faces at her.

When you finally reaching the hospital, you thank Ichiji and drag Satoru away before he can give the poor man a hard time. Satoru holds the car seat in his hand, the shades on the carrier drawn over to protect your baby from the Sun. You hold the hand that isn't occupied with the carrier, squeezing it for reassurance, as you make your way into the building.

Times seems to fly from there, from the moment you approach the front desk and finish filling out the forms to finally hearing your family name being called.

The nurse gives the both of you a soft, reassuring smile seemingly accustomed to the anxiety of new parents. As she leads you to the back of office she reassures the both of you that this appointment would be quick and easy. She gives a practiced debrief of the vaccines your baby would receive. Satoru takes it upon himself to be a little obnoxious with the questions he asks and she shows no irritation towards him, taking everything in stride.

3 shots. This would not be easy.

You really didn't want to hear your baby cry. You turn your head to your husband who has an unusual, grim look on his face. You try your best to remind yourself that this was for your daughters health and wellbeing. The quicker this was done, the faster the both you could go home and take care of her.

After being seated in the room, the only thing left to do was wait for the doctor. The loud crying of babies from the other room left you feeling uneasy. You watch as Satoru takes her out of the carrier to hold her up in his arms. You soften at the sight. Your two loves.

It reminds you that despite all the fears that Satoru had shared with you about fatherhood, he fell into the role quickly and with little stumble. He was as good at being a Father as he was at anything else. You lay your head on his shoulder, watching your daughter's eyes flutter in the warmth of her father. You wish she'd be this small forever. You think you could fall asleep like this, despite your surrounding. To the feeling of Satoru's lips on your forehead and your daughter tucked safely in his arms.

The little moment is broken by a short knock on the door and doctor's head peaking into the room. You sit up straight preparing yourself. The doctor briefly introduces herself as she makes her way in followed by a nurse.

"I trust that you understand what this entails," she says. "I can go over it again if you need."

"How bad is this going to hurt her?" Your husband asks, his voice taking on a serious he usually doesn't show. You watch as the nurse sets out the three syringes onto the table, each with a translucent cap.

"I will not lie to you, Gojo-san, this will be uncomfortable. The faster we get this done, the easier it will be on her." Her voice is calm. "However, I also cannot say what side effects may occur or may not occur at all." She gets up to wash her hands in the sink before putting on some gloves. "Please place her on the exam table."

"I might have to hollow purple this place."

"What was that, sir?"

"Nothing."

Satoru gives her the fakest smile you've ever seen on his face while gently laying your baby down. He gently smoothes her unruly, white hair and doesn't let go of her hand. You join him at his side, running your hands down her arm, watching as she turns and bends to look at you. Her gummy smile reminds you so much of Satoru, so full of joy and happiness. You really carried her for nine months for her to be a carbon copy of her father.

"Okay, we're gonna count to three and administer one to each thigh," you nod, steeling yourself. "One, Two, Three..."

Your daughter wails and the shots are done just like that. The doctor and the nurse work quickly and efficiently, caping the used needles. Her piercing cries hurt your heart and you take her into your arms rocking her, trying your best to calm her down. Satoru, on the other hand, looks as though he wants to throw hands with the doctor, the glare behind his dark glasses is harsh.

"I know, baby, I know," you cajole, trying to get her to stop crying. Her crying continues for a while and you give your husband a little helpless look. He catches on quickly and gently takes her from your arms, taking his turn at rocking her against him.

"We're never doing this again," he says. Your daughter finally starts to calm a little. Tears continue to stream down her face but she no longer wails in pain. You wipe her face with your hand, smoothing your hand on her cheek. Your throat feels tight.

The rest of the time from the hospital back to your house is a blur. Your daughter sleeps safely in her nursery having been lulled to sleep from all the crying and some milk.

The both of you are sat on the couch in the living room. The baby monitor placed on the coffee table in front of you. Satoru is in your arms, his head buried in your neck. You sat in his lap, gently combing your hands through his hair. You had two babies to take care of.

"I hated that," he says, a little whiny. "Can we never do that again?"

"She's gonna have to get more no matter what we do."

"If I get rid of every vaccine produced ever and the companies making them, we'll never have to do this again." The statement is ridiculous and is enough to make you laugh which has him whining into you neck again.

"I'M SERIOUS DON'T LAUGHT AT ME." Which only serves to make you giggle harder. You place a kiss on his forehead.

"You're a good father you know," you say, directing the conversation in another direction instead of the doom of pharmaceutical companies at the hands of Gojo Satoru. "She's lucky to have you."

"Of course she is, I'm THE Gojo—" you place your hand over his mouth cutting his bragging short. You take your hand away once you're sure he's not gonna say anything silly. And before he has a chance to lick it.

"I'm being serious."

"You really think so?"

"I know so."

You think back to the conversation you had before your daughter was born. The one where Satoru had spilled his heart out, confiding his fears of being a bad and absent father. You remember being in a similar position as you are now, seated in his lap and running a hand through his hair. You felt him squeeze your waist in the same way, one that told you that despite pretending he didn't need it, even the strongest needed comfort.

"I love you, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Thank you for everything."

"I love you too, toru."

Your lips lock in a soft, gentle kiss. He was your everything and more. The silence between you both is sweet and comfortable as you bask in each other warmth.

Silence, however, never lasts long in the Gojo household. Especially when it comes to Gojo Satoru.

"So what do you say about practicing for our second?"

[diy-dynamite]

Longing for Home (1)

Mr. Crawling x Reader || feminine terms used (wedding dress 😭) so I think this is for the fems... I'm sorry guys

Contents: spoilers for one of Homicipher's endings that I don't remember, NOT a part of my "Television" series (but I might make a version of this for that)

********

YOU never found your way back home. With your skin stained with red, rash-like patches, and with your body slowly conforming through regenerative cycles, your home is no longer the one you knew.

This is your home.

Your home is in this strange building.

Your home is in the room next to Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped's.

Your home is on one of the two hospital beds that stand next to each other.

Your home is standing in front of you.

Or crawling, rather.

He was leading you back to the room after your usual wandering, collecting cute trinkets from the piles that fell from the human world. You came back with an arm full of things, and surprisingly, the majority were makeup.

Not the major glam kind, but stuff like lip gloss, lipstick, mascara, and powdery stuff for the eyes that you can't remember—and it hurts that you forgot what it was.

You laid them out on your bed, Mr. Crawling sitting on the ground next to you, looking at what you brought back with a puzzled look on his face.

He called all of them "things," which isn't entirely wrong.

Pop! An idea went off in your sneaky little head.

"You like me?" you asked out of the blue, turning to him with lip gloss in hand.

He tilted his head and chirped a little, ridiculing your question. "I like you? I love you many. You tired?" he asked, as if to say, "Is the fatigue messing with you?"

You laughed. He smiled. "Not tired!" you explained, then you sat down in front of him. You gestured him closer, so he did as you asked and crawled a couple of inches closer to you.

"You do something for me," you said.

"...?"

"Don't move."

...

"Don't move!!" you laughed, finally putting lipstick on him properly. He was struggling to hold still, the feeling of the lipstick irritating him.

"So cute!" you said, hoping to calm him down with a compliment as you shut the lipstick lid. "Cute! Cute!"

"Strange..." he mumbled, reaching up to wipe it off, but he didn't do it. He couldn't. Not when you said he was cute this way. "I cute...?"

You nodded, beaming brightly, and he couldn't resist it, so he didn't remove the lipstick.

As you rummaged in your little collection, you found a magazine full of ladies with white, majestic, beautiful dresses. Almost like The Bride's, but way more... lively.

No.

Way more alive.

Just how long will it take for you to lose all that feeling?

No—if you long for it, then it must've already been missing.

The home you knew is a place you can never reach again.

That's where your heart is. That's why your chest feels so hollow.

Do you even have a heart anymore?

You pressed a hand against your chest, and you felt a pang of envy for the smiling woman and man on the front page. Technically, you were never alone. You had Mr. Crawling!

That didn't help how you felt, though.

Jealousy.

Longing, nostalgia, and jealousy.

A longing for that human feeling, a nostalgia for your childhood dreams, and jealousy, because you no longer had that within your reach while others do.

You threw the magazine over your shoulder, and you buried your face on your mattress, knees still on the floor, and you tried to get rid of the heaviness on your chest.

You didn't cry.

It just... hurts.

***

It felt like ages—Mr. Crawling came in and out, bringing in various people to try and check on you after his own attempts failed. Mr. Silvair didn't do anything. He didn't know what to do. Mr. Chopped tried to console you with his silly faces—the expressions you showed and taught him with your own face—but to no avail. He even dragged in Mr. Stitch—and he hates that fellow—albeit bloody from Mr. Crawling forcing him to follow, but you didn't look up at all. He shoved Mr. Stitch right back out once he didn't work, though.

He was starting to panic. You never did this before.

He tried to think back to anyone else who you seemed to tolerate the presence of, but... oh!

The pile of pages you threw! That was the last thing that you touched before you shut yourself off!

He picked it up, looking at it with a puzzled coo. He didn't understand it, but he noticed that in most of the pages, there were people like you who were smiling happily together. He wondered why.

Oh! Maybe you wanted a new dress! Is that it?

He glanced at you and tried to show you the book again, but you only inched away. At least he knew now not to do that again....

He quickly left the room and glanced down the halls.

Then with one huff, he recited: "Clothes!"

"Clothes?"

He giggled when he saw The Bride appear.

"You hurt...?" she pointed at his face. Specifically, his mouth.

Mr. Crawling proudly showed it off, smiling. "They put it. They say I cute."

She raised a white dress, trying to offer it to him, but he shook his head.

"They sad," he said. He raised the book. "Clothes."

The Bride, elegant and poised, glanced at the book with her non-existant eyes (and head). "Wonderful! Wonderful, cute!"

"Clothes," he pointed at one of the dresses. He liked this one, specifically, where the dress wasn't as puffy as the others, but not as skinny. There were white clothes for the hands (gloves) and for the legs (stockings), and there was a strange but aesthetically pleasing clump of cloth on the back (a rose made of silk).

"They look cute, this."

"I make!" The Bride nodded eagerly. If she had a head, she'd be smiling the same way the humans in the book were. "I make, I give!"

It didn't take long—she disappeared, and Mr. Crawling waited outside your door for only a moment until she came back with an even prettier version of the dress.

Mr. Crawling, trying to contain his excitement, chirped happily and let The Bride enter your room.

You were still there, curled over your bed, but you were putting the same red thing you put on his.

If he had eyes, they'd be sparkling. He had no idea what you did to yourself, but you looked... even better than you already did. Which is saying something—you were everything to him, and now you have such a pretty shade over your eyes, and your lips were like his!

"You hurt?!" The Bride gasped again.

You let out a strained laugh. Mr. Crawling knew it wasn't a real one. "Not hurt. I... make me cute."

"You cute! Before!" The Bride said. "Cute now, cute before."

"They cute," Mr. Crawling agreed simply. "Give! Give!" he urged the ghost-woman in white.

"Give," she extended the dress to you.

You stared.

And stared.

And you... began to cry.

Mr. Crawling panicked, and so did The Bride. There you were, kneeling next to your bed with tears running down your face. Mr. Crawling immediately took his place beside you, holding your head in his hands as he tried to console you.

"I sorry," he said, but he didn’t know what for. "I sorry, don't sad... I sorry—"

He would've apologised on and on if it weren't for how the black streaks appeared from your eyes.

You looked even prettier to him.

He loved it when you smiled, but he dies a little more than he already did, figuring out that you were so pretty when you cried.

"No, no," you said, wiping the black gunk off your face. "I—I love—" you pointed at the dress. "So—so wonderful, can't—can't.... You...!"

Your shaky hands held his face, and he didn't know what to do.

"You... kind... can't cry not," you continued to sob.

"...you kind," he mumbled in return. He's still confused, though.

***

Did this ho just assume you wanted a new dress??? Because he wasn't entirely wrong. Or maybe that's just you trying to justify it all.

Even if you tried, you can't stop crying. He doesn't comprehend the layers of what you feel yet, but he still tried, and you can't. Stop. Crying.

"You're so sweet," you began to ramble in your own language. You cupped his cheek with your hand and your lower lip trembled. "You're so sweet and nice and you always look after me and I—agh, I can't—I hate how nice you are, it's annoying, I love you so much," you sobbed.

He didn't understand at all. Even you yourself didn't—you're losing your knowledge in your own language and you can't stop crying.

You're sad. You're angry, you're missing what you used to have, you're happy, you—

Your weeping calmed.

You realised something.

A sliver of human shame entered your face, embarrassment for crying, but as well as another thing. You can't quite tell what it is.

Mr. Crawling seemed hopeful, leaning a little closer to make sure you're okay.

You wiped your tears away and stood up, hoping they'd just forget about it.

"Thank you," you said to The Bride. She seemed confused, but so were you, so it's fine. "I appreciate. Clothes, wonderful."

"Thank you," she clasped her hands together as you took the dress away. "You are wonderful. Farewell," she hesitated but left, anyway.

"You ask they make clothes for me?" you asked Mr. Crawling, going behind the curtain that separated the two beds.

He tilted his head. "Yes."

"I appreciate," you said, wiping your face down with the blankets of the other bed.

After a moment of shuffling into the new dress, you suddenly froze.

Were you gonna cry again...?

No, no—you were nervous.

Why?

You glanced over your shoulder to see Mr. Crawling, expectant, and, as before, confused.

You peeked your head out, and he lit up with a smile. "I unsure."

"....?" he frowned a little. "Unsure?"

~~~

"Honey, I'm not sure."

"What? Why?" he laughed. "We did agree to this, right?" he joked. You would've laughed, but right now, your thoughts were too clouded for you to even form a grin.

"Yeah, but..." you bit your tongue, wary.

Your fiance—no, your husband laughed. "Sweetheart, nothing will go wrong. It's just a superstition."

But what if it isn't?

You glanced down at yourself, clad in a shiromuku. You heard one of the guests say they'd "go home" (a superstition in Japan that they say might jinx the marriage). What if something bad happens, now?

Before you could overthink, his hands clasped over yours, his long, black hair only sealing his own black-coloured attire, his effortless ethereality catching you off guard again.

"No matter what happens, I'll be right next to you. It doesn't matter what the guests say," he said, pressing a light kiss on your knuckles.

You felt your cheeks bloom, and your heart only sunk deeper in the well of love you carried for him.

"And as much as you're adorable when you cry...." he then said, so you smacked his arm with a playful laugh. He responded with a giggle of his own and only held you closer.

"Let's head back inside, okay?" he smiled and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. "Staying in the garden for too long might make the guests assume something."

That earned him another smack, and that made him give you another laugh.

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, but there wasn't any. He just wanted to hold your face.

He smiled.

"I love you so much."

********

This is already way too long so I'll just have to make a part 2 SIGH

[vagabond-umlaut]

you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry

only the sun has come this close, only the sun

gojo satoru x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; gojo LOVERBOY™️ satoru; you aren't any better than him [but less poetic abt the predicament]; tw: pregnancy, 1 tiny mention of throwing up; satoru calls you 'cookie'; and he redefines the word besotted here; his thoughts are also a little yandere-ish but tht's cute, methinks; 2.3k wc; i just wish satoru was real and in my arms rn T-T

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit both satoru's & reader's characters in this series to a tee ^_^

fic title and summary from 'gps' by shauna barbosa // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

you are clingy.

always have been, in fact, now that gojo thinks about it. long before the two of you were married. long before you were engaged. quite a long time before the two of you were anything apart from friends at best, acquaintances at worst.

yet now, as he feels a pair of arms squeeze tighter around his middle, not really still very much squeezing the air out of him— your husband reckons you've grown loads clingier now—

and he loves you for this. loving you even more when he feels kisses being pressed into the space between his shoulder blades.

soft lips, a tad chapped. not without the shy grazing of your teeth.

just how he likes it.

very much how he adores you.

affection, settled deeper than should be feasible into the hollow of his chest, flutters a little when you nuzzle into his back; that pleased little hum of yours quick to follow it. smiling, gojo turns his head a touch to catch a glimpse of you. it takes a beat before you remove your face to lock eyes with him, before returning your face to his back.

he huffs a chuckle, sounding incredibly fond all the same. his feelings for you can never be suppressed anyway. time has proved this to him enough number of times.

he runs a finger down the length of your arm, relishing how it leaves a line of goosebumps in its wake—

"you wanna tell me something, cookie?" your husband finally asks.

your reply doesn't come immediately. and when it does, it is nothing more than a noncommittal noise. too spoiled. too stubborn. a bit too satisfied as well, the emotion further expressed when you nuzzle his back yet again.

gojo's smile grows bigger. his cheeks hurt a little.

he thinks he can live forever with this kind of pain, not even a sigh of complaint ever leaving him.

"aha—" he exclaims loudly, still soft enough to keep the quiet of this sweet bubble you've pulled you both into, "so it's just my irresistible charm that's making you so clingy tonight, hm?"

another beat passes.

and just when he thinks he might have to do with another one of your indistinct sounds for an answer, you speak. to be more precise, whine and grumble, everything so sweet in your adorable voice.

"it's not me being clingy, 'toru— it's the baby— the baby is making me so clingy. making me feel as if i can't live even for one second without squishing you like thisss!!!"

the first reaction your tightening grasp brings out is the wind getting knocked out of his lungs— the second reaction being all that oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide being replaced by a feeling so fierce and so tender— the strongest thinks his knees would have buckled under its weight had he not been lying down but standing—

not that he really minds that, though.

for you, he's always on his knees. whether you ask it of him or not. the only light in this world he is willing to bow his eyes before.

it takes him not too much effort but gojo makes a point of struggling whilst he shifts in your hold. and grins when he finally comes face-to-face with you, drinking in the way your brows are puckered and lips a little parted in an incredulous expression.

his grin simmers down however, when his six eyes notice the spark in your tummy. so tiny. so blinding. so priceless— to him and you both— he knows this, surer than he is of the scars on his palms.

thumbing the hem of your t-shirt, he hums, dragging his eyes back to be drowned in yours, "how many weeks along are you, wifey?"

"satoru," you start, voice turning sharper and just as skeptical as your face was, still is— only to be shushed by a finger to your lips. the man addressed feels his heart skip a beat at your confused big scowl— it's got to be a crime to be as cute as you— really!!!

he pinches your cheek lightly.

"it isn't like i don't remember that, cookie. i just wanted you to say it— c'mon, tell me quickly!" he presses, noting then utilising the moment your face begins to lose its cynical hue over his words.

the scowl lingers there however, twisting your delectably pretty lips—

"nine weeks," you say, hooking a leg over his waist to pull him closer. can he be any closer to you, though? your answer is always a yes, he knows you well enough to know this.

"thirty-one weeks more before we meet our baby."

it's not exactly thirty-one weeks; it's thirty weeks and five days before either of you can meet the baby, but gojo decides not to point out the error. you always hate it when he points out your tiny errors and make a point of snarking about it every time he opens his mouth to speak a word next— the man is wary not to upset his wife, yes, thank you very much.

he offers a sage "hm" in response, one he observes you accept slowly. the scowl lifts itself into a curve so fond— gojo thinks once before he vaults his next query your way. not wanting to see that smile vanish in front of him—

the ask won't cause anything so. but he can never be too sure. he has read too many books and articles to not grasp how fragile pregnancy hormones can make one be.

he tucks a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear.

fingers tarrying there when he sees you lean into his touch— not akin a moth to a bright flame, no. he can never hurt you. not even for once in his wildest dreams—

but how the north pole of a magnet hurries towards the south pole of another magnet. so different in their nature, a perfect pair of opposite crafted by the nature— maybe that's why nothing can ever stop them from rushing to each other once they're proximated, the lines of their mutual attraction existing even when thousands of miles apart.

just like you and him.

contrasting, complementing, completing each other every instant, in every facet of life.

he lets his fingers dance through the tangles in your hair, unravelling the knots in there. that pleased little hum of yours reaches him once again.

stowing the sound away, later to be placed on a pedestal in an ornate glass case as the most valuable praise ever given to him for his effort, he runs a gentle hand, nails scratching your scalp carefully.

"and at nine weeks old, just how big might our baby be?"

"i think there is a chart comparing our baby's size to fruits..." syllables unhurried and a pinch mumbled, you press your heel to draw him in a little more. "i did not really read that too attentively— oh. but. yeah!" a grin forms on your features, sleepy still twinkling in excitement.

"shoko sent me a link to this website earlier today— any ideas, 'toru, what it might be about?"

gojo does have an idea. he has a very, very good idea.

but he chooses not to say that aloud. you look so extremely adorable when you are being this excited. he would hate nothing more than to see your amped up self getting interrupted by him.

he shakes his head. your grin brightens. eyes crinkling with a glint, he can tell even without looking, is knowing.

the tips of your fingers caress his bare back, softer than a breath. "it's about when our baby forms which organs— our baby's eyes are being formed now!!! isn't that too cute, 'toru?"

"it is, cookie," he hums without any hesitation, six eyes activating one more time to zero in on that teeny-tiny spark. then deactivating when he looks back up to your sleepy eyes. a terribly tickled, equally wicked glimmer creeps into his grin. "so our baby is just like a tiny ball of cells with two big blue eyes, huh? they must look so scary, heh— ouch!"

your pinch did not really pain him, but gojo does his best to mimic an awfully wounded puppy, sogging wet from the rain and waiting at the doorstep with his moving blue eyes— it takes less than three seconds before you let go of your glare with a sigh.

you massaging the sore spot on his arm, your husband watches you give yet another sigh.

"first of all, there's no guarantee our baby will have your eye color and not mine, 'toru," you explain, pinning him under your drowsy stare, "it is very difficult to predict that for sure— and secondly: i'll punch you if you ever call our baby scary— sure, they don't really look like a human in this moment, but they'll slowly get there in forty weeks— as per the website, their face, hands and feet are forming in the ninth—"

"okay, alright!! i get your point, my insanely smart, insanely beautiful, insanely sexy wife," gojo cuts in, smiling while warning bells chime in his head at the faintest gloss in your eyes—

but maybe they weren't noisy enough. that is why he doesn't bite his tongue, rather continuing, "but you weren't actually blaming our poor human-ey baby for your clinginess, were you? it's not like they have a telepathic communication set up with you— hell, maybe they haven't even started forming their brain!"

"the baby's brain starts forming by the fifth week, satoru," your quiet reply reaches him exactly when he gets his last giggle out. the moist sheen in your eyes grows more prominent.

and his insides begin to twist—

one-third helpless. two-thirds contrite.

you don't stop talking, tone lower than he has heard you use in nearly forever, "and you better not comment on my bond with our baby— i'll punch you twice if you—"

"i wasn't doing that and i promise to never make you feel that way, my cutie-pie cookie," gojo interrupts, voice far gentler than earlier, just as low as yours, "but feel free to throw me out the house if i ever do that, even accidentally. okay?"

you're not okay.

you never are, when it comes to you being actually harsh to him, even when he's the one asking you to be— shakespeare once called love to be blind— your husband doesn't think you're blind, however. it is your well-contemplated decision to see his mistakes and see each of them as excusable, perfectly pardonable, no matter how silly or serious the world might regard them to be—

you make a noise. somewhat annoyed. unhappy too, yeah. before you push your face into the crook of his neck, nose nuzzling into the flesh there.

you would have bitten him by now. but he reckons you might be a bit too tired for all that. you couldn't even finish your dinner before facing the urge to throw up tonight, yet again.

feeling sorry, almost, gojo resumes his ministrations to your hair, half because you need to fall asleep now; the hands on the clock are close to striking midnight. the other half because he just loves playing with your hair— only to still when you suddenly pull your head back.

brows furrowed as you peer at him, eyes big and earnest.

"you don't really mind when i hug you like this, do you, 'toru?"

"no, cookie!! of course not!!" the man wastes not even a breath before he rushes to explain— because seriously, what!??

sure, he wasn't the first one to fall between you two. but ever since he did fall, he has never not expressed how every second away from you, every fraction of an instant away from you, causes him pain.

and yeah, he might have been a tad too dramatic whilst doing so, but you've always been so good at reading him— then why on earth can't you read him now? why don't you read, he loves it when you seek him out, he loves you more than anyone and anything else??

"good," your satisfied little chirp gives him a light shove away from his frantic thoughts. something tells him he should be put on alert by the way your lips curve into a smug smile next.

but gojo finds himself uncaring. just immensely relieved as he trails his fingers from the back of your head to your chin. thumb reaching out to brush the corner of your infectious smile. you continue.

"but even if you did mind, sorry not sorry— you were the one who put the ring on my finger, so you have to deal with everything i'm, mister!! no refunds nor complaints can be filed here, gojo-san~"

and neither refunds nor complaints he wishes to file, satoru muses to himself as he cups your cheek in one hand. bending down to steal the taste of your beam, your tease, your love for him on his tongue—

not when he has received the world in exchange for letting go of that poor splintered mess of a heart, he used to call his, but is now yours.

and will always stay yours—

"hey 'toru— what will you do if i chomp on your fingers right now, like really hard? will you yell? or will you be the freak that you're and enjoy it, huh?"

gojo pauses.

and wonders.

is there any binding vow one can make to secure oneself to another in every lifetime, for all eternity?

he hopes there is.

your husband really, seriously hopes there is—

'cause no way in heaven, earth or hell, does gojo satoru want to let go of you— and he will not let go of you.

this idea was ROTTING in my brain for ages, but wht gave me the spark– the boost to write this was the wonderful sukuna fic written by ari @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat ❤️❤️���️ i seriously love u & ur writings sm, babes 🥹🥹 everyone pls go check their masterlist out. it's studded w diamonds and pearls 😌😌🥰

and this is also for my sweet & sour bestie mimi @avatarofstars 🤭🤭— u 🤝 me in being clingy af towards our fictional hubbies 😂😂🥰

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[jayparked]

33 & jake pls 😩

jake’s hands really have their own fandom 🫠

your mouth opens and closes, words failing to get past the bottom of your throat whenever you try to speak.

"oh c'mon, pretty. i know you can do it. just tell me what you want and it's yours." jake chuckles, his fingers trailing up and down your naked skin from your legs up to your shoulders and it's driving you crazy.

he thinks it's that simple but it couldn't be further than the truth. it doesn't help that his digits are on the colder side so every trace of you he touches he leaves behind a trail of goosebumps. your breath hitches in your throat when his pointer finger moves along the front of your esophagus. he's toying with you. and he's getting off by doing so.

"just tell me what you want," he whispers, a mischievous glint in his eyes with a smirk that's to die for.

"iwantyourfingersinme." you say all too fast, but not fast enough that he doesn't hear it or can't put two and two together.

but jake isn't gonna let you off that easily.

"huh? what's that? one more time but look me in the eyes and annunciate your words."

god he just loves being a smart ass in bed.

"i want your fingers in me."

"that's my good girl, wasn't so hard now, was it?" jake gives you a quick peck on your lips before plunging his veiny fingers deep in your cunt, wasting no time scissoring the digits inside you to give you that oh so needed stretch.

"mmm, yeah, fuck, jake how do- how do you do that?" you gasp out, clutching onto him to get some sort of stable ground. his pace is fast and consistent, only faltering to change his hand position. now, instead of scissoring, he has his hand out almost as if he was about to shake someone's hand. instead, he has his ring and middle finger deep inside you, moving his arm in small circles so his pointer finger can glide against your clit. all you can do is hopelessly clench on the two digits, relishing in the the way he curls them inside you ever so slightly, just enough to leave you on the edge of your seat.

"my baby should tell me what she wants more often. i'd do anything you ask me to do," he murmurs with a smile between open mouth kisses to your neck, flattening his tongue on the spot behind your ear that he knows makes your entire body tingle.

suddenly, jake's lustful eyes brighten for just a moment before darkening again. his free hand comes into your view as the other continues to coax your release out of you.

"like my fingers so much? then open." his pointer and middle finger prod at your lips until you comply. he presses his fingertips down on your tongue, impatiently telling you to react. you moan on his digits, hollowing your cheeks as your eyes roll back. swirling your tongue and feeling his veins in your mouth has you so ravenous you're almost scared you'll fully lose your mind.

with jake's fingers deep down your throat and deeper inside your cunt you come faster than you ever have before, begging him to do it again only moments after.

for part of my 1k follower celebration send me a member and a number from this list and i'll write a short drabble about it ♡ masterlist