#it would make so much more sense for him to want to keep him vulnerable and powerless

[lassofthemoon]

I don't know why the writers are hinting towards Nandor having romantic interest in The Guide but honestly, I'm not too worried.

May I remind you that Nandor has a pattern of romanticizing people and briefly settling in toxic relationships when he is lonely and depressed.

He liked Meg simply because she gave him good customer service.

He adored Gail who strung him along for decades and tossed him aside like he was nothing as soon as she was turned.

He joined a cult and slept with Jan who was manipulating and brainwashing him when he was most vulnerable and emotionally unstable.

He selected Marwa to marry because she was the wife that least threatened his ego and then wished her to have zero free will, changed her personality and transformed her into an entirely new person.

He became obsessed with Freddie simply because he was Guillermo's boyfriend and since he was miserable in his own relationship, he sabotaged Guillermo's relationship.

My point is Nandor's coping mechanism for his eternal loneliness and losing Guillermo is seeking out shallow relationships. We only have 5 episodes left and the writers must be planting seeds for a reason. I just can't imagine the writers being this careless and pairing Nandor with The Guide last minute. Keep in mind, the writers were green lit for seasons 5 and 6 at the same time. If they were really going to scrap Nandermo and push Nandor and The Guide, then it would have made more sense to plant seeds of a budding relationship between the two at the beginning of season 5. So why now?

As much as I like The Guide and Kristen Schaal, her character has always been a plot device. In my opinion, her entire story arch in season 5 was for the writers to have a reason as to why Nandor would be in a cage when Guillermo confesses to betraying him. Nandor needed to be restrained somehow in that moment to prevent him from killing Guillermo right then and there.

My prediction is that if Nandor makes a move on The Guide then she will be the one to call him out for only showing interest in her because he's lonely. I'd like to think that The Guide has enough self-respect to not reciprocate (I admit that I haven't watched 6x06 yet) since he was so aloof and rude to her all last season and barely had any memorable or meaningful interactions with her in earlier seasons. Maybe if Nandor is called out, he'll realize the error of his ways and admit that what he truly wants is Guillermo.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 23/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on Ao3 (current chapter)

Read on Ao3 (from beginning)

Evan thought he should be more afraid, having a vampire’s fangs this close to a vulnerable point.

He thought he should be panicking, in fear for his life, wondering what the fuck he was thinking, offering to let Tommy drink from him.

And yet, all he felt as his vampire took his hand and brought it to his mouth, inhaling deeply as though he were savoring the bouquet of a fine glass of wine…was calm. His magic was a warm and content glow throughout his whole body, radiating the rightness of what he was about to do. He was helping his vampire, sharing the power of his blood to help him heal, to keep them both safe. He was not looking forward to the pain of the bite, exactly, but he didn’t fear it. And he didn’t need Tommy to—to hypnotize him into accepting it, or whatever it was that a vampire’s thrall did. He didn’t want to be lost in a haze of false perception while Tommy drank from him.

The bite hurt when Tommy’s fangs sunk into the flesh of his wrist. He could tell his vampire was trying to be as gentle as possible…but it was still the teeth of a predator tearing into him. It wasn’t much worse than the burn of a tattoo needle, though, and he breathed through it until he felt Tommy’s lips close around the bite, not quite cold, but not the wet heat he was used to when people put their mouths on his body. Then he felt the bizarre sensation of suction, felt a pulling draw from the wound, though Tommy didn’t withdraw his fangs.

He hadn’t pulled off to slow the flow of blood, Evan realized. To make it harder to take too much, even accidentally. His magic trembled in his chest, a surge of warmth racing through him at the simple care. His eyes fluttered shut as Tommy swallowed, mouthful after mouthful of his blood, his magic swirling inside him, the warm glow of it intensifying, growing brighter and brighter until he felt like it was spilling out of him, wrapping around both him and his vampire, rushing over the two of them like a wave as Tommy drew part of Evan into him. The pain of the bite faded, swamped under a growing sense of connection.

He swore he could feel the connection the way Tommy was—heat and life rushing through him, his heart swelling with gratitude for the gift he was being given, a desperate desire for the closeness, the intimacy of the connection to never end.

He was shocked to realize he didn’t want it to, either.

He reached with his magic, throwing himself headlong into the bond between them, letting out a gasp when he felt it surge, strengthen, grow. He could feel his vampire, could feel Tommy, could feel the two of them together…the way it was supposed to be. The way it was meant to be.

And then an electric charge raced through him, his magic flaring the way it had the first time Tommy had drunk from him, the way he couldn’t remember it had until this very moment.

He was lying on a sagging bed in a cheap motel room, his vampire looming over him, and he had never felt so safe, so protected.

He was cradling his witch’s hand in his palms, his fangs deep in the wound his witch had trusted him to make, the sweetest blood he had ever tasted spilling into his mouth, and he could not remember if he had ever loved anyone so fiercely.

He was sitting in the cold snow, his baby brother in his lap, growing limp and quiet as the spell their parents had set on them tore his magic away from his small body, and he had never felt more scared or determined.

He was standing in the moonlit, snowy field watching the shadows of the night that had changed his family forever—the night that had haunted every aspect of his life for as long as he could remember—play out in front of him as they had a hundred, a thousand, a million times before, and he had never felt more exposed.

Tommy would know. He would know the secret that Evan’s family had kept for over twenty years, the single, horrible act that had hung over Evan his entire life and colored every interaction he had with his parents, his sister, and his coven. Tommy would know it all. His vampire would know why his magic was the way it was, why Evan’s own family treated him like a dangerous animal that couldn’t be trusted, why his coven had turned on him so easily when he’d stood accused of Doug’s murder.

Why there were only three beings on the planet who had ever seen something worth loving in him.

Tommy would know.

His magic spiraled around them, fragmenting his perceptions into what felt like a hundred different viewpoints, watching the memory from a hundred different perspectives. His vampire’s hand tightened on his, the pull of his blood into Tommy’s mouth blending with the remembered pull of the spell that had been meant to steal his magic until he was caught in a dizzying loop of sensation. Tommy would know.

He blinked heavy eyes and watched a bit of color start to creep back into his little brother’s chubby cheeks, the relief sweeping through him almost great enough to cover up the pain of the spell latching into his magic.

He watched the boy he’d never known and had loved all his life bend over the baby that he’d been and kiss his cheek, whispering love and reassurance with his last breath.

He watched a child he hadn’t known existed until this very second sacrifice himself for the infant that would grow into the man he was coming to realize he’d do anything to keep.

Evan gasped, his eyes flying open at the same time Tommy’s did. He gaped up at his vampire, his chest heaving as he watched the haggard pallor and lines of pain vanish from Tommy’s rugged features. The shirt he’d been wearing was bloodstained and torn, but before Evan’s eyes, the gaping wound in his chest started knitting together at an incredibly fast rate.

He winced as Tommy withdrew his fangs, moving as though he was about to brush his lips over the twin puncture wounds that now decorated his wrist. Blood pulsed sluggishly from the punctures and he tried to pull his hand back, only for Tommy to tighten his grip. Not enough to hurt. Not enough to even prevent him from pulling away, really. But his vampire didn’t want to let him go, and God help him, he didn’t want to, either. The reassuring feel of Tommy’s calloused fingertips pressing against his skin felt grounding. Soothing.

“Evan,” Tommy said, his voice low and quiet…and faintly horrified. Evan swallowed roughly, devastation welling up inside him.

Tommy knew.

“What was that?” his vampire asked.

*

He didn’t speak immediately. He couldn’t. He’d never had to explain what had happened…everyone in his life either already knew and had been forbidden from speaking of it or absolutely could never know. Tommy seemed to understand, busying himself with gathering up the blankets and sheets he had bled on and tossing them in the corner of the room. He grabbed a threadbare, but surprisingly clean, towel from the bathroom and tore a neat strip off of it and took Evan’s wrist back in his hands, efficiently wrapping the makeshift bandage around the still slowly bleeding wounds.

He did not appear to be even a little tempted by the sight of the fresh blood, and Evan wondered how fucked up it made him that he was actually touched.

“We’ll hit up a drugstore or something as soon as the sun sets…get an actual first aid kit.” He plucked at the bloodstained shirt he was still wearing with a grimace of distaste. “And something I can wear until we get back to the house.”

Evan blinked slowly, irritated with himself that it hadn’t occurred to him to take care of the shirt yet. At least as much as he could—try as he might, he’d never quite mastered the kind of charms it took to repair things. He chanted the cleaning spell, though, watching as the horrific bloodstains that told the story of how badly his vampire had been injured dissolved away, seeming to bleed back into the fabric in reverse, any remaining traces of it vanishing from his skin.

“Can’t do anything about the hole,” he mumbled, his voice sounding slow and exhausted even to his own ears.

Tommy had been running his hand over the clean—though still badly torn—shirt but looked up sharply when he spoke. “How do you feel?” he demanded urgently.

Evan couldn’t help but smile, despite the anxiety swirling in his gut. “Just tired,” he said. It was true. His limbs felt heavy, and he wanted badly to just stretch out on the bed and go to sleep for a little while. He didn’t feel weak or dizzy, though, and told Tommy as much when his vampire pressed him.

“Why don’t you lie down?” Tommy suggested, as though reading his mind. His stormy blue eyes raked over Evan’s body, a small furrow of concern etching itself on his brow. “We’ve still got an hour or two before sunset.” He sat down at the small table, his leg bouncing slightly as he watched Evan.

Evan could almost hear the questions racing through his vampire’s mind.

Tommy was clearly willing to put his curiosity on hold for Evan’s comfort, and for some reason that simple fact almost had tears rising in Evan’s eyes. He bit them back stubbornly, breathing through his nose until the sting subsided. He had not felt this cared for since the night he’d left Maddie standing in a parking lot near the border between Pennsylvania and Ohio.

The last five years had not been completely devoid of kindness for him. He’d had casual friends and acquaintances. There had even been a few lovers, though nothing that had ever progressed beyond infrequent hookups. He’d thought Jonah Greenway had cared about him, at least a little—though of course that had all been a spectacular lie. No one had looked at him like this since Maddie and Sally, though. Like he was something precious. Like he was something that deserved to be treated gently. Like he was worth caring about.

Like he was worth…loving?

He remembered the strange feelings that had swamped him when his magic latched onto Tommy as he was drinking from him. The way that for just a few heartbeats, he felt like he was seeing through Tommy’s eyes, feeling what Tommy felt. He wondered how much of the emotion that had washed through him was what his vampire was actually feeling…and how much of it was his own desperate desire.

“Could you…” He stopped, a lump rising in his throat and his cheeks heating.

“What do you need, Evan?” Tommy asked gently.

You, Evan thought and couldn’t bring himself to say. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “Would you, uh, sit with me for a minute?”

Damn it, he was not some touch-starved child in need of reassurance. He hadn’t needed someone to hold his hand until he fell asleep since he was six years old and had nightmares for a month after Maddie snuck a copy of The Wizard of Oz into the house so they could see at least one of the movies that their parents didn’t want them watching. But…he desperately wanted Tommy close. His magic ached for it, the phantom feel of his vampire’s calloused fingers stroking the skin of his wrist driving him crazy. He just needed Tommy beside him right now.

His vampire tilted his head, a strange look flickering over his face. Evan was afraid to let himself believe it looked like longing. “Of course,” Tommy said, as though there was nothing he’d rather do than indulge even the smallest of Evan’s whims. Evan couldn’t help the sigh of relief as Tommy stood up and slid onto the bed next to him, maneuvering himself so that he was sitting up against the headboard the same way Evan was.

It was only a double—nowhere near big enough for two men of their height and bulk to lay comfortably separate. The mattress sagged even further under their combined weight, and their bodies slid naturally closer to each other. Out of the corner of his eye, Evan saw Tommy lick his lips, and then his vampire hesitantly raised one arm, reaching slowly towards Evan, giving him time to shake his head or shy away from him. Instead, Evan sighed in quiet relief as Tommy’s heavy arm draped over his shoulders, pulling him even closer. Some tension he hadn’t even been aware of seeped out of his body, his magic settling in a way it hadn’t in years. For a single, mad moment, all he wanted to do was turn and bury his face in the juncture of his vampire’s neck, let Tommy hold him until the rest of the world faded away.

“I don’t know what that was, or how you saw it,” he said, unaware that he was going to start talking until the words were already out. “I’ve never, uh, I mean…I’ve had that dream, or memory or whatever before but no one’s ever, uh, no one’s ever shared it with me. Is it—was it you? Does that happen when you drink from people?”

He could sense Tommy turning to look at him, could feel the weight of his vampire’s gaze on the side of his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from a patch of mildew on the cheap wallpaper above the old TV mounted on the wall. “Something like that can happen,” Tommy said carefully. “When we’re thralling someone. But it’s usually just flashes. Pieces. Never that clear or that solid. It…I saw something when I drank from you at Gerrard’s party. Not the—not that. I think I saw the day you were banished.”

A dull pulse of surprise shot through Evan at the admission. Then that meant…

“You already knew who I was before Grant and her coven came to your house?” he asked, stunned. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He felt Tommy stiffen beside him, felt his arm start to lift, ready to let Evan get up and away from him if he wanted to…but Evan found he didn’t want to. He was curious, not angry. After a moment, Tommy seemed to realize that as well, and he slowly relaxed.

“I mean…I think it’s obvious why I didn’t say anything at first,” he said, a wisp of wry humor creeping into his words. “You did try to fry my ass at least a couple times when we first met.” Despite himself, Evan let out a snort of laughter, and he felt his vampire relax further. “After that—it was your secret. Your business. I didn’t want you to tell me unless you wanted to.” He sighed softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he said significantly. He sounded like he meant it.

Evan knew he meant it.

“Daniel was my brother,” he said quietly, the familiar ache he felt whenever he thought of his older brother pulsing beneath his ribs. “He got sick when he was seven or eight, I think. Leukemia. And there are, I mean, there are healing spells and rituals, but bodies are…complicated. Witches aren’t gods, you know?”

“The spells didn’t work?” Tommy asked. Evan shook his head, biting down hard on his lip.

“My, my parents took him to doctors too, of course. But nothing worked. Not medicine, not magic. He just kept getting sicker and sicker. Eventually, there was nothing the doctors or the coven could do.”

“So, what I saw when you let me drink from you. That was a…”

“Memory,” Evan whispered. He finally turned to look at his vampire, in time to see him reel back a little in confusion.

“You were a baby,” he said. “How could you—”

“It wasn’t my memory.” He started twisting the hem of his borrowed sweatshirt in his hands, barely resisting the urge to reach over and grab Tommy’s free hand instead. “There’s a ritual. It’s left over from ancient times…back when it was a lot more dangerous to be a witch. When…when losing a powerful coven member, if, if they were sick, or hurt, or whatever—it could mean life or death for the whole coven. It lets you transfer someone’s magic to another member of their coven. To, to make them stronger, and give healing magic a better chance of working.”

Tommy’s face went carefully blank, but the faintest sheen of red shimmered in his eyes. “I’ve never heard of anything like that,” he said. “In almost a thousand years, I’ve never heard of witches being able to do something like that.”

Evan looked away again, taking a shaky breath. “It’s a forbidden ritual. The magic can only come from someone who hasn’t started formal training. It can’t be…settled, I guess? So, the witch has to be young. Too young to have a familiar, at least, but, uh, the younger the better. Apparently the spell works best with, with a baby.”

Tommy’s arm tightened around him, and when he glanced over, the red in his eyes had grown brighter. “What happens to them?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet. He sounded like he already knew the answer, but wanted Evan to confirm it.

He shrugged. “Officially? They just lose their magic, and never get to be full members of the coven.”

“What about unofficially?”

Evan’s lips twisted into a bitter, humorless smile. “Unofficially, the Venn diagram between covens who had someone ‘miraculously’ recover from something and covens who had a family lose a baby to SIDS or something would be a circle.”

Tommy let out a sharp hiss, his eyes flashing fully red for a moment before he forced it away. His grip on Evan stayed tight, though, even pulling him closer to Tommy’s side. “And your parents performed that ritual,” he growled.

Evan nodded, a barely perceptible jerk of his head. “You saw,” he said. “They were trying to save Daniel.”

“Don’t talk like—” Tommy started, but then broke off, shaking his head. “How did you…your brother did something to the spell, right?”

“He refused it,” Evan said quietly. “Refused to take my magic, so the spell turned on him instead. I was…I was only a few months old, I couldn’t…there was nothing I could do.”

“Evan,” Tommy said. Something faintly horrified in his voice. “You were children.”

Evan shrugged, one shoulder. Logically he knew it was ludicrous to think he could’ve done something when he’d barely started to sit up on his own. Logically, he knew that nothing that had happened was his fault. Both Maddie and Sally had tried over and over to get him to believe that with both his heart and his head. Some days he could do it better than others…but he didn’t think he’d ever quite gotten there entirely. After all…

“He died for me. When he refused the spell and let it reverse—he knew it would kill him.”

Tommy didn’t speak for several long moments, and only the fact that he hadn’t let go of Evan, was still holding him as close to his side as possible, kept Evan from spiraling into the fear that Tommy would see it the way his parents had—that his vampire would look at him and see only a parasite, vicious, murdering leech. “It—that felt like I was watching it from the outside,” Tommy said finally, his voice coming slow and deliberate, as though he was thinking through his words carefully. “But it was also like I was living it.”

Evan shrugged again, frowning. “That’s how it always feels. Almost like it’s some kind of divination magic? I don’t know—I’ve never been very good at divination. Or maybe it’s a side effect of me taking his, his magic. But it’s his memory. It’s…it’s the only memory of him I have.”

The only way his older brother had been real to him and not just a figure in faded pictures that his parents hid in the attic. The memory of the night he died and the magic that he’d given up to save Evan were the only parts of his older brother he had left. His parents and coven had done their very best to erase every memory of Daniel’s existence…but they could never pluck out the visions from Evan’s head. It was both a blessing and curse. The memory was the absolute worst moment of his brother’s life—Daniel had been hurting and terrified. Terrified for Evan, terrified for himself, terrified because his parents had betrayed him in the worst way possible. But it was also indelible, tangible proof that his brother had loved him.

“That’s why your magic is so strange. Why the banishment didn’t affect you the way Howie and Grant thought it should,” Tommy said, again not sounding like he really needed Evan to confirm anything. Evan nodded anyway.

“Not to, uh, brag or anything, but our coven is really strong. Buckley witches are always powerful, anyway, and I—”

“You have twice as much magic as any other Buckley witch,” Tommy finished for him.

“Even if I’d been guilty, it would have taken years for my magic to fade. Being innocent? And having so much power to start with? It’s only just started to fade in the last couple of years. Not having a coven bond is what actually holds me back.”

“God, Evan,” Tommy said, staring out over the room with an angry, bewildered frown. “And the rest of your coven just…went along with this?”

“Most of them don’t know. They think my parents took all three of us on a family trip when the doctors started talking about hospice for Daniel. You know, so they could ‘make memories’ and be together. They think Daniel died while we were all on the trip. My parents kept their familiars from talking about it. Our coven leaders swept it under the rug. Gotta protect the reputation, you know?” He laughed softly, and there was no more warmth to it than his smile.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up in a coven like that,” Tommy said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Evan went quiet, daring to lean a little harder against his vampire, and closing his eyes when Tommy just pulled him impossibly closer, tucking Evan against his side like he never wanted to let him go. Evan was startled by how intensely he wanted that to be true. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had wanted to just sit and hold him like this, and he was seized with the need to soak the comfort of his vampire’s touch up for as long as Tommy would let him.

“I hated it,” he whispered, the words spilling from his lips before he could think better of it. “I felt like a ghost in my house. If it hadn’t been for Maddie and Sally—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I used to wish Daniel had just let the spell take me, sometimes.”

Not often.

And never for very long.

He’d had Maddie and Sally. His sister and his familiar had loved him with all their hearts, and between the two of them he’d never truly been alone until the day he was banished. Sometimes, though…when his parents seemed to look right through him instead of at him; when coven members treated him like he was something to be avoided, something that might taint them if they got too close (whether it was because they knew the actual story or simply because they saw others treating him that way)…sometimes he’d wondered if his brother’s sacrifice had been worth it.

He heard Tommy inhale sharply, and then his vampire’s arm shifted around him. Tommy turned his body slightly onto his side, drawing Evan into the same position as easily as if Evan weighed nothing. “Don’t say that,” he said fervently, reaching up with his free hand to cup Evan’s face. The touch of his rough palm against Evan’s cheek was almost electric; Evan swore he could feel sparks where the vampire’s cool skin brushed against his. “Please don’t say that.”

“Tommy,” he started, but was unsure of what he was going to say.

“I’m sorry for what they did to you. To both of you. But it wasn’t your fault…and I’m so glad you’re still here. Fuck, Evan—you have no idea how glad I am you’re still here.”

Evan’s heart skipped in his chest, his magic sparking through him like fire in his blood. He leaned forward, helpless to resist the pull he felt towards this man, resting his forehead against Tommy’s with a shaky sigh. He reached up and covered the hand resting on his cheek with his just breathing as his magic rushed through him, pulling him, guiding him, calling him ever, ever closer to his vampire.

He didn’t mean to kiss him.

It wasn’t a conscious decision on his part. Not something he thought out or considered or weighed and measured before he did it.

He just did it.

He pressed his lips to Tommy’s, and had only a fraction of a heartbeat to fear, to think he might have made the worst mistake of his life, before Tommy groaned low in his throat, shifted his touch on Evan’s cheek to grip his jaw, and kissed him back. Softly, at first, almost reverently, until Evan ran the tip of his tongue over the seam of his lips and then he surged against Evan like a starving man offered a seat at a feast. Evan tilted his head to a better angle, fisted his hand in the torn remains of Tommy’s shirt, and licked into his vampire’s mouth with just as much fervor.

He felt Tommy’s arm slip down around his waist and was ready when Tommy slid down backward onto the mattress, stretching out and drawing Evan on top of him. Evan pulled back for a heartbeat to take a breath, and then kissed him again. Again, and again, and again, and it had never felt like this with any of the girls and boys he’d kissed growing up. Never felt like this with and of the random hookups or one night stands he’d had over the years. Kissing Tommy felt like finding a part of himself he’d been missing his whole life. Kissing Tommy felt like coming home.

They only pulled apart when Evan’s lungs started screaming at him, and he sat back, straddling Tommy’s hips as he stared down at his vampire, want and desire and need rushing through him like a forest fire. Tommy’s eyes were sheened with red, and he ran his hands roughly up the sides of Evan’s thighs.

“Are you sure?” Tommy asked, sounding almost as breathless as Evan felt, which had to be some kind of feat for a vampire. Or maybe just proof that he was affecting Tommy as much as Tommy was affecting him.

He grinned down at his vampire, sliding his hands up under his torn shirt and spreading his palms against the hard muscle of Tommy’s stomach. “Are you?” he countered, and Tommy’s answering laugh sounded like pure delight.

“God, Evan,” his vampire groaned, his hands sliding up to curl possessively over Evan’s hips.

Evan shoved Tommy’s shirt up further, his fingers catching on the rough skin of a raised scar, high on the side of Tommy’s chest. He bent low, needing to taste, wanting to kiss and suck and bite until Tommy was just as dizzy with want as he was. He feasted his eyes on Tommy’s firm, broad chest, his eyes skating over the scar he’d felt as he…

Evan froze.

It was a cluster of faded red marks, the shape vaguely circular…almost like some kind of flower painted onto Tommy’s chest. He stared at it, all of his desire, his arousal, his desperate, breathless need draining away until he was absolutely ice cold.

“Evan?” Tommy asked, sensing the change in Evan’s mood and motions immediately.

“No,” Evan breathed out, a tremor running through his hands where they rested over the ridges of the scar. “No, nonono…oh God. Oh my God!” He scrambled backwards, almost throwing himself off of Tommy, scrabbling to the end of the bed as Tommy sat bolt upright, frantically calling his name.

“Sorry,” Evan gasped, almost hyperventilating, his eyes riveted on the scar, unable to look away. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry!”

[nobodymitskigabriel]

There is no good watsonian reason gabriel should've been wearing clothes while he was captive.

[irregularbillcipher]

going over old fic notes and outlines and character talks with friends and it's always really funny when i get to the stuff i was developing early-mid 2019 where bill just literally kept kryptos around to rag on, and he genuinely just. did not like the man. like was just completely annoyed with his general existence. boy have things changed

[swanpyart]

Honestly, there’s a lot of instances of the game where Jimmy’s intense rewriting of history really shows how delusional he is. And I don’t think these manifest from guilt, but from a victim-martyr complex: a lot of these are used to make himself look good to the audience, but the utter dissonance between these visions and reality make it terrifying instead.

1. The Birthday Party scene

It seems like something obviously scary, but it’s actually what Jimmy thinks his crew should do. He wants to be celebrated, wants to be admired, and up until he dies is still convinced he was just a well meaning guy who did his best. The party was not a guilt and fear ridden hallucination, but Jimmy deluding himself into thinking he’s the hero. His team should be thanking him and throwing him a party, even when they’re all dead by his own actions. In reality: there probably isn’t even any balloons or confetti, and all Curly sees is Jimmy and the rest of the corpses of the crew sitting at an empty table in a dark room.

2. Curly in the Chair attached to Wheels

The scene where Curly is attached to wheels that must be turned for his organs to sit right so you can feed him his leg is also a good example. This isn’t how bodies work, and Curly is a burn victim, so his internal organs being rearranged makes no actual sense; all of his health issues are external. No, this is what Jimmy thinks must happen; that Curly simply can’t keep down his food, and that all Jimmy needs to do is try harder to get him to eat it. Jimmy, in reality is probably just forcibly feeding Curly his own puked up leg chunk over and over again until Curly grows too tired to fight. And isn’t it like Jimmy to shove a square peg in a round hole and insist it’s the hole’s fault? Jimmy already has shown he’s perfectly fine with force feeding Curly already and is not afraid to get violent when doing so. The reality of that situation is that Curly was probably resisting as much as he physically could, but eventually grows too tired of the abuse and just gives in.

3. Swansea with an axe

And with Swansea, the entire sequence of Swansea chasing him around with an axe may be partially true, but a lot less even-sided in reality. Swansea was shown to have a temper, but killing Daisuke was horribly difficult and emotionally crushing, even if he wouldn’t admit it outright. Jimmy on the other hand clearly views Swansea as an axe wielding maniac who kills without remorse and wants to hoard the cryotank all to himself. I think Jimmy was hallucinating Swansea chasing him around, because I think it would be in character for Jimmy to witness Daisuke’s death at Swansea’s hands and, rather than think over his actions, instead become paranoid and fearful that Swansea would target him, too.

Cus think about it: while Swansea is bigger, he’s also a drunken old man whose grieving the loss of a kid he viewed like his own, while Jimmy is a comparar healthy younger man with a gun. Jimmy already has a track record for picking on those he sees as vulnerable (Anya being the only woman with her room not having a lock, Daisuke being the youngest and easy to influence, and Curly being physically disabled and unable to fight back). What’s more likely: that Swansea suddenly goes from sullen and mournful to an axe wielding maniac gunning for Jimmy’s blood, or that Jimmy is paranoid about an older grieving man and holds him at gunpoint to tie him to the chair?

Feel free to add more examples, this is fascinating

[ohdeerfully]

alastor request HAI can it be based on the fact that alastor doesn't sleep, and it's his lover finding out that petting his ears during cuddling makes him fall asleep.

thank you for your service

yess i love sleepy alastor thank u so much anon :D!!

Goodmorning, Love

Alastor x Reader (fluff) TW: none! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You were well aware of the Radio Demon’s sleep habits. Or, well, lack of sleep habits. You often spent nights in his room, where he would sit with you in bed until you fell asleep and go do whatever the hell he gets up to late at night. You always woke up in an empty room, and often so in the middle of the night, struggling to rest again as a greedy tightness gripped your chest in worry and disappointment.

You understood, though, and tried your best not to let it get to you that you didn’t have his warm body next to you when you woke every morning. But you couldn’t help that twinge of sadness. You weren’t particularly needy or clingy, but would it kill him to stay in bed with you for a single night? And to have a slice of domestic bliss as you woke up?

Obviously. 

You roll your eyes as you lay, staring up at the ceiling. You had just gotten ready for bed, and now waited for said demon to join you for a few hours. Your fingers tapped, impatient, against your chest as you hummed absentmindedly.

“How lovely,” You heard him speak. Tickles of that radio static that always followed him clung to your exposed skin, which was signal enough that he had entered the room had he not announced himself. “What a siren you are, luring me here with that hum of yours.”

You smiled slightly at his comment, scooching over slightly to encourage him over. He obliged, joining you under the covers. He still wore his usual outfit, which made sense considering his tendency to go away all night. You purse your lips at the thought, slightly chewing on the skin.

“Why the face?” Of course he noticed your expression. He always noticed when any emotion tickled your face. You appreciated the genuine tone in his voice, the typical buzz of radio barely detectable in his words. He always got a little softer and kinder when he was alone with you like this.

You appreciated nights with him, being able to see a side of him that nobody else would live to spread word of. You enjoyed feeling a little special, especially to somebody like him.

“Do you think you could stay in,” You asked cautiously, fiddling with your hands as you inched closer to him, pressing your body against his. Even laying, he still seemed much taller than you. You gingerly guided his head down, against your chest as you spoke, hoping the multitasking would keep him from sitting up and rejecting your intimate gestures. “Just for a night. I miss you all night long.”

He allowed his head to lay against you. He did feel tense, of course, letting the back of his head be exposed in this manner as he lay vulnerable on you. It was a strange feeling, but not one he cared to consider for too long. 

“(Y/N),” He began with a sigh. “It’s impossible for me to get much done during the day, what with all the running around Charlie does. Somebody has to keep an eye on that young princess. I prefer to stay awake to get my own errands done at night.” 

I know that, you wanted to say and interrupt his explanatory ramble. You wanted to beg him to understand, just this once. You held in a sigh, watching as his head gently rose and fell with every breath you took. Maybe you should just take this submission from him as good enough.

You gingerly began tangling your fingers through his red hair, brushing out any kinks he may have gotten throughout the day. His tense body seemed to ease slightly, becoming more and more relaxed as you weaved your fingers through the locks.

“You have really soft hair, Al,” You commented, changing the subject. You figured there was no use convincing him. You let your fingers lightly trail upwards, up to his ears. You grazed them slightly with a finger. You touched again. When he made no motion of dislike, you fully began rubbing them. Petting him. You smiled to yourself at the idea of petting the feared Radio Demon. “And your ears are even softer.”

“I try to take care of myself,” He responded proudly. There was another hint of something in his voice, but you couldn’t quite place what it was. But it seemed heavy. “A well groomed man is a successful one.” You absentmindedly agreed as you stroked the velvety fur of his ears, switching back and forth between them and his hair. You had a preference for the ears, though.

You sighed and began humming quietly again. He rarely got so… comfortable, even around you. He always had some sort of guard up, always had his shoulders squared. He almost never became so… loose and vulnerable.

You noticed the clippings of radio frequency had stopped, which was a noise that was ever present in his wake. You had a suspicion why it disappeared, a small grin forming on your face.

Yes, the Radio Demon never slept. But that was a choice he made, not a curse that prevented him. Even demons get tired. You don’t know how Alastor makes it day by day without a wink of rest, but it was apparent that exhaustion had built up in him. He just needed to relax for a second.

You graced your fingers over his fringe, and craned your neck in a way to get a glance at his face. Yeah, you were right. 

He laid there, eyes shut, features relaxed with the lightest grin playing on his face. Even in sleep, you complained. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was the sound of his deep, slow breathing and occasional twitch of his velvety ears. You briefly wondered what the Radio Demon would dream about.

Would he be aggravated with you when he woke up, realizing you had practically cast a sleep spell on him? You didn’t, but the rate of which exhaustion took over may as well have been some sort of magic.

You shut your own heavy eyes, exhaling lightly as you continued to comfort yourself with the texture of his fur and hair. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You craned your arms and neck as consciousness came back to you, but an unfamiliar weight kept you from getting that good stretch in. Momentarily confused, you blinked open and looked down.

Red and black hair, more of a mess than usual, still took place on your torso. This was a first, and your chest felt like exploding with the glee of seeing Alastor still resting with you. He somehow looked even more relaxed than the night before, his cheek flush against your stomach, squishing his lips up slightly. A light grin was still there.

You gently brushed your fingers over his face, trailing a line around his features with an index finger. His eyes squeezed for a moment, and that static ambience of his slowly, quietly, returned. It was a noise that you had learned to find comfort in. He slowly opened his red eyes, a confused and sleepy daze clouding them. There was a wrinkle in his brow as he roughly propped himself up with an elbow, looking up at you with a furrowed expression.

“(Y/N)..?” He trailed, pausing to take in a shuddering morning yawn through a confused smirk. “Did I… Dear, what time is it?”

You looked at him tenderly. Oh, how cute he was, sleepy like this. Composed like an exhausted kid. Something even you have never seen before.

“Yeah,” You responded to his unspoken question. “It’s probably seven a.m. or so. I dunno.” There wasn’t a clock in your immediate line of sight.” ���A.m. …” He said slowly. He sat up fully, looking down in disappointment at his wrinkled day wear. He quickly blinked the sleep from his eyes and managed to bring some composure to himself, but that lick of exhaustion was still prominent. Especially under his eyes.

“Yeah,” You said again, a light chuckle following. “Goodmorning, Al.”

He wasn’t obviously upset, it seemed. Though he probably was too tired to think about it too much yet. Maybe later.

“Well… Goodmorning, love.” He responded, still with a hint of confusion in his voice. “I suppose I accepted your plea from last night.” He brushed at his clothes while he spoke, trying to flatten out the creases that were brought on through a night of rest.

“Maybe more often?” You asked, twiddling your thumbs in anticipation. You already knew the answer, but it was okay. You knew how to keep him in now. You mischievously smirked as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Unlikely.”

[aquaticmercy]

Temple

Summary : Bucky Barnes is struggling to say ‘I love you,’ so he says other things to make sure you know he cares.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : description of violence.

Requested by : myself

Word count : 1.1k

Note : This was inspired by the song ‘Temple’ by Kings of Leon. I am going to alternate between my own ideas and a request every day. Please bear with me! I have a lot of requests in my inbox, so it might take a while to get to you. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

The night was your favourite time of the day.

Especially the summer nights, where you had nothing to do but bask in the warmth and the moonlight that casted a silver light over the skyline. 

You and Bucky sat side by side on the fire escape of your apartment, legs dangling over the edge, the usual quiet between you familiar and comfortable. 

Over the past year, he had become your best friend, if not something more. 

It wasn’t that you didn't care for each in that sense— you most definitely did. You’ve been seeing each other exclusively for the past couple of months, and you just haven't put a label on this yet. You didn’t want to rush it. You both wanted it to find its course. Letting it be natural.

You took a deep breath, letting the silence wash over you. It was moments like these that you treasure most with Bucky. The calm. The peace. The rare softness in his presence.

He shifted beside you, metal arm bumping softly against the railing, letting out a gentle clink. You turned to him, watching his brow furrowing, as if he was wrestling with something underneath his tough exterior. 

This was not unusual; Bucky was a man of few words when it comes to how he felt. It did not matter to you much that he struggled to say the words aloud, since he showed you in a thousand ways that he cares. 

You watched him a little closer. There was something on his mind—something he’s been holding onto. You didn’t need to ask, but could feel it.

“You okay, Buck?” you asked softly, nudging his arm with your elbow. “You’re quiet tonight.”

He didn’t respond right away. He stared out at the city, eyes distant. Then he exhaled sharply, like he'd just made up his mind about something.

“I’d take a bullet in the temple for you,” he said. His voice was low and grounded. He had thought this through, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by how… intense his statement was. 

It was not the first time he had said something like this. Bucky had always had a strange way of expressing how much you meant to him. It always caught you by surprise.

“I’d die for you,” he continued. His beautiful blue eyes softened, gaze still locked on the night sky. “If anyone tried to hurt you, I’d hunt them down and make them pay.”

Your mouth curved into a sweet smile, though it was a bit bittersweet. 

He had always done this— he said the most visceral, violent things to make sure you know how much you meant to him. Still, you have accepted that this was his way of expressing his feelings, even if it wasn’t what you expected when you first fell for him.

“I know you would,” you replied softly. You reached out and placed your fingers on top of his human hand, hoping you could ground him in the moment. “But you don’t have to die for me, Bucky.”

He finally looked at you, eyes flickering with a vulnerability you rarely ever say. He clenched his jaw, as if he were fighting to keep whatever it is he really meant inside, where it would be safe and sound.

“But I would,” he insisted. His voice was barely above a whisper now. “I’d give up everything if it meant keeping you safe.”

Your heart raced at the sincerity in his tone. He meant every word— you know that. You couldn’t help the ache in your chest, knowing that he was struggling to string his thoughts together into a cohesive, normal sentence.

“I don’t need you to sacrifice yourself for me,” you said gently. You brushed your thumb over the back of his hand in soft circles. “I just need you.”

He watched you for a long moment, the small flame of frustration growing behind his blue eyes. 

“If I lost you…” His breath hitched at the mere thought of it. His metal fingers clenched into a fist at his side. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d burn the world down for you. I’d… I’d die before I let that happen.”

You sighed softly, squeezing his hand, trying to soothe the burning tension that radiated off him. He had always been so ready to protect you, to throw himself into the line of fire without a second thought. And while you appreciated his fierce loyalty, you didn’t want him to bear the weight of your safety like it was the only way to prove he cared.

“I’m not going anywhere, Buck,” you reassured him. You placed your head on his shoulders, taking in the scent of his vanilla aftershave, the one you liked so much. “You don’t have to go to those extremes to show me how you feel.”

He turned silent again. You could almost see the cogs turning in his mind. His lips parted again, hesitating only a little bit.

“I’d… I’d take a knife to the gut for you,” he said finally, his voice strained. “I’d let them—”

“Bucky,” You cut him off with a sigh, a hint of exasperation in it. “Stop. Please.”

He froze, staring at you like you had just pulled the rug out from under him.

“I get it. I really do.” You shook your head gently, turning to face him. You searched his eyes, trying to reach the part of him that’s been so afraid to tell you exactly how he felt. “But you don’t have to say it like that.”

He swallowed hard, and for the first time in a long time, you saw fear in his eyes.

The fear of not being enough, of saying the wrong thing. The fear of messing this up.

It was heartbreaking. You wished you could make him understand that he doesn’t need to bleed out to prove his affection for you.

“I just…” His voice cracked, and looking away again. His jaw tensed. “I don’t know how to say it.”

You took a sharp inhale, the realisation crashing onto you like a wave.

All those graphic, violent declarations of loyalty—they were his way of telling you he loved you.

He had been struggling to say something so simple, so human.

“I love you too, Bucky,” you finally whispered.

His eyes found yours, widening in surprise. 

You reached out, cupping his cheek, brushing your thumb over the rough stubble on his jawline. You finally understood. “I- I already know.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes closing briefly, finally letting himself believe what he knew to be true all along. When he opened them again, there was something more vulnerable in his gaze. 

“I’m trying,” he admitted quietly.

You smiled, leaning in to press the gentlest kiss to his lips. “I know.” 

And for now, that’s enough.

-end

[lyvhie]

nct dream having a s/o who's shy during sex

nct dream x fem!reader (18+ mdni) a/n: reposting this one bcs somehow this just disappeared from my blog and i remembered to repost it now 😭😭 cw: smut, oral (f), fingering, petnames.

MARK seemed taken aback at first. like, he didn't want to make you uncomfortable, he wanted this moment to be good for you too, so he kept asking if you were sure and if it was okay to continue. when you gave him a green light, he would nod and take things slowly with you, checking to make sure you were fine with what he was doing and reassuring you that it was fine to be shy. he let you wrap your arms around his neck and hide your face there, knowing that this was your way of cooperating with the situation.

he was understanding and patient, knowing that you needed time and didn't want to push too quickly. he loved having you close to him like that, everything seemed more intimate when you were close together. it was like a whole new level of intimacy and he couldn't really explain it with words, but it just felt right to him.

“babe, please,” he murmurs against your forehead, his voice shaky with restraint. “think you can relax a little for me? your tightness is amazing, but i need to move,” as soon as you relax, he begins to move his hips slowly, savoring every inch as he pushes deeper into you. each stroke hits just the right spot and elicits a soft moan from your lips. he showers you with praises as he makes love to you tenderly.

it seemed like there was an unspoken contest between you and JISUNG over who could be the most bashful in that moment. and, just as usual, you managed to claim victory! despite seeing himself as the one to lead, he was surprisingly unsure of his next steps, attempting to put you at ease as best he could. with a gentle determination, he whispered reassurances in your ear about making it feel good and creating a memorable experience for you. yet, every word he uttered only seemed to amplify the heat in your body.

but through all the nervous laughter and flustered glances, you could sense jisung's genuine care for your wellbeing. as his hands explored your body, they were hesitant yet firm, as if trying to learn your every curve by heart. he gently nuzzles your neck as he speaks, his breath hot against your skin. "i promise i'll take it slow. just tell me what feels nice.”

HAECHAN remembered how he saw you struggle to just take off your clothes, how embarrassed you seemed, so he figured he'd take the opportunity to help. initially, he was gentle and supportive, telling you it was all right, and you could take your time. however, when you were underneath him, hiding your face with your arms and holding back your cute moans, oh boy, that's when he would get really devious. he'd force you to look at him and whisper dirty words in your ear, really making you squirm and, more important, he would make sure to tease you enough to make you beg.

“look at me,” he would say demanding. “i’ll stop moving if you close your eyes again,” as he says this, he's already thrusting into you in an agonizingly slow pace. it would be so much worse if he just stayed still.* “n-no, hyuck, p-please,” you stutter out in a pleading tone as you open your eyes quickly and look at him. “please what? i said you have to use your words, love,” he leans close to nibble on your earlobe, making you shriver. he loved how responsive you were. “please… f-faster, i…” you tried to move your hips to match his rhythm but his grip on your waist tightens, keeping you exactly where he wants you. "mmh, i'm listening,” he nuzzle against your neck, patiently waiting for you. "i want to c-cum again, please, go h-harder,” you say in a frustrated tone, burying your face in his neck to hide yourself. he was pleased with you words, his smirk widen and he feels his cock throb with excitement. he would let you hide this time. “can’t deny it if my love asked so nicely.”

seeing this side of you, the vulnerable and timid one, was something truly endearing to JAEMIN. “my bold princess is feeling shy today?” he asked, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pressed a light kiss to your quivering lips. “there’s no reason to be,” he assured before placing another tender peck. gently coaxing your arms away from hiding your chest, he encourages you with another kiss, his thumb tracing lazy circles on cheek. “you’re stunning, princess,” his lips soon follow suit, moving down to your neck, leaving trails of kisses as he goes.

jaemin’s breath is hot against your skin as he nuzzles further downwards, pausing at your collarbone. he flicks his tongue across the delicate flesh, the sensation makes goosebumps break out on your skin, causing you to shiver slightly. “you’ve got nothing to hide from me,” his hands move to unclasp your bra, freeing your breasts completely. with a low groan, he finally takes one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling lightly.

CHENLE would be so confused. he was trying to make you feel good, but you were making things difficult. it wasn't because you didn't want it, so he was even more confused as to why you weren't letting yourself enjoy it. "baby, why are you doing that?" he asked with a puzzled look, raising an eyebrow as he saw you closing your legs. "stop closing your legs," he said, making you look away from him. “n-no, it's... i-it's embarrassing..." you mumbled, biting your lower lip. he let a small "oh" escape his lips when he realized what was happening.

"aw, are you feeling shy? you're so cute!" he said, letting a small sigh escape his mouth as he ran his hands gently up and down your thigh. the touch was comforting, his hands caressing the skin as he leaned in closer. "what about this? keep your eyes closed and let me take care of you, just relax,” he kissed your thigh, his voice so gentle it made your heart flutter. the thought of just letting go and giving him control was enticing, so you nod and kept your eyes closed as he requested. with a wicked grin, he pushes your legs further apart, revealing your beautiful, swollen center. he takes a moment to appreciate the sight before leaning down to taste you, his tongue sliding effortlessly inside. you gasp and grab onto his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as he begins to explore every inch of you.

JENO had come to understand your behavior patterns, he knew that you would react just this way. you were always the type to talk too much and do less, specifically in regards to your flirting. you seemed to derive a lot of fun from sending suggestive texts, spicy pictures that didn't give too much away, raunchy voice messages and all. yet when it came time for the actual act, you seemed to always shy away from it. he had learned to read your subtleties, and this time he didn't let you ran away.

"aww, look at you now," he says, his voice low and teasing. "you were all fire and ice earlier, sending me those naughty texts and photos, making my imagination run wild." he leans in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. "but now that we're here, you're suddenly shy?" he held your chin to force you to meet his eyes. "what happened to the feisty little thing that had me on edge all day?" before you could try to say something back, he shut you up with a hard thrust, making you gasp. "you know, you really shoudn't start something you can't finish."

RENJUN knew you were naturally shy about physical contact, he wasn't surprised by your reluctance. in fact, he knew that you would be a little coy whenever the physical intimacy went up a level. he knew your shyness would make this a delicate process, so he decided to start things off gentle. "that's it, just spread your legs a bit more, darling," he asked softly in your ear, continuing to keep you in a gentle hug from behind. you could practically feel your heart beating out of your chest. you had asked him not to look at your face since you felt nervous, and he agreed. but he was lying, he just had to move his head a little to capture your expressions.

he starts gently caressing your inner thighs, sending shivers up your spine. he feels your pulse quickening and your breathing becoming more ragged, which makes him feel even more determined to give you pleasure. he continues to tease you, getting closer and closer to where you really need him to touch. he traces his fingers lightly over your wet panties, feelings your arousal seep through the fabric. he slowly pulls them aside and slips a finger inside you gently, pumping slowly as he watches your reactions. your breathing quickens and your moans get louder with each thrust, so he adds another finger, stretching you just enough to feel amazing. as he continues to move inside you, he presses his thumb against your clit, massaging it in slow circles. he’s careful not to go too fast or hard knowing that anticipation can be just as satisfying as release.

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hiiiii can you do a jealous Alastor but not of anyone but his own shadows bc his wifey takes a liking on one of his shadows.

Oooh! I like this quite a lot! It’s very interesting and unique! Once again, beloved hubby Alastor! Another one I want to explore hubby of is Blitz. I think Blitz would make a good hubby

Alastor- Picking Favourites

Alastor’s furious, steaming from his deer-like ears so hot that it’s basically boiling him… did somebody hurt his ego? No. Did Angel Dust sexually advance on him again? No. Did his breakfast get interrupted by the Hotel Manager? NO. Nothing has inconvenienced him but something awful has been happening, day by day, that he can barely keep his composure

Hearing your laughter directed at something else felt like a puncture stab wound to his throat, but knowing your laughter is directed at his mere sentient shadow basically gutted him in the stomach with a sharp butcher knife right after. You’re his wife, his missus, his realm, the woman he has been fawning over for so long and you’re hitting it up with his sentient silent shadow?!

Of course, Alastor’s fascinating lively shadow is just being nice to it’s master’s recently wedded spouse, and is trying to get you accustom to being around so much Voodoo magic and the weirdness that is Alastor himself so it’s being all caring and leading you about, showing you items and teaching you Alastor’s favourite foods

But that doesn’t mean Alastor isn’t jealous… because he is, he’s really jealous

Whilst he reads through a interesting crime fiction novel, Alastor’s tall fluffy deer-like ears flick up at the sound of your voice. He can’t sense his voodoo-magic induced shadow, meaning that it’s wondered off to you and as he suspected, you enter your husband’s soothingly silent fireplace-warmed accompanied by Alastor’s sentient shadow. It cant really talk but it makes all kinds of humming and echoey noises. It almost seems like you understand it…

Alastor’s patience, throughout every time he hears this, has finally shattered to pieces as his claws dig into the book in his hand, snapping his fingers. The shadow directly mirroring your husband’s look, fades away into thin air as if it was a big fire and a bucket of water was dumped on the top of it, rising up into streams of smoke. It’s gone and you’re confused on why it disappeared

“Darling. Why are you getting so handsy with my friend?”

Alastor almost growls out with his deep scowl… this is possibly the first ever time you and Hell will ever see Alastor frown and frown so deeply he is… it’s kinda unnatural to look at but when Alastor willingly frowns and can’t pull himself to smile, it means he is more than pissed off… you didn’t think just being polite and going along with your husband’s voodoo magic shadow being would ever cause a problem

It’s just that Alastor’s love for you is so strong that it causes jealousy to concur and even jealousy over just some magic creating a shadowy being. Something that is sentient but mainly tied to it’s owner, to Alastor and he is jealous of his own creation

Approaching your beloved husband, the Radio Demon, you lean over, pushing back his somewhat messy crimson red bangs and kisses directly over the pale red almost bullet-sized ‘x’ on the flesh of his forehead. That ‘x’ is the biggest weak spot on Alastor, a symbol of his shame and where his pride can be hurt the most but he doesn’t mind showing off all his weaknesses and vulnerabilities to you… he had already told you about his human life

What’s one little kiss on that ‘x’ going to do?

Pulling back. It’s almost like the single kiss had melted away all his anger and Alastor is now just a soft innocent fluffy little fawn with his crimson red eyes almost sparkling at the affection. He didn’t suspect that, he suspected this’d turn into some big fight but you’re not going to argue, you’re going to explain yourself

“Alastor… Al, my love. I wasn’t replacing you with your shadow buddy. He was just trying to help me get accustom to being your wife. I’ve never been married before and being married to the Radio Demon… it’s. It requires a lot of adjusting so he was just trying to help”

Alastor couldn’t help but feel a bit bad about his half temper tantrum. Of course, why would his shadow even care about having a spouse of its own? It doesn’t, it cares about you being the best wife for its master so it’s trying to help and get you more comfortable. Yes, he is still jealous that you didn’t come to him and go to a shadow… but he does really appreciate all the effort and the wish to not rely on him in order to impress him

After taking a deep breath whilst placing his bigger clawed hand on the smaller clawed hand of yours over his cheek, gently fondling the soft skin over his face. Alastor rhythmically brushes his own fingers over the smooth skin of your hand briefly. Controlling himself, controlling his emotions and then finally saying whilst opening his eyes again to meet yours

Just… such beautiful eyes

“My dear… I appreciate the efforts but please, don’t think you can’t come to me to learn. We’re husband and wife, we work together. You don’t need to go to my friends for that advice”

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 | boyfriend's dad!cillian murphy x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | for some reason, your first instinct after the breakup was to talk to his parents; maybe because you'd come sort of uniquely close to them, for a relatively short relationship. you might not have gone to their house if you'd known you'd find mr. murphy there alone...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ ONLY!! unprotected sex, creampie, oral m and f receiving), age gap (reader's age unspecified, cillian is 45+), hurt/comfort (but, you know, sexual comfort), infidelity, slight manipulation/coercion since the reader is very vulnerable at the time, somewhat inexperienced reader, degradation and praise, a little bit of breathplay, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia?, reader is slightly implied to be an immigrant/foreigner

note: yes I use his real name but this is just fiction and not meant to have anything to do with the real cillian murphy or his life/family so please keep that in mind!

He had a smile on his face as he opened the door and greeted you, but it fell instantly when he saw you biting down on your quivering lip, looking down to hide how red and watery your eyes were.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked, voice heavy with concern as he reached out and rubbed your shoulder. "Oh, god— come in, come in— what's going on?"

He ushered you into the house, shutting the door behind you and wrapping his arm around you as you sniffled. "I-I'm sorry—" you began instantly.  “I thought— I don’t know why I even came here…”

But, actually, you sort of did.  You’d been wanting to talk to Cillian’s wife, hoping for some motherly advice, until he answered the door and you abruptly remembered she was in England on business for a week or something.  And you couldn’t exactly show up on somebody’s doorstep crying and say ‘oh, sorry, I thought your wife would be home— I’ll come back in a few days’.

You weren’t disappointed by running into him instead, really, you just felt a little weirder about it.  The two of you had never actually been alone before.

"Don't apologise," he soothed, "it's okay, just tell me what's happened. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you sighed, trying to compose yourself a bit as he guided you to sit on the couch with him. "Yeah, I'm okay, I just... um, well, it's sort of stupid—"

"I'm sure it's not," he offered with a small laugh, "if it's got you this worked up."

"We, um... I think we broke up?"

"What?" he breathed, knitting his eyebrows together— he cared more than you expected... but it sort of made sense, Mr. Murphy had always made you feel welcome here. Mrs. Murphy too, maybe ina different way. Yes, it's bizarre to respond to being dumped by going to visit the guy's parents, you needed a sort of... mature, familial presence right now while you were so far from your own.

You took him through the whole drama as efficiently as possible, trying to regulate your crying so he could actually attempt to make out what you were saying. He listened thoughtfully, perhaps with too much attention compared to what you expected— after all, this was stupid college drama and he was so much more mature than all that. Still, you appreciated a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on.

"And, uh, that's how he ended it," you finished with a sigh, sniffling as you recalled the heartbreaking conversation. "He basically told me that he's too young to be stuck with one person, and he needs to 'explore his options'..."

"Then he's an idiot," Cillian groaned, "and I hate to say that about my own son— but he's a fuckin' idiot."

"Well," you mumbled, "I don't know— I thought maybe he had a point. I mean, we're pretty young..."

"But look at you, honey," he offered pityingly, "you can't tell me this is what you wanted."

"No, but—"

"And yes, you're young," he added, "but not too young— not if it's real."

You bit your lip to stop it from shaking any more, and he cooed at you gently as he reached up to rub your shoulder.  

“Poor girl,” he breathed.  “Honestly, I always… well, maybe I shouldn’t say it now…”

You looked up at him expectantly, and he smiled nervously as he glanced away.

“Well… I guess I always thought that you could do better,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but, you know, I didn’t want to say anything, of course.  He was lucky to have you, and I just hoped he would treat you right, but…”

“I thought I was the lucky one,” you replied with a thin smile and another little sniffle.  “He could be really sweet, you know— he used to be.  And I always thought he was, uh, sort of… you know, out of my league.”

“Oh, honey, no,” Cillian frowned, moving his hand up to your face and holding your cheek, wiping a small tear away with his thumb.  “You’re gorgeous.”

You laughed awkwardly, not sure what to think— or how to think— with him looking at you like that.  “I… I don’t know, you’re sweet, but—”

“No, really,” he assured, and only when you met his gaze did you realise how close he was.  You wouldn’t call it too close, only because it didn’t bother you like you knew it should.  “You’re so beautiful.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing actually came out… there was nothing to say.  He was coming closer, you knew it, and you wanted to reach up to stop him just as much as you wanted to shut your eyes and give into it.  You ended up sort of splitting the difference: you rested your hands on his shoulders, but didn’t push him away, and gasped slightly just before he kissed you.  Even a second of resistance could’ve given you some plausible deniability, but no, you fluttered your eyes shut and kissed him back; it didn’t help that you could feel how warm and strong he was through the t-shirt, holding on tighter to his shoulders with a hum.

His hands wandered to your waist, pulling you into him— and you were like putty, embarrassingly enough. With him kissing you like that, you really couldn’t do anything but let him pull you around wherever he wanted.  His lips were soft and gentle, his tongue teased you so carefully, and he even sighed against your skin in the sweetest way… you were totally helpless already.  

Sure, some part of you knew how fucking bizarre this was— that you were kissing Mr. Murphy, your boyfriend’s dad— well… ex-boyfriend’s.  You weren’t blind, you noticed how attractive he was when you met him, but you’d managed to successfully ignore it since then.  It made sense, after all, since the first thing you’d noticed about your boyfriend was his good looks… but Mr. Murphy was handsome in a totally different way.  Strong and broad— not especially massive or anything, still a lean guy— with thin streaks of grey in his hair, a patient sort of smile, subtle wrinkles around his eyes that added a sense of wisdom to his expression… really, he was a bit more of your type.  But that was something you had forced yourself not to acknowledge— until now.

You sat up slightly, holding onto his neck, breathing in sharply through your nose as you kissed him back a little harder.  You could feel him smiling— god, even just that made you feel so desperate— and he even moaned ever-so-quietly when you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed against your lips, breaking away just enough to make you open your eyes— his lashes seemed especially long as he looked down at your legs curled up on the couch (and his hands petting them slowly.  “You haven’t been treated properly for a long time, have you?”

You whined in the back of your throat involuntarily as you nodded— how could he see right through you like that?  It wasn’t like it was bad with your ex, it was just… not good.  Not enough.  You wanted to feel wanted, not used— not a means to an end.

“Will you let me?” he asked softly, breathing beside your ear on his way in to kiss your neck.  You gasped, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close, head falling back to give him as much of you as he wanted.  His tongue was fucking fiendish, the way he used it to tickle along your pulse, the sharpness of his teeth making you jolt only for him to soothe you with his plush lips.

“Yes,” you panted, “fuck— I, god, I can’t believe we’re doing this…”

He laughed a little.  “I can,” he admitted.  “All I could fucking think about since I met you…”

That surprised you— you’d never noticed anything that would’ve made you think he thought of you that way… but knowing that he, apparently, had made a shiver run up your spine.

He certainly hid it well, playing the part of the slightly-embarrassing dad and polite husband so well that you never would’ve known… oh god, his wife.  You didn’t want to think of her now, yet the unavoidable memory stirred arousal alongside guilt in your gut.  You had no idea you were this sort of person— but you weren’t really operating logically right now, anyway.

He held your face again as he pulled back, petting your cheek— it made you feel especially juvenile when he did that, holding your chin to examine you.  This wasn’t really the ideal state for you to be looked at, in your opinion, with you having been crying all evening.  But he looked amazed by you, even if it was just for a moment before he looked down at your body and smirked.

“Take this off,” he instructed, tugging at your shirt slightly.  You thought it would’ve been a little more romantic if he helped you out of it, but it was alternatively a bit sexier that he was just going to sit back and watch you strip for him.  It must have been his way of demonstrating his power over you, that you were just going to take it off and toss it aside without question.  Which, of course, you did.

He smiled proudly at the sight, and before you could even get your bra off, he started to carefully tease you through it— fingers running around the edge, moving the straps off your shoulders, tickling up your sides as you shifted nervously on the couch.  

“Look’t that,” he whispered proudly, and you took a second to realise that he was referring to your nipples getting hard enough to poke visibly through the fabric; you felt self-conscious all of a sudden, even if he was clearly enjoying what he was seeing.  “So needy, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” you admitted, whining when he reached inside the cups and ran his fingers over your breasts— they usually weren’t so sensitive.  “Fuck,” you breathed, shutting your eyes as a way to try to escape his gaze.  “I… I need you.”

“Fuck, baby, don’t talk like that,” he groaned, “m’gonna try to take my time with you— how am I supposed to do that if you say such lovely things?”

His lips were on your neck again— and he was leaning you back, laying you down under him, tugging your shorts down with a bit more urgency than he’d had before.

When you were basically naked— or at least, your bra and panties pushed out of the way enough that he could see what he needed to— he purred at the sight, grinning as you hastily undressed yourself the rest of the way.  

"Of course he couldn't appreciate this," Cillian sighed, baring his teeth just a bit. "Of course he couldn't appreciate a perfect fucking body like this— a perfect little pussy like this..."

You were about to open your mouth to say something, though you hadn't even decided yet what it would be, but only a low moan came out when he held your legs open and dove between them, humming as he lapped at your clit. You couldn't imagine why you were so sensitive, but your whole body was shaking already just from the gentlest motions of his tongue...

"Fuck," he said, muffled against your skin, before he pulled back enough to bite playfully on your thigh. "Fuck, darling, you taste delicious. Christ. You're too perfect..."

He devoured you again, exploring all over you with his tongue as your thighs kept instinctively clamping down on his head. He kept looking up at you through it all, even when you couldn't stand to meet his gaze and had to arch your back from the pleasure. "Fuck!" you yelped, grabbing tightly onto his hair. "Fuck, Mr. Murphy, I— oh, god..."

"He never made you come like this, did he?" Cillian realised with a groan, nearly growling when you shook your head. "Has anyone?"

"N-no," you shakily admitted, and he moaned around you as he suckled harder on your clit for a moment until you whined loudly.

"Oh, poor thing," he cooed, "how could anyone taste this sweet cunt of yours, and not want to spend hours between your legs?"

He didn’t need to spend hours, though— the taboo nature of the situation seemed to turn your body into overdrive, making you so sensitive and desperate… or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, but it was hard to say.

The point is, all too soon, you were shivering under him, back arching up off the couch, holding on tightly to his hair.  He hummed approvingly, even moaning against you as he slid his tongue inside; he must have been able to feel you pulsing, moving closer and closer to the edge, because he shut his eyes tight and seemed to focus harder and pushing you further until you couldn’t take anymore.

“Fuck, fuck!” you sobbed, thighs shaking around his head; there really was no exploration to it, no teasing, he just went right in and expertly played you like he’d done this a thousand times.  Maybe he had… but, obviously, he’d never done it to you.  Were you that easy to solve?

Obviously, that question suddenly became the last thing on your mind as your orgasm wracked through you.  He growled encouragingly, still keeping his pace, but you could barely hear it past the ringing in your ears— and your own cries of his name, of course.

He only broke away when your squirms turned into real avoidance: you could only take so much, especially with him suckling on your clit like that.

You were almost nervous to open your eyes again— and you were right, he looked so gorgeous between your legs, obviously smug with having just made you come, it was nearly criminal.

“Is it really that easy to make you come, honey?” he laughed, petting your legs sweetly as he pulled back, looking up at you with a proud grin.  “That’s so fucking cute, baby…”

As he sat up again, wiping the slick off his mouth with the back of his hand, you got this weird, clingy feeling— wanting to chase him even just as he barely moved away.  

But he’d sat up for a reason, and you started to realise it when you sat up, too, and noticed the thick bulge in his jeans.

"Why don't you show me what you can do, sweetheart?" he encouraged with a smile, opening his belt for you. "I'm sure you've learned a thing or two..."

Though you still felt terribly nervous about it, you leaned forward towards his lap. Would it be awful to admit your mouth watered when he freed his cock from his jeans and boxers, holding it out for you as a little bead of precum formed at the tip?

"Show me, baby," he whispered again, "and look up at me."

You nervously blinked up at him, meeting his gaze from his lap, as you wrapped your lips around his swollen head. He bit his lip right away and reached up to hold onto your hair, groaning as you swirled your tongue.

"Fuck," he smirked, "you're sort of a tease, aren't you?"

You weren't trying to be, really, but it didn't sound like he minded too much...

"Oh, fuck," he moaned deeply, making you pulse inside as he tilted his head back. "Fuck, baby, that's good— your mouth is so fucking warm..."

He gasped and panted as he held your head, guiding it to bob just a little faster than you had been moving. "Sweetheart," he choked, "you're so fucking good... fuck!"

The praise made your chest fill with warmth, even if there was still some part of your brain that was recovered enough from the orgasm to remember how horrible this all was.  It was horrible, but perfect— and feeling his cock throb against your tongue was perfect, too.

You’d never been told you were so good at this before, but he kept moaning and petting your head encouragingly, whispering the most wonderful and filthy things.  “Just like that, honey,” he cooed, “mm— pretty thing… knew that mouth of yours would feel so fuckin’ good… just keep sucking my cock, sweetheart.”

That you did— harder and faster, stroking what your mouth couldn’t fit, moaning softly around him.  As you tried to take it deeper, desperate to please him, you gagged on his thick head.

“God, it’s so cute when you choke on it, baby,” he chuckled.  “Do it again.”

This time it was almost too much, but he held your head down and groaned deeply.  It would’ve bothered you more— not being able to breathe— if he didn’t sound so sexy right then…

Thankfully, he pulled you off just in time, making you yelp as he held you by your hair— only to kiss you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.  Moaning, you melted into his arms, and let him guide you to straddle his lap.  Feeling his jeans against your thighs and his shirt against your chest made your heart skip.

He took another long look at you when he broke away, a new darkness in his bright eyes.

“You’re so sexy,” he laughed softly, running his hands over your nude form and raising a brow as he watched goosebumps break out over your skin.  “God, I need to be inside you…”

You bit down on your lip but it didn’t do much to suppress your whimper; lifting yourself up a bit, you grasped his cock and slid it through your folds, guiding him to your entrance.  

You both gasped when he slipped inside, even when it was the slightest penetration— his whole head wasn’t in yet, and you just knew it would stretch you more than you were used to.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned loudly, tilting his head back, “you’re so wet, sweetheart…”

Lowering yourself, you took in a shaky breath, whining slightly as he opened you up one inch at a time... and each one seemed somehow thicker than the last. His fingers seemed to dig deeper into the skin at your hips and ass the lower that you sank onto him.

You could barely believe that you took it all; that you relaxed into his lap fully even when you feared being split in half by how thick he was.  “Oh my god,” you blurted out, operating on instinct as you started to move— grinding back and forth, desperate for friction despite having been satisfied by his incredible mouth just a few minutes ago.

"Fuck, there you go," he encouraged with a growl, looking down at your hips rocking in his lap. "Ride me, just like that— fuck, ride my cock, little fuckin' whore..."

You whimpered at the insult, holding tighter onto his shoulders, but it only made you move faster. "S-so... so deep, Mr. Murphy," you whimpered.

"Yeah? You can take it," he promised darkly, holding tighter onto your waist as he dropped his head back with a low groan. "God, you're tight— fuck."

You gasped as he bucked his hips up, creating more pressure against your over-sensitive clit. "Oh, fuck," you breathed, struggling to cope with all the sensations he was giving you.

Both of you settled on the right pace, and he switched between resting his head back against the couch (giving you a nice view of his gorgeous neck, how could just a neck be so sexy?!) and looking down to watch you go.  “So fuckin’ cute,” he praised— though you were sort of surprised to hear him describe you that way at a time like this.  “So needy, honey… you want more, don’t you?  You wanna go even faster.”

Now that he said it: yeah, you did.  You bounced up and down, your moans coming out all shaky and uneven because of the movement, and he grinned proudly.

His hands wandered up from your waist to your chest, groping you eagerly as you gasped out his name in response.  “Love these tits of yours,” he informed you, sounding oddly sweet for how dirty of a compliment it was.  “Took everything in me not to stare at them when you’d come over for dinner… see what you do to me, sweetheart?  Haven’t felt this desperate since I was your age.”

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, reminding you of how much older he was at a time like this.  He purred when he felt you clench on him, obviously affected by the comment.

“Should’ve known you’d give in right away,” he went on, softening his voice to nearly a whisper as he watched you move with heavy eyes; you angled your hips back and moaned louder, his cock rubbing against just the right spot every time now.  “Hungry little thing like you— now I wish I hadn’t waited so long.  We could’ve been doing this the whole time… I could’ve shown you how much better it can be, when somebody really takes care of you.”

Whimpering, you felt another heady pang inside you— if he kept talking like that, you wouldn’t be able to keep your head on straight… then again, the fact that you were here proved that you were less stable than you thought.

“Faster, sweetheart,” he ordered again suddenly.  “I wanna see how desperate you can get.”

You furrowed your brows together, almost pouting, but did exactly what he wanted— you wondered if you looked as pathetic as you sounded, riding him recklessly, chasing another peak even when it took all of your strength in those shaking legs.

He grabbed you by the jaw and guided you into another desperate kiss— all teeth and tongue and low moans.  “Good fucking girl,” he snarled.  “Good little slut.”

“Fuck,” you panted, moving faster.  “Fuck, I’m close—”

“I know, honey,” he cooed, nodding as he moved his hand down to your neck.  “Show me how bad you need it, sweetheart.  Let me see it, I wanna see you come for me.”

Tossing your head back, you cried out his name again— why did you always do that when you came?— and felt it overtake you.  It was even heavier than the last one, even more numbing and draining, and you didn’t even notice how hard you were digging your nails into his shoulders.

When your body failed and you came to a shaky stop, he didn’t give you much time to catch your breath: he grabbed you tight, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder, and began to buck his hips up into you quickly.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” you whined, overwhelmed by the feeling, holding onto him tightly just to have something to keep you grounded.

“Fuck, m’gonna come inside you,” he warned with a growl.  “Gonna fill you, baby, you’ll be so fuckin’ full of my come—”

You sobbed and buried your face in his neck, starting to cry again for a completely different reason than before.

“Tell me you want it,” he ordered, speaking roughly right against your ear.

“F-fuck, I want it,” you gasped, “I want you to come— fuck— come inside me—”

He choked out a few more swears, he held you tight enough that you started to imagine what his bruises would look like on you tomorrow, and with a low groan of your name, it all suddenly slowed to a stop.  You moaned weakly when you felt his cock flexing against your walls, even more heat pooling inside you.  With what little energy you had left, you softly kissed his neck— until he seemed to come back to reality and pushed you back enough to be face-to-face with you again.  

You realised suddenly that you were still sort of crying from the intensity of it all, and got nervous with him staring at you like that.  “I’m sorry,” you sniffled as you wiped your face.

“Don’t apologise,” he told you again, moving your hands away so he could look at you himself.  “Besides, you look even cuter when you cry.”

[astraystayyh]

the premise : u apply lipgloss on felix because ofc he suits glossy lips except it takes an emotional turn???? because felix is perfect sorry. this is fluffyyyy and the sanest reaction to this man being ur bf (and these pics. these pics....)

“lixie, stay still,” you giggle, body nestled between felix’s legs. He's leaning against the bathroom counter, hands propped on the sleek ebony marble as you apply a shimmering lip gloss to his lips.

“but don't you wanna know what changbin said to me?”

“of course i wanna know what creative pickup line he used on you today. of course i do, baby,” you smile and he rolls his eyes at the sarcasm dripping from your tone, his tongue poking against his cheek before gliding in (fake) annoyance over his lips.

“but…” he muses, tilting his head to the side, his hands finding your waist once again (they've been away for two minutes too long).

“but when your mouth moves i can't technically apply lipgloss to it.”

“maybe you're just a bad make-up artist,” he teases, before quickly planting a kiss on your temple. “kidding baby. you're the very best at everything you do.”

“you're actually incapable of being mean,” you laugh heartily, your thumb swiping across his chiseled jaw.

“i am very much capable of being mean,” he pouts, his eyes widening slightly, golden light spilling into his pupils— it refracts into an arrow delving straight into your heart.

“you can't say this in the softest voice and expect me to agree.”

“i am very much capable of being mean,” he repeats, only this time his timber is many many octaves lower. his voice reverberates straight through your stomach, a deep melody orchestrating the untamed butterflies in your stomach.

“this is the equivalent of a kitten throwing a punch to me,” you pull his face closer, and he shakes his head, mouth shut tightly as you reapply the glitter infused gloss on his lips, going delicately over his cupid's bow. his eyes are boring onto you, yet you don't shy away from his gaze. it is a kind one— like a blanket knitted with love thrown over your body.

“done,” you whisper, hands trailing up to his hair, blonde silky locks akin to threads of sunlight. you think he must be favored by the stars— how they stored the sun inside every component of his being for him to keep safe.

“you have the prettiest lips,” your voice is suddenly hoarse, thumb grazing slightly over his lips, ones shaped like a heart— akin to the one freckle he has right underneath his eye.

it wasn't enough for him to have the kindest soul, no, love needed to be etched onto his skin too.

“felix,” you rasp out his name.

he catches your tears before you sense them falling, swiping his thumbs delicately on your cheek. “angel?”

“you're an idiot.”

“am i?” he brings you to his chest swiftly, your nose buried in the orange blossoms and sea notes of his skin— your home, the one you'd recognize in blindness, in despair, in safety, in love.

“i wanted to apply this lipgloss on you because shimmer would suit your angelic lips and then we'd make out. but you just had to be so beautiful and pure that it makes me wanna cry.”

“I'm sorry,” he says and you giggle, more tears spilling from your eyes.

“see, this is what i mean. why are you apologizing. this is so silly and you're so perfect and i can't believe you love me.”

“well i do,” he leans away, kissing your forehead tenderly. the sticky lip gloss lingers on your skin. “i love you so much, angel. i will only ever love you.”

“promise me?” you ask in a feat of vulnerability almost foreign to your being.

“i promise.”

you believe him.

“thank you. please don't put this lipgloss near anyone else or it'll make them cry too.”

“i think that's just you baby,” he grins, his thumb swiping over your thigh comfortingly, then, his nose brushing against your own. “kiss?”

you close your eyes, a sigh of relief, of longing escaping your body. “please.”

to be loved by felix— maybe you're the one favored by the stars after all.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Monsoon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

10.1k wc

Synopsis: Four years after Toji Fushiguro died, Satoru decided to give his widow a visit

(Warnings: age difference (nothing underaged), dark content, AFAB reader, pregnancy kink, non con, overstimulation, piv sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, rough sex)

It was raining when Gojo Satoru entered your flat. 

Not particularly harshly, but more than enough for a scare. You weren't in the mood for visitors; the rain made you drowsy, and it was coincidentally your one day off. You wanted to lean against the window and watch the droplets fall against the pavement with a warm blanket. You did not want to exchange pleasantries with some kid. 

The only reason you didn't slam the door in his face was because he said your husband's name. 

It was why you were bringing tea to someone who clearly couldn't care less about it as he lounged on the sofa. You sat on the other end, staring at the scuffed coffee table. Out of anxiety, you play with the ring wrapped around your finger. 

"...He's dead?" 

It's a question, but you already know the answer. Gojo doesn't even bother to reply, humming, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid. You still stare at the coffee table. It's slightly crooked. One of the legs was broken. Toji promised he'd fix it. 

That was four years ago. You hadn't seen him since. 

You should have expected this. You knew the kind of man Toji was even before he stuck that flimsy ring on your finger. The kinds of people he hung out with. The suspicious amounts of money he would shower you with. There would have never been a happy end for the two of you. 

You can still feel your throat close up, bile rise from your belly. You can't do anything but watch the old table you never threw out because he promised he'd come back and fix it. 

The only reason you close your eyes, sucked in a tight breath, was because you still had a guest over. One that clearly wouldn't care about your crocodile tears. 

You've never seen someone his age so apathetic before. That temperament was associated with the people of your generation. The people who've already been in the workforce, who carried stress on their backs and hips. You can't see his eyes, but the slouch in his posture is indicative enough. Maybe all kids his age were like this. Uncaring, indifferent, subtly disrespectful. 

Because he was a kid. It didn't matter how tall he was, how much bigger than you he was. A single look was all you needed to know that this boy was at least a decade younger than you. Unkept white hair, sunglasses despite the weather, a cocky smile, a voice oozing with misplaced confidence.

You don't acknowledge it; it's clear he didn't come here just to tell you your husband is dead. 

"How old's your kid? Eight?" Gojo tilts his head. "You gotta' know what that means, right?" 

You do. Even if you weren't steeped into the world your husband willfully left, you know enough. You know how important your son is. 

It's why you stop Gojo before he can make his offer. You've already heard this before, a week ago when men with Zenin as their last names knocked on your door. 

"Thank you for your concern," you tell him as calmly and respectfully as you can. For the first time, the man straightens up, as if your answer wasn't what he expected. You can sense he isn't used to being told no. 

 You keep your smile neutral, pleasant, final. 

"But we're fine as we are."

Moments later, when he's about to leave, you offer an umbrella, insistent on him taking it. It was raining after all. He takes it with him without any protest. 

You don't notice that, despite the downpour, he was perfectly dry when he stepped into your home.

☔︎︎

Megumi was always special. 

Every mother thinks that for their child. You're no exception. As soon as he was born, tiny in your arms, swaddled in blankets, something shifted within you. You'd always wanted children, but the concrete feeling of your child in your arms when he's so vulnerable. You'd never felt anything more right. 

To you, Megumi was always special. But when Megumi turned 5, he became special to the entire world. 

Toji was never tight-lipped about the world he came from. Shamans, sorcerers, shikigami, curses. You weren't an expert, but you certainly knew more than the average person. He'd often tell you things, when he was drunk, pulling you against his bare chest, underneath cheap blankets. You always heard the bitterness in his voice. That world had rejected him. It would reject anyone who wasn't special enough. Special people were rare. 

It's why you were convinced Megumi would never have to deal with any of that. His father wasn't a sorcerer, neither were you. He'd live a normal life and would only be special to you. 

"It's on your other shoulder." 

You switched hands, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. Like always, you couldn't feel anything. There was no weight on your skin, nothing tangible that you could grab and toss. There was just this small feeling of dread. A small ache in your bones. 

He waves a tiny hand. Instantly, the feeling of dread is gone. The ache lifts and you roll your shoulders. 

"Thank you," you tell him with a strained, but grateful smile. He nods, turning back to his food. 

"You're getting more, now," he simply says. 

"Haha, sorry," you reply instinctively because even though he's eight, you feel like you've burdened him. 

"It's okay," he mutters, quiet as always. His gaze flicks back up at you, before glancing back down. He takes a second to gnaw on his lip. 

"Are...are you okay?" 

You're being so obvious even your own son could see it. 

Your smile feels more forced as you placate him with the usual lie of 'Mommy's just tired, long day at work'. He doesn't buy it, but he doesn't say anything back. He's so much like his father in these moments. Truthfully, you didn't think Megumi got a single thing from you. His black hair is Toji's, his blue eyes are Toji's, his pale skin is Toji's, and even his forever-present scowl is your late husband's. You supposed that should have been the first sign: Megumi would be anything but normal. 

You hadn't told him about the visits. You're his parent, you had justified to yourself. He's a child. He doesn't need to know about the visits. Especially, considering you decided for him. Megumi would be raised out of the jujutsu world, away from curses, and sorcerers. 

You can't have your son taken away from you like his father was.

('Special Grade', Gojo had told you. A powerful cursed spirit. You hadn't gotten closure until you let him in. No body was ever recovered.)

You can't let your son end up like that. 

But was this the right life for him? You watch as Megumi's gaze trails up, like he's tracing the movement of a fly or something bigger that you would never see. 

You can't relate to Megumi. You don't have cursed energy. You can't see the things he can. As much as you loved him, you'd never be able to understand what he is. None of his classmates can. None of his teachers. It sounds lonely. Isolating. 

Only a handful of people that could ever give Megumi that connection exist. And they're willing to accept him with open arms. 

He had been an older man, flanked by another. They eyed your home with relative disgust; you, with mild derision. It'd been their words that echo in your head today. How much happier Megumi would be surrounded by his own kind. How the clan would welcome him and teach him to hone his technique. 

They were words that would sate the parent of a lonely boy, but you couldn't help but remember the disregard in his voice. Their words made Megumi sound like a tool, instead of a child. 

The offer of payment for your son was enough to turn them away. 

Was Gojo Satoru any better? From your brief encounter, you couldn't tell. There was always a smile on his lips whenever he talked about Megumi's future and Jujutsu Tech. The lilt of his voice felt fake, artificial. But at least he didn't ask to outright buy your son. 

When Megumi's tucked into bed, you pace around the living room. You glance at the slip of paper he'd left behind. The scrawl of numbers in neat handwriting. The thing he slipped into your unsuspecting hand. You've had a glass of wine before, maybe that's why your hands are a little more steady when you punch in the numbers. 

He picks up after the second ring. It oddly feels like he was waiting for your call. 

"Can jujutsu sorcerers live normal lives?"

There's a laugh on the other end. Light. Amused. 

"No," his response is cold, even when his tone isn't, "Even if they leave the jujutsu world, they will never have normal lives." 

The answer you were afraid of, but you weren't surprised. Special people rarely live normal lives. You knew what this meant: trying to protect Megumi from his father's fate would be pointless. No matter how far you run, no matter how far you take him, it will never be enough. 

"Does it really matter, then?" you ask, "who Megumi goes with." 

"In that sense, no, not really," his voice crackles back, "But I think you've already made your decision." 

You had days ago. You were just wasting time, picking up the phone only to drop it just as quickly. As much as you'd wanted to keep your son away from the jujutsu world, you knew, even before they knocked on your door, it was a failed endeavor. Megumi was special. Megumi was too special for you to hide. He shone too brightly. 

The Zenin clan would extinguish that. You knew it. Toji knew it too. It's why he took on your name. 

It's silent again. You bite your lip. You've been doing that a lot lately. 

"Gojo, may I ask a favor?" He gives a hum. 

"Please, don't tell him about Toji." 

There's a beat of silence. The line clicks. 

Two days later, Megumi meets the strongest sorcerer of the modern era. 

☔︎

There was always something clinical about Megumi's and Gojo's relationship. 

You wouldn't call them father-son, let alone brotherly. It was strictly student and teacher. From the start, it was clear Megumi wasn't impressed with the sorcerer. His scowl would somehow get deeper whenever the young man was around. 

Gojo didn't seem all that impressed either. He wasn't as blatant, but you could sense that it was a chore for him, rather than anything else. You don't think you can blame him. He's barely twenty. He should be doing other things. Living his youth, and continuing his education. 

Gojo grew up too fast. You can see it in his face. He's never not smiling, but it's never truly sincere. It's not clinical either. It looks exhausted. You wonder-if he wasn't wearing those glasses all the time-if you'd see dark circles. 

He's too young to be running around this much. He's too young to carry the entire world of jujutsu sorcery on his back. He's too young to be an educator. A mentor. 

Yet he is. Yet he does. All with a smile on his face. 

You're less intense nowadays to him. When Megumi comes home, clearly a bit more roughed up than when he left, you criticize Gojo less harshly. When you make lunch for Megumi, you ask if he'd like anything as well. Gojo has a bigger sweet tooth than your eight-year-old son does. You never nag him for it. 

The change doesn't fully happen until that fateful conversation. It's an offhanded remark he makes about him not being there to train Megumi for a few weeks because of a mission. 

"A curse?" you ask, as if they aren't all around you. 

Gojo grins because you've discovered he likes talking. "Reports are coming down from Sendai. The running bet currently is special grade." 

You frown. "Oh. Well, be careful." 

He freezes at that. You think he's staring at you, but you're not too sure. His glasses give away nothing. Your fingers dance with nerves. Had you said something wrong?

"What?" 

You tilt your head. "Oh! Uh, 'be careful'. Stay safe." You end your sentence awkwardly. 

Eventually, Gojo recovers. "Yeah. Well, obviously." He smiles. 

You watch him leave, keeping your eye on him until he disappears into the sleek black car. 

It doesn't occur to you until much later that Gojo probably hasn't had someone worry about him before. 

☔︎︎

Whenever Megumi's training continues much later in the evenings, you go to the Gojo estate to pick him up yourself. 

It's a grand house. Practically a mansion. You've never felt so embarrassed about your humble apartment until you saw the lavishness Satoru lived in. A part of you is now even more impressed by Megumi's stubbornness. Children are the first to fall for the affluent. 

It's big, but you've never quite gotten over how empty it looks. Every time you visit, there's always just Satoru. You haven't seen his mom, his dad, any siblings. It looks like a family home, but he's the only one who's ever there. 

He's never mentioned any family. You wonder what happened to them. Where they are now. 

Somedays, you arrive a bit earlier than needed. During that time, you tend to stroll through the gardens. They're so beautiful. Large and expansive. They're empty, however, just like that grand house. No flowers. Not even weeds. It's just a bunch of dirt and stones, plainly stacked on top of each other. It disappoints you a bit. The grounds had so much potential. 

"Whatcha' got for me this time?" You jump, whirling around. Satoru is right behind you, a teasing grin on his face. 

You give him a disapproving look, though it lacks any real heat. "I told you to stop doing that." 

"Doing what?" Though he may be twenty, he acts like he's younger than your son. Speaking of your child:

"Where's Megumi?" You prod, glancing behind Satoru, as though your grumpy child would pop up behind him. No such thing happens. Satoru's incriminating smile grows wider. 

"Homework," he cryptically replies, "also, he didn't want to disturb us adults having our grown-up conversations." 

"Of course he did," is all you say, but you acquiesce regardless, digging through your bag. 

You've always been taught to bring something when visiting another person's home. You found it rude not to, despite how casual Satoru acts around you. You discovered he liked sweets the most, so you have tried your best to satisfy his sweet tooth. He seems happy with whatever you give him. One thing you like about Satoru is how he cherishes all the gifts he's received from you without any complaint. You spotted the umbrella you'd given him all those weeks ago, sitting right by the door. He'd never given it back. You'd never asked for it. 

You try to ignore the feeling that the only reason he gets excited about your gifts is that it's rare for him to receive anything at all. Satoru doesn't need to be pitied. 

It's nothing too big, just a bag of saltwater taffy from an Americanized store. He's already ripping the package open, pulling one out of the wrapper to stick it in his mouth. 

You blink when he extends his hand, another piece of candy between his fingers. 

"Say 'ah'!" 

"Oh no, I'm fine. They're for you—" Satoru interrupts you by popping the piece right in your mouth. Your lips instinctively close. 

"Oh." You say after you taste the sweet. "Peppermint." 

He laughs, taking another one out for himself. You follow him through the abandoned gardens. 

"So, how's Megumi's-"

"Nuh-uh," Satoru immediately stops you, "enough about work. Let's talk about something else!" 

You roll your eyes, but your smile is too affectionate. You ask him about his latest trip overseas. He tells you about the country he visited, the curse he exorcised, practically giddy from excitement. Conversation starts there before moving onto other things, small talk, your job. 

"It's a shame the gardens are so empty," you say when the conversation reaches a lull. 

He stares at the bare patches of dirt with you. "When I was younger, the gardeners would take care of 'em for us. Flowers would bloom every spring." 

You feel him recoil. Satoru does that sometimes. Say something too intimate, hissing when it's too late to take them back. For his sake, you don't comment on it. 

"It must have looked beautiful." Is all you respond. Understanding, but closed enough to give him relief. 

You stand there in silence for a couple of seconds. In the dirt, you can see a tiny ant carrying a grain of sand. 

"Roleplay time!" Satoru suddenly exclaims. You whirl your head to look at him. "Imagine you become the great Gojo Satoru." You stifle a laugh at that. His grin only gets wider. "What kind of flowers would you choose?" 

Toji always thought bouquets were stupid. 'There's no point' he'd always say 'the weeds will just die anyway, why you somethin' like that?'. But sometimes, he'd bring home these tiny, golden flowers. Simple. Pretty. He'd tuck it behind your ear, grinning at his work. You'd kiss him in return. 

"Marigolds," you say at last. 

Satoru only hums in response. A few seconds later, he's leading you out of the garden, rambling about how expensive sushi was overseas. 

A few days later, you see men with barrels of soil, combing through the garden. 

A week after, tiny golden flowers start poking through the dirt. Simple. Pretty. 

☔︎︎

You had that same dream again. The day Toji left. 

It's rare to have these dreams. They wouldn't leave you alone the first year he'd disappeared. Back when you thought he'd gotten bored of you and your son, like he'd finally decided he was sick of the family life. 

They come back sporadically, nowadays. You can't sleep after you have them, so you often find yourself curled up in the living room, looking at the window. It was raining. Heavy droplets thud on the glass. The violence seems desperate somehow. Like the weather is begging to be let in, to snuggle underneath the warm blankets too. 

On nights like this, it's a habit to stare at the tiny golden band on your finger. You slip it off, holding it in your palm. It's nothing extravagant—tiny with a simple design—but it's the last thing you have of him. Toji was never that sentimental. 

It's not really a dream. Dreams are more whimsical, cloudy. You can remember everything, down to the outfit he'd been wearing, the fly that had been buzzing around your door. It was like you were there all over again, begging him not to go. 

"You promised you'd stop." 

"This is different," Toji said and you flinched when he tucks away his gun. You thought he'd gotten rid of it. 

"The money?" You're pressing, "we have enough money, you-" 

"This isn't about fuckin' cash," his voice cuts through you, sharper than any blade he carried. 

"It's somethin' else. Somethin' you wouldn't understand. It goes beyond money." 

Your gaze lowers, curling your fists on the table. You can't understand, not when he refuses to tell you. Not when he barely explains why he's going back to his old ways in the first place. 

Sensing he's upset you, Toji sighs. You can hear him place something down on the dining table, metallic and clanky. Calloused, rough fingers brush your cheek, your jaw, coaxing you to look at him. You don't, forcing him to lean forward, giving a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips are rough, cracked, but overwhelmingly gentle on your skin. 

"I love you," Toji mutters into your skin. 

You don't respond. You wish you had, you wish you'd gotten over your pride and told him because maybe then he'd still be here with you. He's giving another sigh, tucking your hair into place before he's leaving. He closes the door behind him. 

That day, you told yourself you wouldn't forgive him. Whenever he came back, you'd tell him you were done. You'd take Megumi and you'd leave. 

Now, you think you would have forgiven him. Eventually. It would have taken a while, a lot more than measly flowers and apologies. But, if he had come back, you would have let him back into your heart.

"Couldn't sleep?" you ask. 

Megumi blinks his eyes. It's past his bedtime, but you aren't going to nag him for it. You place the cup of steaming tea down on the coffee table, clicking your tongue when it wobbles. Right, four years later and you still hadn't fixed it,

"The rain was too loud." He gives. 

Wordlessly, you invite him into the cocoon you'd nestled yourself into. The sofa sinks under his weight as he settles next to you, leaning against your side. You tuck the warm blanket around his tiny body. He's still small enough to fully wrap your arm around him, bringing him even closer. You take advantage of it. You don't know how much time you have until he's too big to cuddle with anymore. 

His breaths are even and slow. He's a boy of few words, but even you think he's asleep until he's mumbling something into your ear. 

"I hate him." 

You give a confused hum, leaning down, resting your head on top of his. The coffee table looks even more uneven at this angle. It burns to even look at, these days.

"He makes you cry, even when he's not around anymore." 

You laugh at that. It's a quiet huff. When you glance down, you think you spot a faint smile on the boy's lips. He’s so much like his fathers, in the little things. You don’t think you will ever tell Megumi that. You don’t think he’ll take that observation well.

"I wasn't crying.” You tell him. “I was just thinking.”

He doesn't give a response after that. A few minutes later when you look down again, his eyes are closed, and he's drooling against your shoulder. You laugh again before gently gathering your son in your arms and settling him down to bed. 

The next day, you notice the monstrous amount of duct tape wrapped around the leg of the coffee table. When you ask Megumi about it, he just shrugs, his ears twinging a bright red. 

You throw the coffee table away. It's replaced by a new one the following week. 

☔︎︎

Satoru didn't like talking about Toji. 

You only tried prying once or twice. He was tight-lipped about it. Not quite cold, but he'd shut the conversation down quickly, more than eager to talk about something else. You missed it the first few times, but it became clear that Satoru disdained even the mention of your late husband. You can't tell if it's whether Satoru admired Toji enough that the mere mention of his name sends him into grief, or if it's something a lot more complicated. 

Now that you think of it, you barely even knew the relationship Gojo had with Toji. Had they been close? Was he just an acquaintance? Satoru had always been so cryptic about it. 

Toji hadn't. 

"He's called the strongest man?" you ask, amusement twinged in your voice, "I thought he was 12." 

"They don't care about age when giving titles," Toji replied.

You were leaning onto his shoulder, watching your son sleep in his crib. Only three months old and he had this permanent frown on his face, as if he was already sick of the world. 'He already acts like you' you once told your husband. He'd scoffed, but he didn't disagree. 

"That's a little funny," you find yourself saying. "What, can he lift a car? Does he benchpress 200?" 

Toji doesn't find the image of a child casually lifting 150lb weights as funny. He only grunts, drawing you closer. 

"I met him once," he says after a beat of silence, "back when he was barely older than a toddler." 

"Hm?" you prodded, still mesmerized by a sleeping Megumi, "what'd you think?" 

"Power," Toji responds, "more power than I'd ever have." 

You tear your gaze away from your son, glancing at your husband. Toji's eyes were looking somewhere, farther than you could see. It's the envy in his voice that you can't help but keep. A mere child already has everything Toji could ever want. Strength, a name, honor. 

You should have realized then that Toji would never belong to you. Not truly. His heart, whether or not he swore up and down otherwise, would always belong to the Jujujtsu world. It's a tragedy. Someplace that he always longed for acceptance, will never truly see him. Even when he died for it. 

Satoru will probably never answer your questions about Toji, but perhaps you could get close. 

"Why did you do it?" 

It was after dinner. Satoru had dropped your son off, and you had practically dragged the white-haired man inside with you, sitting him down on the dining table. He'd complained, but you know he secretly liked being coddled. He didn't deny the second helpings, nor the thirds. Sometimes you wondered if he was a man or a black hole. 

Megumi had already gone to bed, and you supposed he had enough of Satoru for one day. It left you and him in the kitchen, putting away the dishes. Rather, you put away the dishes, and Satoru watched. Not that you minded. It was nice to have company. 

"Hm?" He was typing away at his phone, blearily turning back to look at you. You couldn't get why he didn't just go home if he was so uninterested. 

"Why did you interfere when the Zenin came?" You repeat your question, putting the last of the plates in the dishwasher. 

Looking back, things could have gone much differently for you. For your son. You didn't realize how much power the Zenin clan had back then. Had Satoru not stepped in, had you kept rejecting them, you honestly wonder what sorts of drastic measures men like them would take for the sake of power. 

"Are you upset?" He asks, tilting his head. 

"Of course not." You smile. You were grateful for Satoru, you always have been. He's helped your family out in more ways than you could imagine. After all he's helped Megumi with, there was nothing Satoru could do to get you mad at him, hate him, not truly. 

"I was just wondering. It's not like you had an obligation to." 

You close the dishwasher with a soft click. The machine starts with a soft hum. He doesn't reply, not for a long while, when you look up, you see him staring back at you. His sunglasses were off, folded, tucked under his collar. 

"Clans are bullshit." You're surprised by the venom in his voice. There's a cinch in his jaw. You wonder how many years his hatred has been festering like this. 

"The entire Jujujstu world is, honestly. But clans are the worst of all. The hierarchy. Traditions. All dogshit. They'd gobble the kid and spit him back out. I-I didn't want him-" He stops with a hiss, like he'd said too much.

This time, you don't let him run away. 

"...you didn't want him to end up like you." You finish. 

It clicks, fits together like a jigsaw piece. The Gojo name had ruined Satoru, turned him into something he was too young to be. The name forced him to grow up faster, stronger. The name forced him to be isolated, lonely.

That conversation with Toji curls up inside of you. Back then, you'd only empathized with Toji's pain, but what about Satoru's pain? What about the amount of expectations that had been piled on top of a 12-year-old boy? What about the responsibilities he's forced to carry, each weight growing heavier and heavier but he can't break because he is Gojo? 

Satoru stands before you, but you can easily picture him as Megumi. Tiny, small Megumi who didn't speak much but whose heart was bigger than anyone you knew. He could end up like Satoru. Standing at the top of the mountain. All powerful. All alone. 

You don't want Megumi to be alone. 

You don't want Satoru to be alone. 

"Satoru." You step forward. "Could...could I give you a hug?" 

He doesn't respond. You step closer. No barrier. 

When you wrap your arms around him, you think you can feel him tremble. It takes a moment for him to catch up, for his arms to drape across your back. You clutch onto him tighter, silently promising not to let go until he does. 

He doesn't, not for a long while. 

☔︎︎

Satoru had a mission on his twenty-second birthday. So, you celebrate five days after he turns twenty-two. 

"Again," you say for the nth time, "If-if you have other plans, or anything else, I don't have to stay-" 

"Will you stop it, already," Satoru interrupts, "You're gonna make me depressed. I already told you, I got no other plans." 

 "Well," you frown, "if you change your mind, and you'd rather spend time with your friends..." 

"What other friends? You're the only one I got." 

You frown at that. He smiles, barely lingering on his loneliness. He does that a lot lately, brush it off. Perhaps it's become easier to. Perhaps it's because you're here now. 

The sun had already set on the Gojo estate. The stars were already out. Typically, you would have been antsy staying too late over, especially when Megumi was still home, but your son was a few cities over. He was training with another sorcerer, his new mentor stating that your son wouldn't be back for a couple more days. 

Wait, now that you think of it. 

"Satoru," you say, your voice heavy with disapproval, "Did you send Megumi off purely because it was your birthday?”

He grins wider, showing off his pearly whites. "No idea what you’re talking about." 

You frown harder. He clicks his tongue in distaste.

"It's not like the kid would wanna come celebrate anyway, and now you can focus on me! Two birds one stone." He flops on the couch.

"Satoru." 

"Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake!" Satoru chants, as if that'll distract you. 

Unfortunately, it does. You roll your eyes, but you lean down, pulling out the pastry out of the bag. It's nothing special, and you do not consider yourself an expert in baking. It certainly isn't fancy, but you were still a little proud. Simple, a small chocolate cake, perfect for two.

Satoru stares. 

"I know it isn't much-" 

"I love it," he says and you can't tell if he's joking or not, "I'm gonna make it a family heirloom." 

You laugh at that. It shakes your shoulders. 

"I don't think cakes are built to last that long. How about you just eat it, instead." 

"Much better plan," Satoru responds, grabbing a fork, eager to dig in. 

He yelps when you slap his hand away as you give him a stern look. You touched his skin. You try not to linger at that, at the fact that he let you touch him. 

"Not now," you say, but you still smile, "you need to blow out the candles first." 

He huffs but doesn't protest when you stick two candles into the soft frosting. It takes a while to work the old lighter; you have to shoo him away when he tries to snatch it from you. You force Satoru to sit there for at least a minute as you sing the dreadful happy birthday song. He doesn't seem to mind, a mean grin growing on his face, letting you finish up the lyrics. 

Toji was mortified every time you managed to stick a birthday hat onto him, dragging him to the living room for his cake. He'd hold his infant son in his arms, his frown even less amused. Even then, he never interrupted the stupid tradition you put him through. He'd sit through the entire ceremony, Megumi asleep on his chest. A scowl would twitch on his lips whenever you managed to smear a dab of frosting on his nose.

You clap when Satoru blows out the candles. 

"What did you wish for?" You ask minutes later, swallowing down a bite of frosting. He was already on his third piece. You know you should tell him to slow down but you don't think it will do much. 

"If I tell you, it won't come true," Satoru responds, his tone light.

"That's a myth," you point out, "but keep your secrets if you must." 

You set your plate down when Satoru speaks the next time. 

"I wished for us to do this again." 

His voice is shallow, echoing throughout the empty house. You look at him, his white hair, his pink lips, his blue eyes. Everything that encompasses Gojo Satoru is focused entirely on you.

"That next year, we'll celebrate the exact same way." 

He sounded so small, as though he were younger than 22. Perhaps, a part of him was. A gentle smile spreads on your face. 

"Of course we will," you assure, before your voice gets teasing, "the next year, the year after that, and the next year until you get sick of me." You laugh. He doesn't laugh back. It's silent again, the kind of quiet that's full and meaningful. Distantly, you hear a clock ticking somewhere. It's a nice night. Peaceful. God, you were so tired from all the stressing you did for the cake. Satoru wanted to watch a movie after the cake cutting, but you wonder if he'll forgive you if you fell asleep during the film. You were exhausted. 

That's why it takes you a second to register his lips are on yours. 

The kiss is soft, and patient. His mouth moves slowly against yours. You can taste the chocolate. It takes a second to understand what Satoru was doing that he wasn't Toji before your hands are moving, reaching up to his shoulders, keeping him there as you shy away, breaking the kiss. You two stay like that for a few more moments, still touching. You can hear your breath, feel your heartbeat. A little while later, he moves closer, intent on following your mouth, before your brain kicks in and you're shutting him down, standing up. 

Satoru blinks up at you, the realization of rejection sinking into his eyes before you stumble over yourself to apologize because, dear god, you should have seen this coming. 

"I'm so sorry, Satoru," your voice is coming out in clumps, "I never meant to... I always thought...I'm a decade older than you." 

The ocean eyes crystalize, turning into cold tanzanite. You're too muddled with guilt and self-hatred to notice. Of course, Satoru would take things the wrong way. Of course, he'd misunderstand. You always thought he was wise for his age, but he's still in his early twenties. You should have been better and made your boundaries known. God, you were so stupid. 

"So?" he asks, but his voice lacks the usual snark. "Who cares how old you are?" 

You resist the urge to say something accidentally condescending. 'You'll understand when you're older' stings in the back of your tongue, and you wonder if it's fair to say considering how you acted when you were younger than Satoru­­-- when Toji was an older man who found you amusing enough for dinner and a warm bed. 

It's different now. You were older, wiser. Toji had been a mistake. A mistake you miss every day. 

"Of course, you don't," you say, and despite it all, a laugh fumbles out your throat. Shaky, delirious. "Again, I'm so sorry. It's entirely my fault-I-I should have communicated things better."  

"Why does any of that matter?." It's his turn to stand up, and it makes everything so much worse because Satoru's taller than you. "It doesn't, not to me. I lo-" 

"Stop."

It's not a yell, but it's the harshest tone you've ever used on him. Still, it's enough for his breath to falter, to give you a moment of reprieve because the only other person who said that to you and meant it died six years ago. You touch the cold metal of your ring. You twist it around your finger. When Satoru's eyes gaze down, following your movements, you force yourself to stop self-soothing. 

The ticking of the clock starts back up again. You want to smash it. 

"I should go."

You already know it's a bad idea. You shouldn't leave Satoru alone. You should stay, sort things out, mend his heart, but you're human. You want to run, sort yourself out first. You want to take the cowards' way out. Satoru doesn't stop you. You can't bear to look at him, not when it's so much to even be here. Your mind is already being thrown into disarray and you're barely remembering to grab your purse. 

Your hands rest on the door when you pause. You don't bother turning around. You know he's already looking at you. 

"Happy birthday, Satoru." 

For some reason, you cry the entire ride home. 

☔︎︎

Surprisingly, it's Megumi who asks about it. 

It'd been a week since you'd last spoken to Satoru. Communication stills, and stops completely. It goes both ways, he doesn't randomly pop by anymore, scaring the daylights out of you. You no longer buy strange-sounding sweets because you know you won't be seeing him later. One week ago, Satoru was there. The next, he wasn't. 

"Has he said sorry yet?" 

You jolt up, staring at your son. Megumi is still glowering at the vegetables you'd put on his plate. At this point, you know he doesn't hate the food. He just always looks like that. 

"What?" 

"He obviously did something to you." He mutters. "Did he at least say sorry?" 

No matter how uninterested your son always portrayed himself as, he was very observant. Of course, he would. As much as you loved Megumi, you wish he'd be just 10 percent less attentive. 

You force yourself to laugh anyway. "Satoru didn't do anything." You assure. "What makes you say that?" 

"The idiot's been sulking all week," Megumi responds, "everyone's been wondering what's up with him." 

You give him a disapproving look, but you doubt it did anything. Instead, you glance down, mindlessly poking at your plate. 

"Don't call him that," you say softly.

Megumi only shrugs. Despite everything, you still have this strange urge to defend Satoru, if only to save your own dignity of fighting with someone 10 years younger than you.

"Nothing happened. It-it was a misunderstanding, that's all." You hope your smile doesn't look uncertain. He's only ten, but he's already so perceptive. You don't think it's enough to convince him. Your smile drops. You roll your shoulders. 

Another thing you should have seen coming. Of course, Megumi would notice. Despite how annoyed Megumi acts around him, there's still a sort of bond between the two boys. A connection between two sorcerers, something you will never have with your son. You were wrong about your initial assessment about their relationship. They were much closer than you thought. Satoru cared about Megumi, as did Megumi about Satoru. Your souring relationship with Satoru might break that. . 

Your actions have consequences. To everyone, not just yourself. 

"I'll talk to him soon about it, I promise." As if to placate him further, you reach over, patting his hair. He frowns deeper but doesn't make a move to shove you off. 

To your chagrin, soon comes later that evening. Satoru breaks the ice first with a single text. 

you free tomorrow

It's nothing like him. No emoticons. No exclamation marks. You say yes, regardless. The next evening, you step out of the taxi, thanking the driver before stepping onto the Gojo property. 

It was raining, barely a drizzle, not enough to make you want to bring an umbrella. Still, the air was chilly, just enough so that you clutched the coat covering your body tighter. You carefully avoid the puddles adorning the sidewalk. 

You agreed to come here, but it's hard to keep that in mind as you climb the patio steps. You stand in front of the door for an entire minute, counting each second, before you knock. 

"Finally! Took you long enough." 

It's hard to look at him. Already, your gaze threatens to waver. You force yourself not to wrap your arms around your sides. For once, you're glad he wears those sunglasses of his. 

Satoru, on the other hand, barely looks affected by the encounter. He's dressed well, in a white collared shirt and black pants. He smiles cheerily, widening the door so you can step inside. You thank him when he wordlessly mentions for your coat. 

Your eyes catch the living room, along with the coffee table. There'd been a half-eaten birthday cake the last time you'd been here. Now the table is completely clean. You wonder what Satoru had done with it. You hoped he threw it away because the thought of him sitting there, alone, finishing the pastry filled you with so much guilt you could almost feel sick. 

"Did you see the weather just an hour ago?" He asks offhandedly, "thought the rain would smash through my windows, from how loud it was." 

"Oh?" You ask genuinely because you honestly hadn't noticed anything regarding the weather. You'd been stressing about the reunion, mind too preoccupied to care about the skies. 

"'hope the violets survived. I just planted 'em yesterday." He glances out the window as though he could see through the sheets of rain. You hum, already feeling out of place. The silence is only accompanied by the rain lightly patting on the windows. 

"You still love him." When you don't answer right away, Satoru turns back. "That Zenin guy. You love him." 

It catches you so off guard that you can't help but tell the truth. You nod once. 

He's still smiling, but the air feels off somehow. Like you're passing unmarked territory. It's a silly thought, and you brush it off immediately. Despite how strained your relationship is currently, Satoru isn't dangerous. He never will be. 

"Yeah," he responds, "I just don't get why, y'know?" 

You try to smile, but it's like pulling teeth. "I-I don't see how-" 

"It just doesn't make sense. You and him, I mean. You two are so different." 

You couldn't argue with that. Toji and you were on opposite ends. He was from a world that you would never be able to reach, let alone touch. You were a regular woman. He was a man who fought curses on a regular basis. A man who died from it. 

Satoru's laughing; it takes you a moment to realize you might have said some of that out loud. 

"Right. Fuck I keep forgetting that's what I told you." Satoru leans against the counter. "A special grade killed Zenin." 

"I mean, technically, I didn't lie, right? A special grade did kill him. A special grade sorcerer." 

Your brain stops. You can only stare. Satoru reaches up, taking off his glasses, folding them before neatly placing them on the counter. His eyes were always so breathtaking; now they look empty. Soulness. 

You laugh. It sounds delirious. "But-but you said you were one of the only special grade sorcerers around." 

"Yeah." Satoru nods along. 

"Satoru...you're not making any sense..." 

"Really?" Satoru tilts his head. "What part of 'I killed your husband' is confusing for you?" 

He continues at your silence. "I mean, it wasn't like it wasn't for a good reason. The guy shot a junior high girl for cash. Knowing him, he's probably done worse. If you're asking me, I did a good thing by killing him--oh." Satoru pauses at your expression: horrified, broken.

He's smiling. You think that's the worst part. It's the same smile he's always worn. Playful and mischievous. 

"C'mon, you seriously didn't know what he was up to. I can't tell whether you're that stupid or if he was that good at hiding it." 

You should have denied it. You should have said Toji would never do the heinous act Satoru just accused him off, but can you? Could you honestly say that? You knew Toji was in bad shit. You'd always known that. He told you about the gambling, the drugs, the money. After he married you, he promised he walked away from that life, he was walking away with you. One last job, he'd said. Just one last job and he was done forever. 

Something that goes beyond money, Toji had said, something you would never understand. 

You can hardly breathe, sinking against the wall behind you as you collapse onto the floor. Your hands are pressed against your mouth, muffling your sobs as your eyes are filled with tears. Every interaction you've ever had with Toji is flitting through your mind. You can feel the bile in your stomach, threatening to leave your lips, splatter across the floor. 

Your husband was a murderer. 

Your husband was a monster. 

His fingers are cold as he firmly pushes your hands away from your face. You glance up. Satoru stares right back. His smile is gone, replaced by a frown. He squats before you, idly tracing his pointer figure around your cheeks, catching your falling tears. 

"He took everything from me, y'know," he says, quiet, low enough that the rain almost drowns his voice, "in just a day, my entire life changed. Someone died. A person I thought would be by my side my entire life disappeared." 

"But, I gotta' thank him. Without his help, I wouldn't have become stronger, and I wouldn't have you." 

You suck in a breath at that, but Satoru isn't paying attention. His hand traces down to your neck, feeling the skin. 

"I like to think that he gave me you as an apology of sorts. It's nice to think of it that way, right?" 

You look at him, absolutely horrified at how casual he was being. 

Your husband was a monster. 

And he’d left you with another one. 

Immediately, you slap his hands away. 

"Stop." You say, a weak hiss, "don't-don't touch me. Never ever touch me-" 

"Yeah," he interrupts, ignoring your wavering voice, "I didn't think you would jump into my arms after what I said, either. But, hey, a guy can dream, right?" 

What? And before you can think, he's pressing his lips against yours. 

It's not like his first kiss. Before, when it was soft and sweet and he barely pushed, like he was savoring you. This kiss was harsh. Filled with teeth and lust and endless greed. You can taste the inexperience, and the thought that this might be the second time Satoru’s ever kissed someone fills your head. The fight is almost pathetic as you sink into his hold, helpless to do anything but wilt until he's had enough of his fill. You push against his chest, but he only leaves on his terms.

You're both panting, but you're more frazzled. His lips are blushing pink, and there's a string of saliva that stretches before snapping apart. You can feel the way his hands are positioned on your hips. Disgust and self-hatred wells up within you.

"I meant what I said that day: I love you." You squeeze your eyes at his confession. "I mean, what's there not to love? You're sweet; you're hot."

His hands play with the hem of your shirt. You stiffen as you try to claw them off of you, but it doesn't help. You don't want to look, but you just can't help yourself. It's morbid curiosity. Looking at a car crash. Your eyes open and you stare at Satoru. 

"But I think the thing I love about you the most is that you'll never hate me." 

Two glowing blue eyes stare back at you. He looks ethereal like this. Even when he's kneeling, he's still taller than you. He's always been above you. Not just in height, you're slowly starting to realize. 

You always thought Satoru hated his last name. You always thought he blamed his lineage for his loneliness, his isolation. He grew up too fast, forced to become something for the sake of others. It's why you tried so hard to treat him like an equal, as though he were another human. 

When he leans in to kiss you again, you finally understand that Gojo never wanted to part from his last name. Why would he? It was always a part of him. It was your fault for trying to humanize and connect with him. You fought for years to see him as an equal that you neglected to ask if he even wanted to be on the same plane as you. 

Perhaps, once he did. Back when candlelight illuminated his face. When chocolate was the only thing you could taste.

"You can't hate me." He smiles against your lips. "You feel too sorry for me." 

"No matter what I do to you, you'll never hate me." 

You start crying again. Satoru hushes you, wiping away your tears in a way that suggests he's not used to being soft and delicate. Yet, he's trying to be. Soon, his gentleness fades, and his impatience seeps in again. It's all too easy for Satoru to haul you to your feet. He was the strongest, after all. You struggle anyway because you're human and your heart is filled with foolish hope. He laughs at your meager attempts to push him away, and you feel that this is all a game for him. Maybe it always was. 

"Satoru-Satoru," you're begging as he pulls you through his empty house, "you don't have to do this. Please just-" 

"See? You still aren't getting it." Satoru sighs, like he's disappointed before he's tossing you in a room. You flail against the bed, your chest pressed against the cushions before he's flipping you onto your back. It's worse when he's hovering over you, both hands on either side of your head, caging you in. 

"I'm not doing anything I don't want to do. I never have." 

You expect Satoru to kiss you again, that disgusting display where he rips you apart with his teeth, consuming you whole. Instead his pretty blue eyes flit to your clenched hand. He snatches up your wrist, easily unfurling your hand.

You react too late, only reaching up to stop him when he’s done pulling the ring off your finger. Satoru barely gives it an unimpressed look before he’s tossing it aside. You can only stare in the direction of it, watching as the last thing you had of him drops into the darkness. There’s two metallic clinks before it’s rolling to a stop. And then, you hear nothing.

He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved, dipping his head into the crook of your neck.

“I was so sick of looking at that.” He mumbles into your skin, giving it a playful nip. “Parading that thing around in front of another man like that. It’s kinda’ rude, y'know?”

You give another sob when his hands dig underneath your shirt. He presses on the softness of your belly, burying his face deeper into your neck, inhaling your scent.

“Fuck, you smell so good.” He groans into your neck. You can feel something press against your thigh.

You know what he was planning on doing, he made it clear ever since he dug himself into your skin with fangs. But the evidence. The hands twitching up your shirt, groping and feeling. The bulge grinding against your thigh

You can’t fight him, you stopped trying. Instead, you clench your fists again, letting the last of your tears drip down your face, praying and praying that what Satoru said wasn’t true.

Satoru isn’t nice to your clothes. You don’t know why you thought he ever would be. When he���s done with feeling and not looking, he pushes your shirt up, letting it catch just over the swell of your chest. He’s pushing your bra down, leaning down to trace your skin with his hot, wet tongue.

You jolt at the contact. It’d been so long since you’ve last been touched. He’s barely done anything and yet you’re already so sensitive. Something between a gasp and a moan is pulled out of your lips when Satoru swirls his tongue around your nipple, before he takes it fully in his mouth.

He’s tasting you, savoring you in a way you’d only seen him do for his cherished candy. He’s messy with it too, drool and spit spilling onto your skin, making you feel even colder than you already were.

Satoru has never stopped with just one candy, has he? He’s greedy, popping another and another in his mouth until the bag is all empty. It’s his natural essence to take until there’s nothing left. That’s why his hand trails down to your skirt, pushing it down before you can even decipher what he wants next from you.

You gasp when his hand presses against your panties, pushing them between your folds. The fabric lightly brushes against your clit, not enough for you to have any kind of relief. Still, a tingle jolts up your back.

“You’re soaked!” Satoru’s exclaiming. His voice comes out in the form of a laugh, light and innocent. It hurts to hear him sound like that. You have no more tears to cry again.

You want to tell him that it wasn’t you, that you don’t want him, that it’s just your body, but you doubt he cares about any of that. He pushes your panties down, letting them sit against your thighs before he’s pushing a finger deep into your wet pussy.

You can’t stop the noises this time. It’s more of a yelp than a moan, but Satoru takes it in stride as he continues to finger fuck you. When he digs a second finger into your hole, there’s a wet squelch of a sound. You have to turn away, but you can feel his smile against your skin. Victorious.

His other hands comes, pushing in between your breasts to keep you on the bed as he plants butterfly kisses down your ribs, your stomach, your hips, all the way down until he’s practically on his knees.

You were right to assume his inexperience. He’s sloppy, spreading his saliva and your wetness all over your pussy. There’s no rhythm, no clear pattern as he’s trying everything at once--swirling his tongue around your sensitive clit before licking his way into your hole.

And yet, it’s working. Your battered cunt responds to his enthusiasm, and your walls squeeze his fingers.

You can’t stop your noises. You don’t think he’s trying to stop his. His voice is muffled by your pussy, but he’s moaning and groaning so loudly. You think he’s saying something, but you can hear anything over the wet sounds of your cunt, the throbbing between your ears.

Your orgasm was inevitable, but you’re still surprised when it hits. Ramming into you like a train. Your back arches, and your thighs are involuntarily squeezing Satoru’s head. Keeping him there.

There’s a hum of satisfaction coming from him, but he doesn’t pull away. He folds your thighs, pushing them up into your chest so he can get more access to your pussy, sucking even harder on your clit. You were so far out of it that you can barely remember that this isn’t for you. It’s all for him. Satoru is greedy. It’s his natural essence to take and take until you’re nothing more than an empty bag, once filled with something sweet.

He doesn’t stop until you’ve come around his fingers and tongue a second time, when your cries are on the brink of overstimulation. When Satoru finally pulls away, the bottom half of his face is shiny. He keeps his eyes on you, messily wiping the remnants of you off his face before his leaning forward to kiss you, letting you taste yourself.

Unlike you, he doesn’t bother undressing himself. He’s unraveling his belt from his waist, pushing his pants down enough that he’s able to untuck his cock from his briefs. He’s already hard, giving his dick two cursory pumps before he’s settling his on either side of your body, keeping you there.

He’s big. Big enough that you worry he might actually succeed in breaking you. A semblance of rebellion, motivated by fear than anything else, stirs inside you. You push yourself up, elbows pressing against the mattress before he’s ending it.

There’s a grin, a flash of teeth, before he’s roughly pushing you down again.

“Satoru-“You start, you beg.

“Shut it,” he says, his smile too dangerous to be friendly, “if it isn’t begging me to fuck you, then I don’t wanna hear it.”

As though he’s taking the sight in himself, he hovers over you. The light from the window gently caresses his face in an angel kiss. His white hair is almost like halo, swathing him in an innocent shade of beauty.

When Satoru sinks his cock deep inside of you, you wonder if he’s defiling you or himself.

Just like before, he doesn’t bother letting you acclimate. He doesn’t wait, he doesn’t hold off. You can’t expect him too. Your pussy is squeezing him, edging him on. How could you expect him to not take it as a challenge and fuck you the way he’s dying to?

It’s exactly what he does as he bullies his cock deep inside your walls again and again. He whimpers, high and pitchy before he’s leaning down to bite and lick at your neck, your chest, leaving your skin with marks and bruises that will last for days.

Satoru loses his sharpness the more he’s inside of you. You cry when he leans down, circling his thumb across your clit.

“So good,” he’s mumbling into your sweaty skin, like a mantra, “so good so good. You’re so good. I love you I love you I love you-“

It’s torture to hear him say that over and over again and a part of you tries to force yourself to think of someone else to give you comfort. Scarred lips. Thick black hair.

You can’t.

Satoru has taken away everything, even your dreams.

There’s another gasp before he’s harshly gripping on your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are blown open, wide and manic.

“Say my name,” he’s begging but his grip is too tight to be anything but an order, “I-I need you to-fuck-say my name.”

“Sa-Satoru.” He lurches at that, almost collapsing into your chest.

“Again.”

“Satoru,” and then you say it again and again and again because your brain’s too muddled to do anything but listen to him.

His thumb is moving faster and faster on you clit, his thrusts are getting sloppier.

“Gonna-gonna fill you up,” An alarm of panic ring as he’s blabbering, words stilted and strained, “I gotta’—I just gotta’, can’t think of ‘nothing else—fuck fuck.” He adjusts your legs, folding your body in half so he can push that much deeper inside of you.

He smiles again. Wild. Unhinged. The monsoon that is Gojo Satoru. If you won’t wash away with him, then he is more than happy to drown you in his rain.

“Fuck,” he curses again, his voice a mix of a laugh and a groan, “think the kid would like a younger sibling?”

You can barely process his words. You don’t think Satoru could process his either. His orgasm triggers your own, and you’re both tipping over the edge together. His cum fills your pulsing cunt, searing your insides with white heat.

Satoru collapses on top of you, pressing you into the mattress of expensive sheets. You two stay like that, just the sounds of your harsh breathing fills the room. Satoru gives a shaky kiss on your lips, just as sweet and chaste as the first time.

He stays there for another minute, before he’s pushing himself up again. You can’t understand what he’s doing until you realize he’s still hard inside of you.

“Satoru—” it’s a plea, your voice overwrought with exhaustion, “Don’t—"

“One more, ‘kay?” he slurs, pushing his cock as deep as it could get inside of you, “Just—Just one more.”

You wake up hours later. It's pitch-black, the lights are gone. Distantly, you can feel Satoru's hand curled around your waist. He'd fallen asleep with his head buried in your neck. You can feel his rhythmic breathing against your skin. Outside, the rain beats on the windows, and thunder rattles in the sky. 

You wait for it—the anger, the hatred—for yourself to hate Gojo Satoru. 

He was right. Nothing came. 

[tender-rosiey]

I have a ✨request✨

So I would like to ask (if you want to do this) if you can make husband!Sukuna and wife!Reader but the reader gets scared easily and she’s terrified of thunderstorms.

Thank you! Btw, love how you write everything 😌❤️

thunder — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: glad you do, love! hope you like this as well! <3

the skies turn an ominous gray, heavy clouds swirling as the first low rumble of thunder rolls across the horizon. you feel your stomach twist in response, a familiar unease creeping up your spine. the storm is approaching, fast.

you swallow hard, trying to distract yourself with the mundane tasks of the day, hoping the sound of the thunder will fade into the background.

but with each passing moment, the storm grows louder, the skies darker. a flash of lightning lights up the room briefly, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that shakes the walls.

you flinch, heart pounding in your chest, and hurriedly step away from the window, as if being near it somehow makes the storm more dangerous.

your fingers tremble slightly as you clasp them together, trying to keep your breathing steady.

it’s ridiculous, you think. you are the wife of ryomen sukuna, the king of curses. by all accounts, you have no reason to fear anything. and yet… thunderstorms always find a way to unravel you.

another bolt of lightning splits the sky, and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the inevitable roar of thunder that follows.

the sound reverberates through the room, louder than before, and despite your efforts to stay calm, you can’t stop the small gasp that escapes your lips.

you hate feeling this way—small, vulnerable. you have faced so much worse and come out unscathed, but the irrational fear of storms clings to you, reminding you of your humanness.

a faint sound behind you makes you jump, your pulse quickening before you realize it’s just the door opening. you exhale in relief but freeze when you sense his presence in the room.

sukuna’s aura is unmistakable—heavy, oppressive, and dark. yet there is something familiar and comforting in it, like the weight of his power grounds you in reality.

he stands in the doorway, watching you in silence for a moment, his four eyes taking in your tense frame, the way your shoulders are slightly hunched, and your knuckles are white from gripping your hands too tightly.

“you’re scared,” he says, his voice low.

it isn’t a question. he senses it, of course. there’s no hiding anything from him, least of all your fears. you try to shrug it off, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“it’s just a storm,” you mutter, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, though your fingers still tremble. “nothing to worry about.”

sukuna steps further into the room, his towering figure casting a shadow over you.

he raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your attempt to downplay the situation. another crash of thunder booms overhead, and despite yourself, you flinch again.

his gaze sharpens. “don’t lie to me,” he warns, his tone cold.

you bite your lip, feeling foolish. of course he sees through you. he always does. there’s no use pretending.

“I’m… not good with thunderstorms,” you finally admit, your voice quieter now. “I know it’s stupid.”

sukuna remains silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he observes you. he is never one for unnecessary softness, and certainly not the comforting type.

but there is something in the way he looks at you—calculating, thoughtful, as if he is deciding what to do with this newfound knowledge.

another streak of lightning illuminates the room, casting sharp shadows across his face. you instinctively take a small step back, but before you can fully retreat, sukuna moves faster, closing the distance between you in an instant.

his large hand wraps around your wrist, firm but not harsh.

“are you serious?” he asks, incredulity lacing his tone. the idea seems laughable to him.

“I can’t help it,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. the thunder crashes once more, and your body tenses involuntarily.

sukuna exhales, a low, rumbling sound that seems to match the storm outside. his grip tightens slightly, pulling you closer to him until you’re inches away from his chest.

he looms over you, his eyes dark and piercing, yet there is something oddly reassuring in his presence—something that makes the storm outside seem less terrifying in comparison.

“you fear something as insignificant as this when i stand before you?” his voice is a mixture of disbelief and amusement, but beneath that, there is a thread of something else—something almost protective.

you can’t meet his gaze, embarrassed by how small and fragile you must seem to him. sukuna, of all beings, thrives on chaos and destruction. the very elements of the storm that terrify you are likely nothing more than a minor inconvenience to him, if that.

“look at me,” he commands, his fingers tipping your chin upward to force you to meet his eyes. his red irises burn into yours, fierce and unyielding.

“do you think something as trivial as this storm could harm you while you’re mine?” his words are sharp, almost cutting, but the underlying meaning isn’t lost on you. sukuna would never allow anything to touch what was his.

he would never allow the world—let alone a storm—to hurt you.

you swallow, your voice shaky but trying to sound braver than you feel. “I… I know. It’s just—”

“you know nothing,” he cuts you off, leaning down until his face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “if you truly understood, you wouldn’t be trembling.”

you open your mouth to respond, but the thunder booms again, and instinctively, you press closer to him, your hands clutching the fabric of his robes as if he were the only anchor in the storm.

sukuna’s expression shifts subtly, his eyes softening—just barely—as he feels your grip tighten on him. he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t mock you for your fear, but instead, he allows you to cling to him, his body solid and unwavering.

“pathetic,” he mutters, though there’s no venom in his voice. he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you firmly against him. “but if you’re going to be scared, at least hide here.”

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[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Vexing Vacation – Part 6

Summary: When you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. Now, that you’re constantly stuck with Lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader, one-bed trope, a lot of banter and a hint of forced proximity :)

WC: 3.0K

Warnings: mentions of sex/sexual insinuations, cursing, alcohol consumption, making out (finally!)

Part 1 | Part 5 | Masterlist

Y/N went about her day pretending nothing had happened. She continued to read her book, which Lando had been so kind as to leave open on the same page as when he took it from her (she felt even more guilty after she realised that), and talked with Pietra every now and then. 

Lando barely spoke to Y/N after their fight, only engaging when it was necessary to keep up appearances in front of Max and Pietra. Maybe he had overreacted, but he had just been hit by the harsh truth that Y/N would never be his. He had never been this close to winning her over, and now she was shutting him out. It made him realise that it would never happen, no matter how much effort he put into his relationship with Y/N. He just needed some time to process the rejection, preferably without much interference from the woman herself.

When they got back to the hotel after dinner, Lando followed Max to his room without hesitation, not wanting to be alone with Y/N. Pietra quickly grabbed her stuff and joined the other girl to get ready for a night out. Lando could use a drink, and maybe a distraction, too.

Y/N was lost in her thoughts when Pietra entered the room, absentmindedly applying her makeup.

“So, what happened between you and Lando?” Pietra asked the moment she sat down.

Y/N froze at the sudden sound breaking silence. “What do you mean?” She asked, attempting to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb. You told me yourself, he was all over you last night and this morning, and you’re barely speaking now. What happened at the beach?”

Y/N bit her lip. “It’s my fault. I ignored him and now he’s upset. I realised this morning that I like Lando, and now I don’t know how to act around him anymore. Regardless of what you’ve been telling me, I don’t believe he feels the same. I’m just trying to protect myself before I get hurt, I thought keeping my distance would help.”

Pietra smiled sympathetically. “He likes you, Y/N. I’m one hundred per cent sure of it. He’s just confused. Last night, you asked him to cuddle, and now you’re ignoring him. He’s probably just as lost as you are – doing the same thing; shutting you out so he doesn’t get hurt any more.” 

Y/N thought about it for a second, Pietra was making sense, but she wasn’t convinced. “Even if he does like me, all my relationships end badly. I can’t risk ruining things with Lando; it would ruin his friendship with Max and even if it doesn’t, I wouldn’t be able to face him when he comes over. Besides, what if he changes his mind, just like he did today? I can’t let myself be vulnerable with him only for him to leave when he doesn’t want me anymore.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. Lando’s been around for more than a decade, yes? He already liked you before I met him, I’m quite sure of it. He’s not going anywhere, he’s not going to change his mind, and he’s not one to give up easily. And if he were, isn’t it worth the risk? You’re never going to be sure—in any relationship,” Pietra explains gently.

She was right, Y/N realised. Maybe she should just admit it and get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid. If Pietra was convinced he had liked her for such a long time, it must be true right? Pietra wouldn’t lie to her about such a thing, not on purpose. She sighed. “I need a drink.”

“Maybe it’ll help you admit how you feel,” Pietra said, winking. She pulled Y/N into an encouraging hug, before ushering her out the door.

A cab ride later, the group arrived at the club. The music was loud, the lights dim, and the room crowded. Y/N headed to the bar straight away, immediately ordering a drink. She would need some liquid courage to confront Lando tonight, but he had already done a shot and disappeared before she could get her hands on the cocktail.

It didn’t take her long to spot Lando in the herd of people. He was dancing with a girl she’d never seen before. She seemed to enjoy the attention he was giving her, and Y/N wished she had done the same when she was on the receiving end. She watched as Max and Pietra disappeared into the crowd, a worried look on Pietra’s face when she looked at Y/N over her shoulder. But Y/N didn’t pay her any mind; her eyes were focused on Lando, and the pretty girl he was dancing with. 

She had already ordered a second drink before she had even finished the first one. She felt stupid. Lando had never liked, that much was clear, or he had gotten over her really quickly. She felt like an idiot for believing Pietra for that short moment, for wanting to talk to him and admit her feelings for him when he clearly didn’t care for her in the same way.

So, when a guy came up to her at the bar, she let him buy her a drink. If things weren’t going to work out with Lando, why shouldn’t she try with someone else? Her goal for the vacation hadn’t changed, after all. She eagerly followed Luca – or was it Luke? –  to the dance floor, ready to forget about her troubles. She looked at Lando one last time before she was pulled into the crowd.

Lando had been looking over every so often, just to make sure she was alright – or that’s what he told himself. Irritation flared up inside him when he saw her accept a drink from a man he had never seen before, again. He felt annoyed at the realisation that she clearly didn’t care to listen to him or her brother, especially when he saw her following the stranger to the dance floor. His jaw clenched in aggravation as they made eye contact – she was doing it on purpose, he was sure of it. She was taking to the floor with yet another stranger to spite him, and it was working.

He shouldn’t care about it, but he couldn’t deny his jealousy. Y/N made it clear she wasn’t interested earlier today, but still she watched him – dared him to come and do something about it, or maybe he imagined it. It shouldn’t matter, she was Max’s problem, not his. Yet, he couldn’t resist looking over every now and then. Even as a pretty blonde was putting up a show right in front of him, he was focused on the way the stranger’s hands moved over Y/N’s body, how they rested on her hips to pull her ass tightly against him, and how he kissed his way down her neck. Lando clenched his hands, needing to release some of the tension, and swallowed thickly – that was supposed to be him.

He stared at Y/N, completely ignoring the blonde he was dancing with, watching as the man’s wandering hands moved further down her body before trailing up her thighs and disappearing under the hem of her dress. He was done; he would not stand by and watch how the girl he loved was being touched by another man. He pushed the blonde away rougher than he intended. Muttering an apology, he forced his way through the crowd.

His eyes were still set on Y/N, and the man’s hand that kept moving higher and higher, as if taunting him. His jaw tightened at the crude sight, only encouraging him to move faster. When he was finally close enough he forcefully pulled Y/N’s arm, yanking her from the stranger’s grip. 

She opened her eyes, startled at the sudden contact. “Lando,” she mumbled as he tugged her along. She didn’t care to look back at Lucas or say goodbye, solely focused on the man in front of her; the man who had come to save her from a stranger once more.

Once they got to a quieter part of the club, Lando faced her. “What on earth were you thinking? I told you before, you shouldn’t accept drinks from strangers, or let them touch you like that! Let me guess, you were planning to go home with him?”

Y/N looked at him in shock before her expression faded into a frown. He had been ignoring her all day, he had made it clear he no longer wanted anything to do with her, and now he was pulling her away from another man – what did he want from her? “Why do you care? You’re not my boyfriend! You don’t even like me!” She exclaimed frustratedly.

Lando froze at her words, completely taken aback. He thought he had been very clear with his intentions from the start; he had spent the entire vacation flirting with her, paid for her food and drinks, pulled out her chair, touched her whenever she would allow him, and now she was accusing him of not liking her? She couldn’t be more wrong, or oblivious for that matter. 

“What the hell makes you think that?” He demanded, moving closer. His eyes wide in frustration as he provoked her, trying to find out where it had gone wrong.

Y/N stuttered under his intense gaze, suddenly forgetting why exactly she had concluded that. “You… You always make fun of me, and—”

“What?” Lando interjected. Made fun of her? He had teased her, yes, but he had never humiliated her, had he? He began to doubt himself, but didn’t let it show.

“You know, for a short moment there I thought P was right; that you actually liked me, but I realise now I was stupid. You don’t like me, or you sure got over it quickly!” Y/n said with more confidence. She was done with this. The entire vacation had been awkward and weird and she needed clarity; she needed to suck it up and get it over with; finish whatever was going on, even if she got hurt or humiliated herself in the process.

“What are you talking about?” Lando asked confused. At least she had gotten the hint sometime this vacation, but moving on? He hadn’t attempted it, and he wouldn’t succeed if he tried.

“The girl you were dancing with? She’s pretty,” Y/N huffed.

Lando laughed at her – so she had been watching him, too? – and Y/N flushed in frustration. “The girl I was dancing with?”

She nodded.

“You think I care about her?” He asked, his eyebrows raised in disbelief; as if her assumption was ridiculous. The way she acted – her arms crossed, and the pouty expression he loved so much – made it clear she was jealous, and Lando thoroughly enjoyed it; it was about time she returned the favour.

Y/N became defensive. “You seemed pretty into her. Yet, here you are, lecturing me about who I dance with, while you were—”

“You call that dancing?” Lando interrupted harshly, stepping closer again. “You were about to fuck in the middle of the dancefloor.”

Y/N gasps in offence. “I was not! I would never do that, I wasn’t going to go home with him! I don’t even know him, I—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Lando’s lips had crashed onto hers, silencing her effectively. Her protest and apparent jealousy were enough reason for him to believe she liked him back; enough reason for him to risk it. Y/N’s body froze in surprise, but the moment she felt Lando’s lips move against hers, firm yet desperate, she relaxed in his strong hold. His hands glided over her body before one settled on her hip, pulling her closer, while the other slid behind her neck, guiding her deeper into the kiss.

Y/N’s mind was reeling, her heart pounding heavily as she gasped for breath when Lando suddenly pulled away, letting go of her body. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 

Before he could finish his apology, Y/N yanked him back by his shirt, cutting him off with her lips. Her fingers tangled in his curls, tugging softly as her other hand kept its tight grip on his shirt, as if she was afraid he’d try to pull away again.

Lando groaned softly against her lips, his hand sliding down her side again, his touch possessive yet gentle. He pulled her closer and pressed his hips into hers, a stark contrast to the gentle stroke of his thumb on her cheek. 

Y/N lost herself in the moment, surrendering to the intensity of Lando’s kiss, her body responding to his every touch, every caress. At this moment, she would go along with whatever he wanted, enjoying it far too much to protest.

When the heat of the moment had worn off, Y/N finally pulled away, in desperate need of some fresh air. She leant her forehead against Lando’s, her eyes closed as she tried to process the situation. She’d kissed Lando, but what did this mean? Did he like her? Were they in a relationship now or would they go back to being friends tomorrow? She was incredibly confused, even more so than before.

Lando’s voice broke her train of thoughts. “We should… probably find Max and Pietra,” he muttered, softly squeezing her waist as if to wake her up from her thoughts. Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed from Lando’s penetrative gaze and, not to forget, the intense kiss.

Lando led her to the bar, hoping to get a better view of the club from there, maybe Max and Pietra would spot them there, too. His hand was back in its rightful place on Y/N’s back as he guided her through the club. A small, satisfied smile settled on her face at the feeling, but she wasn’t reassured just yet; they needed to talk.

“There you are!” Pietra exclaimed when they neared the bar, quickly pulling Y/N into a hug. Pietra eyed the girl suspiciously at the lack of distance between her and Lando but didn’t mention it right away. Although it was obvious something had happened, she wasn't entirely sure what – she would ask later, when they were alone.

Max was oblivious, however. “You guys good to leave? We want to head back to the hotel,” he said, sending a cheeky look and wink over to Pietra.

Y/N nearly gagged at the suggestive comment but nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’re good to go,” she said, her eyes flicking to Lando’s for confirmation.

“Okay, let’s go,” Max uttered before heading the group in search of the exit. Lando walked ahead of Y/N, reaching his hand behind him for her to grab. He looked at her over his shoulder when it took too long, wiggling his fingers impatiently. Y/N blushed and grabbed his hand quickly, letting him guide her through the crowd.

The group entered one of the many taxis waiting outside the club. Max took the passenger’s seat as the rest settled in the back, Y/N in the middle. She could feel the gentle pressure and warmth of Lando’s hand on her bare knee as he rubbed slow circles into her skin. Pietra nudged her to catch her attention, nodding to Lando’s hand with a questioning look, only causing Y/N to blush more fiercely.

Pietra and Max quickly escaped to their room when they arrived at the hotel. If the sneaky kisses in the elevator were any indication of what was about to go down, Y/N was happy that their rooms weren’t next to each other.

Lando and Y/N slowly walked to their room, wanting to extend the moment before they had to face the reality of the situation.

“You okay?” Lando asked once they’d entered the room. His tone was soft and gentle, matching the reassuring hand rubbing her arm. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just, so many thoughts running through my head right now. Like, what does this mean? You still haven’t confirmed that you like me too, and I don’t want this to be just a one-time thing, you know?” She admitted quietly, as if that would make the statement less intimidating. 

“I like you, is that enough confirmation for you?” Lando said teasingly, yet lovingly. He couldn’t believe she still wasn’t sure about that after the kiss they shared. “And I don’t want that either,” he continued. “You think I would flirt with you for years just to have a one-time thing?” Lando questioned, his tone equally as soft as hers.

“No. But then again, I didn’t know you were flirting, I thought you were just making fun of me the entire time.”

Lando’s jaw hung slack at her comment, surprised at how bold she could be when she sounded so sweet. “Are you insulting my flirting now?”

“Hmm, maybe…” She said, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “Your name is perfect for it, Lando Norizz.” She giggled at her joke, and the fake offence Lando displayed.

“It worked though,” he protested.

“Just barely, it took a lot of intervention from P for me to realise you liked me.”

“Okay, I think that’s enough slander for tonight. Let’s go to sleep, hm?” Lando said, trying to distract her from making any more comments about his non-existent ‘rizz’.

She rolled her eyes, ready to protest, when he shut her up with a kiss. Not as firm and passionate as before, but sweet and adoring instead. She held his face gently, angling his lips to perfectly fit hers, before pushing him away.

“Sleep, you said?”

– – – – –

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[otakusheep15]

Flufftober Day 31 - Proposal - Savanaclaw

Characters include: Leona Kingscholar, Ruggie Bucchi, Jack Howl

Word count: 1934

Leona

Who proposes: Leona

Leona is not a marriage type of guy. He’s not even much of a dating guy in general. It all seemed so arbitrary to him. It makes sense, considering the way he was raised growing up. In his world, marriage was less about love and more about power. They were merely glorified alliances used to unite kingdoms. 

Then, Leona met you. At first, he considered you a fun fling. He would take you out, buy you whatever you asked for, and generally found you entertaining. He certainly never thought he would actually fall for you. But, eventually, even he couldn’t deny his feelings any longer, and from that day forward, your relationship was serious. 

He loves you so, so much, but the thought of marriage was still a strange concept to him. For one, he would need the approval of his parents, which just seemed like a chore to him. He knew they would probably say yes to the idea, but it still felt like too much. 

However, he would also be willing to do anything for you. So, after many discussions between the two of you, he decided to finally suck it up and ask his parents. It wasn’t easy for him, if only because it felt a bit humiliating, but his parents agreed, meaning he was now free to propose to you. 

This is the one thing he wouldn’t let his parents control. Sure, he had to ask them for permission, but he would decide how to do it. This was between you and him, and he wanted to keep it that way. 

He rejected the idea to propose using some family heirloom. It seemed cheap and unoriginal, and Leona didn’t want to do that to you. You deserve something that is just for you, something that shows how much he loves you. 

So, after some debating, he settles on commissioning a custom ring from the best jewelry maker he can find. Money is no worry, of course, and he has the ring perfectly customized to suit you. It’s a beautiful ring, and he knows you’ll love it. 

At this point, it’s no surprise that he’s planning to propose. The surprise left the moment he had to ask his parents. Still, he wanted this to be as memorable as possible, so he took it upon himself to make everything perfect. 

You adored the gardens on the palace grounds. There’s such a variety of plants and animals, and you spend a lot of time there. Leona likes it too, but more so because it’s an excellent napping place. He figures it’s the best place to propose to you. 

He guides you through the gardens, stopping in his favorite part, which is a hidden spot far away from the prying eyes around the palace. Once there, he gets down on one knee, presenting the ring to you. 

It’s rare for Leona to get sappy, even with you, but he does here. This is the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, and it makes you tear up a bit. He’s actually being vulnerable with you, which you love. You say yes, and he slips the ring on your finger. 

Then, he pulls you down with him, laying on his side and holding you close to him. After all that he went through to propose to you, he needs a rest. The two of you take a well-deserved nap, knowing you’re going to need the energy for when you go talk to his family about the proposal. 

Your wedding is, much to Leona’s displeasure, a grand event. He wanted something small, but he is still royalty, and this is a big deal. His family is in charge of planning most of the wedding, but you do get a small say here and there when there’s wiggle room. There’s plenty of guests, most of them allies of the country, but you did manage to sneak some of your friends onto the guest list as well. Leona mostly stuck to the sidelines unless he had to talk to someone, and you were more than happy to stay with him until you could finally return to your room. 

Ruggie

Who proposed: Ruggie

Ruggie has not thought about marriage once. He has far too much going on to worry about such trivial things. Not to mention, Ruggie didn’t exactly have the best relationships to look up to as a kid. He has no parents, his Gran has always been single, and most of the couples in his neighborhood are toxic and on the verge of divorce. 

It took Ruggie forever to even consider dating you. He couldn’t afford to for the longest time. He always had something going on, whether it be a new side hustle or a new scheme. Eventually, his schedule does clear up, and he finally agrees to date you. 

From there, things go better than expected. He’s still constantly busy, but he’s able to clear up time for you, and that’s more than enough. Even when he’s swamped with work, Ruggie never neglects you, always taking time to ensure you’re happy with the relationship. 

It takes him a long time to consider the idea of marrying you. He honestly likes where the two of you are at. He has a stable job, and he’s slowly climbing the corporate ladder. Of course, he still has a few side hustles here and there as well, just in case. You have a nice job of your own, and you’re both happy. Marriage just isn’t necessary in his eyes. 

At least, not until his Gran gets the idea into his head. Ever since she first met you, she’s been bugging Ruggie about popping the question. It’s rare that someone from their village gets to live the life he’s currently living, and she thinks he deserves to marry you after how hard he worked to get here. 

For a while, he thought she sounded ridiculous. He’s already happy where he’s at right now; why would being legally binded make it any different? But, the longer he sits with the idea, the more he can’t help but crave it. All things considered, the two of you are pretty comfortable right now. He could certainly afford a ring and a small wedding, but is that what he really wants? 

Ruggie has spent so much time denying the idea of something like marriage because he always assumed it was something he could never have. Now that he’s legitimately faced with the possibility, he’s lost and pretty confused. 

He mills it over for a while, trying his best to hide his feelings from you. Normally, he hates lying to you about something like this, but he doesn’t want to worry you, or, worse, freak you out. If you weren’t ready for marriage, him bringing it up might upset you, and he wants to avoid that. 

Although, he can only hide it for so long before you start to notice. When you bring up your concerns about him, he breaks easily, and he spills his guts about how this has been eating him up inside. You listen as he talks, considering his words as you think of how to respond. 

You love him, of course you do. And, whether or not he wants to marry you, that will never change. You reassure him that, whatever he decides, you’ll stick with him. If he does want to get married, you’ll be happy, and if he decides he’s comfortable where the two of you are at, you’ll be happy here too. 

That’s pretty much all of the motivation he needs. Without a ring or a plan, he drops to one knee and proposes to you right there, promising to get you a ring the second you say yes. You do, and Ruggie immediately pulls you into a tight hug. Later that day, the two of you go ring shopping, and his Gran is very happy when you call her to tell her the news. 

Your wedding would hardly be considered a wedding by most. It’s more like a small get-together in his neighborhood mostly consisting of the children he grew up taking care of. Many of them are grown now, but they all took part in the festivities. Ruggie, of course, is mostly excited about the food that was paid for by other people, and he makes sure to bring some to-go containers. You have to remind him that it is his wedding, and he can take home all of the leftovers if he wants. That makes him almost as happy as he is during your vows. 

Jack

Who proposes: Jack

Jack has always secretly dreamed about marriage. Wolf beastmen are very family-oriented and prefer living in packs. It’s very common for them to find a partner early on and stick with them. Jack is no exception. 

The second he laid eyes on you, he knew you were the one. It’s cheesy and a bit embarrassing, but it’s true. It was almost like his instincts were screaming at him when he saw you, and he knew right then and there. 

Courting was a bit strange. You did not know what was happening for the longest time, and Jack was far too awkward to explain himself. Eventually, you manage to figure out what he’s trying to do, and you officially begin dating after that. 

His family just absolutely adores you. They’re excited to have you as a part of the pack, which also makes Jack feel reassured that he made a good choice with you. 

If confessing was an awkward experience, proposing is by far much worse for Jack. To be honest, he’s been wanting to propose since the second you both graduated, but he knew better than to spring it on you back then, and he’s still hesitating a bit in the present. 

Realistically, he knows you’ll say yes, but he’s always been a bit shy about expressing such intense emotions, and proposing is nothing but expressing intense emotions. His family are a huge support for him during this time, as they always have been. They encourage him to go for it, and that does help him quite a bit. 

He goes ring shopping, taking his time to pick out a ring that screams you. If you’re going to be wearing it, he wants you to like it. 

His proposal is actually much simpler than he initially thought it would be. He gets home after ring shopping, and he asks to talk to you. You look at him expectantly, and he wastes no time in getting to the point. He kneels down in front of you, presenting the ring to you. He does feel his tail wagging a bit at the look of shock and awe on your face, and he knows he made the perfect choice. 

You say yes, of course, and his tail goes turbo mode. Despite his confidence that you’d say yes, he was still nervous. This is a huge deal after all. Once some of the emotions have calmed down, he calls his parents, assuring them that everything went well. It’s cute hearing how excited they are, and they promise to come visit soon so they can see the ring in person. 

Your wedding is a pretty average wedding in the best way possible. It’s fancy but not over-the-top, and the guest list is just big enough to fit the most important people in your lives. Jack did manage to convince you to get cupcakes that were decorated to look like cacti, and they actually came out looking adorable.

[mochinomnoms]

Oh? Pray tell, what do Jade, Mal and Azul enjoy so much about the period sex?

[cw] - period sex, implications of a breeding kink at the end

Referring to this post

*slams hands on desk*

Okay so they all have their own justifications other than they just think their partner is hot, and they're down bad. I like to think they all have a thing for servicing their partner, so starting from the bottom to the top:

Azul knows that he is needed to give you assistance. It's what he lives for! Anything you might need, it's his job to give, and give he does~ Azul is researching all the ways that can help with your symptoms, particularly cramps as it seems to be the most consistent pain. He finds that heating pads are the best, as well as general pain meds. However, you already have a bunch from Ortho and the nurse has you covered with meds. So what's an octomer to do? It's during his research that he discovers that orgasms can help with the pain. He thinks it's strange, if you're bleeding and shedding your lining, wouldn't having sex make it hurt? Even if he gave you oral, the blood would be everywhere and make a mess. Like him when he inks. He'd have to take you in the water, and probably be in his merform to make sure that any predators that sense your blood. You'd be pretty dependent on him, for protection and to feel good. Your pretty hair, billowing around your face as his arms wrap around your form, one of his tentacles massaging your insides ever so gently. Hmm, actually—From there, he's inviting you over to Octavinelle for the weekend, where he offers to show you a new cramp remedy he's learned about. You're surprised when he takes you to the dorm pool, and looks at you with a smug smile as he drags you in the water, offering his 8 limbs to sooth your cramps with a nice massage. It's a thoroughly enjoyable massage~

Malleus learns of this remedy from Lilia, who heard about it on his travels after a tryst with a cute human. He's so sweet to you (and only you) that he wants to do his best to help his human out. Malleus has no qualms about getting dirty, he can magic himself clean if needed, and he's still concerned about the fact that you're in pain. He's not sure what it is about orgasms that help with pain, but if it helps then he's happy to be of assistance! He doesn't want to stress you out more than necessary, so Malleus decides that eating you out is the best course of action. Malleus won't mention that you being more whiny and needy during your period, making you extra pilable and receptive, struck a particular nerve in him. He works you to your first orgasm, delighted at how extra sensitive you were as you easily fell about to his ministrations. The first time he does this, he pulled away to check on you, blood staining your thighs and his lips. You'd let out a low whine, arching your back as you opened your eyes to look at him, and smiled. A sweet, satisfied smile as you praise him for his gentleness and willingness to take care of you. He was taking care of you, like a mate should, and keeping you satisfied and happy. Malleus was a good mate, so in his mind, he should keep being a good mate so that you'll keep praising him. He dived right back in and left you squealing and shaking for the next few hours.

He likes to be depended on, he likes caring for things that need to depend on him. Jade likes to be in control, a mastermind that pulls the puppet's strings in the background. He likes things that are vulnerable to him and his whims, and this is no different with you and Jade. Granted, you're not a terrarium of his, you're his sweet little human, so he's not going to treat you as such. But, he still likes being a bit in control of your care and being needed by you. Jade loves when you're needy: he can care for you, love you, dazzle you so that he can never compare to any other love you may have. Not that he plans on letting you go anytime soon. Oh no, Jade may say he doesn't understand the appeal of the surface world like other merfolk, but make no mistake. Jade is enchanted by the differences between the human body and his own. Jade had made it his mission to thoroughly “research” human anatomy with you, and is delighted at how strange it is (he gets banned from touching you for a week for that statement). And you bleed roughly once a month? Do you know what that knowledge did to his brain? He's quite interested in learning how your period effects your body: do you get more sensitive, do you get more emotional, what does it do to you? Would you taste different? Feel different when he enters his length into you? Will you be more pliant to him, or more combative? It's just all so fascinating. Upon learning how your period effects your body, the pains you endure, he makes it his mission to make sure he can meet all your needs. Jade came up to you, unusually giddy one night, with a preposition. He takes you to bed, sending a begrudging Grim off to Heartslabyul, laying a towel underneath you, and getting to work to test out his hypothesis. Jade's face is covered in a mix of your juices and blood, both a sweet and metallic taste that is pleasing to his moray tongue, as he finished giving you your third orgasm of the night. Jade is licking his lips clean has he moves to place the tip of his cock against your entrance, rubbing against it as he leans down to whisper, “Do let me know in detail how this feels, I myself am particularly enjoying delightfully you taste. I imagine you'll feel just as good squeezing around me.” Happy to serve, Jade is concerned that you have to go through such pain once a month. He offers to help you get rid of it for at least 9 months, longer if you don't mind having a set of irish twins*, one after the other.

*irish twins are siblings that are born 12 months or less apart

Hehehe yummy, :p comments and reblogs appreciated!