#the oneshot that got away from me

[donnabenevientosimp]

Donna with wendigo s/o who gets hurt after meeting her family

Tags: description of violence, gore, blood all the good stuff, fluff, comfort, reader is a protective wendipuppy for Donna, reader is based off of two forms of Elias Ainsworth, gn!reader, Donna's scar is based off of the one I drew

Based off of these suggestions, this one got long bc I couldn't help myself 😂

To put it plainly, you are a wendigo. You were able to use magic to take a human appearance. You had the skull of a wolf, with slight corkscrew horns belonging to that of a goat's, the cheekbone of your wolf skull curved downward, adding an illusionary second set of horns. You had glowing Y/C eyes that were medium sized dots, the sclera of your eyes pitch black. You had fluffy, well kept, black fur with white hair that seemed to flow over half your face and down to your mid shoulders. You had wolf ears and a large fluffy tail as well, bones curved around your chest and hips, you had humanoid wolfish hands and digitigrade wolf legs. You allowed yourself to remain in your true from around Donna, a dollmaker who was also a Lord. She found you one day in the snow, you were tired from wandering the forest for weeks, in search of food. She took you in when no one else would. She taught you how to live as a human, you learned of your magical abilities living with her. She drew how she saw you in human form and detailed it with beautiful colors, ever since then, that picture was used as the reference for your human shape you took. You were attached to Donna almost instantly after she saved you. Once you two started talking, well you talked at first and she wrote her responses on paper which you didn't mind. Eventually Donna started opening up more and more as time slowly went on, you realized she was very shy and timid in nature, no thanks to her past. You slowly started falling for her, how could you not? She was a beautiful, kind and creative soul. She loved people and things in her own special way, and boy did she love hard. You always were mindful of your height and horns, choosing to shrink your height a few inches so you wouldn't ruin the beautiful mahogany wood that was her manor. You didn't really know how to interact with Angie at first, finding her intriguing but knowing she acted like a child, that was all you knew. You never knew how to handle children, so you merely played along to what Angie wanted to do.

As your bond with Angie grew, Donna noticed and started falling in love with you even more. You and Donna have been together for almost a year, but she had never once shown you her face. You would always bump the front of your mouth to the side of her head gently as your special way of kissing her head. Donna found it endearing, knowing that you knew she preferred your original form. She would always softly squeak whenever this happened, being caught off guard in a good way and it also still flustered her because she was still trying to learn that she is indeed lovable. Donna had decided to show you her face, she sat you down in the living room and wrung her hands together. "Donna?" You said softly, taking her hands gently. "Whatever it is, I'm always going to stay here, with you," You said and she nodded slightly, taking a deep breath. Donna slowly took her hands away and raised them to her veil, clutching it tightly out of nervousness. She slowly brought up her veil, revealing beautiful pallid skin, a dark purple scar that twisted and curved, taking most of the right side of her face and stretched out to her nose. You merely sat there, admiring her dark grey eyes and her face, your tail thumping against the couch and mahogany floor. "You're beautiful," you breathed out softly, completely in love with her all over again. "How could you say that? I'm a monster," Donna said softly and you slowly stood up to not spook the already uneasy woman. You gently knelt down in front of her, cupping her cheeks as you looked her in the eyes. "Donna, I've fallen in love you all over again. That portrait does nothing to capture the beauty before me," you said and tears welled in her eyes at your heartfelt and truthful words. She saw the way you looked at her, now clearer as it wasn't behind her veil's obscure view. Donna noticed the way your tail was wagging and hitting the floor and nearby table. Donna smiled at that and your tail sped up, seeing her beautiful smile. "I love you Donna, and I'm happy I got to see your face. If you still wish to cover it, that's okay with me," You said and Donna nodded. Donna then pressed her lips to your teeth where your mouth would be. "I love you, Tesoro, thank you for being so sweet and understanding," Donna said and you nodded. "Is it alright if we cuddle and tomorrow...I can introduce you to my sister and nieces?" Donna asked and you nodded, taking your human form. "I would love nothing more, my love," You said with a smile.

Donna had gently peppered your face with kisses to wake you up. You tiredly opened your eyes and smiled at her. "Good morning, my heart, did you sleep well?" You asked and she smiled and nodded. "I did, how did you sleep?" Donna asked. "Perfectly, I had my heart held close to me all night," you said and she blushed and kissed you. "Let's get dressed for the day, I will phone my sister of our arrival and then we shall head out," Donna said and you nodded, kissing her once more, knowing she would put the veil back on soon. After getting dressed and Donna calling her sister, you set out for the castle, Donna holding Angie in one arm as her other arm looped around yours. The three of you arrived at the castle in about 15 minutes thanks to the shortcut Donna knew of. The door was opened by a maid who ushered you in and you entered with Donna. The maid brought you to the main hall where a very tall woman sat in a large chair. Her very presence made you stand on edge, she was very powerful, someone you knew not to cross, ever. On her left stood two young women, one with yellow eyes and brown hair, the other with red hair shaved on the right side and she had a gold eye and a blue one. On the woman's right, stood what you assumed was the eldest daughter, she too had yellow eyes like her mother and sisters, but she had blonde hair. "Donna, it's so lovely to see you," the woman smiled, fangs glinting in the light. "Alcina," Donna said with a small nod, leading you to sit on the couch across from the tall woman. You sat down next to Donna. "Alcina I would like you to-" "You're my sister's paramour are you not?" Alcina cut Donna off causing you to growl lowly at that. "Oh? You aren't human," Alcina smiled. "Don't speak over Donna," you growled protectively. "Love, it's okay," Donna said and you growled softly and huffed. "I won't tolerate anyone, let alone your sister, speaking over you," you huffed and she smiled behind her veil, putting a hand on your thigh. "Alcina, yes? Donna hasn't told me much about you except that you're a Countess. Whatever that is. My name is Y/N, Donna's partner," you said and she nodded. "These are my daughters Bela, Cassandra and Daniela," Alcina said, gesturing to each of her daughters. "A pleasure to meet you three," you said with a smile. "Wait, aren't you going to-" Angie's mouth snapped shut due to Donna's powers. "Angie, hush," Donna said. "Now that introductions have been done. Tell me, Y/N, how did you meet Donna?" Alcina asked. "Tsk, Alci," Donna chastised her sister but you stared Alcina in the eyes, knowing you were challenging the powerful woman but you couldn't care less, she insulted your love. "She took me in when I was near death and nursed me back to health. I stayed with her as I had nowhere else to go," you said. "I see, has she shown you her deformed-" you stood up, growling at her loudly as you dispelled your human shape. You grew in size, smoke coming out from your mouth as you snarled at the woman. "Her what now?" You said, growls emanating from deep within your chest, your voice deepened from the size of your body. "Donna's sister you may be, but I will not tolerate you, her supposed sister, talking about her like that. You have no right to speak Alcina, you reek of blood and death. I am not talking about the scent of dead maids either. You yourself reek of death, a corpse like you should keep their mouth shut when they don't know their place," you snarled. The daughters hissed at you and you looked down at them. "You three are all bark and no bite. I could eat the three of you for a light breakfast," you cackled, your eyes glowing brightly, a tinge of red in them.

"What are you?" Alcina asked, now standing up. "A wendigo," you replied. Her eyes widened as she looked at you, then at Donna. "A w-wendigo...," Alcina said in shock and slight fear for her sister. "They're harmless Alci, unless they feel I've been threatened. They're quite the protector too," Donna said, you felt her eyes on you. Your tail thumped against the floor as your heartbeat picked up at her words. You'd be blushing if you were in your human form. Your ears twitched as you heard some rustling outside the castle grounds. You heard the sound of metal clicking, the flash of a memory of a gun being cocked before it was shot and a bullet hit you. You immediately transformed, your two vines of thorns sprouted from your back as your stomach hollowed inward and your rib bones grew thicker and outward. You grabbed Donna, pulling her and Angie into your hollowed stomach, your ribs moving to shield her as a gunshot rang out. The bullet hit you, then another and then four more. Your blood dripped onto the tile as you snarled, your vines swishing slightly around the air. "Get them," came Donna's soft command and you sprung into action. You gently pushed Donna down to use the couch as cover. You launched your body forward, crossing the distance between the hunters and you within seconds. Multiple gunshots rang out as you slashed away at the hunters, killing each one. You made sure they suffered before killing them. You then transformed back to your usual form, staggering your way to the castle. You got back to the main hall, breathing a sigh of relief as Donna wasn't hurt. Donna immediately stood up, noticing the extent of your wounds and started shaking. She walked over to you but you fell down, face first onto the tile floor as you blacked out.

Waking up you saw Donna lying on you, her hands clutched your fur tightly. You gently brought your hand up and brushed your fingers through her hair. You felt your mouth watering and immediately moved the two of you so you hovered over her. Donna woke up and looked at you, only to see your mouth open, salivating as you were whining. You clamped your jaw shut and moved to the corner of the room farthest from Donna. "Donna, are you alright?" Alcina came into the room and your head snapped to her. A low growl left you and you shook your head. "Alci, I need either Sanguis Virginis or fresh meat, now," Donna said and Alcina looked at you. You were scratching at your skull and growling. Alcina realized how much self control you have to not attack her sister, to instead stay near her as her presence comforted you, but even then you couldn't get near her. "Please...don't want to hurt Donna," you whispered. "Bela, bring me fresh meat now!" Alcina yelled and you heard buzzing pass by. You heard buzzing and saw a swarm of flies take shape in front of you to reveal Daniela. Daniela hugged you and you growled and whined. "Not safe...Firefly," you whined, your tail wagging slowly. "Unlike Donna, we can regenerate our limbs in an hour or so depending on how much was taken. In Donna's case it would likely take a week and she'd be unconscious for it too," Daniela said and you nodded, hesitantly reaching a hand out to her. Daniela smiled and grabbed your large hand, nuzzling her face into it. Your jaw unhinged itself, large amounts of saliva dripping from your mouth as you looked at Daniela. Bela entered the room and saw your mouth hung open, saliva dripping down to the floor as Daniela smiled at you and held your hand. You brought your other hand to cover your nose and mouth and started backing away into the corner as much as you could. "Am I not unsightly like this?" You asked and Daniela shook her head. "You're still the person I fell in love with, Tesoro. Your hunger is a side effect of your body healing, we know this," Donna said and you nodded. "Bela, hand me the bottle carefully," Daniela said and Bela walked over to Daniela and handed her a large wine bottle. "I'm going to open this and hand it to you, okay? Can you control yourself for a few seconds after I open it?" Daniela asked and you nodded hesitantly. Daniela removed the cork from the bottle, your senses were flooded with sweet wine and the delicious tinge of iron in the wine as well. You realized it was a blood wine and your tail thumped aggressively as you growled lowly, wanting sustenance. Daniela slowly held it out to you and you gently grabbed it from her before blocking her from getting closer with your large tail. You poured the wine down your mouth, swallowing each drop that came. Your form immediately changed to the one you were used to taking with Donna. Your jaw snapped back into place with a loud crack but it didn't hurt. You walked over to Donna and inspected her for wounds, finding none you nuzzled your mouth against her head gently. "I'm fine, Tesoro, you didn't harm me. I know you wouldn't," Donna said with a loving smile. You nodded, taking your human form, smiling at her. "I would rather tear my heart out than hurt you, love," you smiled and she blushed and kissed your cheek. "I believe we've had enough excitement for one day. Let's head home?" Donna said and you nodded, gently kissing her before handing her veil over. "Well, you passed my tests little wendigo, I approve Donna," Alcina smiled. "I wasn't going to stop loving them if you disapproved Alcina," Donna smiled before putting her veil on. "Let's go home, my heart, I think we're both overdue for some cuddling," You said with a smile and she nodded eagerly.

[hairmetal666]

cw: blood, a lot of it; this got away from me a bit 😆

Eddie comes back from the Upside Down but he's wrong.

No one notices for the first few days, except that Henderson has been quietly watching, cataloging.

Eddie's sensitive to bright sunlight, he has trouble eating, doesn't seem to use the bathroom, doesn't drink anything and never gets dehydrated. And, okay, maybe the most obvious things should be that Eddie doesn't have a beating heart and he surely isn't breathing, but he'll forgive the kid for not noticing. It's not like he does either.

And then Harrington--Fucking Harrington--gets a goddamn paper cut fighting with Robin over a day-old copy of The Hawkins Post, and Eddie fully blacks out at the sweet copper scent, the essence of Steve.

When he comes to, Hopper has him flat on his back, and Steve is all wide-Bambi-eye startled.

"Well, that clarifies a few things," Dustin says. He's sitting at a barstool in the Harrington kitchen, kicking his little feet like he didn't almost watch one of his surrogate parents eat the other one.

Eddie doesn't hate being a vampire. It's actually pretty fucking cool. Vampires, Eddie thinks, are hot. And like, sure the craving to drink his friends sort of sucks, but Hopper hooks him up with donated blood bags, and mostly he can deal.

But there's something about Steve. There's always something about Steve.

Honestly, Eddie should've known. He's had a stupid, pathetic crush on Steve for years. It was bad bad, like hopelessly infatuated with King-fucking-Steve, bad.

So, Eddie comes back and he comes back wrong and god help him, but he can't stop staring at Steve's jugular, at the faint beat of his pulse in his throat. He's always been unable to look away from Steve, only now Eddie has fangs and the longer he looks at the sweeping lines of his friend's neck, the more they extend from his gums.

Like, maybe Eddie could cope with his unrelenting desire to taste, consume, own Steve, but his senses are changing. He doesn't tell anyone. Doesn't explain how he knows when Steve's had a bad day at work, when he's brimming with happiness after playing with Robin, when memories of the Upside Down plague him.

He doesn't tell anyone the first time he realizes that he can sense Steve roughly five minutes before the man walks in the door.

It's not a big deal. Just like it's not a big deal the way Eddie wants to be next to him always, share his space, his body, his blood, everything.

He could have gone on not acknowledging it forever, basically, until the day Steve's five minutes from home and Eddie's sense are bombarded with blood pain rage. Steve smells like an electrical storm, and Eddie can't stop to think.

He runs out to the driveway--huh, apparently he does have vampire speed--nearly ripping Steve's car door off its hinges to get to the man inside. The man with the busted up mouth, actively dripping with blood; the man with the oozing cut on his forehead and the rapidly blackening and swelling eye.

There are thousands of things Eddie should do, should say, and instead he gapes down at Steve gaping up at him, the smell of all the blood hitting his tongue like a fucking hard candy.

Steve is hurt. Someone hurt him. And all Eddie can think of is licking the blood from his skin, no better than an ill behaved dog.

"Eds?" Steve slurs. He twists, to get out of the car, but Eddie doesn't--can't--move out of the way. Instead, he falls to his knees between Steve's legs, palms cupping his friend's face, looking at where it's hurt.

He gets blood on his hands, and the scent is in his nose, at the back of his throat; Steve the only thing he can see, think, feel. His fangs pop, that now familiar pressure in his gums, and there's no hiding it. They distend his top lip, force his mouth open, tips gleaming.

"Eddie," breathless this time.

It brings Eddie back, just a little bit, but Steve isn't afraid. No, under the injuries Steve's face is flushed, his pupils blown, his heart pounding. His scent is molten and sparking, something Eddie doesn't have words to describe.

"I'm sorry," Eddie says, finally. He tries to move, but Steve grabs his shoulders, holds him fast.

Steve places his blood covered thumb on Eddie's bottom lip, smearing a line of red there like lipstick.

The first taste makes him groan, his eyes roll back in his head. He's totally gone on it. It's Steve's blood on his lip, in his body. Steve's taste in his mouth. He wants more, all. Distantly he knows they should talk, that Steve is hurt, that someone caused it, but his entire being is devoted to the need to taste, possess, consume Steve Harrington.

"Inside?" Steve whines. Eddie is eons away from being able to say no.

He scoops Steve up, does his new vampire zoom thing, and they're in the foyer, the front door slammed behind them. He presses Steve to the wall, lapping up the blood on his face.

"Eddie, please, please," Steve begs. It's so pretty and perfect.

"What do you need, beautiful boy?" He presses kisses to Steve's jaw.

Steve turns, exposing his neck, the vein Eddie couldn't stop staring at. "Bite me," he whines.

"Steve--" Eddie puts distance between them. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispers.

"Please, I want it. Need you to taste me."

And fuck if Eddie can say no to that. He runs his nose along Steve's throat, breathing in the glorious scent of him, before licking and kissing along the same path.

"Want to taste you, baby. Haven't been able to stop dreaming about it."

"I know," Steve rotates his hips, grinding himself against Eddie. "Want you to have it. Have me."

Eddie can't resist. He places another kiss to Steve's skin before sinking his fangs down. Blood floods his mouth and all he can think, all he knows is Steve Steve Steve. He tastes like movie nights, lazy breakfasts on Sunday mornings, like Eddie's favorite song.

Eddie's teeth pierce Steve's skin and he finds forever.

He pulls away, mouthing gently over the pinprick marks of the bite, cleaning away the last of the blood. Before he can move, start to regret his actions, Steve kisses him. His mouth is all busted up, his blood still lingering on Eddie's tongue, and they're fucking kissing like they need it to breathe. Bloodied spit smears on Steve's lips, around his mouth, and they kiss and kiss until it's all gone, shared between them.

"Mine," Eddie growls. Can't help it. Tears slip down his cheeks.

"Yours," Steve gasps. He wraps his hands into Eddie's hair, holding him tight. "Yours always, Eds." He's crying too and Eddie can't help licking the tears away.

[stxrvel]

so....... what would you guys say if i said that........ ive been writing a fic...... thats not icft....... but its jungkook x f!reader being idiots in love...... friends to lovers........ with angst bc if you dont know already i am A SUCKER for angst......... and that it currently has 8k words and im just halfway through.................................

like........ what would you say.

[thefudge]

Hello! Just wanted to know if you’d be open to writing a feyd/irulan fic because I think I saw you talk about them once

i've mentioned this before but i was actually supposed to publish a feyd/irulan oneshot before writing paul/irulan! but then "fleshed in the wife" happened and....yeah. but i do want to go back to my initial feyd/irulan draft after i finish "fleshed in the wife".

[iamthepulta]

Fandom Peeps to Get to Know Better

@kkoraki Thanks for tagging! :3 Oh my GOD I forgot how many Marguerite O'Henry books we read independently. Every time I think of horse breeds I think of Justin Morgan and King of the Wind; and Misty of Chincoteague lives in my head rent free.

3 Ships You Like: Hmm. I really don't ship anymore, other than OCs. Fallen London is kind of bereft of in-game ships; it's all OC/game chars. Harvestar's Sunless Skies Amelia/Driver is awesome though. Maybe Paul/Chani in honor of Dune 2 coming out? So many fucking problems with that ship, lol. Hm. Jesper/Wylan from Six of Crows 'cause I can't think of another ship.

First Ship Ever: Jenna/Balto from Balto. :') Actually no, if we're going REALLY far back, it would've been adult!Napoleon/Nancy from the Napoleon movie 1995 which was my FIRST FORAY INTO FANFIC and I started looking online for 'places to post stories'. God, I forgot about that. If I'd been older when I was into Call of the Wild I probably would've shipped Dave/Buck. Listen. I had a very active imagination and was trapped indoors with a bunch of books. What do you want from me?

Last Song You Heard: Eastward of Eden by Amelia Day on repeat.

Favorite Childhood Book: Call of the Wild got banned to the box because I read it so much. :') Otherwise: Girl with the Silver Eyes, by Willo Roberts.

Currently Reading: Hoping to pick up Neverwhere this week!

Currently Watching: Mashle (anime)

Currently Consuming: Large Earl Grey, hot

Currently Craving: Something for Dinner ((I am not picky))

Tagging: @harvestar, @ardenrosegarden Keeping it short but if anyone else would like to do it, please do!!

[cas-coding]

dean always wakes up early. he's not sure if it's a habit or if he's just a morning person, but he can't sleep past eight for the life of him. he'll drag himself downstairs and consume a healthy amount of caffeine before jack is joining him in the kitchen, and dean's already got the pancakes cooking.

cas never wakes up early. if he's up before ten, the world is in danger, but it's nice. jack and dean have the mornings to themselves, though it often morphs into jack staring at the television until cas comes to say goodmorning, dean either doing a quick cycle of laundry or maintaining baby.

dean will always say goodmorning to cas and plant a loud kiss on his husband's cheek, which jack will gag at a little and then smile, because ew, his dads are so in love it's gross. dean will run up to jump in the shower, and cas will reheat whatever dean made hours ago, and then he'll pretend like he doesn't fully intend on ditching that food just so he can shower with dean.

cas never combs his hair, giving him a solid five minutes to wash up in the shower alone while dean stares in their bathroom mirror, getting his hair all in order for the day before pulling on some jeans and a flannel that cas will no doubt roll his eyes at. there's a small tube of concealer that claire left over last time she visited, one conveniently close enough to dean's shade to cover whatever hickeys cas may leave in his wake.

dean will take baby on a joyride, claiming to grab groceries or swing by to say hi to whoever's closest, but cas knows the freedom dean gets from the open road, and so he says nothing.

cas and jack will tend to the little garden out back, jack poking at each plant and knowing if it's ripe or not, but still asking cas anyway. sometimes, cas will throw jack a smile and lie, just to see what jack would do, but all their son does is smile and laugh, telling cas, wow, you look just like dad when you lie.

dean is always the first to burrow into the covers at night, crawling in just before his favorite soap begins, patting the bed for cas to sit with him. he always does, curling right into his husband's side like he was meant to be there, running his fingers through dean's hair and over his face, counting the freckles there.

cas will count out each number until he can't anymore, dean's show having concluded and dean himself rising from the bed, moving into the bathroom to brush his teeth. cas will smile as dean nearly drools down his chin trying to talk and brush at the same time, and then cas will walk over and wipe the toothpaste off of dean's mouth, wrapping his arms around his husband from behind.

dean will never say anything, but he always relaxes in cas' touch, and maybe it's got something to do with cas' grace hanging on a chain around his neck, but he hopes it doesn't, he hopes it's just cas, no magic needed.

cas will curl up behind dean in bed, pressing his lips softly to dean's neck. with his tongue, he traces out the enochian sigil of protection, and though it won't do anything, it's peaceful, a pattern they've fallen into.

dean will sigh and mumble out the words, the words he struggled to say so often.

cas would smile softly in return, replying, i love you too.

[seventh-district]

several days and 15 thousand words later, i am relieved to report that the suffocating urge to Write Something has been sated and no longer has me in a chokehold

[katrinawritesthings]

Junghee/Gwiboon ; whole ass husband ; pg

I just think if you find a woman crying on purpose in a public bathroom to embarrass her soon-to-be ex-husband then you should help her out

"Oh, you're so sweet," the woman says, putting a hand on her heart. She was busy pushing more tears out, angling her head to spread them more evenly over her cheeks, but the watery smile gives Gwiboon is genuine. "Yeah, I would like that. I'll stop by if I don't get kicked out. I'm Junghee."

If Gwiboon is estimating the time correctly, she has at least 10 minutes to go pee before her food is going to be delivered to her table. Easy. Easy peasy. Nothing to it. She leaves her jacket on the table so people will know that someone is sitting there and hopes it looks too shitty for someone to steal and heads off to the back of the little diner. 

She walks into the bathroom, glances over her short black hair in the mirror, glances over the other woman in front of the mirror having an absolute breakdown, and is halfway to one of the stalls before she stops and does a double-take.

Yeah, that's definitely another girl with mascara running dreadfully streaky down her cheeks, her chin, even down onto her neck and chest. One drip has even gone so far as to soak into the hem of her low-cut pink dress. Her chest, flushed red under her tan skin, rises and falls with heavy breaths and her fists are clenched on top of the counter so hard that her knuckles are white. Her cheeks are red too, the tip of her nose, her eyes absolutely overflowing with tears, and even as Gwiboon watches, her eyebrows furrow, angry, distraught, and another tear leaks down her cheek. Her dark brown curls are mussed and frizzy, tangled a little bit when she tries to run her fingers through them.

Forgetting that she has to pee, and forgetting that she has a limited amount of time before her lunch gets delivered to an empty table, Gwiboon turns around and walks towards the woman.

"Oh, sweetie, are you okay?" She asks, immediately entering mom mode. She reaches to push some of her hair out of her face gently, compelled to fix this however she can. "Do you want help? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Uh–wuh? Oh,” the girl says. She blinks, turning away from the mirror, and instantly all of her features soften. Her eyebrows relax, her nose unwrinkles, her mouth stops being all screwed up and wobbly and is just neutral, normal. "No, I'm fine," she says, and despite all evidence to the contrary 10 seconds ago, she really looks and sounds like she means it. She sniffles–Gwiboon winces at how extremely snotty it sounds–and flicks the rest of her hair out of her eyes. She points in a circle around her face. "This is on purpose," she says. "My whole entire ass husband is here cheating on me with another woman."

"Oof,” Gwiboon says instinctively. She scrunches her nose, shaking her head. Oof, owie, her heart.

"Yeah," the woman says, a scoff. “I've known for a while and I finally got real proof so now I'm here in my best hell hath no fury look to give him his divorce papers." And she smiles when she says it, a little smirk, a little shimmy of her shoulders, a little pop of her right foot, like she couldn't be happier that the day is finally here. Well. Good for her, Gwiboon guesses. 

"Good luck?" She says, unsure, and then, deciding that that was correct, nods her head. "Yeah. I'm going to pee." She gives herself a hard out of the conversation before she says something embarrassing and just heads to the stall, patting the woman on the shoulder before she goes.

She hopes, as she pees, that if she ever marries a dude and he has the nerve to cheat on her, she can make the confrontation at least half as dramatic as this girl is doing. It's inspiring, honestly.

"Hey," she says when she finishes peeing and comes out to find the woman still there. As she washes her hands, she says, "if you want to hang out and complain about him after, I'm at the table next to the fake tree in the corner." She's always down for complaining about men and helping a babe fix her makeup."I'm Gwiboon, by the way."

"Oh, you're so sweet," the woman says, putting a hand on her heart. She was busy pushing more tears out, angling her head to spread them more evenly over her cheeks, but the watery smile gives Gwiboon is genuine. "Yeah, I would like that. I'll stop by if I don't get kicked out. I'm Junghee."

"Nice to meet you, Junghee," Gwiboon smiles back. She turns to leave, then stops and reaches for Junghee again. Carefully, she takes one of her dress straps and pulls it down off of her shoulder far enough to be obvious but not far enough to be revealing. Just distressed and disheveled. 

Junghee looks down at it, then back up with a smirk. "Nice,” she says.

Gwiboon winks and turns to leave for real. 

Back at her table, her jacket hasn't been stolen and her food hasn't been served yet. Two wins, she thinks. And a third when, five minutes later, she hears a shrill, loud voice screaming obscenities in a different part of the restaurant. Soon it's accompanied by another voice, presumably Junghee's garbage awful soon-to-be ex-husband, and then another voice. Not loud or shrill, but still angry, forceful. Gwiboon sips her free water, very invested.

A few minutes later, just after her extra cheesy omelet arrives, so does Junghee. She has another woman with her; a few inches taller, curvy even in a turtleneck and baggy jeans, long straight black hair, a face that looks like it would be soft and round and quick to smile if it wasn't in such a severe expression.

"Hey Gwi," Junghee sighs as she deflates into the seat across from Gwiboon. She looks devastated and worn out in a genuine way, tired in her bones, but at the same time, like a weight has been lifted off of her shoulders and maybe even a little proud of herself. "This is Eunsook."

"Number 2," Eunsook says as she drops down next to Junghee. She crosses her arms, glaring down at the table. "Cannot fucking believe that shithead made me a mistress. Humiliating."

"Hey, it's okay," Junghee says. She hooks her arm around one of Eunsook's and rubs and cheek against her shoulder. Then she pulls back with a frown, because that wiped a lot of the black mascara still on her cheek into the light green fabric. "Sorry," she says. "But I'm friends with some of his work buds and they like me better than him so they're going to do a presentation all about how he's been cheating on me in front of everyone at the big meeting next week."

"Hell yeah." Gwiboon hands a makeup remover wipe, her compact mirror, and a thumbs-up across the table to Junghee.

"Oh, sweet, thanks." Junghee takes them and gets to work cleaning herself up. "Hey, do you mind if I tell two of my girlfriends they can join us in here?" She adds, looking at between the both of them. "They're outside in the car waiting to be my moral support or whatever."

"Sure, but you're the one that's going to have to explain to my waitress why this has gone from a one-person table to a 5-person table," Gwiboon says. Eunsook shrugs after, so Junghee grins and pulls out her phone.

"That's fine," she says. 

Junghee quickly sends a text, then leaves her phone face up on the table. She drums her fingers on the wood, pops her lips, and Gwiboon can hear one of her shoes tapping against the floor. Eunsook isn't moving at all, just glaring down at the table with her arms still crossed. After a minute, Junghee starts rifling through all of the little packets of jam at the end of their table. She pulls out a grape one, opens it up, and just sticks her finger in there. Sucking it off, she absentmindedly offers it to Eunsook.

Eunsook reaches for it, then hesitates, then shakes her head. Reaching over Junghee, she grabs a little packet of sugar and rips off the top. She upends the entire thing into her mouth, then crumbles up the wrapper in her fist, resting her chin in it as she works to swallow all of it down.

Gwiboon looks between both of them over her omelette, more amused than she probably should be. A scorned lover and the other woman. How dramatic. 

"How come people always say cheating on me with another person?" She asks as the thought comes to her. "How else would someone be cheating on you?" seems a little redundant to her, if she thinks about it.

"Who knows?" Junghee sighs. “Ooh–!” She sits up a little straighter and waves her hand big above her head; Gwiboon turns to look behind her and spots two other girls coming in the front door. Must be Junghee's friends. Junghee lets her arms fall heavy back down onto the table and starts poking around in her jelly packet again. "Can you buy me a smoothie?" She asks. "One of you?" She looks between Eunsook and Gwiboon, her eyes so big and round and gorgeous that Gwiboon doesn't even hesitate for a second to reply.

"Sure, honey," she says at the same time that Eunsook says, "yeah, okay."

They smile at each other across the table for a second. Gwiboon guesses that Eunsook isn't made of any sterner stuff than she is. She doesn't mind. She's sure that both of them agree that Junghee deserves it. 

[bi-disastersoup]

March of the Tropes: Day 27 - Sparring/"Oh..."

R'alma and G'raha have an impromptu sparring session after returning to the Source, during which R'alma has a rather startling realization. Oneshot.

[confused-stars]

very promising new wip 👀

[starry-bi-sky]

that is EXACTLY Kon and Danny and i am ALSO living for it. Half-Kryptonian Half-Human Alien Boy and his Half-Human Half-Ghost Eldritch Horror Boyfriend. Power couple of the century <33

(ye ofc! Draw him whenever you have the energy/time and stuff, lord knows its easier that way and a ton more fun.)

AND GRAH IM GLAD YOU BROUGHT UP BABY DAMES. I love baby Dames he is my special little boy. My precious ex-assassin clone child. He absolutely sleeps in the hood of Danny's scarf and Danny fucking loves having him there. There are the two most specialist ever <33

Kon has come to visit Danny a few times and found him floating in the middle of his room in his ghost form, Damian fast asleep on his chest and all wrapped up in his scarf. Danny's conjured floating stars around the pitch black room that are all steadily orbiting around them. Danny is making this strange, humming-purring sound. It's totally inhuman and hauntingly beautiful.

SPEAKING OF MUSIC. Clone^2 Danny and Damian's whole vibes are based off Sleeping At Last. But in particular Danny is Nine, Two, Pluto, and Damian is Eight and Saturn. This is PURELY so i can spread Sleeping At Last Agenda and inflict you with Emotions that these songs Inflict On Me. (Also Neptune, Mars, and Earth. Mars in particular i imagine Danny saying to Damian)

Sometimes he gets to stick around and he sits on the floor with his head in his arms, hearts in his eyes, as Danny create this whole new mini solar system around them.

THEY ALSO GO FLYING TOGETHER. GraHH. They can both go so far up. They have races. Them doing that thing where they both go up up up, and then fall together, catching themselves before they can hit the ground.

SO MANY REGRETS WITH INTRODUCING DANNY'S FRIENDS TO KON'S. You just kNOW that Bart is trying to race Johnny 13. Everyone loses here. He also wants to race Danny. Tucker is showing off his PDA to Tim and Sam is talking to Cassie. Kon and Danny are off somewhere.

They have sleepovers and stay up late playing video games. Damian is positively determined to stay for the whole thing. He sits in Danny's lap the whole time and Danny uses him as a personal headrest -- as is the cost of staying awake and being there. Baby Dames always ends up falling asleep before 10. There HAS been a recreation of the Penny Snapcube Mr. Crocker Breakdown if only so that I can make Danny be Penny and absolutely lose his shit laughing with everyone.

yes yes yes. Kon sees Danny with the Long Ass Hair and promptly short circuits. Forgets how to speak and cycles through gibberish, kryptonian, some other alien language he learned off planet, before then finally landing on english. Only to spit out a Li Shang-levels of pathetic "you- you look good" line and promptly wish he had danny's intangibility so he could sink through the floor.

Danny with even longer hair means Kon gets to play with even more of his hair. Danny's working on some little pet project (NOT Kon's birthday present) and Kon is sitting behind him, his chin hooked over his shoulder, while he has one arm wrapped around his waist and the other hand is playing with his hair. This can and will result in Danny falling asleep.

(Danny is SO thrilled to meet Green Lantern and has a dozen questions for him about the other star sectors he's been to. Hal is RADIATING smugness. Bruce will never live this down.)

GIVES YOU SHAKEN BABY SYNDROME. YES YES YES. I'VE BEEN HARDCORE THINKING ABOUT HALFA DAMES. AND I LOVE WISP AS A NAME THAT IS SOOO DAMN CUTE OH MY GOD??? TEENY SMOL DAMES WITH GLOWING GREEN EYES AND SNOW WHITE HAIR LIKE HIS BROTHER.

also if Danny is like, 17-18 here, and Damian is currently 6, then that means Damian would've been like 2-3-ish and honestly that is SO cute (and also deliciously tragic). ITTY BITTY SMOL THING WITH THE TEETH. In comparison to the (still pr smol at time of creation but) much bigger Thing With The Teeth looming right behind him :]. Danny using his scarf to carry Dames around on his back like those african baby wraps. He still does it even when Dames is six bc they both Love It.

Smol Bitey Blob Wisp And His Much Bigger Much Scarier Blob Brother-(Technically-Dad) The Phantom. GIW are in for a, frankly, SHIT time if they even think of targeting Wisp. Bby can handle himself pr well but also. he Smol. He Babey. He Littol.

(which gives ME the opportunity to share my favorite quote for bruce clone!Danny, and that is: "Batman doesn't kill!" "Do I look like Batman to you?")

Kon absolutely loves seeing Danny in makeup. It's like, one of his favorite things ever. Eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man and the dark red lipstick?? He's gonna go wild. Danny's never gonna make it out the door, Kon is kissing it off him within minutes. Danny's makeup is smudged up and his lipstick is practically smeared off, and Kon is all but (messily) wearing it himself while looking like a smug cat.

"I have to go fix it now." Danny is grumbling, but his face is all pinkish and he's not all that upset tbh. Kon's got both his hands curled around Danny's waist. His fingers are a few inches shy of touching.

Kon just hums lowly and idly licks his lips, "I don't know," he says, "I think you look nice this way."

Which is, of course, the best way to make Danny flush perfectly scarlet down his throat and for him to laugh all truly bashful, and half-heartedly push Kon's face away with his palm.

Over 900 prompt

Okay I love the Danny is a clone of Batman aus but I've never seen this done.

Danny and Kon dating and Then Danny learning his parents cloned Batman thinking he is a ghost only to find out he isn't and kept Danny as their kid.

Just think of the hilarious reactions

Caue this immediately popped into my head.

Kon: *muffled screaming into Tim's couch*

Tim: ....you good?

Kon: danny is the clone of Batman

Tim: ...

Kon: I'm the clone of Superman

Tim:...

Kon: AND WE ARE DATING!

[himbodruid]

A Dragon In Rut

What happens when you stumble upon a dragon experiencing rut for the first time?

A short Dragon!Sylus x Reader/you oneshot

Breeding kink | knotting | scent kink

Intended for 18+ readers only MINORS DNI

Read the companion piece here!

Fic Master List

Borrowed some lines from Secret Times 😏

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been some time since you and Sylus became close, even longer since you first met him. Days blended together when the only sense of sunlight you got were from various chutes in the cavern ceilings that allowed for airflow, so you weren't exactly sure how long it had been. The two of you became quite the pair of criminals, and thinking of the previous raid brought a satisfied smile to your face.

Dust motes danced in and out of the sun beams, giving the cavern you declared as your chambers a whimsical feeling. Richly coloured tapestries hung from the walls, adding a sense of warmth and life to your space. The fiend, Sylus, had even offered you treasures from his own hoard to decorate your space with. You had come to love the freedom that this network of caverns offered you. And you found yourself quite fond of the dragon that occupied another set of chambers.

Sylus was usually asleep at times like this, when the sun was high and bright. You found yourself mimicking his sleep schedule out of convenience, but something had awoken you and curiosity had gotten the best of you.

When you left your chamber, however, something in the air shifted. You didn’t know what it was, but it was off. Charged. Your pulse quickened as you sought out Sylus, worrying for his well being in the chaotic atmosphere that interrupted the usual calm.

You found him, not by sight, but by sound in his own chamber. As you brushed the tapestries that covered his doorway aside, a feral snarl reverberated from within.

“Sylus?” You questioned, stopping your advance at the sound.

“Leave,” was all he said, his voice strained and more beast-like than usual.

“Is everything okay?” You hazard a step into the dimly lit room. A hiss and a groan greeted you.

“If you know what’s best for you, Kitten, you will leave right now.” His voice was pained and leaving was the last thing you wanted.

“Are you hurt?” Another step forward.

Then all at once, you found yourself pinned to the wall by his bulk, a growl rumbling from his chest. You caught a glimpse of his face as the light from the entrance was snuffed out by the tapestries. His pupils were dilated and his face flushed, and you furrowed your brows in concern.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong, you’re worrying me,” you say, raising your hand to cup his cheek. He made a sound like a barely restrained groan as he turned his face into your touch, inhaling deeply. That fiendish tail of his lashed out behind him, swinging to and fro- much like an agitated cat.

“You shouldn’t be here,” was all he said in reply.

And yet, he leaned into you instead of letting you go. You felt him bury his nose in your neck.

“Your scent…I want it. Steamy and sweet…like cherry wine,” he murmured, his mouth finding your pulse.

“S-Sylus, what..” you stammer, incapable of forming coherent thought thanks to the heat of his tongue rolling so, so sensually against your neck. It was clear that he wasn’t in his right mind, trapped under some spell, but you couldn’t push him away. Instead you wanted, needed him closer.

A sound resembling a purr rumbled from his chest when your hand cupped the back of his head and you tilted your chin up for him. His mouth traveled the expanse of your neck, leaving biting kisses in his wake. Your heart thundered in your chest and an involuntary shiver shuddered through you.

“You should have run away when you had the chance,” he growled, hauling you up against the hard planes of his well-sculpted body. He carried you to a pile of blankets that rested atop a goose-down filled pad.

As he laid you down in his nest, you were consumed by him. That smokey scent of him surrounded you, his body crowded you. All thoughts fled as you were immersed in his very essence. You clung to him, even as his mouth traveled down your body. Taloned hands were surprisingly adept at removing your simple clothing, and the groan he released when you laid bare beneath him went straight to your core.

His hungry gaze roamed your figure, darkening with desire as it finally landed on the apex of your thighs. His nostrils flared, taking in your scent, your arousal.

“Last chance, Kitten.” His crimson eyes found yours again, awaiting your final consent. You hadn’t fought him thus far, but he held himself back once more to give you a chance to run away, to deny him what he so clearly wanted.

But you shook your head, hooking your legs around his hips to keep him from leaving you. He grinned a devilish grin and stooped over you to seal the agreement with a searing kiss. His tongue plunged into your mouth, wrestling with your own for space. Your moans were met with growls of his own. And when you were beginning to feel light headed, he finally removed himself from you.

“I’ll start with your warmest spot…” he murmured against your skin as he trailed those stinging kisses down your body. “And until I’m finished, you’re not allowed to stop me.”

And then the heat of his mouth overwhelmed your cunt as he plunged his tongue against your flesh. When you tried to squirm from the sensation, his taloned hands held you fast. All you could do was sink your hands into that damnably silky hair of his and announce your pleasure to the room. He worked you up so quickly that you crashed over the edge before you even had a chance to think. His name tumbled from your lips like a prayer, even as his teeth scraped against your inner thigh.

His chuckle was deep and raspy and he lazily reclaimed his spot atop you. You didn’t know when it had occurred, but what little clothing he wore was discarded and the length of him pressed solid against your belly. With one hand occupied by holding your wrists together above your head, he hooked a leg over his free arm and pressed you hard into his bedding. His hips ground against you as that obnoxiously enticing purring sound reverberated through the cavern once more.

“You’re all mine,” he growled into your ear before positioning himself at your entrance. You briefly worried about how in the world a man as large as him would fit into such a petite woman as yourself, but all thoughts and fears fled the moment he breached you.

“S-Sy-“ you whimpered into his mouth as he sought to distract you from any discomfort. His body trembled with the effort of holding back. Breaths came short as he fully sheathed himself into you, his gasping pants feathering at your neck as he fought to give you time to adjust to his girth. Despite the effort, his hips still jerked forward.

“Hell, love. How do you feel this damn good?” He whined against your chest as he dropped his head down. The trembling in his body increased tenfold as his internal war continued.

The deepest, guttural moan escaped from him as soon as you lifted your hips in a silent signal to proceed. That moan turned into a possessive growl as he shifted his hips, pulling and pushing from your oh-so-willing body. You longed to cling to him, but he still held fast to your wrists.

Feeling mischievous, your mouth found his throat and you scraped your teeth against his flesh. He surprised you by baring his neck to you with a moan, and so you bit down on that corded muscle at the slope of his shoulder. The same place he marked you however many days ago.

At that simple action, it was like a damn broke loose. A heated snarl erupted from him and his hips pistoned in and out at a pace that would be punishing if it didn’t feel so fucking good. Your voice rose to join his as his cock brought you to such a swift climax, it had you reeling.

Even as your walls pulsed around him, he didn’t stop. Indeed, it felt like his pace actually sped up as he mindlessly chased a release that seemed to evade him. You felt as though the moment one orgasm was over, he drove you right into another one. His name fell from your lips with reckless abandon and he buried his face into your neck once more.

But this time was different. His movements seemed deliberate, almost as if he was…what? You weren’t sure how to describe his action, but it was almost as if it was some sort of primal instinct to mark you with his scent.

And there was something else happening.

As he drove himself into you over and over again, you could feel something at the base of his cock…almost like some sort of bulge was forming? You weren’t at all familiar with the anatomy of his kind, so you couldn’t be sure what to expect.

“Sylus, what?” You tried to question, your brain unable to form the full question.

“Mine,” he growled. His voice had taken on that feral tone he had once used with you to try and scare you away. He finally released your wrists to loop his arm under your free leg, practically folding you in half while he pumped into you relentlessly. All you could do was cling to him and ride out the pleasure he continued to build.

And then it happened. You weren’t really sure what “it” was, but that strange bulge at the base of his cock all but locked him to you as he thrust hard into you one final time. His moaning cries filled the cavern as he threw his head back and you felt his cock twitch and pulse inside of you, the sensation being enough to push you over the edge again with him.

And you figured that would be the end of it, a beautiful connection with this incredible being.

But his hips remained locked with yours. He nuzzled into your neck, that purring sound emanating from him again. The smallest of thrusts was all the movement he was granted by the knot, but the tugging sensation elicited sparks of pleasure that coursed through you. You whimpered into his ear as you lifted your hips to meet his with each nudge.

Then, almost as if taken over by his instincts once more, his hips whipped forward and he plunged so impossibly deep into you that you didn’t know where he ended and you began. His cock twitched and more hot ropes of cum flooded you while he moaned against your skin. It dragged you into an abrupt climax, almost as if his own orgasm was some sort of switch for yours.

It happened several more times: he would relax his hips for a moment, only to violently thrust forward again and cum so explosively that you couldn’t help but follow him over the edge. But finally, after what felt like ages, that knot appeared to subside.

Sylus slumped against you, placing soft kisses against your skin. You were exhausted from the ordeal, barely awake as he shifted you to the side. You couldn’t even work up the energy to feel embarrassed as he cleaned you up, taking great care to be gentle with you.

Shortly thereafter, you fell into the deepest sleep you ever experienced while wrapped in his warm embrace.

—

That night, after the two of you woke from your shared slumber, Sylus had the good consciousness to blush at the behaviour he exhibited. He laid beside you, head propped up on a hand while the other traced feather-light swirling patterns on your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have never personally experienced a rut before and didn’t have the willpower to send you away.”

You smiled at him, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. “Is this something that dragons experience?”

“Mmh,” he said, thinking about how to reply in a way you would understand. “It is a mating instinct that all dragons experience, yes. Usually the worst of the urges are able to be subdued enough to still function. But when your scent hit me, it was like I was possessed.”

“And what was the..thing that happened towards the end?” You asked, not sure what to call the strange bulge that kept him locked to your body.

“In your tongue, it would be called a knot. When a dragon finds his mate, that is usually how they are claimed. I…don’t really know how to describe it, since I’ve never experienced it before.”

“Hmm, does that make me your mate, then?”

His gaze softened at your question and that lopsided smile you so loved played across his face. Instead of answering with words, he leaned down and kissed you thoroughly.

“Mmh. I rather enjoy my scent being intertwined with yours.”

[hoshigray]

This is my first time requesting something but HEAR ME OUT, "Slow Cuddle-fucking with og Sukuna while he is holding (and caressing) Reader (His wife) tightly and praising her (with him having size(difference) and breeding kink) oneshot please please please PLEASESSS😭

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: NAH CUZ I SEE THE VISION, HOLD ON–

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size difference - monster-fucking (he got 2 dicks, y'all) - double penetration; anal and vaginal - spooning dp position - breast fondling + nipple play - breeding kink - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - dacryphilia - pet names ([little]dove, good girl, my wife, woman) - soft! kuna, but not too OOC - mention of drool/spit and tears.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k

“Stay still, woman…Mmnnn, good girl, nice and easy…”

It’s not a rarity for Sukuna to have his hands on you as you two slept through the night. After all, he is the King of Curses; asking permission to touch his is beneath him. You were made for him to hold – sculpted for his cursed hands to touch – everyone else was far behind or had no standing compared to your demonic husband. And with you both sharing a futon every night, who’s supposed to tell him to keep his hands to himself?

You, his little spouse, knew of this. Marrying the King of Curses was something you never imagined would happen — let alone falling in love with the giant man! You’ve always had dreams of becoming a sweet little partner to someone; for that to be fulfilled by the cursed man who could kill thousands in the blink of an eye is astounding. 

And, of course, being a wife entails all the duties accompanying the package. Especially now, as you two lie together on the floor, nude bodies nestled close on the futon above the tatami floor, and your naked figure trembling from the insertion of one of Sukuna’s paired cock. And your heart drops at the second one brushing up against the crevice of your ass when he pushes the one inside your throbbing, velvety channel. 

“Mmmph…! Sukuna, no,” you whined, your butt inching away from the second member. “I can’t handle both—“

“Don’t lie; you’ve done it before and did it well,” a hand brings your waist to him. “Or maybe I should just have one of the concubines take care of me, seeing as though my own wife is neglecting their duties.” 

He wouldn’t do that; Sukuna’s interest in his insignificant mistresses had long been diminished once he took you up as his bride, practically collecting dust as he hadn’t visited them since you shared a bed with him. Now, he uses them as tools to probe you. And he has to hold back the mischievous snicker when your eyes widen with anxiousness, wrapping your arms around his neck in desperation.

“N–No, please!” You pleaded; it was the only sufficient approach. “I’ll be good to you, I promise!”

The four-eyed curse scoffs. “Then do what you’re supposed to,” Each crimson orb takes in information about your bashful expression, “And attend to your husband like a wife should.”

Further complaints cease at his command, so you quiet down and arch your behind to him submissively. Sukuna takes your initiation with his hungry bottom hand on your ass, squeezing the flesh as you guide his other dick to your lubed asshole. With a hum, he pushes himself and forces you to take his cocks with your bottom, needing a few seconds to breathe when your holes reach the base of his members.

“Good girl,” he says to your ear to make you shudder, and he lifts your leg with the hand that finished groping your asscheek. “Obeying me so well like always…”

He begins to move without a signal, slowly pulling himself in and out of your warm wetness that coats his length with your slick. You can’t help but grip the girth limbs that massage your insides, involuntarily throbbing on them with shaky breaths.  

“Mmmaah, ohhhmyG—Mmm!” Speech isn’t easy, even with his upper left hand cupping your cheeks. And your brows furrow as the upper right sneaks to grope a breast. “Faaahh, Suk..una, I’m too full already…”

“Mmm? Is that so?” Sukuna asks with a patronizing tone, licking the helix of your ear to hear you gasp. “But we’ve barely started yet, my wife. Don’t bore me before I can enjoy you yet.” 

His hips go at a gradual cadence that has you keening a mess, the sensation of the veins of his cocks felt by the walls of your holes. You howl silently, not wanting to make too much noise.

But that doesn’t fly with your husband, speaking to your ear with that hoarse voice. Almost has you melting as he squishes with your cheeks, “Let it out, princess,” he commands. “I want to hear that voice; don’t you dare hide that from me.”

Fuck, the way you felt on his dicks was so fucking good, having the cursed behemoth burrow his face into the cubby of your neck. Slow kisses on your skin segway to sucks that should mark for later. He could never get enough of how small you were up against him. His giant palm swallowed your tit, your ass bouncing with every thrust, and how damn tight you were as you accommodated the two members making your entrances busy. 

Goddamn it, he bites his lip, dialing up the speed of his ruts a bit. Scratching your inner walls has you squeaking louder, unable to stop yourself when he grinds his hips after a sudden grim pound. So warm and snug for him as if you were meant for him. He knew you were meant for him — taking his huge, fat shafts with no objections, just arching your back further so the sensation could be more pleasurable like the loyal, little pet you are. “Hmngh…! Yeah, just like that, little dove; keep clenching around me like that…”

Restraint was gone long ago, letting your voice and shrieks fly out and fill the quiet bedroom. The sound of his skin shaking against your ass, the heat of your cheeks making it hard to think, and the shivers crawling your spine with every graze to your sweet spots. Everything feels like a haze, your brain too clouded to think outside this moment. 

And then you sense the hand on your breast let go, slithering down to your unattended clitoris, which has your eyes shoot wide as your demon husband presses down. “—Khhff! Nooo, ‘Kunaa, you mustn’t…!”  

He lifts a brow with a grin; you dare question him? “And why shouldn’t I?” He pinches the delicate bud, resulting in a scream sneaking past your lips. “Hmm? Plead for yourself.”

“Becau—Ahhh! Mmmm, I’ll cum. I’m gonna cumm…”

“Then don’t,” Sukuna doesn’t remove his digits playing with your clit, and the hand on your chin pulls your face to look at him. “Cum without my permission, and I’ll make sure to not be so kind next time...” His words carry a warning filling your bones with apprehension, yet his soft lips greet yours and he hums into your mouth. The kiss serves as a distraction from his thick digits gently swiping on the pearl.

The rhythm of his hips, however, increases in speed and prompts more moans to be taken by Sukuna. Drool trickles down your lips, same with tears that welled up earlier from the insertion of his girth inside your ass. Your eyes roll at the jab to your silky walls, breaking the sweet yet passionate kiss to cry out as your husband’s fat balls smack your ass. 

“—Ooooo, fuuuck, I can’t,” your eyelids shield your vision, using the rest of your senses to indulge in this euphoric pleasure. “‘Kuna, I’m so close, so—Ooohh!”

“Me too…Ghhh! Shit, me too…” Sukuna presses his hot face to yours when you throw it back, licking the tears off your sweaty skin. You looked so stunning like this, all disheveled and immodest because of him. “Gonna take my load, huh?” He licks the sweat off your shoulder and bites when you don’t respond. “Answer me, Y/n.”

“—Ahhh, yes!”

That’s not enough. “I said,” he pinches your clit again as he gives slow yet rough ruts to your holes. And he can tell by your twitching that you’re doing everything in our power not to come. “Answer me.”

Holy shit, this was borderline torture. “Mmmph! OhhhLord, ‘Kunaaa, I want you to fill me up. Pleasee, pleasepleaseee, I wanna be full; wanna be all ‘round and fat with your child…!”

“Keh, dumb pet; who said I wanted a brat, huh?” He scoffs, yet you can hear the groan as he licks and sucks on your neck while squishing your hot, tear-stricken cheeks. “Fine then; go on and cum with me. So damn needy for my seed…”

Sukuna brings your chin for another steamy kiss, his lower left hand holding yours as his pelvis goes at an irregular pace. Your muffled shrills are taken by feisty lips, teeth clashing with his fangs before sucking on his tongue, and the upper left hand releases your chin to caress your chest once more, tweezing the nipple along with swipes to your clit.

Release gradually creeps up your shaky frame, crying to his mouth when your chasm and anus pucker around the lengths that graze your walls with the tips. Sukuna is not too far behind you, pumping his load into you with a few harsh plunges, making your contracting cunt and rear full of his hot and thick semen. The lower right hand propping your leg up leaves soft kneads on your inner thigh, hoisting it up further so his shafts are deep enough until his pulsing balls meet your ass.

You withdrew from his lips to breathe, your figure quivering through the aftershocks, and your slit and asshole still flutter around his girths. And you mewl when he kisses your cheek and temple.

“Mmm, that’s my princess,” he purrs while placing your leg down to massage your waist. “Such a good dove…”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ✩ dividers by @/benkeibear.

[brunchable]

Pregnancy Pillow vs Captain America

Pairings: Dad-to-be Steve Rogers x Pregnant Reader. Themes/Summary:Light-hearted. Steve is feeling lonely on his side of the bed, and it's the pregnancy pillow's fault. A/N: I haven't been giving Steve some love lately. . . so here a cute little oneshot of how he will react when y/n brings out the pregnancy pillow. I don't own any of the images ya'll credits to their owners.

tags: @mrsevans90 @haruvalentine4321

Steve comes out of the ensuite after his shower, his white t-shirt clinging to his body and hair damp. He throws you an easy smile, the kind that makes his blue eyes crinkle at the corners, as he heads towards the bedroom. But the moment he steps inside, he halts mid-stride, staring at the bed like it’s personally offended him.

There it is again: the pregnancy pillow. An immovable, unforgiving barricade that now divides your once-cozy bed like a dam, stretching from one end to the other. Steve tilts his head, squinting at it as if that might reduce its size.

He throws his hands on his hips and sighs dramatically. 

“You know, I fought Hydra,” he says, voice dripping with exasperation. “I’ve been through hell and back. But this—” he gestures to the pillow, “—is the one enemy I can’t seem to defeat.”

You burst into laughter from your side of the bed, propped up by a series of other pillows meant to cushion every conceivable ache or discomfort. “Steve, it’s a pillow.”

“It’s a monstrosity,” he argues. “It’s like the Great Wall of China, but made out of—” he pokes at it cautiously, like it might snap back at him, “—fluffy foam and… whatever this is.” He groans, flopping down onto his side of the bed with a huff.

“Pregnancy pillows are supposed to be supportive,” you say in an exaggeratedly sweet tone, rolling your eyes.

“Supportive?” He scoffs, attempting to squeeze his hand through the tiny gap between the pillow and your hip. “It’s so supportive I need to make an appointment to get within three feet of my wife.”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh as you watch him contort, his long arms flailing. “I know it’s not ideal, but I need it, Steve.”

“Why does it have to be so big?” He sounds like a sullen child, tugging at the end of the pillow like he’s considering wrestling it out of the bed entirely. “Can’t they make a smaller one? One that doesn’t make me feel like I’m living on the opposite side of the planet?”

You shake your head. “Trust me, if there were a way to make it smaller and still work, I’d be using it.”

Steve finally manages to get a bit of his arm over the pillow’s edge, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder. He lets out a soft noise of triumph, and then—he leans in close, his forehead almost bumping the pillow’s fabric. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, as if the pillow itself is an eavesdropper. “Wanna come over to my side?”

Your laugh breaks out fully then. “Are you trying to seduce me over a pillow, Rogers?”

“Absolutely,” he deadpans, his face all faux-seriousness. He wiggles his eyebrows and purses his lips. “I’ve got ‘plenty’ of space over here, you know. Might be a little lonely, though. Could use some company.”

You lean back into the pillow, giggling at the sight of this fully-grown super soldier pouting at a piece of fabric. “I’m not crawling over this thing. You’ll just have to wait until the baby’s born.”

Steve blinks, his face crumpling in over-the-top shock. “Wait. Until the baby is born? That’s months away!”

“Yup.” You nod solemnly, enjoying the way his mouth drops open.

“Months?” He repeats, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I’m supposed to be a dad in a few months and I can’t even get a hug?”

You finally give in, shifting to face him. 

“C’mere, you big baby.” With some maneuvering, you manage to reach over the pillow, clasping his face between your hands. He grins triumphantly and leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as if it’s the greatest victory he’s ever won.

Steve kisses your palm, peeking an eye open at the pillow. “We’re not done yet, pillow,” he mutters dramatically, earning another peal of laughter from you.

He straightens and stares at the pillow again, rubbing his chin like he’s trying to come up with a strategy. “Maybe… I can find a way to make this work.”

“Oh really?” you tease. “You’re gonna outsmart a pillow?”

“Absolutely.” He nods firmly. “If I can’t get past it, I’ll just have to—” With sudden determination, Steve heaves his leg over the top of the pillow, straddling it awkwardly like he’s mounting a wild horse. You raise an eyebrow, biting back a grin.

“Steve—”

He shushes you, waving a hand. “Shh. Let me have this.”

You watch, thoroughly amused, as he tries to maneuver his entire body over the pillow without crushing it—or falling off the bed. He flops, shifts, and mutters curses under his breath, but finally—finally—he makes it to your side, lying beside you with a triumphant smirk.

“See?” he pants, a little out of breath. “I did it.”

“Wow,” you say, clapping lightly. “Captain America, conqueror of pillows.”

“Damn right.” He beams at you, his face flushed from the exertion. “Now…” He reaches for you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close, despite the awkward angle. His hand, large and warm, comes to rest gently on your rounded stomach. His thumb makes slow circles over the fabric of your nightshirt, brushing against the small rise. The smile that spreads across his face is soft, almost reverent. 

“Hey there, little one.”

The teasing, playful glint in his eyes fades to something softer, more intense as he gazes down at your belly. His palm splays wide, covering the bump entirely, and he rubs with a featherlight touch. You feel the familiar flutter of movement beneath his hand, and Steve’s entire face lights up.

“Did you feel that?” He whispers, eyes wide with wonder, his breath catching.

You nod, your hand covering his, sharing the moment with him. “That’s your baby, Steve.”

He swallows hard, blinking away the sudden moisture in his eyes as he continues to trace gentle patterns on your skin. “I can’t believe it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I can’t believe… this is happening.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion he’s never been able to hide from you. “You’re going to be a wonderful dad.”

He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Only because you’re going to be an amazing mom,” he murmurs against your skin. His hand lingers on your stomach, his fingers spreading as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of it.

The baby shifts again, and Steve lets out a soft laugh, a sound filled with awe. “I’m pretty sure this little one already loves you more than anyone else.”

“And what about you?” you tease, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

He shrugs, eyes still fixed on your stomach. “I’ll just have to win them over.” He glances up, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Starting with getting rid of this pillow.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Nice try, Captain. It stays.”

He sighs dramatically but leans down to kiss your belly one more time. “Okay, okay, you win,” he mutters, though the smile on his face is nothing short of blissful. “For now.”

You lean back, resting your hand atop his, and the two of you stay like that for a while—Steve murmuring quiet promises to the baby, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your belly. Even with the pillow still stubbornly wedged between you, it’s one of the most intimate moments you’ve ever shared.

Steve might be fighting a losing battle against the Great Pillow, but right now, with his hand on your stomach and your laughter filling the room, he’s never felt closer to you.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

➸ masterlist

“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it. 

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket. 

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.” 

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible. 

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you. 

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks. 

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age. 

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

���Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.” 

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him. 

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you. 

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation. 

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time. 

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes. 

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–” 

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.” 

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–” 

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you. 

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden. 

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut. 

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.” 

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw. 

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie. 

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape. 

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you. 

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist. 

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you. 

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now. 

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives. 

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains. 

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

.

.

.

[the end] 

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

➸ masterlist

[chuluoyi]

fear

- gojo satoru x reader

his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.

genre/warnings: angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

notes: *sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)

general masterlist

A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.

"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"

"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"

That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.

"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."

"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."

On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.

Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.

And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.

"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"

Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.

It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.

"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"

"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.

But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.

When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."

It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.

"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."

"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."

Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"

"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"

You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."

"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."

"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"

"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.

"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."

Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?

You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."

"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”

That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."

Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.

You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.

Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.

Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.

If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.

Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.

As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.

Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.

"You've royally fucked up."

Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."

The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"

A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.

Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.

"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."

He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?

The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."

She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"

It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—

"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.

"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"

"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."

Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes. 

Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.

"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.

Satoru.

But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.

You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.

Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.

"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.

"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.

Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.

Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."

It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.

And everything faded to nothingness.

Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?

But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.

And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.

It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.

You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.

Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.

That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.

"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."

When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.

The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.

He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.

"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.

And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.

But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.

It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.

"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."

And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.

Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.

You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.

"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.

It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.

You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.

"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.

Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.

You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.

"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.

The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?

You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."

Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”

You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.

Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.

He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.

"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.

Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"

His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.

"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.

"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.

He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"

You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"

"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”

He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.

You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"

"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”

"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."

"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.

The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.

But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.

"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.

"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.

“You said you could have any other women out there—”

"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."

“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”

“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”

"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."

"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"

"A thank you would be nice."

In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."

He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.

"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”

You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"

"Then just let him die."

You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.

“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Mmhm.”

As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.

Epilogue

Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.

Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.

He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.

"You are—"

"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"

"Hah?"

If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.

"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."

Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!

"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...

Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?

Hey, that sounds like something I can do!