#through the looking glass fic

[starkerscoop]

I just put out a SoulMate au Prompt!

On your birthday, as soon as you hit a certain age, you get to see a glimpse of your soulmate and possible clue as to who they are. And it repeats every year on ur birthday.

Maybe for the first several years Tony never saw anyone. So maybe his soulmate wasn't 18 yet. But then 5 years turn into 10, 15, 20 ( how many u wanna age him up to) so he thinks he doesn't have one.

Tony is getting ready with his friends and tailor, and he goes to check himself out, and he doesn't see himself. He sees Peter.

Now could know him already or not. Peter could be Spiderman or not!

I think it would be a fun idea!

- WinterSpiderPurrs

I know it's been almost two full years but here it is! Thank you for the prompt :)

also on ao3

Tony sighed, running his hands over the burgundy suit he was trying on. It didn’t sit right on him—too stiff, too impersonal—but he could imagine someone else wearing it. Someone standing beside him, fingers laced with his, accompanying him to his birthday party.

Someone he still didn’t have a face for.

Every year, his birthday arrived with the same disappointment. No vision. No glimpse. No confirmation that there was someone out there meant for him. At first, he had told himself his soulmate just wasn’t old enough yet. But as five years turned into ten, then fifteen, then twenty, the hope had faded.

Now, he wasn’t sure he had a soulmate at all.

Loud laughter from the waiting area pulled him from his thoughts. Tony’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t want Rhodey or Happy catching on to the turmoil written all over his face. Forcing himself to turn away from the noise, he faced the full-length mirror instead.

The suit looked just as wrong as it felt.

With a huff, Tony started to turn away, only for a flicker of movement in the glass to freeze him in place.

His breath caught.

His reflection was gone.

Instead, staring back at him was someone else.

Unruly curls, wild and windswept. Pale wrists wrapped in what looked like homemade gadgets, their design so unfamiliar that even Tony’s mind struggled to piece them together.

He leaned in, heart hammering, trying to get a better look—

And just like that, the image vanished.

The mirror once again reflected nothing but his own dissatisfied expression and the burgundy suit he suddenly wanted to set on fire.

Tony blinked.

Once. Twice.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

He had a soulmate.

For the first time in years, something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in his chest, pushing aside the loneliness he’d grown used to carrying.

He didn’t say anything to Rhodey or Happy, who were still waiting for him to pick a suit. This was his, and his alone, to process.

But suddenly, picking out a suit felt meaningless. What did it matter? There was someone out there for him. Destined for him.

And Tony was going to find them.

Tearing off the suit, he pulled his own clothes back on, leaving the discarded fabric crumpled on the floor. He didn’t bother fixing it before striding out to his friends.

“I’m calling off the party,” he announced, cutting off their conversation.

Rhodey blinked. “All the guests have RSVP’d.”

Happy frowned. “And you love parties. Especially your own.”

Tony shrugged, impatience flickering in his eyes. “I’m a reformed man. I’ll take you two to dinner instead.”

Dinner would take less time. He had more important things to do now.

Rhodey and Happy exchanged a weird look, but Rhodey just sighed. “Whatever you want, Tones. It’s your day.”

Tony threw an arm around each of them, steering them toward the exit. They were halfway down the street when the first scream rang out.

They stopped cold.

Panic rippled through the air, the distant sound of chaos surging closer.

Tony’s hand hovered over his watch, instincts taking over.

Something was happening.

And for the first time, his gut told him it might be more important than any fight he’d been in before.

Across the street, a crowd scattered in all directions, their screams echoing off the towering buildings. Something—or someone—had sent them into a panic. Rhodey and Happy instinctively flanked Tony, scanning for the threat.

A car alarm blared as a sedan was flung sideways, skidding across the pavement before slamming into a fire hydrant. A geyser of water erupted, drenching the road. Through the chaos, Tony caught sight of the culprit—a metallic-armed thug in a makeshift exo-suit, stomping forward with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

“Great,” Tony muttered. “Guess it’s work mode now.”

Before he could activate his nanotech, a blur of red and blue shot down from above.

Spider-Man.

Tony barely had time to register the hero’s arrival before the kid launched himself straight at the armored thug, webbing his wrist and yanking hard. The thug snarled, trying to shake him off, but Spider-Man was already flipping over his head, landing a precise kick to the back of his skull.

Rhodey let out a low whistle. “Gotta hand it to the kid. He knows how to make an entrance.”

Tony grunted, eyes narrowing. He’d seen Spidey in action plenty of times before, but something about this moment held him captive. The way the kid moved—fluid, confident, impossibly fast—it felt... familiar.

Then he saw them.

The wrist-mounted devices.

Tony’s stomach dropped.

No way. It couldn’t be.

His mind reeled back to the vision in the mirror—pale wrists, odd gadgets strapped to them. They were different from his own tech, but unmistakably homemade. He had brushed it off at the time, too consumed by the shock of finally seeing his soulmate at all. But now, standing in the middle of a crumbling city street, watching Spider-Man weave between blows, it hit him like a freight train.

His soulmate might be standing right in front of him.

He had no proof, no way to know for sure. But the possibility lodged itself in his chest, refusing to be ignored.

“Tony,” Rhodey barked, snapping him out of it.

The thug had finally shaken off Spider-Man and was now barreling toward them, arms raised.

Tony’s hesitation shattered. Whatever this was, whoever his soulmate turned out to be, he’d deal with that later. Right now, he had a fight to finish.

He pressed his watch. The suit deployed around him in an instant.

“Let’s dance,” he muttered, launching into the fray.

The thug roared, slamming his exo-enhanced fists into the pavement, sending a shockwave rippling through the street. Cars bounced, windows shattered, and the force sent bystanders scrambling for cover.

Tony barely had time to react before Spider-Man shot out a web, yanking him backward just as a streetlight came crashing down where he had stood.

“Seriously, dude? Watch your step!” Spidey quipped, twisting midair before planting both feet against the thug’s chest. The force of the impact sent the villain stumbling, but he dug his mechanical fingers into the asphalt, stopping his fall with brute strength.

“Appreciate the assist, Webs,” Tony called, sending a repulsor blast at the thug’s exposed side. The villain barely flinched.

“Yeah, no problem!” Spider-Man shot a line of webbing to the thug’s wrist, yanking hard to throw him off balance. “But maybe next time, let’s not fight guys built like refrigerators?”

The thug growled and swung wildly. Spidey ducked, flipping over the attack, but the villain anticipated it this time. With terrifying speed, he reached up and caught Spider-Man mid-air, gripping him by the torso with a crushing force.

Spider-Man yelped.

Tony’s heart clenched.

“Gotcha now, bug,” the thug sneered, squeezing tighter. Spider-Man struggled, arms pinned to his sides, legs kicking.

Tony didn’t hesitate—he fired up his thrusters and shot forward.

But before he could reach them, the villain’s other hand gripped the edge of Spider-Man’s mask. In one brutal motion, he ripped it clean off.

The world seemed to slow as Tony took in the face now exposed to the open air.

Brown eyes wide with alarm. A mess of curls he instantly recognized.

Tony’s breath caught.

It was him. The same face he had seen in the mirror. His soulmate.

Something in Tony shifted, like a key turning in a lock he hadn’t known was there. A fierce protectiveness surged through him, drowning out everything else.

His soulmate was in danger.

And Tony Stark did not let the people he loved get hurt.

Before the thug could tighten his grip, Tony fired a concentrated repulsor blast straight at his wrist. The exo-enhanced metal cracked under the impact, sending a jolt through the villain’s arm. His grip faltered just enough.

The kid took advantage.

Despite the pain, he jerked his legs up, planting both feet against the thug’s chest and pushing off with every ounce of strength he had. The force ripped him free from the villain’s grasp, sending him tumbling through the air.

Tony was there in a second.

He caught the kid before he could hit the ground, arms wrapping securely around him as they hovered above the street. The kid gasped, chest rising and falling rapidly, dazed from the lack of oxygen.

Tony tightened his hold.

“Gotcha, kid.”

The boy blinked up at him, eyes wide and unfocused. Tony could see the moment the realization hit—his face flushed slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

Tony didn’t either. His mind was racing too fast.

This was his soulmate. But he had no idea who he was.

And that was something he was going to change.

[dragqueenstarscream]

the current inspirations for the pre-damage starscream fan design i'm trying to cobble together

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Kim Dokja slaps his hands over Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth without really thinking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says frantically. He feels Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips curve into a frown under his palm, ticklish and hot against that sensitive skin. He ekes out an odd sound and jerks back, yelping again when the back of his head collides with the wall. Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression turns more bewildered than reprimanding. “What is with you?” The Fourth Wall comes down. Kim Dokja realizes he’s been relying on it more than he thought.

Author: unluckyolive

Submitter: @anotheraverageotaku

[wwillywonka]

UPDATE - she's a rainbow (and i am a difficult man) - Chapter One

A look into Captain Alice Kingsleigh's life at sea. Plus, a flashback to happier times...

ao3 link

snippet below!

For a woman with such a peculiar past and taste for the unusual, traits which on many occasion have not only inconvenienced her but caused her, too, much distress, Alice Kingsleigh is quite fond of routine. One does not become a ship’s captain without a little discipline, after all, and with her newfound freedom to do exactly as she pleases without the suffocating, watchful eye of her mother or her fellow highbrow socialites, Alice has discovered such consistency helps keep the mind at bay.

Today, she rose at four A.M., drank exactly three cups of the deliciously aromatic lavender tea she bought from the loveliest little shop in Shanghai, and finished writing a letter to Miss Rosa Vargas, a penpal with whom Alice is engaged in great discussion about the ever-growing sentiment towards political independence in the Philippines. Hunched over bowls of leche flan and bibingka in the middle of bustling town squares and tweed-filled social clubs, Alice spent a great many days with her during her last visit to Manila. 

And perhaps, too, a few nights. 

At this particular moment, Alice sits at the bow of the Wonder, her father’s ship (though it is beginning to feel more and more like hers every day). She looks down and watches the soft lapping of waves against the hull as they disrupt her reflection in the water. Even without the distortion, she knows she looks very different from how she did two years ago when this journey began. For one thing, the sun has done wonders for her, the pale fragility of girlhood now grown bright and sun-kissed with adventure. The mess of golden hair down her back is the same as ever, though she now wears it pinned into a braid and only lets it float freely in the privacy of her quarters. She looks, well, real. She looks like she belongs amongst people, amongst humans, amongst society (even if sea life is still so very far removed from the everyday mundanity of London). She does not look like a girl lost in a dream. 

Staring out onto the open sea, she watches the glinting, foaming greens swirl with purple-laced blues and glittering golds, disappearing and reappearing in metronomic rhythm with each passing wave caused by the ship’s underbelly. Even on days when the sun cannot keep up, straying miles behind its fellow adventurers, when waking up to the sound of thunder comes to be expected, Alice still loves the sea. The greys are, she thinks, even more beautiful to her, for they make the return of colour far more special. 

(She is often victim to thinking in paradoxes, though she would not say so. Unless, of course, one asks.)

Colour. It is only here, on the ancient, timeless beauty of the endless ocean that the colours shine ( almost ) as clearly as the most beautiful colours she has ever had the pleasure of committing to memory. For even in the dreary, war-torn landscape of Underland, the colours that do manage to find their way between the cracks are as fittingly impossible as Underland’s existence itself. Better than, like Underland. Preferable, like Underland.

Orange hair, for example. Emerald-green eyes. 

Alice has become increasingly vocal about her experiences in what she likes to call “the Other Place,” shamelessly referring to her animal and human-adjacent friends as if they were peers left behind back in London. To her, Underland is like any other place from her travels as a sea captain; its culture and rich history should and will be integrated into her comparably, overwhelming Earthen life. 

(Though whether or not Underland is of Earth, Alice does not know. She formulated her theories during her last visit, but there was little time to explore them in the whirl of identity-questioning and, of course, the slaying of a giant, purple-fire-breathing beast.)

Two years. It is more than a little terrifying to believe it’s been that long. Or that short. 

Sometimes she catches herself, in her own thoughts, calling Underland “home.” Each time, she immediately shakes her head, laughs at herself, and goes back to whatever task she was purposely avoiding for the sake of daydreaming. Laughing aloud at random intervals, though not far worse than many of her other oddities, often earns her strange looks from her compatriots. 

But there are times when she lets herself indulge in her fantasies. They are the loneliest of times, in truth, but they are when she feels most, if not entirely, herself. On these nights, eyes glowing with tears in the dim candlelight, she retrieves her watercolour set, sits by the window — and grieves.

She grieves her father, grieves her lost childhood, grieves all the time she wasted abiding by society’s rules when she could have been here, at sea. But most of all, she grieves the life she might have had if, on either of the three occasions he asked, Alice had stayed in Underland with the Hatter.

Perhaps they could have grown old together, sharing tea and scones and laughing until their throats went dry until the day she died. Or he died. Or they both died, together, on a battlefield.  

Denying him that is her greatest regret, and yet, if given the chance to relive those moments, she cannot imagine herself changing a thing.

And that is, by far, the worst of the grief. 

[grumpy-detective]

please, not to kinkshame or whatever the term would be, but if you are gonna post rpf fics, DO NOT post it in the main tags of the creator/person

[ghostwink]

Y’all should read @bonesandthebees “through a glass divine”

[facewithoutheart]

i’m your bookmarked’s bookmarked’s bookmark

[thatmagickjuju]

i've been on a 12 monkeys (tv show) kick. i had written one chapter for my fic ages ago. after i reread it, i realized it's not how i want to start my story ... or even have. the whole chapter is completely irrelevant. yay me. but that just means i gotta work on it. first thing's first: should i stick with the title 'through the looking glass' or change it? i have two other choices: time waits for no one and always & forever. both go with the 'time' theme of the show. and then next is, do i keep the fc the same, and the name the same. currently using christian serratos with the name ariana ramse (yes jose ramse's sister). thinking probably going to be half sister by mother instead of father tho, so i can change her last name so she can still call him ramse instead of jose. we'll see. but the fact that i have so much muse for something again is exciting. we'll see how long my adhd will allow me to stay focused to actually do something with it.

[brockendrems]

shit's crazy

[wwillywonka]

new fic - she's a rainbow (and i am a difficult man)

A long overdue rewrite of Alice Through the Looking Glass 2016 with much amendment to Alice in Wonderland 2010. Mainly focuses on the war between the Red and White Queens, the Hightopp Clan, and the tumultuous friendship between a dimension-traversing sea captain and her hat-making best friend.

she's a rainbow (and i am a difficult man)

I started writing this the day I saw ATTLG at the cinema back in 2016. Working on it on and off since then, my love-hate relationship with these movies has only grown more conflicting, and these scenes have been rewritten so many times that I don't even have the original drafts. But now, as an adult and published writer, I finally feel I have the skills to properly tell the story young me wanted so desperately to see.

Summary:

“You’ve killed people, haven’t you?”

The Hatter’s eyes grow dark as he faces her, accusation in his expression. But when he speaks, his voice is even, calm. “Not people, no. The cards are just creations, experiments, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 - figments of the Red Queen’s imagination.”

“Created by whom?”

Many moments of silence pass as he considers this, so many that Alice thinks he has forgotten the question all together. Then, “I, er, am not certain.”

“Then, you do not know for sure if they are living things, still? And you’ve killed them anyway?”

“𝘠𝘦𝘴.” This time, Hatter is visible peeved. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? They don’t feel anything. They don’t have families, they’re not even capable of individual thought. They just… do what they’re told. Out of loyalty to Iracabeth.”

“And what are you acting out of? Loyalty, too, I think.”

𖦹𖦹𖦹

my tarrant & alice playlist

[internetgiraffekid1673]

Alice Liddell Through the Ages:

What's up freeloaders, new brainrot just dropped! That's right, I've been lightly obsessing over Alice in Wonderland as of late! Well. Mostly. This particular image is what I imagine Alice to look like throughout the years if she grew up in a modern-ish setting.

Edit: this turned into a whole crossover series. Here are the following posts for Wendy, John, Michael, Dorothy, and Milo. Watch as my under-the-cut notes slowly grow more consistent and coherent!

Here's the chicken scratch translation, and anyone who wants to know the backstory I made for these drawings can look under the cut! I will also put individual versions of each era at the bottom.

Going in the order that you should read the info boxes (which would also be the chronological order they were added to this fake info file):

[Wonderland Era. Age: 7. Source: Mrs. Liddell's Scrapbook]

[Notes: Often gives herself very good advice, but very seldom follows it. Still, her assertive personality got her through Wonderland and Looking Glass Land in one piece, which is no small feat.]

[Edgy Teenager Era. Age: 15. Source: Wendy Darling's Camera Reel.]

[Notes: Regular teen mental health problems were made worse by her intense longing for Wonderland. Combined with her regular assertiveness and an . . . interesting fashion sense, she has the world's worst RBF.]

[Business Attorney Era. Age: 24. Source: Celebratory photo after getting her first permanent position.]

[Notes: Alice absolutely aced both law school and business school. She was feared by speech and debate teams everywhere and is like some sort of fury from Hell for opposing lawyers. She survived the Queen of Hearts Court. Nothing you can dream up is even close to that intimidating.]

Aiight, so I designed a whole ass Crossover AU around my brainrot and now you guys get to hear the basic premise of it! Aren't you lucky!

Specifically, my brain siezed on a thread of "Hey! You know all those kids who went to nonsensical magical worlds, had a pretty bad time but learned valuable lessons, and then came back with very little evidence to prove it wasn't a dream? Yeah, what happened to them afterwards? D'you think they know each other? What would they grow up to be?"

And thus, a crossover AU was born. Basically, sometime after they all had their adventures, the following children all ended up in the same neighborhood at the same school. Also, this takes place somewhere between the 90s and the 2010s because I said so. The children are: Alice Liddell (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland); Wendy, John, and Michael Darling (Peter Pan); Dorothy Gale (Wizard of Oz); and Milo (Milo and the Phantom Tollbooth).

They all become friends because of the shared behaviors that going on an epic adventure in a nonsense world and then going back to school like a normal person causes. They all talk about their experiences eventually, but that's all a story for another day.

Who wrote this fake info file and why are they keeping it? That's for me to know and you to find out!

[fantasticgothicpeachsludge]

Not being able to find fics that you only remember a scene from and none of the tags is torture

[vikingmagic33]

Happy Elucien Week! @elucienweekofficial

So relieved to report that I’ve managed to give my Elucien fic a bit of a facelift and posted a new chapter to celebrate this week. While my little drawing is of Lucien, the chapter is told from Elain’s POV.

Update on AO3.

@thelovelymadone @amandapearls @foreverinelysian @headcanonheadcase @hlizr50 @mystical-blaise @daevastanner @sunshinebingo @beaumaismortel

[saltyfilmmajor]

[madamechrissy]

Pornstar Satoru

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings- mentions of sex and sexwork, masturbation, mentions of drug use, weed smoking, Gojo has an OF hehe, lots of longing, pining, Satoru can't get hard if it's not you, whipped ass Satoru

This will be a FULL fic as a thank you for 11k followers (I can't BELIEVE I'm almost there!?!??) I wanted to show a little preview first, so here are some hcs!! Thank you all sm for following meee <3 Comment to get tagged!

Pornstar Satoru is one of the most famous pornstars there are, hence him constantly wearing jet black shades and hoodies at times, he never knew just who he'd run into that would recognize him. Whether it's his flicks or his OF - he's the top .01 % - he gets a lot of notice, especially in bustling LA. But, he loves what he does, he especially loves watching his abs flex in the camera as he hits one of his lovely costars from the back.

Pornstar Satoru loves making the costars and girls he collabs with actually cum, where they're shaking and squirting all over his latex covered cock. Not that fake shit like he watches them do with other men- no Satoru makes sure to slam that curved tip against their cervix, to roll his thumb right on their clit with the perfect amount of pressure. Perhaps that's the secret to how famous he really is, along with his good looks.

Pornstar Satoru makes so much money from each shoot and is in high demand, so he can have whoever he wants as a co star. They line up to have a chance at him, watching his videos and aching for a chance to feel his cock hitting them deeper than damn near anyone could hit, to say they got to shoot with the Satoru Gojo. This just makes Satoru fuck them harder, smiling right at that camera, as women dream it's really them that have captured his pretty blue eyed gaze.

Pornstar Satoru thinks it's a pretty damn good life, being rich for fucking beautiful women on camera, as he's inhaling a blunt after a threesome shoot with his best friend - and often costar- Pornstar Suguru, as they talk about who got the girl to squirt more, right in the middle of a bouguie party in East LA. Suguru let's out a throaty laugh, while Satoru narrows his blue eyes. 'I had her cumming so hard she was shaking' he says, taking a hit and handing it back to Suguru. 'Nah, that was all for me, did you see...'

Pornstar Satoru stops listening when he sees you enter the room, completely out of place at the coke filled, booze filled party, wearing a pair of black glasses that cover half of your pretty face, and a little nervous look as you stand there, in a cute white pleated skirt and a big oversized sweater. Satoru smacks Suguru on the shoulder then and he coughs up smoke. 'Shit what is it?' Satoru looks back at you, when you're handed a drink, some guy flirting as you look down shyly. 'Who's she?' Suguru blinks a bit curiously. 'I don't know, she's pretty though'

Pornstar Satoru scowls at Suguru who snorts in laughter then. 'Satoru we don't have 'girlfriends' and she... looks like a good girl' your eyes catch his then, across the room, like something shifts as you smile sweetly, before peering at your phone, biting your lip in concentration. 'I'm talking to her' Suguru chuckles as he watches his friend, and Satoru feels his heart race when he comes too close to you, something he can't say he's felt, even pleasing countless beauties, nothing has quite altered him as your sweet turn of lips, as you look down at your converse, so out of place you're fucking adorable. 'Hey sweetheart... Satoru Gojo' he says, introducing himself with ease, expecting you to maybe notice him, get starstruck, fuck women get wet just near him, but you simply grin, and your name whispers through his mind when it spills from your lips.

Pornstar Satoru has you sitting with him later, you fall into easy conversation, you're a little gamer nerd, you love science and the environment, he just bets you were head of your ecology club in college, which you quickly confirm, all while you're in awe of just how beautiful this man is. He's sweet, he's sexy... you feel he shouldn't even be talking to you. You're pretty but... he's experienced so clearly, by every way he moves, he's worldly, so confident, and you've never really left this little part of LA, but the two of you can't stop talking, to the point you forget what brought you here.

Pornstar Satoru laughs with you, as you're sitting side by side, and he lights up a blunt, leaning back on the burgundy couch on the outskirts of the party, inhaling it deep into his lungs. 'Want a hit, sweets?' he murmurs, you take it nervously, putting it to your lips and inhaling a bit, before coughing, covering your mouth. Satoru chuckles, 'you're cute' earning your cheeks heating up. 'Can you tell I don't do this?' you're nervously tapping your leg now. 'Yeah, what does bring you here, doesn't seem your...' 'my scene?' he nods then. 'yeah, that.'

Pornstar Satoru watches avidly as you sip on your drink, wincing at the strong liquor. 'Well, my friend invited me over, but she's running late' Satoru grins now. 'Party time is different, everyone comes late, that's on time. About fifteen minutes late' 'oh no I came early!' you smack your own forehead, giggling along with him. 'Are you like... a model, or an actor?' you ask, eyeing him and his baby blues, the cheekbones so perfect, those lips that wrap the blunt again. 'You could say I'm a bit of both,' he muses, then spits out his drink when you ask 'what are you in!?'

Pornstar Satoru coughs just a bit, he's never been ashamed of what he does, but he's nervous for some reason to tell you. Why, he doesn't know. 'I'm... into some indie flicks' you brighten up then. 'Oh, let me know, I love lowkey films! I bet you're great' Satoru sighs, gulping down the rest of his drink and eyeing your cup. 'Want more?' you frown now, maybe you're asking too much, or offending this actor that you don't recognize him!? You nod, the amount of people around you making you press against this friendly, pretty white haired stranger just a little more.

Pornstar Satoru has another drink, eyeing the sea of bodies undulating in the extravagant mansion, and soon the two of you are dancing together you're cute and so awkward, Satoru's enjoying this far, far too much. He has plenty of costars and fans come up to the two of you, but he's too interested in showing you how to move your hips to pay them any mind, when finally your friend comes. Satoru instantly recognizes her, she's a pretty famous co star he's collabed with on her Onlyfans not long ago. When she sees you giggling and enjoying yourself so much, she damn near drags you away, making Satoru curse.

Pornstar Satoru eyes you when your friend whispers in your ear- 'you really don't recognize him!?' you blink curiously, looking at him more closely. 'Should I?' she sighs then, eyeing Satoru up and down. 'He was in my OF videos, we collabed' you heat up furiously then. 'I never watched your videos! I just subbed to be supportive!' she giggles. 'You're so cute, I thought you at least watched some?' you shake your head nervously. 'I don't really watch, is he... like an OnlyFans guy?' Satoru is back over with Suguru now, while you sip your drink, feeling your body warm up. 'He's the top pornstar there is, the collab was like a dream. He's really sweet but you should know is all, you're kinda...' you glare. 'kinda what?' she giggles again. 'you're just... sweet, emotional, is all'

Pornstar Satoru expects you to be done with him once you find out, after all you just seem innocent, uncorrupted for this city, not the kind of girl to be at this party where lines are being snorted off bodies, and people are naked and jumping in the pools, a heady, wild atmosphere. But you smile at him, as you murmur - 'he's sweet?' to your friend. She nods then. 'He is, but just know... he doesn't date so, it'd only be physical' you frown at that now, that's not something you think you can do, you're about as demisexual as it gets, hence your very limited experience. 'He doesn't date at all?' Your friend gently touches your shoulder. 'No, love, I'd hate to see you hurt'

Pornstar Satoru catches you before you leave later that night, when you are just feeling too out of place, his big hand wrapped around your delicate wrist, earning you looking up at him. He can't stop thinking how pretty your eyes would look rolled back, how good your lips would feel wrapped around his cock, as you relax a bit, turning and looking up. 'Headed out already?' he asks softly, you flush as you remember just what he does for a living, your friend had just described his cock in far too vivid detail. 'It's not really my thing, but I'm glad we met, Gojo' you smile so cute then, leaning up and pecking him on the cheek, his arm wraps your waist as he leans down, inhaling that sweet vanilla scent cloying to your skin.

Pornstar Satoru pulls you in closer, blue eyes staring under snowy lashes. 'Can I... get your number?' Satoru has never asked for a number a day in his life, but he delights in watching you shift nervously, nodding as you tuck your hair behind your ear. 'Yeah, I'd like that' he exchanges numbers, tilting your chin up then, watching the way your eyes dilate, the color spread on your pretty cheeks. 'She told you?' you clear your throat, nodding a bit, still being captured by his fingers. 'I don't judge at all, Gojo, I'd still like to be... friends...' your whisper is met with the most subtle kiss on your lips, shooting desire hot and heavy until Satoru releases you, plump lips smirking- 'sure, sweets, we can be friends'

Pornstar Satoru can't get you off his mind, the feel of your skin on his, the sweet sigh against his lips. He is on a big shoot and - the Satoru Gojo that never gets soft - is having trouble keeping it up, to the amusement of his costar Pornstar Sukuna. Satoru scowls at his comments, just picturing your sweet lips against his for that brief moment. A man who just fucks and fucks, and doesn't feel, is hung up just on some fucking kiss. He has to take a break after pleasing his costar with his fingers, she's cumming so much she doesn't notice, but the directors wonder why he's off. He's in his own dressing room, eyeing the phone, hands shaking as he decides to type a message - 'could you give me a picture, sweets, to save as your caller id?'

Pornstar Satoru finds his cock is right back on hard when you send one quickly, just a cute selfie with a little peace sign, but he sees your glossy fucking lips, the teeth indentations he aches to rub the tip of his cock on, along with just a hint of your breasts. Your nipples press against the thin material of your little tee shirt- Pokemon, he notices, smiling- his cock throbbing. 'Can I get one too?' you're biting that lower lip nervously as you ask, getting a picture of him shirtless then, doing nothing to stifle the curiosity in your mind, your heart racing as you seee his body. 'You at a shoot?' you ask in the messages, he hesitates before answering - 'yes' - and somehow you feel jealous of whoever his costar is. You message a - kill it, Gojo! - despite the feeling in your tummy, little do you know you're drowning his fucking mind when he performs later, feeling the star squirting all over his latex covered cock.

Pornstar Satoru can't stop texting you that week, he can't even get hard if he doesn't look at that picture, and you can't stop your curiosity, when you friend mentions he's doing a live stream. Since Satoru can hardly perform, he's decided to masturbate on live cam, in minutes making more than he'd make in a shoot, all while having your picture propped up. People are chatting, watching, dollars by the hundreds being tipped every moment, fuck he's making way more than he usually would, and he can think of you. He laughs softly, abs flexing as he hits the right angle, reading the comments, making you dripping wet, this isn't what you do!?

Pornstar Satoru is stroking his wet, slick cock that's glistening, up and down with his huge hand, and you feel your pussy clench, breath coming faster, unsure whether to look away or keep staring, meanwhile he's picturing you in all sorts of positions, on your knees, a fucking mating press. He's shutting his eyes for a moment, grinning as the viewers go crazy. 'I know, it's pretty, huh?' he spits right on that long, veiny cock of his, pinching his pink tip and whining, white lashes fluttering open right when he sees a familiar name enter the chat.

Your name.

hehe it'll be a FULL FIC not a drabble/oneshot - if you're interested in getting tagged drop a comment <3

perm tags- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji  @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @cutelittlesugarfairy

[chuluoyi]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄, 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

husband and wife, at the pinnacle of their love. on a night filled with wonders, you will know that he sees only you and everything that you are

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, explicit smut: slightly rough & drunken sex, fingering, missionary. you and zayne have a daughter (her name is meirin!)

note: god what have i written... the anniversary banner pv made me do it T^T anyhow, this is also a direct prequel to the upcoming angst fic in the name of love :))

“Whoa, so that’s Dr. Zayne and his wife...”

Soft whispers rippled through the crowd the moment you and your husband stepped into the pristine ballroom, all eyes subtly drawn to your arrival.

Tonight, you were accompanying Zayne to Akso Hospital’s anniversary dinner party. His sharp gaze and immaculate three-piece suit made a striking impression. Naturally, you matched his sophistication in every way—your flowing black dress accentuated your figure, while your hair styled into an elegant updo.

A sight for sore eyes, that was what the two of you were.

“Mind your step,” he murmured softly, his voice reassuring as the two of you gracefully ascended the stairs. His left arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but notice the envious gazes of the ladies fixed on you.

“How does such a perfect couple even exist?”

“She’s so pretty… Of course, Dr. Zayne only wants the best.”

“Oh! And I’ve heard they already have a daughter too!”

A smile curled on your lips, a subtle boost of confidence washing over you as their murmurs reached your ears. You felt giddy too—on most days, you were a hunter in a life-and-death situations, rough and rugged. But tonight, draped in elegance and arm-in-arm with Zayne, you felt like a princess.

“Don’t smile that wide...” he suddenly whispered to your ears, a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “You’ll look like Meirin when she’s munching on her cookies.”

You shot him a frown. “Wha?”

“All those praises are going straight to your head.” Even in a prestigious event like this, Zayne couldn’t resist teasing you. “Sooner or later, it’ll get too big for me to handle.”

Fixing him with an unimpressed glare, you deadpanned, “Shush, you!”

When you reached the main hall, the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air, blending with the elegant music playing in the background. The hospital director, an elderly man with a warm smile, greeted you both along with his wife.

"Zayne, thank you for coming," he said, shaking your husband's hand and giving him a light pat on the shoulder. His gaze then turned to you. "Ah, this must be the stellar hunter wife of Dr. Zayne. You look absolutely radiant, madam."

"Ah, please don't call me that..." You mustered your most polished facade, supplying a soft, graceful laugh.

The director's wife grinned and added, "Why didn’t you bring your daughter here? Everyone’s looking forward to finally meet her already."

"She's a handful," Zayne immediately replied with a smile, his tone warm and affectionate. "And she gets fussy when her bedtime nears, so we decided to leave her with my in-laws tonight."

The director let out a hearty guffaw. "No matter how fussy she is, she must be really adorable with a mother this beautiful, eh?"

Throughout the night, it was a compliment you frequently heard. While you were flattered, a thought lingered in the back of your mind—what were your husband's true thoughts about all this attention to you?

Zayne was keenly aware of how captivating you were.

There was a surge of pride whenever he had you on his arm. Just like any man out there, he too wanted to show his hot wife off and flaunt her so everyone could see, as if saying: This is my woman.

But he too knew that it was in a human's nature to covet what they didn't have. And it was rightly proven when he stepped away for just a moment, only to return and find you engaged in conversation with a man.

The hospital director's son, no less.

"Miss, I've heard you're part of the Hunter Association?" he asked you inquisitively. "What a noble profession it is! Keeping all of us here safe on daily basis."

You responded demurely, "And those in Akso do the same, don’t they?"

Your conversation was harmless, and Zayne was a rational man, so he didn’t feel the need to intervene. He just made sure his gaze was on you every so often.

But when the director’s son began persistently offering you drinks, filling your glass time after time, Zayne's patience began to wear thin. The sight of the man’s insistence grated on him, stirring a possessive unease he couldn’t entirely ignore.

. . .

You could’ve sworn your vision swam a little after the third glass of alcohol. The warm buzz coursing through you also made everything seem a little brighter, and left you feeling just slightly off-balance.

"Miss, the white wine here is the best—" the man standing before you declared with a convincing grin, swirling the bottle in front of you. "Don't you want to try some?"

"Ah, no, sir..." you replied with a polite laugh, raising a hand in subtle refusal. "I've already had whiskey and gin just now—"

"Just a little! You really have to try it!"

You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck as the alcohol already coursing through your system made your cheeks flush. You didn’t even like alcohol much and only drank socially, but this was the very son of your husband's boss. Refusing outright seemed rude—

“Can you kindly not make her drink too much?”

Or so you thought, until your knight in three-piece suit suddenly stepped in and saved you from your plight.

Zayne’s tone was gentle yet firm, his words striking an authoritative balance. He flashed a placating smile. “My wife doesn’t have a very high tolerance.” Swiftly, he grabbed the glass from your hand and, without missing a beat, downed its contents in one go.

“If you’re looking for a drinking partner, let it be me instead.”

You knew better than anyone that your husband didn’t have a particularly high tolerance for alcohol either. Yet, for the next 30 minutes, you watched, equal parts impressed and concerned, as he matched the man drink for drink, deflecting further offers directed your way with a subtle, protective grace. Though Zayne’s words remained measured, you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

And soon, you’d witness just how far his limits had been pushed.

“Zayne! Are you alright?”

Worry laced your voice as you placed both hands on Zayne's cheeks, your brow furrowing in concern. Somehow or another you managed to drag your husband away and led him to the hotel room.

The warmth of his skin was unmistakable, and his face contorted in discomfort as the vertigo hit him full force. “Oh no, what have you done? Why did you even drink that much!?”

“I’m fine,” Zayne grumbled, his voice thick.

“You’re drunk!” You couldn't help but scold him as you started pulling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt, trying to help him breathe easier. “You can’t even handle alcohol properly, and yet you’re trying to keep up with him...”

To Zayne, your voice somehow felt comforting. His mind was hazed, but your touch—your hand against his neck—felt like a cool splash of clarity.

His pretty wife... The dizziness was making it hard to stay upright, but the sight of you grounded him, and he instinctively leaned into you—

“Zayne—!”

You barely managed to catch his weight, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. He was so warm against you, his breath uneven, not to mention the slight tremor in his body. "Are you alright?!" you asked in a flurry. "Oh, let me get you some water—"

"You talk too much..." Zayne murmured, his words slurred as everything around him swayed.

Gripping your shoulder to steady himself, his unfocused gaze lingered on you, drawn to the curve of your lips, the delicate line of your neck, and the outline of your cleavage.

How can he have a wife this ravishing and do nothing?

And suddenly, he was sober. Very sober.

Or maybe not. It was simply just him finally giving in to his desires.

In one go, he seized your wrist, yanking you against him with sudden force— and with a quick tilt of your startled, precious face, he devoured your lips in heat.

"—!" It was like a spark igniting, burning through every thought. His mouth was urgent, demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second to feel the rush of your closeness. His kiss was intoxicating—almost overwhelming—as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to gain better access.

Zayne's hands moved to your back, pulling you into him, so close that the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then those sinful hands wandered to your hips, guiding you toward the desk. With reckless urgency, he swept everything off the surface, sending objects crashing to the floor with a sharp clang and made you sit on it.

"Ah, Zayne, you—!" You accidentally pushed him back, and he growled the moment your lips parted.

"Are you trying... to escape?" His gaze turned dark with lust, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "Why? Isn't this exactly how you wanted me to be...?"

In that moment, you gulped as your heart thundered in your chest. What was even happening now? How did it escalate into this?

You stuttered, eyes widened, "Z-Zayne..."

But your husband had shed all traces of his usual composed self. In the haze of his muddled thoughts, he was driven purely by need. He swiftly removed his glasses, tossing them aside without a second thought, and this time—

His lips went straight for your neck, which, unbeknownst to you, had looked so enticing to him all evening.

"Hahh..." His breathy grunts were hot against your skin and his touch no longer gentle but firm and possessive. His mouth moved with a mix of hunger and desperation, and you struggled to contain the moans as his hands slipped inside your dress, and—

A shiver ran down your spine when he spread your legs, and you couldn’t help the titillating gasp that escaped when inserted his two of his fingers in you all at once, edging you.

"Ungh, ngh! Hah—" Your body jerked and you clung to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Zayne wasn't usually this brash, but tonight it was as if a screw had come loose.

"Louder," he commanded in your ear, and your heart pounded at his authoritative voice. He pushed his digits deeper as if punishing you, that you yelped. "Do not hold back."

He lifted you by your waist, effortlessly pressing you against the small table by the window. You were on the 20th floor, the world below far out of sight, but the thought that anyone might catch a glimpse was somehow... thrilling.

"I-I'm close—" you stammered, and the moment you did, your husband vigorously moved his fingers inside your squelching folds, "A-ah!"

The room felt smaller, the air thicker. The way your walls took his fingers alone made your thoughts scatter, and when you came undone on him, you latched onto him, your head resting against his chest as your breaths came in shaky, uneven gasps. "Z-Zayne... please..."

He pulled out his fingers, looked at your cum coating them, and brought them to your lips. You, still trembling, sucked the essence off with teary eyes.

Sweaty, disheveled, lips swollen and cheeks flushed... how he had reduced you into this state was gratifying.

Zayne’s gaze darkened, his breath heavy as he stared down at you. "Are you ready to take me now?"

You nodded.

He gave you a small smirk, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw gently. "Good girl."

He lifted you over to the bed, and you gasped in surprise as he tossed you onto the soft sheets, the motion quick but not unkind. You barely had time to react before his intense gaze locked onto yours, his presence domineering above you.

“Spread your legs.”

Was this man really your husband? Sometimes, you still struggled to reconcile the tender part of him and the man consumed by a unrestrained intensity before you now.

By now you had swallowed all shame and did so. You wanted to look away, but then unable to when the sight before you caught your breath—

All the while, he had his eyes on you. Zayne pulled at his tie with deliberate intent, then he shed his suit pieces, casting them to the floor with a casual abandon, before undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt, revealing his bare chest altogether.

Your husband looks so hot. The way he gazed at you throughout it all too...

He glanced at the space between your legs. “Wider.”

You complied, letting your face burn impossibly hotter, anticipating him.

He eased in slowly, starting with just the tip. You whimpered at the intrusion.

"Hurts?" he questioned with a frown.

"No," you refuted quickly, desire too burning in your gaze as you met his eyes. "I can take more."

You arched your back as Zayne sank deeper, his full length filling you. A moan tumbled from your lips as your walls clenched in response, and he pushed himself completely inside you.

"Hah..." You inhaled sharply, giving yourself a moment to adjust to his entire length, and seeing you like that, your husband cradled the side of your face with his palm.

"So beautiful..." Zayne whispered, his glazed gray-hazel eyes fixed on your spent face. His other hand clasped yours, pinning it beside your head. "My wife... is so incredibly beautiful."

It was heart-fluttering to know that your husband found you pretty. Everyone might compliment you the same way, but his were the only one that truly mattered. After seven years of marriage, your heart still skipped a beat every time he held your gaze like this.

Without warning, Zayne started to move his hips. Your moans got louder and unabashed as his movements were slow at first, before he picked up the pace and thrusted in and out of you with fervor.

"Ahhh!" You threw your head back as his thick cock messily dragged itself against your walls. In, out, in out— Stars began to blur your vision, your nails digging into his shoulder as you reached for him.

You could see that excited glint in his eyes, the lust exploding at the sight of you. He watched you intently, savoring the way unbound desire twisted your face, each mewl you made filling the air. Your thoughts turned into puzzle pieces—

Thrust. So full, you are.

Thrust. What if... this time— you become pregnant again?

Thrust. That would be... nice. You can call it “New Years’ baby.”

Everything was incoherent. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, each hit to that one spot sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, pushing you to the brink of tears and screams.

Then, unexpectedly, he reached his climax first. His cum shot through, filling your womb to the brim in spurts after spurts, and you cried, trembling beneath him. Your release followed suit though, and you went limp in the aftermath.

Zayne collapsed on top of you and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in the crook of his neck, his name still falling off your lips as a whisper in his ear, a gentle song laced within moans. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, panting heavily against you.

“I love you.”

The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in a tangled web of desire.

The first thing he heard was your whimper.

With a groan, Zayne cracked his eyes open the morning after, instantly recognizing the dull ache in his head—it was a hangover. But before he could press his hands to his temples, his gaze fell on you, curled up in a blanket next to him.

And the whimper came again, and it tugged at something deep inside him.

“What’s... wrong?” he asked in a groggy voice, turning toward you, his hand instinctively reaching for you despite the pounding headache. “Are you alright...?”

You blinked up at him, a flicker of resentment in your gaze, and Zayne gathered you into his arms. The events of last night came back to him in fragments, and realization dawned on him.

“Are you... sore?” he murmured, concern edging his tone.

“I hate you,” you retorted in a scratchy voice, mushing your head in his shoulder. Zayne widened in slight surprise, pulling you closer into his embrace.

“Is that it...? I’m sorry...”

He gently patted your head and back, trying to soothe you. The sight of you—vulnerable and distressed—made his heart tighten with a pang of guilt. Just how rough had he been with you last night?

“There, there, it’ll pass...” he said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “It’s normal... because we went longer and more vigorous than usual... Probably just mild irritation in your—”

“Don’t pull medical facts on me,” you muttered sullenly, weakly punching his chest. A smile made its way to his face at your mini attack.

“But it’s true though?”

How endearing. He couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest, his heart softening at the sight of you, even in your grumpy state.

And in that moment, Zayne thought, nothing could've possibly ever shatter his world ever again.