#world cup fever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silverskyeline · 2 months ago

Text

ੈ♡˳ 'baby fever' - 18+ logan x f!reader

summary: after your first baby is born, logan realises he doesn't want to stop at just one. (4.4k) tags: erm no one look at me, logan has baby fever, fluffy beginning, established relationship, breeding kink, blowjob, p in v, wet & messy, nipple play, overstimulation, creampie (lots of them oops), lots of dirty talk, clit play, missionary + doggy style, dom!logan & kind of sub!reader, crying from pleasure, rough sex, kind of body worship, for the 'home' prompt for logan promptober.

logan swears he’s dreaming, he must be. there’s no possible way he got this lucky, right? he’s holding his own baby girl in his arms, bouncing her on his hip by the bedroom window, watching on in awe as she eagerly takes in the world around her.

the light dances in her eyes while the world passes by behind the glass, birds singing, trees swaying gently, autumn leaves twirling in their yearly gentle dance. everything is new to her, and logan can’t help but be struck by such a profound love. everything feels new to him now too.

he never thought he’d have this, never thought he’d deserve it. still doesn’t believe he deserves it but accepts the role with more honour than any other role he’s been bestowed before it. a father, him, logan, a father.

her eyes droop, and his smile widens more than he thought possible. he makes his way through to her room as he mumbles sweet little words of affection to her in a voice so high pitched that no one would recognise it's his.

you watch on from the bed, a warmth spreading in your chest. you could watch him like this all day. he was a natural, the paternal instinct coming so easily to him. logan had always felt this deep-seated need to protect. though he spent so many years in solitude with no path and insisted he preferred it that way, you knew differently from the moment you met him. logan was a pack animal, through and through.

his eyes land on you as he returns to the bedroom and approaches you, standing at the edge of the bed, reaching out to cup your cheek in a loving gesture. thumb tracing across your soft skin, he speaks, “you look tired too.”

you smile, eyes closing as you lean into his touch, “maybe a little.”

parenthood hadn’t been entirely easy, but you couldn’t have anyone better by your side.

logan carefully makes his way into bed beside you, pulling you against his firm chest as his hand finds your hair and begins to thread through the strands. you hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, soothing you, lulling you, though he could achieve that with his presence alone.

his eyes settle on the window, head tilting to the side. you can practically hear it, the cogs turning. logan might have seemed like a steel trap to others, but he may as well be translucent to you. “what’s up?“ you ask sleepily.

“oh,” he murmurs, he shouldn’t be surprised at this point that you’re alerted by his silent mannerisms, “just. . . thinkin’.”

and he was, thinking about you, about the baby.

“‘bout what?” you yawn.

logan pauses, “. . .would you ever want another one?”

your eyes shoot open and you lift your head to look up at him, you find his expression and realise he’s serious.

he flushes, just a little, but you notice, “never mind.”

a small laugh of disbelief leaves you, “logan howlett, do you have baby fever?”

he flushes deeper, what did that even mean? logan scoffs and you visibly see him retreat into that shell inside his mind.

“oh baby,” you grin, cuddling against his chest as you lean your chin against his shirt to continue gazing up at him lovingly, “you want another baby, huh?”

groaning, he rolls his eyes, “quit it.” he’s beetroot red now, a sight he only reserves for you, though it’s not as though he can help it.

but damn, the baby was only born a few months ago - he was already thinking of your second? the thought fills you with warmth, but more prominently, need. your eyes land on his flushed face as you bite your lip, wondering if he is thinking about filling you up right this very second.

". . . what'cha thinkin' 'bout?" you ask sweetly with feigned naivety as your hand slides down his torso to find the- oh. oh. he's already hard. you know what he's thinking about.

logan groans and tilts his head back when your hand makes contact, his adams apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. "nothin'," he lies, his hand covering yours making you squeeze around his length through the material.

your breath catches in your throat, a heat rising in your chest. "is that right?" you whisper, trying to stay in control. the thought of him taking you, hard and deep, whispering filth about how he's gonna make you a momma again over and over is making it hard to resist rolling over onto your back for him.

and he can sense it, can see it in your face, the way your brows twitch as he grows harder under your touch. it's so cute, actually, how hard you try, knowing he's going to pounce any minute.

but he plays your game, he lets you remain 'in control', though you're anything but.

slowly, you sit up on his lap and begin to unbuckle his belt. time isn't exactly a luxury you can both often afford, what with a newborn baby, but you're too in the moment to care about speeding things up just yet.

his hands rest on your hips, digits digging into the skin as he practices restraint. he wants nothing more than to buck up into you, to throw you on the bed and take you. but he waits. like a good boy.

once he's freed from the constraints of his jeans and underwear, you hum softly at the sight of him, long, thick and ready. your mouth waters at the view, and his eyes widen when you begin to lower your head towards his begging, leaking tip. slowly, oh-so slowly.

logans large hand cups the back of your head, easily engulfing you in his grasp as he guides you lower until he feels it. your tongue. it teases across the tip before you're suddenly wrapping your lips around him. his eyes widen further, letting out a grunt as you take him by surprise.

"holy fuck," he huffs in a grin, "hungry for my cock, huh baby?"

you know now that your control is gone, given up happily and submissively. you know it in the grip he has on your hair, the way he's easing you up and down on his cock. and you'd give him everything if you could, the stars in the sky, the whole world if it were possible.

"that's it, get me nice and ready. . ." he mumbles, losing himself a little in the pleasure, the words dripping from his tongue like honey.

you're not sure what deal logan made with the devil to have the ability to talk as sweetly yet as filthy as he does, as well as he does, but you feel entirely grateful as his sinful words serve to dampen your underwear. you moan against his hardening cock, savouring the way every prominent vein feels against your soft tongue.

he pulls you back, looking into your lustful hazy eyes. you look so pretty like that, he thinks, lips red and swollen from sucking so well, eyes hooded and unfocused because you're thinking about how good that cock would feel stuffed deep somewhere else.

"c'mere," he coos, a hand on your hip guiding you forward to sit closer on his lap, "we need to get you nice and ready too, don't we?"

a growl rumbles from the back of his throat as his eyes travel down the path of your body, resting at the apex of your thighs. he purrs in delight when he notices you're already soaked through to your shorts. "wow, that worked up just from suckin' my cock, baby? you really do want me. . ."

you're bright red, shifting needily on his lap. it's always like this, he drives you to the brink of insanity with need before he's even started. you crave him, crave that thick length filling you so perfectly like it always does, and fuck, you'd give him a baby, you'd give him a hundred babies if it meant you get to experience this over and over again.

"shh," he whispers, his thumb snaking down to tease you through your shorts, applying just enough pressure to have you panting, "there we go, gettin' you nice and ready for my cock, my pretty girl. . ." his eyes flit to yours before returning his gaze to the soaked fabric.

"i am ready," you whine through a choked moan. you're literally dripping.

logan shakes his head, tutting, "tsk, tsk. . . need you extra ready for what i'm gonna do to you, you think i'm just gonna cum in you once?"

holy fuck. your head spins, reeling at his words as you feel your pussy clench around nothing. the ache between your legs grows, almost unbearable, pleading to be filled, used. his name leaves your lips in what can only be described as a needy mewl.

"no," he continues, grabbing your chin and pulling you closer, "see baby, i'm gonna cum in you, over and over. 'till you're nice and full, it's all i've been thinkin' about." his breath ghosts against your lips, "and you're gonna take it like a good girl, aren't you? gonna give me another baby?"

you moan breathlessly, how can you even respond to that? instead you nod quickly, swallowing hard as you try in a futile effort to stop your head from spinning.

but he loves you like this, needy, panting, desperate for his cock. sure, he might have been the one blushing earlier, but you're certainly a pretty shade of red now.

"use your words," he whispers against your lips, teasing you with the promise of a kiss, and a whole lot more.

you feel yourself clench again, his thumb still rubbing soft circles against your clit through your shorts, "please."

"please what?" logan grins, loving how your face twists in frustration.

a whine, "please fill me up, want to give you another baby, please? please, fuck, just fuck me."

he can't help but laugh softly at the needy words spilling from your lips in a desperate attempt to coax him inside. and it's working. his body thrums with pleasure as he remembers how good you feel, how he fits inside you like you were made for him, how good you take it when he gets a little rough.

"that's a good girl. . ." he hums, gripping your hips and flipping you over onto your back. his towering muscled form looms over you, your body opening up automatically, legs spreading and hands by your head. you want him to take you, take all of you. now.

"love this body, was made for me y'know. . ." logan mumbles lovingly as he kisses his way down the column of your throat, hands rubbing at your hips before they begin to inch up your shirt. it rises until it covers your face, and he keeps it there as he nips at your chest. "hm, no bra?" you feel his devious smirk against your skin, tongue beginning to flick teasingly at a nipple.

your back arches, the sensations amplified by the loss of sight. fuck, he loves to watch you squirm like this, and those noises you make. . .

he gives equal attention to both nipples, licking and sucking and kissing your breasts with increasing intensity, smirking all the while. finally, he pulls the shirt from your head, your breath catches in your throat as you look down at him and meet his hungry gaze.

logan begins kissing along your tummy, nuzzling against your soft skin, so close to where you want him yet so far. you want to beg, but you don't get the chance, because soon he's pulling down your shorts along with your underwear. he's greedy too.

kissing the skin that's exposed to him, his kisses trail down your mound, ending at the top of your glistening slit. "ah," he grins, eyes glowing like a man of great discovery, "there she is, she's missed me huh?"

all breath escapes your lungs as he licks a stripe along your pussy, groaning at the taste as he does so. he buries his face in you, licking and nudging your clit with his tongue as he devours you. logan swears it feels better for him than for you, could eat you out all day, but that's not what he's here for this time.

"you're so wet, holy fuck," he swallows, panting softly against your skin, "so good for me, so good, just-" giving a few quick kisses to your pussy, he pulls back and removes his shirt, "don't move."

you almost laugh, why would you want to go anywhere? with a man like logan who worships the ground you walk on, kisses you like it's the first time every time and fucks you within an inch of your life every time - you'd be crazy to want to be anywhere else but here, beneath him, where you belong.

he's worked himself out of his jeans and boxers too, admiring the view beneath him as he takes his cock in his hand, slapping it against your slit. with each squeak that escapes you, his smirk grows wider, "love those noises you make, just for me."

you gasp and arch your back as he begins to rub his tip against your wet folds. you're not sure who he's teasing more, himself or you. a moan slips from your lips each time his cock glides up against your clit, sending sparks to your core.

"that's it, feel how hard i am?" he whispers, "yeah, gonna cum so hard in that pretty little pussy, baby, is that what you want?"

you can hardly take it anymore, "god, yes."

he grins, positioning himself as he hooks your knees on top of his arms as he presses down, almost folding you in half. you gasp and grip the sheets at this new position, and gasp even louder as he quickly and easily slips inside of you. "fucking hell," logan huffs, "i hardly even had to move, you want it so fuckin' bad don't you? feel how deep i can get like this?"

and god, you can. you're not sure you've ever felt him this deep. all you know is how good it feels, his cock straining against your tight velvet walls, finally filling you.

when he begins to move, it's like nothing else. he starts at a slower pace, slow deep strokes as his hips meet yours, driving his cock even deeper as you open up to him. his eyes flutter shut and you admire him above you, knowing you're making him feel as good as he's making you feel.

you find your voice again, and speak up, "your cock feels so good baby, don't stop. . ." you get what you secretly wanted, a moan sneaks from his lips. it's soft, wanting, mirroring the need in your own voice. "fuck, love it when you moan for me. . ."

his eyes snap open, a flash of vulnerability and then his lips are crashing against yours. he kisses you with a deep passion as he moves inside you. logan loves the man he becomes when he fucks you, loves that he can let go, be soft, be rough, be whatever he feels. you'll accept him either way, because you're always a spent mess in the end. all for him.

"takin' my cock so well, always do," he huffs against your lips, driving himself a little deeper, wet sounds filling the air as he slips in and out, "gonna feel even better when i make you cum a few times, when you're so sensitive, taking every last drop i give ya."

you moan and pant, nodding, wordlessly begging him to continue.

"and you'll take it, huh, baby? take it cus you wanna make me a daddy again?" he growls, pace increasing as he fucks you harder, primal instinct taking over, "wanna make me proud and let me fill you as many times as i can? many times as i want?"

holy fuck, you can hardly think straight. in fact, you can hardly think at all. there's one thing, one thought swirling around the base of your skull, you don't want him to ever stop.

you clench around his thick cock and his brows lower, pressing his forehead against yours as he pounds you into the mattress. the bed is squeaking, begging for mercy as he continues, but you feel too good for him to hold back anymore. "baby please-"

"baby please what?" he snaps back, panting as he leans further into you, pushing your legs back until they're almost at your ears. you'd be shocked at your own flexibility if you could think at all. "please fill you up? please make you a mommy again? please what, huh? speak, baby, i can't hear you."

gasping at his tone, you feel your pussy flutter around him. he's gonna make you cum, fuck, you're gonna cum so hard. "i- baby i'm-"

but he doesn't let you finish your sentence, not that you'd make much sense at this point anyway. his cock twitches inside you, almost begging to be milked, begging to fill you until you can't take any more. "gonna cum?" logan whispers, already knowing the answer.

and you can't answer, because you're a mess, gasping and moaning and writhing as his cock makes light work of your wet pussy. his thick length glides in, and out, driving deep to meet your cervix with every thrust.

"cum on this cock," a firm command punctuated with a deep thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, "c'mon, make me cum, you wanted it, didn't you? want me to knock you up nice and good."

your orgasm approaches, a warmth spreading through your lower stomach, rising and rising each time his hips meet yours in his relentless pace. you want to tell him that it feels so good, but your words get caught in your throat. and all at once, your climax rips through you.

it comes in waves, building until your walls are spasming around him and he's cumming too, hot white ropes of cum pushed deeper and deeper as his pace quickens. you're both cursing, panting as his cock pushes it deeper and deeper as your pussy flutters and gushes.

even as the climax fades, he doesn't falter. "told you," logan growls, leaning up to grip your thighs, lifting your lower half to the perfect angle as he keeps it suspended in the air in his tight grip, "gonna cum in that pretty little pussy as many times as i can, 'till i know you're carrying my baby."

it's so overwhelming, in the best kind of way. you wriggle as he begins fucking you again, the new angle causing your eyes to roll back as he hits a certain spot that has you sobbing. it feels so fucking good, both his words and his actions causing you to throb.

"that's it, i know you can take it," he soothes you, "that's my girl, c'mon. . ."

tears prick at your eyes, the pleasure once again building to a crescendo. you don't want him to stop, don't want him to ever stop. though you're so very sensitive, and so very tired, you don't fucking care, all that matters right now is him and the messy love you're making.

he feels a tightening in his gut, his mind spiralling, obsessed with the idea of having another child with you. "you like it when i breed you?" he whispers suddenly, testing the waters.

fuck, that word. did he just say he was. . . breeding you?

logan feels the way you clench around him at the mention of the word and he grins, "yeah, you like that don't you? take that fucking cock like a good girl, let me breed you."

"please-" you beg, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. he's really into this, and so are you, unlocking a whole new side to one another as he fucks you fervently.

how can he resist when you beg so sweetly? he's so sensitive, but his need for release chases him, overwhelming him with how intense his second orgasm is. he spills into you, gasping and grunting as his grip on your thighs tightens. "oooooh f-fuck," logan groans, "feel that? feel me fucking my cum even deeper?"

you're both lost in pleasure now, and with his stamina you know he's not done yet. he grips your hips, flipping you onto your tummy as he grabs your ass, pulling it up for him. keeping his cock nice and warm inside you, he pauses for a few moments.

"can you take another one?" he asks, panting. he'd never push you past your limits, leaning down against your back to give you a gentle kiss on your neck.

your second release is coming, and though you're exhausted, you need more. "yes," you reply, gripping the pillow as he immediately begins to move.

his head tilts back, his palm sliding down your spine, feeling your soft skin beneath his calloused hand and the sensation of your body bouncing back against him. one hand grips your hip as he begins his movements, slowly fucking you, taking his time.

he knows you're close, and he knows your second release will have him cumming a third time, so he focuses on your pleasure. "that's it baby, taking it so well. . ."

you groan into the pillow beneath you, muffled by the fabric. it all sounds so wet, both your release and his dripping from your aching cunt. you know you'll be sore tomorrow, but who the fuck cares? he's fucking you so good you're not sure you'll ever be able to think clearly again.

he's reduced you to a puddle, wet and begging for more.

"such a good girl for me, lettin' me breed you. . ." his hand trails around your front, tickling down along your tummy until he finds your clit. it's swollen, sensitive, and as soon as he begins to play with you, you're a squealing mess.

he grins against your ear, groaning roughly, "you can take it, know you can, make me cum one more time."

you bounce back against him, feverishly chasing each movement, each time he pounds you sending you spiralling further and further into pleasure.

"gonna fuck a baby into you," he kisses behind your ear, "feel all that cum?"

a whine is all you can manage, sweat causing your hair to cling to your forehead, whole body hot and desperate. all for him, always for him.

"yeah you do, take it," he snarls, huffing as he feels his own release build once more. oh god, this one might destroy him. you feel too good wrapped around him like that, the way your wet pussy takes him in so gladly, cause it's his. you're his.

"'m gonna cum-" you cry, sobbing into the pillow as your thighs shake till you can't take it anymore. you're flat against the bed now, his body behind you, taking, pounding against you relentlessly like a man deprived.

but he can't speak, can only communicate in growls and gasps as he explodes inside you, sending you propelling towards your orgasm. it hits you like a bullet, deep, hard, teetering on painful but quickly replaced with so much satisfaction that your screams sound like howls.

he continues working your clit beneath you, slowing his pace until you're both a sweating, panting mess of limbs.

it takes him a while before he can find words, bringing a hand to your face, tucking your hair behind your ear so he can see those features of yours he loves so much. "you alright?" logan asks with that rare soft voice he adopts when he's caring for you. his warm baritones make everything better, voice alone better than any sex.

"mh," you nod, world slowly returning to you in bits and pieces. he pulls out of you, taking a second to admire how very full of him you actually are. he can't help but bite his lip at the sight, watching as his cum leaks from your tight hole, fluttering from the loss of contact.

"didn't go too hard?" he asks, carefully and tenderly turning you onto your front as he grabs some spare pillows.

you shake your head, a smile curling on your lips as you bask in the afterglow, loving how sweetly he takes care of you. he lifts your hips with ease, placing some pillows below.

your eyes lock on one another and he grins, "what?" he asks, "said i was gonna get you pregnant, didn't i? gotta keep your hips elevated, keep me inside."

a flush falls upon your cheeks and you laugh breathlessly as he relaxes into the bed beside you, nuzzling into your neck. he fits against you so perfectly, arm wrapping around your waist while he presses gentle kisses to your skin.

but you feel a mischevious smirk tug on his lips against you, "what is it, logan," you ask in a drawl, grin taking over your features.

"well, was just thinkin'-"

"never a good idea, you, thinking. just leads to trouble," you tease.

he scoffs, "shut up," before continuing, "what're we gonna name out third baby?"

your eyes widen, "third?" he must have made a mistake, maybe he's too fucked out to think straight. you know you are.

"yeah," he grins, his hand snaking from your waist to rest on your tummy, giving it a gentle pat, "after this one."

"more?!" you gasp, slapping his hand with a giggle. "logan howlett." ugh, he's the worst.

he loves that reaction from you, he thinks it's cute you assume he's joking.

except, he isn't joking.

"yeah, c'mon, you think i'm gonna be able to stop at just two?"

you flush deeper, feeling his warm palm splay across your stomach as you tilt your chin down to look into his eyes.

"need names. lots of 'em." logan's eyes sparkle, he's trouble, always has been, and you love it. but you start to wonder if you should have bought a bigger house.

"start makin' a list. now."

4K notes · View notes

senanatheskenana · 8 months ago

Text

Giyuu, Sanemi, and Rengoku With Baby Fever

TW: mentions of pregnancy, Sex, fem reader

Giyuu Tomioka

He hadn't put much thought into domestic life- after all, you were his first real relationship. However, when he lays eyes on your happy smile and the way you fussed over the three younger demon slayers, he can't help the feeling that pools in the pit of his stomach. A primal need for you, for a family. He's not particularly proud of the human weakness he currently experiences but each time he looks your way, his strength melts away, leaving only his desire to create life with you.

His smile is small but amused at how you motherly coddle Inosuke, attempting to wipe the mass of dirt off his face, despite his protests. Tanjirou seems almost as enamoured by your sweet behaviour as Giyuu is.

You can tell something is different with Giyuu- the way he holds your hand is just slightly tighter, the way he looks at you ever so slightly hungrier than you've seen. He stares off into space in contented silence, and you feel he is happiest in those moments. The idea made you curious as to what he was daydreaming about.

'Three children, maybe more' he thinks, pink tinging his cheeks at feeling so soft for you. He imagines what life outside of the corp- life with you- would be like. Blissful, peaceful, connecting but of course with moments of excitement and frustration that come from raising children. Maybe your children would have his hair and your eyes- or perhaps they will look the opposite, or exactly like you or him.

His cheeks once again flare up when another thought hits his head.

'And (y/n) would surely only become more beautiful over the years'

"Giyuu~." He is snapped out of his fantasy by your hand over his. "What are you thinking about?"

He gently squeezes your hand, looking deep into your eyes with humility as he thinks through the right words to say.

"We've been married for a year, and we haven't talked about it yet. I would completely understand if you object... but i have a request, that involves both of us." you listen eagerly to him.

"Sweetheart, i will always try my best to understand your wants, there's no reason to seem so nervous," you smile tenderly at him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks. The apples of his cheeks burst into flames at your touch, butterflies erupting underneath the skin of his shuddering chest.

"(Y/N) I love you. I will always love you... And if you will be so kind, I would like to start a family with you"

He sees your face break into a smile, which makes him smile. Before he knows it you're climbing into his lap and kissing him with a passion that fills him with a need he has never experienced.

Kyojurou Rengoku

Kyojurou was sure he wanted children at some point, and as your husband, he made you aware of this, in case it wasn't for you. For the most part, your husband had great self-control.

However, it always seems to slip away when his younger brother makes a comment, about how your baby would probably have bright hair like theirs. At first, it's just that thought, but soon he's thinking about baby names, daydreaming and kicking his legs behind him giggling. You easily notice your cheerful husband becoming even more giddy than usual- not to mention far more physically affectionate.

He finds every excuse under the sun to get you under him. He takes his time, forehead pressed against yours, enraptured in pleasure. Your legs are pressed to your chest; a new position for you. The sheer depth is enough to make you dizzy, even without moving.

Kyojurou looks deeply into your eyes before kissing you passionately, sensually, as if the world is ending.

"Honey, i think we should have a baby!" he huffs out in between languid thrusts. You thought he'd never ask.

"Me too, Kyo~"

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi doesn't not want kids. He just feels he would be a bad father given all of his hangups. He worries he won't be emotionally available for a child, or might accidentally scare them when he is angry.

So this feeling is conflicted within him. On one hand, he's utterly in love with you and the way you care for Genya is heartwarming to the point of actually convincing him he might be ok if you were by his side. On the other, he was terrified of being a bad parent.

Sanemi swears you look so pretty holding your friend's new baby. You hold it like you're accustomed to it like it was yours. And you just look so fucking happy like that. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he- no, he couldn't just rush into these things. But you look so pretty he's having a hard time rationalising anything.

He sits beside you, peering down at the baby that tries to grasp at his fingers. It's actually sort of cute, he thinks. Then you look up at him, and he's caught off guard by a vision of you and your own baby. Your friend has to physically bite back giggles while she watches the motions of Sanemi's thoughts. She knows what's happening better than he does.

She sparks up a conversation with you to see how flustered she can make the hashira on this topic. "You know, past the halfway mark I gave up putting on my own pants- it got too annoying when I couldn't see over the bump and boobs. My husband had to help me instead!"

It seems to work like a charm. Sanemi almost zones out, thinking about how you would look pregnant. Without realising it he is salivating at the thought of your swollen chest and round tummy. 'fuck,' he thinks, 'that sounds good'

Half an hour later he's rushing to leave, hastily pulling your coat over your shoulders and waving goodbye to the baby. He didn't dislike being there in any way- he'd just rather be somewhere else with you. He tugs you down the road, looking at you with a strange new fervour, eyes darting to your lips and tummy.

Your friend closes the door behind you with a mischievous grin. "I'll give it a week before she's pregnant<3"

#demon slayer fluff #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer imagine #demon slayer rengoku #demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #kny #kny x reader #rengoku x reader #sanemi headcanons

2K notes · View notes

writingouthere · 1 year ago

Text

singlemom!reader x neighbor!sukuna. you miss having a baby and Sukuna is dying from a combination of your sexual tension, his lowkey(highkey) baby fever and the drudgery of attending a child's birthday party

cw: Sukuna's breeding kink, red flags are present and accounted for, no one gets laid tho so sad face. this actually ended up being way more sincere and heartfelt than I intended but honestly very typical of me

"Oh we're not together, Sukuna's just been letting me and Bug crash while we look for an apartment."

"Oh he's not my boyfriend, we're just friends!"

"He's actually not Bug's dad. No, no. But, they get along really well. She enjoys having someone else to hang out with aside from me, I think."

Your laughter after the last one plays on repeat as he goes to grab the two of you some refreshments. Sukuna feels like he's living the world's worst version of groundhog day, except instead of being some sad loser who relives the same day over and over, he's apparently a sad loser who is going to live the same conversation over and over again.

"Fuck this shit."

"Um, excuse me but could you watch your language. This is a kid's birthday party." Sukuna wants to ask the bitch who is correcting a grown man's language if he would mind watching his own fucking business but you seem to care about what these losers think and he won't make life difficult for you.

If he happens to step on the guy's foot as he leaves with two cups and a juice box caught in his elbow, well, his steel toed boots need the exercise.

Sukuna knew that if any of his acquaintances, he didn't have friends after all, could see him now, they would die laughing. Die ,because he would kill them for laughing, but fuck he couldn't even really blame them, even in his hypothetical.

Once upon a time, Sukuna was a feared criminal. People pissed themselves when he cornered them in a dark alley. Other bad guys would look at him and say, "wow that guy's a real piece of shit" and now look at him. Stuck at some three year old's birthday party. One more kidzpop butchering of an already shitty song away from committing another felony.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he knew he was at least getting some pussy out of it, but he had just spent the past two hours hearing you deny him to anyone who asked and it was really starting to get to him.

He knew he was being a little bitch about it, and he wasn't upset just because you weren't fucking him. He was upset that all the things you were telling people, they were technically true. He was just letting you and your daughter crash. He was just your friend, not your boyfriend. Even the comments about him not being Bug's dad, but him being positioned as some kind of really invested babysitter, those might have stung more than the ones about your relationship but you thought that was true too.

Thinking about the kid made him look for her, not that Sukuna ever wasn't aware of where you and your daughter were. It had become instinct before he was even aware of it.

Bug was laughing with some kids he recognized from daycare and others from their regular trips to the park. Her happiness was contagious and Sukuna found his lips twitching up at the ends despite his shitty mood.

Your daughter's eyes found him from across the playground. "kuna!" she called, waving her little hand at him. He waved back with his available hand and made his way towards her. She met him halfway, her little legs unsteady on the wood chips but she didn't seem to notice. She was always like that when she saw him, she ran fearlessly. Maybe she just trusted he'd catch her.

Was it so wrong of him that he didn't like the reminders she wasn't his. That it stung, not just because of his feelings but because it just couldn't be true. He might not have fathered her, but fuck anyone who said this little girl wasn't his.

"I got you a juice, you've been running around so much you gotta be thirsty."

"Not thirsty," Bug argued leaning into him. He held up his hands that were holding the grown up drinks for the two of you, and moved the package still lodged in the crease of his elbow towards the petulant toddler. "Take it, or I'll drink it."

Bug stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed it. She struggled to get the wrapping off the straw and Sukuna didn't even notice what he was doing until she had the straw stretched out towards him and he was pulling the wrapper off with his teeth. He spit it out on the ground as your daughter gave him a polite thank-you and then walked away, sipping her juice as she went to catch up with her friends.

What had become of him?

"Need a hand?" You smile at him and Sukuna hands over your cup before taking a sip of his own. There was unfortunately no alcohol in it but drinking it occupied his mouth before he acted like a pussy and asked you, "what are we?" or "should we get married?" or something equally as pathetic.

"God, I want a baby."

Sukuna almost spit out his drink but he manages to tone it down to just a little cough before turning to look at you. You don't even seem a little embarrassed which is just infuriating. Sukuna's about to make a suggestion on how he can help with that when you sigh and point to where some loser is holding their ugly baby.

"Aren't babies just the cutest, I miss when Bug was that age."

Oh, so this was just you looking at other people's red-faced brats and feeling nostalgic and was not in fact a call to action. Sukuna rolled his eyes and leaned back on the hand closest to you so he didn't touch you as he was so tempted to do these days.

"That baby, like all babies, is hideous. All they do is cry, shit themselves and vomit and I'm not even sure Bug is the exception to that and she's the best kid there is."

You look touched at his affection for your daughter but also fired up on behalf of babies everywhere.

"You can't just say a baby is hideous, Sukuna. Those are the Zenin's. Bug is friends with some of them."

"Well are the older ones cuter, because that baby looks like someone fucked one of those hairless cats."

"Sukuna!" you hiss but he sees you smile, despite yourself. "Okay, maybe that baby isn't like the cutest baby-"

"Hideous."

You continue after smacking his arm. "But Bug was cute, okay. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her mom." You take out your phone and quickly swipe until you get to what you're looking for. "See, cute baby."

Sukuna grabs your phone and looks. It's not the first picture he's seen of a young Bug and he's taken his share of photos of her himself, but he finds himself taken in by it anyway.

It has to be a picture from when Bug was really young, she still had the scrunched up, red face that he associates with newborns. But he thinks you're right, she's still cute. He doesn't know if it's because he knows that baby will grow up to be your daughter, but he finds his thumb caressing her little baby cheeks, the wisps of hair he can see peaking out from where she's wrapped in a baby blanket. It's then he sees she's not alone in the picture and there's a different version of you holding her.

The thing that stands out to him is how tired you look. He thinks this couldn't have been too long after you gave birth but still, he wondered if you'd gotten any rest those first few months. You still didn't like talking about your ex, or the circumstances that had led you to his apartment, but Sukuna knew that chances are you were taking care of Bug single handedly and that couldn't have been easy, cutest kid or not.

"She was beautiful, she still is." He reluctantly hands the phone back to you and you look at the picture again, tears building up in your eyes.

"She is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I-I wish that the circumstances were different in how I got her. Sometimes, I wonder how I'll explain everything to her when she's older. She just deserves so much better than him, you know?"

"You both do." Sukuna reaches over and brushes away one of the tears that had managed to fall down your cheek. He leaves his hand there a moment, holding your cheek in his palm, just appreciating the warmth.

"Do you want any?"

"What?" Sukuna isn't sure what you're talking about anymore. He can only see your lips right in front of him, the way that your eyelashes brush against your cheek as you blink faster and faster.

"Babies, do you want any?"

Something short circuits in Sukuna's brain and he wants to say, fuck yes.

He wants to tell you that he thinks about it every day. Every time you put Bug on your hip or send him youtube videos of hairstyles you want to try on her. Whenever it's late at night, and little feet pad out of your room and Bug asks him in the loudest whisper he's ever heard, if he can get her some water because she's so thirsty.

He thinks about it when the sun streams through the curtains of his apartment in the morning and it lights up your hair as you move throughout the kitchen, a force of nature, a creature from somewhere far too good to have ended up here with him.

He thinks about it when the three of you go out and people just assume you're a family, because of course you're a family. When you and Bug play some made up game, or Bug gets tired even though she denies it and he carries her sleeping form against his chest. When he holds her in his lap on the subway and you lean to rest your head on his shoulder and he feels like this, this is what he's always wanted.

He's not all pure and good though, because he thinks about it late at night in his bedroom too. After a day of your smiles, of seeing your thighs stretch out of those sleep shorts you started wearing when the weather warmed up, whenever he remembers the feel and smell of your panties when he's lucky enough to find a pair in the laundry basket, he thinks about how the two of you would make some really cute fucking babies.

He's imagined it a million ways. He's imagined you telling him you've gone off your birth control and you need him now after he takes you out on an anniversary dinner. Or him crowding you up against the kitchen counter and you begging him to put a baby in you.

His favorite fantasy is currently one where you get so carried away when you finally finally fuck that you don't ask him to wear a condom and he spends the whole night making sure you're nice and good and full of him and when you tell him a few weeks later you missed your period, he'll let you freak out. But then he'll tell you that he'll take good care of you, and Bug, and your soon to be little one and he'll finally have you, all of you and once you have your second, he'll knock you up again, as many times as he can because there could never be too many mini-you's running around.

At this point, Sukuna remembers he's talking to you, the real you and he swallows a few times before he speaks.

"I do," he says simply but something must show on his face because you're looking at him in a way you never have before. He hears your breath hitch and he leans in to kiss you, and you smell so good and his thoughts are consumed by the little family he just knows you're going to have when suddenly he's pelted by a variety of sharp, little objects.

Sukuna immediately holds up his arm to shield you from what he now sees is a barrage of wood chips which are being thrown at you by an army of toddlers, including your daughter.

You immediately get up and start talking to the kids about the danger of throwing what are basically large future splinters at people's faces and Sukuna is contemplating the murder of every child that isn't his own when you turn to look at him.

You're not just looking at him, you're seeing him and oh. Maybe he would be getting laid tonight, after all.

The slow burn is almost done folks.

thank you to the amazing reception to this series and the one-shot I posted(which there will be a prequel of soon!). it's literally so insane. Masterlist will be up tomorrow which I hope helps with accessibility!

edit: masterlist is up!

#jjk sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x singlemomreader #sukuna ryomen smut

5K notes · View notes

kbwrites · 5 months ago

Text

The Lord's Favorite CH.4

synopsis: the night after what you shared with Sukuna leaves you even more unsure of your place. The problem is... Sukuna is unsure as well..

prev ← → next

⚝content: trueform!sukuna x f!reader, angst, sukuna is scared of feelings so he gets angry

⚝wc: 1.4K

⚝a/n: sorry about the wait but here it is!

The morning sun filters through the heavy curtains, creeping into the room, warm rays stirring you from your peaceful slumber. A chill runs down your spine, the events from last night rushing back into your mind. You instinctively curl into the mattress, dread tightening in your chest as you resist the urge to open your eyes. The memory of his rippling muscles—taught with desire as he devoured you whole. Mind, body, and soul now owned by Ryomen Sukuna.

Slowly—you allow yourself to wake, the oppressive silence of the room pressing down on you. Gathering the courage to look around, you cautiously open your eyes and realize with a mixture of relief that you are alone in the bed.

The space beside you, where Lord Sukuna had lain, was now empty. Sheets twisted and tossed, a testament to the night that felt like a fever dream—except it wasn’t a dream. It was real, painfully so. His touch still burns on your skin, his commanding voice echoes relentlessly in your mind.

You take a deep breath, you push the silken sheets aside and let your feet touch the cold, polished floor. The fear still gnawing at you as you take in the imposing surroundings. Everything in the room feels foreign–Dark, velvet drapes that hang heavily over the tall windows, their rich fabric absorbing the morning light. The walls are adorned with intricate tapestries and carvings, each telling a story of his conquest and dominance.

Every detail, from the plush carpet underfoot to the gilded frames of the artwork on the walls, speaks of a life far removed from your own. It’s a world of excess and control, where Ryomen reigns supreme, and you—despite his affection—remain firmly beneath him.

You instinctively reach for the familiar comfort of your servant clothes. But as your hand moves across the bed, searching for the coarse fabric, you come up empty.

Your brow furrows in confusion as you glance around. Your gaze lands on the edge of the bed, a silk robe draped over. Its soft fabric shimmering in the low light. You could work your whole life and probably not be able to even afford a thread from the fabric.

You hesitate, staring at it. Where are your clothes? The thought circles your mind, tinged with a growing sense of unease. Did Uraume have them removed? The realization sends a ripple of uncertainty through you, as if a small but crucial part of yourself has been taken away without your consent.

With hesitant fingers, you lift the robe, the cool, smooth fabric slipping through your grasp like water. As you drape it over your shoulders, the robe clings delicately, the comfort it offers is strange, almost elusive, leaving you feeling both sheltered and exposed all at once. The unease sits heavily in your chest as you stand in front of the mirror, the robe whispering against your skin as you move. It was beautiful… and yet did nothing to quell your swirling thoughts.

As you move towards the door, each step feels like you’re walking on knife’s edge, the fear of encountering him again weighing heavily on your mind. The corridors are eerily silent, the massacre of your former colleagues still weighing heavily on your mind. With each step, the walls seem to close in around you, the grandeur of Ryomen’s domain feeling more like a labyrinth than a sanctuary. The echoes of your footsteps are swallowed by the silence, the tension in your chest growing with each step.

You push open the heavy doors to the dining hall, Sukuna is seated at the head of the table. Two arms rest casually against his broad chest, while the others handle a cup and a delicate scroll with an air of nonchalant grace. His focus unwavering as he converses with Uraume.

You stand there, momentarily frozen, your heart pounding with a rush of uncertainty. Sukuna’s gaze flickers briefly in your direction, a fleeting, detached acknowledgment that sends a shiver down your spine before he returns to the scroll before him.

“You’re awake,” His voice rumbles through the room.

“Yes…I... Good morning.” You reply, voice trembling slightly.

You look to the left, where the separate table that Sukuna had made for you was. Your body instinctively moves towards it, seeking comfort in the familiarity of your designated space. But, just as you approach the modest seating, Ryomen clears his throat.

“I have placed a seat at my table.” His declares, voice booming with authority. His eyebrow raises slightly in a subtle display of impatience as he observes your hesitation. You walk towards the long polished table, no other seats besides the large one at the head where he sat and a smaller seat—plain and unadorned—awaits at his left side.

As you sit in the smaller chair, your gaze drifts over the spread of food. The array of dishes—rich, aromatic, and intricately prepared—lies before you, the inviting scents mingling with the weight of your uncertainty. You hesitate, caught between the urge to partake and the fear of overstepping.

His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of annoyance evident in his gaze. The king lets out a soft, exasperated sigh, the sound resonating through the room.

“Eat.” He finally mutters before turning his attention to his own plate. You dig into the food, realizing how much of an appetite you had worked up. As the savory tastes hit your tongue you sigh contently. Uraume had really outdone themselves this time. You become absorbed in the rich tastes and textures, savoring each mouthful with growing appreciation, you’re completely unaware of Sukuna’s intense gaze. His eyes, sharp and unblinking as his eyes fix on you with curiosity.

Sukuna's gaze remains fixed on you. The room is silent except for the soft clinking of cutlery and the occasional rustle of Sukuna’s scroll, but beneath this calm facade, tension simmers.

In his mind, Sukuna wrestles with an unsettling question: You are nothing... a mere servant, so why do you stir him so?

Why does the thought of you make his heart beat the slightest bit faster?

Why did he never wish for you to work again? For your delicate fingers to only ever touch him?

The troubling ache in his chest, a visceral disturbance that he cannot quell, fuels his growing irritation and frustration.

His grip on the cup tightens so painfully that the delicate porcelain begins to tremble, its integrity threatened by his crushing hold.

Sukuna’s internal struggle reaches a fever pitch, and the suffocating silence around him becomes unbearable.

Finally, unable to contain his mounting anger, Sukuna slams his cup down onto the table with a force that rattles the dishes. The sudden noise startles you, and you look up, your eyes wide with fear as you see the dark storm of rage flickering in his gaze.

“You—” Sukuna’s voice erupts, sharp and laden with frustration. “I am starting to think you are aware of more than you let on…”

Your gaze flickers up from your meal, confusion etched on your face, only to ignite further fury in Sukuna. He rises with a sudden, predatory grace, his towering presence casting a menacing shadow. “Do you think you’re so insignificant that you can’t grasp the depth of your impact?” His voice dripping with disdain.

“My lord, I—” you stammer, but the words catch in your throat under the weight of his ire.

His eyes lock onto yours with fierce intensity “Have I given you the impression that you have the right to challenge me? To.. stir these–” He pauses irritation bubbling over.

With a swift, contemptuous motion, Sukuna pushes back his chair, the scrape against the floor echoing like a battle cry. His eyes burn with unbridled rage as he storms out, the doors slamming shut behind him with a resonant crash.

You are left alone, shaken and trembling, the weight of his scorn and frustration heavy in the air. What could you have done to upset him? The way he handled you with such care last night was a stark contrast to the venom he had just spewed. Maybe what you shared had just been a fleeting attraction, and maybe you were a fool for ever thinking that Ryomen could see you as more.

In the solitude of his chambers, Sukuna paces, the rhythm of his steps a mechanical counterpoint to the chaos in his mind. The severity of his outburst gnaws at him, a bitter aftertaste that refuses to be swallowed. The way you shrank under his gaze, trembled at the sound of his raised voice.

He grips the edge of his desk, the solid wood grounding him as he wrestles with the swirling chaos in his mind.

The sight of your fear had struck a nerve, and beneath his exterior, he grapples with the unsettling realization that he has caused you distress. And with the new unsettling feeling of how exactly to do something he hadn’t done in his centuries of existence…

Apologize.

taglist (FULL NOW IM SORRY) @quinnyundertow @devastyle @bokuatsubro @alt-her @novembersavior @twinkyjohnson @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @bubb13gumb1tch @kalulakunundrum @flowerpot113 @caratinluv @koyukilove @memers666 @saikilover7878 @smolbeanzzz @byul9158 @shadava @bellinghambby22 @pastelbunnelby @jvg02 @ohmykwonsoonyoung @goldenglow149 @imnotabot28 @s1urpjuic3 @nctislifue @szired @mold-ed @fuyuji-ii @samisfunky @junni-berry @call-memissbrightside @wil10wthetree @iamthehybrid @poemzcheng @00frenchfries00 @greentea-ellie @worldean @klutzylaena @heyheyheyggg @hillmiaxoxo @lashaemorow @kuudere-raia @didielly @thejujvtsupost @malazloje @dumplings4life0520 @kum1ko-chan @paprikaquinn @damnshorty @dumbmi

#kbwrites #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen x reader

1K notes · View notes

drgnflyteabox · 5 months ago

Text

mdni - the 141 find a cozy place to stay during an op (that's definitely all that happens). implied fat!reader

(dubcon, poly, gangbang, anal, price is in charge of everyone<3)

So blizzards can happen in the blink of an eye on high, isolated mountains, right?

And the 141 have done missions in rural places, snowy places, mountainous places, right?

And there are tons of tiny little isolated towns, all over the world, built around these mountains for one reason or another - coal mining, logging, etc.

Now imagine the 141 on a mission, somewhere cold, somewhere isolated, a place that feels like the edge of the world. Desolate.

Now imagine the 141 seeing, in the near distance, a winking pale orange light. It's a good enough place as any to approach - it isn't safe to be caught in this blizzard, anyhow. Even with their gear, the safehouse is still an hour away and the snowfall seems historic...

Now imagine you're sitting in your family home, all alone, going a little crazy with cabin fever. Your woodstove is burning hot, but you're still cuddled up in knits and a thermal underneath. You're making stew for dinner with root vegetables from the basement cellar, it's bubbling and softening for you while you crochet, trying to keep your mind off the monumental shoveling task you'll have to deal with tomorrow

Until there's a knock on the door.

"Hello ma'am, I'm just wondering if me and my friends here could rest until it's safe to continue our hike?" (I love the way gaz says ma'am)

Hike? Nobody hikes up here - you've only ever seen a couple tourists in your life, thrill seeking ice climbers who came and went.

And they certainly weren't dressed in snow camo, hiding guns behind their backs.

But you were raised right, and the man at the door has kind eyes - he's handsome, too, but you'd never say it out loud. Gaz pushes the door further in when you tentatively open it, and in comes barreling three more massive men, their boots stomping and leaving a mess.

Soap smells the stew on the stove and beelines for it, lifting his helmet to inhale deeply.

Ghost sweeps the room like it might be hiding an enemy somewhere- even though it's one room total, the stove in the middle, separating the kitchen and your bed.

Price approaches you all apologetic, apologizing for "these ruffians", holding his camo helmet to his gut like it's formalwear. "Apologies, sweetheart, we weren't expecting the weather to turn on us."

You aren't quite sure how you end up sitting on prices lap, naked except for your socks, while he squeezes your stomach and grunts in your ear not to be shy when putting your weight on him. His other hand is cupped over your pussy, murming thank yous for feeding his men.

They're eating your stew, stripped out of gear, cocks tented in their white cargos.

"We're a gaggle of lucky boys, eh?" Soap says. "Nice, cozy, soft girl. Warm cabin. A man could get used to this."

You wind up pressed down on your mattress, hands held behind you by one man while another fucks you hard, spurred on by price behind them. At first, it's johnny, whining high in his throat while price guides his hips and gaz holds your arms by your head. "Need to thank her proper, boy." The obvious authority in prices voice makes your pussy clench around him, and he shakes over you, trying hard not to come too early.

Gaz reaches down from where he's holding your arms, pinching your clit until you buck against Johnny and squirt around him.

Then it's gaz, who lifts your legs and squeezes your big thighs, locking eyes with ghost. He's steady, only breaking composure when Simon praises him. "Thats a lad. Good, just like that, Kyle." He's the first to ever make you come from penetration alone, hips moving in a way that makes your abdomen tighten and tighten and tighten until you reach the longest orgasm of your life, nearly crying with how intense it feels.

Price ends up flipping you over - nudging you up on your hands and knees, the bed creaking with the combined weight of he and his lieutenant taking their places in front and behind you.

Simon slips his cock in your mouth, staring down at you through the balaclava. You can barely make out a thick scar, one that looks like it might go through his whole face. You lose focus when price pushes his fingers in your ass, though, and you squeal.

There's no where to run except further down simons cock, though, where you gag, spit running all down your chest onto the bed.

"Shh, sh," Price rubs your flank like you're a spooked animal. He squeezes the ample flesh of your asscheek appreciatively. "Jus wanna give your poor pussy a break, aye? I reckon she's tired,"

He pushes into you impatiently and it burns a little, but he soothes it with a palm over your soft, sore cunt. Rubs a thumb over your clit slowly, jostling you back and forth over simons cock.

You come once more before the night is over, tears finally running down your cheeks, mixing with your saliva, with simons come. It's a painful orgasm, wrenched from you - but that makes it all the sweeter.

They wipe you down and spoon feed you more stew, after, to recover your energy :') price has the boys tidy their boot tracks and put away leftovers while he and Simon hold you from both sides. They can barely fit with you on your bed, but tucked in like this - on top of your furs, naked as the day you were born, praised for your soft body and "What a good girl you are, babydoll."

Sigh

I'm sure this idea has probably been written but I was listening to this and couldn't stop imagining it lmfao

1K notes · View notes

sportsloverguide · 1 year ago

Text

Cricket's Pinnacle: ICC World Cup 2023 - Battling for Glory on the Global Stage

The ICC World Cup 2023 promises an exciting cricket extravaganza as India hosts the tournament from October 5th to November 19th

For more detail click the link

Icc cricket world cup

#iccodiworldcup2023 #cwc 2023 #cricket #cricket world cup 2023 #cricketmania #worldclasscricket #cricket fever #teamspirit

0 notes

missnxthingg · 2 months ago

Note

Gal I need lando fluff as well could u do taking care of him when he’s sick and he’s all tired and clingy

needy | LN4

pairing: Lando Norris x Female!Reader summary: After a busy month, all Lando needs is his girlfriend to take care of him words: 1 K - warnings: Sick Lando and lots of cuteness (also not proof read, sorry) author’s notes: I'm so sorry for the delay, it was a busy & unplanned week at work. But here we are, just in time to celebrate our favourite boy's birthday

main masterlist | main blog | taglist

Triple headers always hit quite hard on Lando. Since he joined Formula 1, he doesn't remember a single time he didn't end up sick after almost a month travelling around the world. And this time it wasn't different; he started having a fever the morning after he arrived from Brazil and stayed in bed all day.

Y/N found it odd to not find him in his usual state of relaxation after a full month of work: locked inside his dark gaming room, full of snacks and laughing with Max. Instead, he was wrapped around three blankets in their living room, body almost lifeless on the sofa as he watched a boring movie on TV.

“Oh, baby boy, are you feeling okay?”, she asked, putting her things down so she could check on him.

Lando smiled tired at her and shrugged, too tired to even say something. She knew he was getting sick, especially after he spent the entire flight home – and their night of sleep – coughing. She just didn’t expect for it to be that bad, to the point where the most chatty boy in the world would go speechless.

“Have you eaten?”, she ran her hands through his face and he nodded tiredly. Then she found the empty yogurt cup beside him and rolled her eyes. “A yogurt isn't eating, Lando”.

“Come cuddle, baby”, he mumbled, wrapping one of his hands around her wrist.

“I'm worried about you, my love”, she ran her hands through his curls, making him open a tired smile. “I swear to God, every triple header is the same. I won't let you go anymore”.

“It's just a way my body found of telling I'm tired”, he assured. “If you come cuddle, then I'll be fine”.

“Later, baby. I have to make lunch for us”, she pressed a kiss on top of his head and Lando whined loudly. “Stop being a baby!”

“You're evil”.

Y/N started taking things out of the fridge to start cooking their lunch, and Lando suddenly appeared behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist from behind and resting his head on the crook of her neck. She smiled at the gesture and cuddled into his touch as she cut some onions.

“Ouches my eyes”, he cried, making her giggle just before she stopped cutting the onions, to put it in the hot pan. “What are you doing?”

“Caramelized onion and creamy cheese pasta”, she revealed, making him open a big smile. “A favourite for my sick boy”.

“You're the best, baby. I love you so much”, he pressed a kiss on her shoulder, but didn't let go off her, choosing to stay glued to her side as she cooked.

“Lan, it's a bit hard to cook with you clinging onto me”, she chuckled. “Maybe sit right there and keep me company. Then I'll give you as many cuddles as you want”.

“Mmm, okay”, he smiled tiredly, finding a spot to sit close to her, as he observed her cooking. Travelling the world is nice, but he loved coming home to the love of his life, who always took the best care of him.

Suddenly, he was taken back to the early dates of their relationship, when she’d invite him over for dinner and cook him the easiest pasta that, in time, became his comfort food. That’s exactly what he needed after a long month away from home, and away from her, since she only came to the first race in Austin. His heart felt at ease when she served him a plate and found a spot next to him.

“Thank you”, he mumbled before attacking the food. “It’s so good to be home. It’s so good to be with you”.

“I was counting the seconds until you were back to me”, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and cuddled to his side as they ate in silence, just feeling each other’s presence. He learned to appreciate silence after loud days as he rested next to his favourite girl. “Are you feeling better?”

“My throat is sore, and it feels like I was hit by a truck”, he joked. “The headache is gone, though”.

“I’ll use my super healing powers to make you feel better”, she sprinkled kisses through his face, making him open a genuine smile for the first time that day. But just before she kissed him on the lips, he backed away.

“You’ll get sick, baby”.

“It will be worth it, then”, she declared, before sealing their lips into a sweet kiss. Lando had missed those lips more than anything, and if she was willing to take the risk of getting sick, then he’s not arguing about it. “I love you, my sweet boy”.

“I love you too, beautiful”, he pecked her lips once again and took a second to analyse her face from up close; the face he adored so much. “Now, can we please cuddle?”

“Yes, my whiny baby, we can”.

Lando wanted to sweep her off her feet and take her to the couch, but felt too weak to do so. Y/N almost had to do this to him to get him to stand up and walk. He collapsed onto their couch and was too tired to open his arms to invite his girlfriend to join. She still found her spot next to him and pulled him closer, until they were tangled together between the blankets.

She pressed soft kisses all over his face and watched his lips tiredly curve into a smile, just as he felt a little better to have her taking care of him. They didn't even notice they forgot to turn on the TV.

“I'm so glad you're finally home”, she whispered. “This place is too quiet without you. I don't like it”.

“I'm happy to be back with my home”, he pressed his fingers to her skin and she smiled at him. “You're the best. I missed you so much that I might as well take you with me next time”.

“Anything so we can be together”, she said. “Sleep, baby, I'll be here holding you”.

“I love you so much. You're my everything, the love of my life, the sweetest…”, he continued to list various things about her and fell asleep mid-sentence.

“I love you more, Lan”, she pressed one last kiss on his forehead before falling asleep too.

⤿ add yourself to the taglist!

#lando norris #ln4 #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris comfort #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris fluff #ln4 x reader #ln4 x y/n #ln4 x you #lando norris blurb

1K notes · View notes

gaywineauntsstuff · 23 days ago

Text

the reason I hate the "Tim doesn't trust Dick after Damian/spyral/ric" is because they are besties your honour.

Like there's a post going around that I cannot for the life of me find that says Dick is Tims trusted adult and they are so right fr ong.

Because despite what Fanon believes Dick is a pretty chill guy and people take one look at him and go "let me unload my emotional baggage on you"

There's like a very famous panel (that im too lazy to find or remember the name of the run its in okay don't yell at me) where Tim basically goes "soooo my girlfriends pregnant" and Dick nearly falls off the roof.

Tim is calling Dick for the dumbest shit imaginable to the world ending and so are the rest of the batkids.

so I have taken the Canon that Dick knows if not all but most and generalised it to hell.

-------------------------

Jason has been on a team with like 80% of OG titan members

they're having gossip session

Jason in a war zone dodging bullets with his bat travel mug in his hand: And THEN! Kori and Roy shared this look and you know the look they give you when they're judging you for bat reasons and you're like tell me why you're mad I was raised by a crazy person my normal levels are skewed.

Dick in NYC with a blueberry bagel In one hand, his Turkish coffee in another, just finished meeting up with Donna who gave him THAT exact look: No REALLLLL why are they like that, just tell me which one of the creepy traits I internalised as a child is bothering you.

Jason: omg you get it anyway so I grab the bomb and start playing soccer with it because its round and im bored and starfire takes it away like idk what im doing? bro ive been bombed I know how to work with a bomb..

Dick: hmmm and then what happened

Jason: and then.....

--------------------------

Tim: Dickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Dick: yea Tim

Tim: Kon is being a dick

Dick: oh?

Tim: yeah and its really starting to bother me man

Dick who knows Kon is dead and Tim is either hallucinating or drugged to be more susceptible to manipulation and is already on his way: hmm tell me more babybird whys he upsetting my lil brother

Tim about to tell Dick what is a fever dream bc he contracted pneumonia and is loopy off his ass on painkillers:

---------------------------

steph does this more with babs in the hero scene but its just... so easy and totally gets into the habit of it after Dick is her Batman for a bit and now she uses him as her civilian life therapist

Steph on her way back from campus: and then this bitch looks me up and down and pours her coffee cup down my shirt!

Dick on his way back to blud after decking bruce in the face: hold on hold on hold on she did what??

Steph nodding vigorously even though he can't see her: pulls my whole ass sweater away from my body and pours her peats coffee down my goddamn shirt Dick.

Dick: omg she didnt

Steph still nodding: she DID and then I found out from Jonny who found out from Vivian that someone told her I made out with her boyfriend at Leos house party

Dick who has no idea who any of these people are: wait but you were at Leos for like an hour max last week. we has smoothies after.

StepH: exactly so I had proof that I wasn't there and confronted her and went like. I don't want your crusty ass alt white boy whose favourite 'indie' band is the neighbourhood. I dated Tim fucking Drake the OG crusty ass white boy and I don't do repeats

Dick choking on his coffee:

Steph: anyway we are besties now and planning on getting her boyfriend back because apparently he cheated on her with this drop dead gorgeous girl and im high key a lil complimented she thought we were the same person.

Dick who initially called for casework and is actually so happy one of the people he calls siblings is actually like living a life outside of vigilantism: tell me more

Steph: you sound a little teary

dick: don't worry about it

-------------------------

Damian: Richard

Dick: Damian

Damian: so I might be skipping patrol with father

Dick:? what you love patrol??

Damian: and school

Dick: Dames? what's going on:? is everything okay? you can talk to me

Damian: I am volunteering at a hospital

Dick: kid

Damian: Listen before you sAY anything I know what we do is important but I think I can help in another way and -

Dick had brown parents and was training for the olympics at 8, totally knows what its like to have insane expectations and rebel with a day job: kid kid calm down okay? you wanna be a doctor? is that it?

Damian: well? I dont really know but I just? there has to be another way to help people. besides what we do I mean-

Dick: Alfred left me Thomas waynes journals I initially thought they were to bash your fathers head in when he was being stupid but it seems the old man was looking out for us. Wanna take a stab at your other grandpas legacy when you come over next weekend. I'll tell Bruce we patrolled so you get a few more days off.

Damian: you're the best

#dick grayson #nightwing #batman #batfam #jason todd #tim drake #bruce wayne #comics #damian wayne #batfamily #stephanie brown #incorrect batfamily quotes #Dick might be a good spy but he doesn't need to be #his siblings tell him everything #can y'all believe DAMIAn wants to do medicine in canon #his Middle Eastern mom is so proud #talia is bragging to her attendants #you know my son wants to be a doctor when he grows up and he's 15 and at a medical internship #Dick is bragging to the titans #this basically confirms that Alfred raises Batmans #Bruce raises the greatest heroes of the age #Dick raises well adjusted young adults whose dream is a solid pension plan and time for hobbies #Dick and talia both take credit for turning out well #they'll be bitchy and give the other a drop of credit but they both agree bruce gets nothing #entirely fanon #fanon #dc fanon

536 notes · View notes

lalunanymph · 22 days ago

Text

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: suggestive content, toilet talk, mentions of injuries, hostility, tension, repressed emotions, isekai-ed reader, reader is in princess cerena's body, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo

⟡ masterlist

ACT 2, SCENE 1: THE INFIRMARY

The fading sun spilled over your mother’s deep set smile, the sight of paddy stalks swaying in the wind instantly bringing relief to your worried soul.

You found yourself lying on the engawa with her, the veranda stretching out as far as your gaze could comprehend; your eyes lazily following the last of the brilliant orange sunset rays weaving through the idyllic pink and purple skies. Your mother laughed at something you said, and you clinked your cup of rice wine with hers, drinking deeply and heartily, content and fully at peace with where you are now.

“Wake up,” she suddenly whispered into your ear, nudging your shoulder.

Like a mirage in the middle of a shimmering desert, her face disintegrated in front of you, warm eyes turning a crystalline, cold blue.

The magnificence of the splendid skies fade into timbered ceilings, flickers of shadows from the fireplace belching out heat dancing across the latticed wood, drawing your bleary focus towards the pockets of dark intermingling with light.

You groaned, shifting on the hard mattress, and heard a rustle from your right.

The same blue eyes that haunted you in your dreams wavered into view, Satoru’s face hovering above yours.

You screeched, grappling for something—anything to defend yourself with—pure fear lighting up every nerve ending in your body with a vivid cocktail of adrenaline and terror.

“Calm down, woman,” Satoru mumbled, gripping your scrambling hands, trying to ease you back onto the bed.

But, your mind was filled with the rampant memories of him chasing after you through the thick foliage, the sword brandishing against your bare neck. Your pupils turned into pinpricks from the fear and your breaths came out as labored exhales, the delayed shock leaving you cold and hot all over.

“Stay away from me.”

You tried to put some distance from him, using what little strength that was left in your limbs to push yourself further up the bed, curling your shoulders inward like a prey trying to make itself smaller in front of an apex predator.

His lips twitched in the corners, those oceanic, cold eyes freezing over with distaste.

“I spent three whole nights trying to keep your fever at bay, and this is the gratitude that I get?”

Satoru’s incensed words barely stirred a flicker of guilt from you, your weary eyes fastened on to him, refusing to let him out of your sight. He took one look at you, this unruly princess with perspiration dewing on her brow, and sighed, reaching for a glass of water by your bedside. His grip on your chin used less considerable force than before, and reluctantly, you parted your lips, drinking from his hand deeply.

Once you satiated your thirst, Satoru set the glass back on the hardwood side table, his crystalline gaze scrutinizing you all over.

Closer this time, you took a good look at him.

Dark circles bedraggled his usual princely countenance, and his frosty white hair was sticking up at odd ends, as if he had frustratedly raked his fingers through them over and over again. The scruff of a five o’clock shadow darkened his chin, and you resisted the urge to touch the fading red lesions on his face, suddenly feeling immense guilt for how you had jumped at the opportunity to harm him.

“Wasp stings,” he scoffed, raising a brow. “I knew princesses were delicate, but to faint from such a common insect bite? You are far weaker than I imagined.”

Whatever pity you felt for him in that split second of humanity shattered at his careless and callous words. Narrowing your eyes, you scoffed, turning your face away.

“Yes, I am allergic to wasp stings,” you sneered. “I apologize that I forgot to mention that when you were literally chasing after me with a broadsword, Your Highness.”

There was little doubt of the derision at the utterance of his title, and Satoru tensed, his own eyes narrowing at your impertinence.

“Astounding. After everything I’ve done for you, Cerena—”

He turned his face away from you abruptly, as if he could not comprehend why he was here in the first place. The Prince stalked over to the fireplace, hands behind his back, watching the flames lap at the charred pieces of firewood.

Not wanting to interrupt his thoughts, you eased from the bed, trying to stand on your shaky legs while using the headboard for support.

As if he had a beacon on you, Satoru was instantly at your side, gripping your elbow and supporting you back into bed.

“Stay where you are, Cerena,” he hissed, the frustration in his tone unmistakable. “Do not strain yourself and hurt yourself again, you foolish girl.”

In retaliation, you glared at him, feeling the urge in your bladder overtaking your common sense to keep your distance from him. “I need to relieve myself in a toilet, you sick sadist. Let me go.”

Unperturbed by your choice of colorful words, Satoru nudged a blackened pot closer to you with the tip of his hunting boot, gesturing at it.

“What in the world is a ‘toilet’? You shall use a chamber pot like everybody else.”

However, he didn't expect your eyes to widen as you took in the strange, earthenware. “That… is a chamber pot?” You haven’t exactly seen one before, though you had read about it in fantasy novels.

Satoru’s brows knitted together, and he looked at you as if you had sprouted two heads.

“Do not tell me you have not seen a chamber pot before?”

His words rang hollowly in your heated ears, and you turned your gaze from the intimidating object and back to him again, the questioning look in your eyes apparent even in the low, firelight.

“I just… relieve myself in there?”

You knew what this must look like to him: if you were confronted by the sight of someone who couldn’t even use a toilet bowl, you might be questioning their motor skills and mental capacities. The skepticism on his face spoke loud volumes to his consternation and faltering patience.

“Yes, Cerena. You… relieve yourself in there.”

Unbeknownst to you, the prince was blushing, his face turned away from his befuddled fiancée, staring at the wall as if it could tell him the secrets of the universe.

Right. You had to go and since Satoru was stubbornly rooting himself in this room, you made a sound of consternation in your throat and tried to fight off the heat threatening to burn your entire face off.

“Could you… give me some privacy?” Politely, you added, “Please?”

To your utter frustration, Satoru snorted, shaking his head. “So you can escape again and force me to hunt you down? No. You will relieve yourself right here with me in the room together with you.” He spun his head around to raise a brow, as if to goad you into challenging his edict.

Flushing, you curled your upper lip over your teeth, attempting to fix a snarl on your face that you hoped would keep him at bay.

“Excuse me? And since when were you allowed to encroach into my privacy? This is insane…”

Trailing off, you did not expect Satoru’s sneer to deepen, the flame of hatred igniting in his blue eyes, taunting you with cerulean vindication.

“Insane? Perhaps. Smart? Yes,” his nostrils flared. “I cannot risk having you evade me for a second time, Cerena.”

You wanted to argue that you weren’t the woman he despised, but nature’s call was hard to ignore. Huffing, you crossed your arms over your chest, trying not to think too hard about how thin the nightgown was to bring attention to your curves hidden underneath the see-through linen.

It appeared as if Satoru, too, was trying hard not to flicker his gaze to your chest, playing the role of a gentlemanly prince well enough, despite the lack of spectators here to denounce his poor treatment of you.

Staring him down, you fought to keep your natural urges under control, needing to shake him up with your determination. But, whatever stubbornness your actions were made up of, Satoru’s were multiplied by tenfold as those icy blue eyes bore into yours with the chilliness of an ocean in the middle of an icy tundra.

Eventually, your need to go won out and you let your arms fall to your side, exhausted sigh echoing across the infirmity.

“Fine. But, can I be spared some privacy, please?”

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Satoru turned around, clasping his hands behind his back as he stood to the side of the room, giving you a wide berth to conduct your bodily eliminations in private.

Hiking up the hem of your nightgown, you finished your business, finding it extraordinarily hard to keep your balance while squatting over the earthen receptacle. Satoru, having heard you clean up after yourself, turned back around, and if you dared to look closer, you would’ve seen the splotches of red adorning his cheeks betraying his natural instinct of shame at having been in close proximity to such a private occurrence.

You struggled to get back into bed, surprised to find his hand shooting out to steady your arm, letting you lean on his strength. With barely a hitch, you flopped back onto the bed, gasping in mild pain when your aching body met the mattress.

Now that you were far more level-headed after relieving yourself, you could give the matter at hand your full attention.

“Why are you here, Satoru?”

Barely mincing your words or stopping to consider the delicacy of his presence right in your infirmary room. Your glare spoke volumes of your distaste and confusion; if he were a lesser man, Satoru might indulge in your obvious confusion, gloatingly holding it above your head.

“I have told you,” he uttered. “It is because I am here to watch you.”

You glanced around, noting the quiet room and the lack of human presence which wouldn't lead to any trouble.

“Um. Alright…”

Without warning, he advanced closer to you, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to look right into his glacial eyes, a terrifying glare etched on his face.

“Your antics in the forest were beyond idiotic, Cerena. I have not forgiven you for what you did to me—” pointing at the reddened swellings on his neck and face, the thunderous look in his eyes could have consumed you alive with his pure hatred for you. “—and you will pay for this once you get better.”

The sharp gleam of his toothy grin made you flinch, the bloodthirsty look on his face enough to make you assume the worst: that Prince Gojo Satoru was going to call for a harsh enough punishment to debilitate and agonize you. Images of a flogger hitting your bare skin, or your body dangling from the gallows flashed in your mind and you inadvertently took a step back from him, your eyes wide and fixated upon his face with a look of pure horror.

“Satoru…”

Like a great white sniffing out your weakness, the blasted man advanced closer to you, never relenting upon his frightsome smile.

“Why the sudden fear in your eyes, Cerena? Are you regretting how you treated me? The crap you put me through!” His voice rang throughout the room like a gunshot and you struggled to your feet, stumbling backwards against the wall, slapping a palm to your mouth to keep your shriek of fear from slipping past your trembling defenses.

“Satoru, stop!”

But, he would not listen to you. A murderous glint had overtaken Gojo’s usually stoic blue eyes, stinking of retribution and retaliation in payment for whatever Cerena had done to him.

You could not stand for such accusations hurled into your face again, the burning need to know the wrongs the Princess had committed that earned her such wrath from Satoru disintegrating the last of your hesitation as you blurted out:

“I am not Princess Cerena!”

As if your words were a magical incantation, he paused. You could see the cogs turning in his head, the implications of your declaration working through his brain.

“What do you mean you are not Cerena?” Astounded and frustrated, Satoru’s blue gaze froze over, threatening to leave you in the roiling of its frigid waves. “That is absurd. Have you gone mad? Or, did the venom of the wasp stings affect your brain?”

You had just noticed the thin, white linen shirt he wore which exposed a sliver of his pale chest, the frosty white tips of his hair falling across his face, shading his eyes in their disarray.

Never in your life had you felt this helpless, unsure of how to piece together your words.

“I am not her,” you finished in a quiet tone. “I am from another world. A world which is different from yours.”

Satoru scoffed, as if finding the very idea disturbing. “What other world? You know what, maybe you need to speak to the physician. This is getting out of hand.”

Unexpectedly, you stomped your foot, training your baleful glare onto him.

“Get it into your thick skull, Satoru! I am not Princess Cerena!” Huffing, you decided to lay all your cards on the table, uncaring how he would receive your words. Maybe he might punish you or send you to a lunatic house, keeping you far away from court. But, there might be the slim chance that he would believe you, if only you could convince him.

“My name is Y/N and I am from Earth. I work as a florist in a family-owned shop, and before I arrived here, I was struck on the head by a thief and I woke up in Cerena’s body just as you were berating me for hurting your precious Miri.”

His nostrils flared, probably not enjoying how you brought his lover into this conversation.

The disbelief and distrust on his face was not hard to sense.

“What do you mean by that?” His demands were laced with agitation. “Are you trying to deceive me? That will entail a punishment far worse than when you tried to assault me, Cerena.”

You were shaking your head before he could even finish. “No, I am not trying to deceive you, I promise. What I’m saying is real and true.”

Yet, he looked like he could scarcely believe you.

Your quick mind came up with the idea on the fly. “Quick, tell me something only Princess Cerena would know.”

Satoru huffed, but played along, which was a good sign.

“Fine. Say I believe your demented words. One thing only she knows about me…” Satoru trailed off, and for a brief moment, you swore you caught a look of grief flitting across his expression.

“Tell me when is my birthday.”

You floundered, having no idea when he was born. The prince was a mystery to you, and this was the perfect question to prove your identity that you were not the princess.

Tossing a random date, you murmured, “December the 7th?”

You had expected him to scoff and tell you that getting such a simple question wrong wouldn’t prove anything, when you noticed he had stiffened, those crystalline blue eyes growing wide.

“Wait… did you just say December the 7th?”

You nodded, gnawing on your lower lip.

“See, I told you, I am not the Princess–”

“That is my exact birthdate.”

Satoru’s words made you come to a hard pause. You looked up at him with horror inscribed on your features.

“Wait, I can explain–”

“Even Cerena did not know when my real birth date was…” he added reluctantly, “Royals aren’t allowed to share the precise moment of our birth and we have a fictitious date made up for the general public’s knowledge.”

Satoru’s fixated gaze upon you burned as if you were touched by glowing embers.

“How did you know when my real birthday was?”

Suspicion lined his tone now, and you were well-aware that you had stepped into a different territory with a different arena of mistrust now.

You shake your head. “It was merely a lucky guess.”

His derisive scoff burned your ears. “A lucky guess? Hardly. You know something I do not.”

Raising your hands, you tried to placate him. “I swear to you, I had no idea my guess would be correct.”

Once more stumped at how to prove your innocence, you were struck by the contemplative thought that if you were in her body, perhaps there was a blemish of Cerena’s that only Satoru might know about.

“Okay. Since I cannot prove my innocence to you, let us try this.” You took one wobbly step towards him, his skillful cerulean gaze pinpointing your every movement with a sharp gaze.

Standing chest-to-chest with him, you narrowed your eyes.

“Tell me what blemish Cerena has on her body and I will show you that it is missing on mine.”

You had done a thorough examination of Cerena’s body back in Aeva’s hut, combing through your reflection in a mirror to assess who you truly were. You made the discovery that her skin was spotless, barely a mole or a wart. If Satoru had intimate knowledge of what flaws she had on her body, perhaps when she had mentioned it to him back when they were courting, you could dissuade him by proving that you were unspotted and taintless.

Growing pensive at your suggestion, Satoru touched his forehead, trying to get his confusion under control.

“Fine,” he relented. “Cerena has a birthmark right on her inner thigh. If you can show me it does not exist on your body, perhaps I may be swayed to believe you.”

Perfect. You didn’t hesitate to sit on the edge of the bed, hiking up the hem of your nightgown to display your unmarked skin, the firelight throwing a warm, orange glow over the smooth expanse of your shin, like the flames were intimately caressing you.

“See?” You uttered triumphantly, and bared yourself further to his wandering eye. “No birthmark. No blemish. I am not Cerena.”

What you hadn’t expected was his cheeks to brighten with a blush. Satoru coughed and looked away, averting his eyes out of respect for your honor.

“You didn’t… you did not have to show off yourself in such a brazen way.”

Cocking your head to the side, you regard him with a confused countenance.

“What do you mean by that, Satoru?”

He cleared his throat, the pink flush on the apples of his cheeks refusing to abate.

“You are a princess, despite who you believe you are.” The rasp of his fingertips brushing your hand sent a jolt up your spine. Satoru brushed your fist from the hem of your nightgown away, taking it upon himself to tug it back down and make you decent once more. “And princesses do not go around baring their bodies to other men… even if he is her betrothed.”

Your brow furrowed in befuddlement, thrown off by such a chaste idea.

“Hang on,” suspicion flooded your next question. “If you claimed you were as moral as you are now, how did you know Cerena has a birthmark on her inner thigh if you had never seen it before?”

He raised a brow, knowing something you didn’t. “It is customary for the matchmaker to scrutinize a princess from head to toe, taking in her countenance, her health and her virtue before recommending her to another royal family. I know details about Cerena’s body despite never having seen it myself.”

Oh. You supposed that made sense.

Circling back to the topic at hand, you purse your lips. “So, do you believe me now? Believe who I am?”

Despite the distrust swimming between the two of you, Satoru cannot deny that there was a sliver of truth in the bullshit you laid out for him; a kernel of understanding thrown in this confusing haystack of this sudden revelation.

“Say I believe you, What are we to do now? Where can I find the real princess and bring her back?”

Satoru’s cerulean eyes glimmered with an undeniable hope, one which you regretted having to douse before it could fully bloom.

You have no reply for his earnest question, unsure if you even knew how to get Cerena back.

“I… don’t know, Satoru. I’m sorry. I cannot answer your question. I suppose we just have to… wait for her to reappear back and claim her body.”

The next question he sprung up on you took you completely off guard.

“So, does it mean once she returns, you will be gone?”

You had never given much thought to your fate after leaving Cerena’s body, but you supposed it was plausible that the both of you will return to your rightful vessels once this whole fiasco was over.

“I believe so. Though, I cannot be sure. I still don’t have any answers.”

At a mindless movement of your arm, you winced at the sudden stench you caught wafting from your body and you balked, wondering if he was being polite by not bringing up the fact that the unclean and unpleasant odor was emanating from you.

“I need a bath.”

Despite how he wanted to continue the conversation, Satoru knew your comfort had to come first if you were to be in the right mind to give him the answers he needed.

He stepped out of the door, barking an order for the maids to bring a tub and a fresh wash of clothes for you to change into.

At his behest, two young brunettes rushed in, carrying a solid wooden receptacle lined with iron accents which they tipped hot water inside, letting the steam mingle with the dry humidity of the room.

Glancing at him with a furrowed brow, you asked, “Aren’t you going to give me some privacy?”

Again, Satoru did not relent on his compulsion to observe your every movement, his rapt gaze catching onto your discomfort. “And risk you leaving again? I told you, Ce—Y/N… I will not let you go again that easily.”

The maids continued to work, pretending to be deaf and blind to the building tension between the two of you.

Heatedly, you retorted, “Satoru, I am injured and sick. Why would I run away from you when I am not feeling well? You are making no sense.”

He retaliated with a glare. “Sick or not, you have proven to be a thorn in my side, woman, and I will not let up my guard only for you to slip away again.”

Sensing there was no room for him to budge, you sighed, reluctantly agreeing to have in the room while you bathed.

“Can’t you at least turn around, Satoru?”

A huff. He spun around, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixated on a water stain upon the otherwise pristine white walls, fighting hard to ignore the stuttering beat of his heart, how he could hear every rustle of your infirmary gown melting from your body, the breath of relief you exhaled once you stepped into the warmed water.

The maids made quick work of the grim on your body, scrubbing you hard enough to make your skin shine and squeaky. They yanked through the dirt in your pink locks, brushing out the stiff clumps with a horsehair brush, tipping fresh water from more buckets by the tub atop your head and body to wash off the soap. The water was pleasantly fragranced with the scent of lavender and roses, the oils clinging to your skin and perfuming your hair.

By happenstance, a moan slipped past your clenched teeth when they started to scrub your back, and Satoru tensed, the sudden sound sending an unmistakable thrill through his body.

The stoic prince trained his focus on the water stain, ignoring the flush of heat dusting his cheeks.

“Are you feeling better?”

His sudden question took you by surprise, and you noticed the rigid set of his shoulders, the tension underneath the seemingly innocent question.

“I am,” you quipped, allowing the maids to grab your arms and gently hoist you out of the tub and to your feet. They wiped you down with a pair of fluffy, cotton towels, and dressed you in a new linen gown, careful to avoid the lesions on your hands.

Once Satoru was sure you were done with your bath, he hesitantly turned back around, his cerulean gaze raking up and down your refreshed coloration, how there was more warmth on your cheeks.

A soft grunt emitted from the back of his throat, and he stiffly approached you, bearing down on you, the fire in his eyes drawing you up short.

“Now, we have to speak about the matter of your unwelcome visit to this world.”

You steeled yourself for this discussion, your mind going a mile a minute, wondering what else this detestable man might want to bring up.

Satoru, too, seemed to brace for the topic at hand, taking in a deep breath.

“I want you to know that such a situation is not ideal, but I am willing to overlook this oversight of your presence here in court,” his curt words made you bristle, as if you had begged to appear overnight in another woman’s body—hounded and despised by the man you were engaged to.

Your lips twisted in a glare, and you stared him down, unwilling to bend from his contempt.

“You speak as if I wanted to be here in the first place—I do not have a wish to remain here, Satoru. I want to go back home, too.”

At the mention of home, you cursed the tremble in your voice, schooling your features to be neutral and unimpeachable. Satoru, however, was determined to paint you in a disdainful light, scorning your presence before him despite how none of it was your fault.

“Perhaps I may believe you on this, but for this moment, I am not swayed.”

You swore steam could pour out from your ears and your throat would bleed dry before this bastard of a prince would believe you.

Echoing his maliciousness, you scoff.

“Satoru, no offense, but you overestimate your worth to me. I am not enjoying a single moment here and if I had the chance to choose, I would never have met you in the first place.”

Dripping with poison, each word was an affront to his hubris, a dart to his superior ego and excess pride.

However, you did not anticipate those cold blue eyes to waver at your venomous declarations, a brief flash of hurt appearing across his face.

Before you could look further, he closed himself from you once more, a chilling look clouding over his entire visage.

“That is fair and reciprocated. I do not wish to burden you for a second longer with my presence, either.”

He turned his face away, and you wondered what had gotten into him; why he was being so defensive and argumentative when you were trying to help him understand where you were coming from.

Shaking your head, you tried to dismiss those troublesome thoughts, focusing on the matter at hand.

“So, you believe me?”

Tinged with hope, you dared believe this new reveal would make him considerably friendlier towards you, or at least civil enough to not try and harm you when there was no good reason to.

For a second, he didn’t say a word, the room filled the sounds of your soft breaths, the crackling from the fireplace.

“Hmm. A bit. But, as it stands, I have a duty towards my country and so do you.” His tone brokered no room for an argument. “While we wait for a solution to present itself, I need you to perform as Cerena—that means learn how to be an actual princess, to speak like us and act like us so as not to rouse any suspicion.”

A fair deal.

You nodded, and fixed him with your steady gaze. Unbeknownst to you, the traitorous strap of your nightgown slipped off your shoulder, baring the rise of your collarbone to his eye.

“Anything else?”

Satoru’s disgruntled expression caught you by surprise, especially when he leaned in closer to grasp the edge of your linen strap and drag it back up your shoulder.

“Nothing. Have a good rest, princess—I mean, Y/N.”

Turning away, this infuriating prince left you to your own devices and ruminating thoughts, your mind landing on the brief memory of his fingertips brushing your shoulder, leaving remnants of heat tingling across your skin.

You tried hard to bury the sensation, clambering back into the infirmary bed and lying down, your gaze circling the ceiling. As you slipped off into an uneasy sleep, you were once again struck by the callousness of his words, how he had practically warned you to play pretend as Cerena while you tried to find a solution and go home.

Act and speak and think like them. So as not to arouse suspicion.

You believed you could do that—you had to believe you could do that because your entire survival hinged upon putting on the best pretense this court has ever seen.

Down the hallway, Satoru took a second to himself, leaning against the wall as he tried to keep his breathing controlled and even.

The memory of the firelight playing with your skin and hair, the feel of your smooth skin under the pads of his fingertips burned through his mind, scalding him from the longing he had tried hard to bury since the day Cerena’s betrayal reached his ears.

His cheeks were still warm from the unexpected physical contact and he balled his hands into fists, struggling to keep them from shaking.

Once he could breathe without feeling like he would combust in flames, Satoru reluctantly walked away from the infirmary and you—focused on putting on foot in front of the other.

Attempting with every fiber of his being to smother the rising need to return back to your side and be with you again.

MTT fun fact: citrus fragrance is hard to obtain in northern haleway and is thus the royal family's signature scent

dawn says: thank you for being patient with this update! here's to more gojoyn shenanigans

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

482 notes · View notes

hedgehog-moss · 15 days ago

Note

Pls give recommendations for Odd books 🙏

Here we go, a list of literary oddity :) This post contains majestic spheres, alien taxonomies, cruel subway polytheism, a fourth-dimensional cat, disturbing earthworms, infinite space football, existential mussel terror, a Parisian absurdist time loop, and a picture of a telegraph-pole-man-cheetah. I'm not exactly recommending these books, in the sense that I won't take any complaints if you find them more odd than good, and some of them transcend the concepts of good and bad anyway.

• The Other City, Michal Ajvaz. It's all like this:

• Contes du demi-sommeil, Marcel Béalu ('Half-asleep tales') —is the book that prompted my post about stories that have no ambition or justification beyond being odd. I'm sad that it hasn't been translated :( One of the tales is about a strange opaline sphere that rolls on the road. It doesn't accelerate when the road becomes a steep slope but continues rolling majestically. At one point it floats away towards the sky. Someone wonders if it was the moon. Someone else says authoritatively "It was an angel's egg." Everyone is reassured by this explanation. The whole thing feels exactly like remembering a dream you had. There is also a man who reads too much and whose body atrophies so only his head is left and his wife puts it in an egg cup for better stability.

• Leonora Carrington— The Skeleton's Holiday, or maybe the Hearing Trumpet. I've read them so long ago but I think the latter is the one with the old ladies and nuns? There's also a guy who was murdered in his bath by a still-life painter because he said there was a carrot in one of his paintings, but it might not have been a carrot? It's hard to remember details from this book without feeling like I might be making them up. Bonus Leonora Carrington painting which kind of feels like a short story:

• The Codex Seraphinianus, of course. I wish there were more bizarre encyclopaedias out there.

Also I love this review:

• Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan —I really liked the way this book used language; making life feel like a fever dream even more than in Samanta Schweblin's Fever Dream (which I really liked too.)

The eye is checking a record of silence, space; a nightmare, every horror of this world in its frigid and blank neutrality. The actual scope of its orbit depends on the individual concept of desolation, but approximate symbols are suggested in long roving perspectives of ocean, black swelled, in slow undulation, each whaleback swell plated in armour-hard brilliance with the moonlight clanking along it . . .

• The second half of Michael Ende's Neverending Story, where things get stranger! I remember the hand-shaped castle with eyes and the city of amnesiac former emperors and the miserable ugly worms who cry all the time out of shame then create beautiful architecture with their tears...

• The Gray House, Mariam Petrosyan. This is the one I had in mind when I talked about a 'museum of the strange, but one you wouldn't want to be trapped in after closing time'. Another book that made me feel uncomfortable in a similar (good) way was Edward Carey's Observatory Mansions, the protagonist of which is a man who curates an odd private museum and can't stand the sight of his own hands.

• Oh, speaking of uncomfortable, and hands—He Digs A Hole, by Danger Slater. To me this book was in the more-odd-than-good category but I liked its refusal to have a coherent philosophical meaning. It's about a man who can't sleep so he goes to his garden shed and saws off his hands and replaces them with gardening tools. Then he starts digging a hole. And then it gets weird. (Read at your own discretion if you have a worm phobia; there's some body horror featuring sexually aggressive earthworms. And then it gets disturbing.)

• 17776 — Someone sent me an ask a few years back to recommend this online multimedia narrative to me and I really enjoyed it! Here's the summary, borrowed from the wiki page: Set in the distant future in which all humans have become immortal and infertile, the series follows three sapient space probes that watch humanity play an evolved form of American football in which games can be played for millennia over distances of thousands of miles. The work explores themes of consciousness, hope, despair, and why humans play sports.

• Saint-Glinglin, Raymond Queneau —the author admitted that this book presents some "internal discontinuities." I didn't like it much but I respect the talent it takes to write a novel where everything feels like a random digression, including the key suspenseful scene that matters to the plot. The one digression I loved had to do with the way the narrator is existentially horrified by various sea creatures. It's like he dreads them so much he can't help but think about them when he should be telling a story.

The oyster... This gob of phlegm, this brutal way of refusing the outside world, this absolute isolation, and this disease: the pearl... If I conceptualise them even a little, my terror starts anew. The mussel is even more significant than the oyster and even more immediately admissible in the domain of terror. Let us indeed consider that this little sticky mass whose collective stupidity haunts our piers, consider that it is alive in the same way as a cow. Because there are no degrees in life. There is no more or less. The whole of life is present in every animal. To think that the mussel, that the mussel has, not a conscience, but a certain way of transcending itself: here I am once again plunged into abysses of anxiety and insecurity.

Near the beginning he philosophises about what would happen if a man and a lobster were the only two survivors of the apocalypse. The lobster would break the man's toe and the man would say, "We are the only beings that remain on this devastated Earth, lobster! The only living beings in the universe, struggling alone against the universal disaster, don't you want to be allies?" But the lobster would disdainfully walk away towards the ocean, and "the sight of the inflexible and imperturbable lobster pierces the sky of humanity with its unintelligible claws." (I can't overstate how little this has to do with the rest of the book.)

• Autumn in Beijing, Boris Vian —needless to say the story does not take place in autumn nor in Beijing.* To the extent that it can be said to be "about" something, it's about people trying to build a train station in a desert with tracks that lead nowhere. (I just went on goodreads to check the title, and it's actually called Autumn in Peking in English. I also discovered that it was featured in a list of Books I Regret Reading. I liked this book, but I understand.)

(* French writers love doing this—like when Alphonse Allais said about his 1893 book The Squadron's Umbrella "I chose this title because there aren't any umbrellas of any sort in this volume, and the important notion of the squadron, as a unit of the armed forces, is never brought up at all; in these conditions, hesitating would have been pure madness.")

• The Library at Mount Char, Scott Hawkins—I fear this one makes a little too much sense for this list, but you can't say it isn't weird; and I loved it and recommend it any chance I get.

• The Eleven Million Mile High Dancer, Carol Hill —this book was so wacky and made me laugh. I've not yet managed to successfully recommend it to someone; its brand of odd didn't resonate with the people I know who've read it but that's okay. You could say it's about a woman astronaut whose weird cat disappears into the fourth dimension (or the quantum realm?) and she goes to space to save him—but that makes the book sound more straightforward and less messy than it is. Her cat leaves her a note before he disappears:

• The Bald Soprano, Ionesco —fun fact, there's a tiny theatre in the Latin Quarter in Paris where this absurdist play has been staged every night for nearly 70 years, with the exact same set design and costumes and everything, like the actors are stuck in a time loop. They celebrated the 20,000th performance this year! There's an actress who has been playing her character for 40 years and said joining this theatre was like joining a religion. I've been going to see this play as a New Year tradition with my best friend since we were 14, so I love it madly, though I wouldn't say it's good, necessarily—the author said it was about "absolutely nothing, but a superior nothing."

• Statuary Gardens; or Les Mers perdues (apparently not translated) by Jacques Abeille. This man is obsessed with weird statues. Unfortunately I find his writing style rather dull—I feel like he takes strange ideas and makes them feel mundane in a bad way...! But his books still have a nice, quiet, oneiric atmosphere, and images that stayed with me, like a solitary gardener trying to grow stone statues in the depleted soil of a walled garden. Here are some illustrations from the second one:

I'll look into some of the books recommended on my previous post! (and I agree with the people who brought up Cortázar, Borges, and Junji Ito. <3) Some potentially-odd books I have on my to-read list: Clive Barker's Abarat, Goran Petrović's An Atlas Traced by the Sky, Salvador Plascencia's The People of Paper, Jean Ray's Malpertuis; Jan Weiss's The House of a Thousand Floors; Brice Tarvel's Pierre-Fendre.

#ask #book recs #i know i've made some of these sound barely readable but it would be risky to oversell them #it's funny how indignant i felt when i first thought that saint-glinglin didn't exist in english translation even though objectively it #wouldn't have been a huge loss and i don't think english speakers are clamouring for more crustacean existentialism after sartre's lobsters #but they should get to choose not to read this book!

474 notes · View notes