gurllss

[gurllss]

Content 18+

A four-year relationship with Damian Wayne had its ups and downs. He could go from being someone very attentive, chivalrous, and making you feel like the luckiest person to have a loyal, precise, and caring man like him.

But like every good thing has its downsides, it's the part where he tends to hide emotionally when he's suffering from something that affects him. He doesn't tell you what happened to him, what he's feeling, or if he needs help. He physically isolates himself for a maximum of 48 hours in any place you don't know so you can't find him.

That happened two years into the relationship. Of course, some things changed over the years. Communication improved when you suggested that in times of stress they could do the things that Damian likes to vent his anger. It wasn't surprising that in the first few weeks, it was morning training, where you always ended up sprawled on the floor, sweating from exhaustion rather than from a fatal blow or injury, because your boyfriend wouldn't do that to you even under the influence of a hallucinogen.

The following months included stakeouts in the city, then conversations, kissing sessions, and finally the current one, which were Wayne's favorite positions for sex.

Like now, you were on all fours on the bed covered by black silk sheets, two pillows stacked on your stomach to elevate your hips. Damian was practically holding them while he pounded into you wildly, the obscene sloshing of your combined fluids audible alongside your pitiful moans and his grunts. Your head was tilted sideways, your cheek pressed against the sheet, a trickle of saliva dripping from your lips through your shirt, and your eyes were practically blank. It was your second orgasm, and your body was already trembling, threatening to collapse at any moment.

Damian, however, was as fresh as a cucumber. He'd barely had his orgasm and still had plenty of energy to keep fucking you. The firmness with which he held your hips confirmed it, not to mention his throbbing hardness, dripping with his juices. The man had no intention of letting you rest for a moment; that was definitive.

"Tired so quickly?" He pulled his penis out until the tip was inside, only to thrust hard, jerking your trembling body forward. "Hold on a bit, I'm almost done with you, my love."

At least after their sexual encounters, Damian always gave you adequate after-dark moments for your comfort and well-being.

He was frustrated and rough during sex, but he always took responsibility for the state he left you in during his previous sessions.

[gurllss]

“hey, husband, did you take the laundry out?”

you say it like it’s nothing. as if it’s just a word and it doesn’t short-circuit every nerve ending in his body.

you’re bent over the washing machine, in his oversized shirt and those tiny shorts he definitely did not give you permission to wear when he was trying so hard to behave this morning. and you say it—husband—like it’s casual. like it doesn’t make him want to lift you onto the dryer and—

“huh?” he blinks, voice cracking slightly. “what did you just call me?”

you glance over your shoulder with a tiny frown. “…husband? you okay?”

he just stands there, stunned and flushed. his brain struggling to catch up because he knows you’re married—has the ring, the wedding pictures, the love of his life snoring on his chest every night—but it still hits every single time.

you tilt your head, stepping closer. “you look like you just saw me kick a puppy.”

“no,” he murmurs, grabbing your wrist and tugging you gently into his arms. “no, i just… god. say it again.”

“what?”

“say it again. please.”

you raise an eyebrow, amused. “…husband?”

he melts.

his arms tighten around you. face buried in your neck. a happy, dramatic little sigh leaves him like he’s being brought back to life. “mmmmm. that’s the good stuff.”

you laugh, petting the back of his hair. “you’re a weirdo.”

“no, i’m your husband,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “your husband. your husband. i can’t believe it.”

“you’ve been my husband for almost a year, ‘toru.”

“and i still can’t believe i got you to marry me. am i that irresistible? i am, aren’t i?”

you smack his arm lightly, and he laughs harder.

but he’s looking at you now, blue eyes soft, glowing, like he can’t decide whether to cry or kiss you until your knees give out. he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “say it one more time. just for me.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile is warm. teasing. “i love you, husband.”

and that’s it. that’s the final blow. he lets out a strangled noise, lifts you clean off your feet, spins you in the middle of the laundry room.

“you’re never allowed to stop calling me that,” he says, kissing you stupid. “even if you’re mad at me. even if we’re old. especially then.”

you snort. “so when you forget to take out the trash, i’m supposed to go ‘husband, you’re an idiot’?”

he grins against your lips. “exactly.”

and if you do? he’ll probably fall in love with you all over again. every single time.

[gurllss]

Some of your favorite fanfictions by your mutuals?

( ˶°ㅁ°) !! omg YESSS I've been waiting to be asked this so I could do this challenge/trend! didn't have time to do every single mutual, so i picked a few for the time being x

*** underage followers of mine please note some of these fics indicated in red are mdni fics ***

🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪼⋆

bf!Sukuna by @bistrocatxx

sucker for bf!Sukuna fics in general and the way venus balances sukuna's slightly mean/standoffish manner with domestic fluff and soft dominance is just... chef's kiss

mine, eventually by @sixxels

oh this fic was one of my FAVE fics I first came across when opening this blog and i am so blessed to be able to have read this and to eventually become moots with this author. the way she wrote the slow burn, the quiet longing, the exposive confession, the real life dynamics of having a crush that becomes serious between two friends... obsessed.

party 4 u by @junuru

i will always have a soft spot for frat!gojo fics and this one is great not just because the charli xcx song associated with it is great but ivy is the queen of slow burn. the longing, the angst, the details.... perfection.

a single star is uttered (and i think of you) by @besidesjustmyamour

okay so jj is somehow a wizard because she knew i was a korean girl who reads/writes jjk fics and loves kpop, so this kpop!AU enemies to lovers fic featuring sukuna is literally M A D E for me. also helps that jj is a master at tension building. it's a monster 8k so i haven't finished it all, but can't wait to do so x

please, stay by @nanamisgirly

14.5k words??!! and a subversion of the bodyguard AU where the reader is the bodyguard??? pining gojo with angst and comfort and spice? what is there not to like it's amazing

sleeping beauty! by @favoritesupernova

shortie but a goodie. y'all know my fave jjk boy is nanami. and domestic nanami being all sweet and soft for his sleepy wife? perfection.

heaven is a bedroom by @prosypepper

holy shit where do i even start. the graphics for this fit like the graphic design is insane. the build up is insane. exes to lovers executed over drunk pent up feelings, slow angst, and explosive love i am just... amazed that someone could think of something like this. (give me your graphic design skills too!!!)

nanami taking care of sick!reader by @satorupi

oh sena sena sena this is just the most perfectly written domestic fluff i wanna bottle it into a feeling and inject it into my bloodstream each and every day!!! it lowkey made me wanna be sick so that nanami could take care of me, that's how much i adored the fic. bonus points for the creative and funny ending too hehe

[gurllss]

The wedding party ended about thirty minutes ago when they decided to go on their honeymoon. The night was cool, and the lights hung like ornaments through the tinted windows of the moving car. The dark-haired man was driving, still looking impeccable in his suit, his hair still perfectly slicked back, his right hand intertwined with the feminine hand of his now-wife, who was yawning into her free hand, her eyes straight ahead.

"You know," she whispered, leaning her elbow on the door armrest, "the party was nice, your family and mine together. The food, the desserts."

"You have a serious problem with excess sugar," the man with green eyes commented, turning the wheel to change lanes. "You ate more than you should have."

"They tasted good, Damian!" She turned to look at him, her eyes serious. "Desserts are meant to be eaten."

"Not in large quantities."

"I only ate five."

"You can't eat that much at night, or else you'll get insomnia."

The woman snorted, turning to face the crowd, watching the buildings and cars passing by on their way to the best five-star hotel Damian had booked. She had told him it wasn't necessary to spend their honeymoon in a luxurious hotel, but the man convinced her by telling her she deserved nothing less and that a luxury hotel was the least of it. Wayne's persuasion always, or well, most of the time, works on her, like this one. Damian's thumb stroked the back of her hand firmly yet gently, bringing a smile to her face from the pleasantly warm feeling he provoked in her chest.

"Dami," the softness in his voice made the man turn to look at her when he stopped the car at a red light.

"What's wrong, Habibti?" The softness in his husky voice gave her the confidence to talk to him about the doubts she was currently having.

"It's a bit embarrassing, but can I ask something? Well, a few more questions, actually."

"Sure, you know you can ask whatever you want."

She took a deep breath, her cheeks colored with inertia, and she squeezed the green-eyed man's hand.

"Today," she swallowed nervously, "are we having sex? I know couples usually do that on their honeymoon, but I don't know, I have my doubts about it."

The dark-haired man looked at her for a few long seconds, then turned around and moved forward once the light turned green, accelerating.

"I'm not opposing or denying your desires. I won't force you to do something you don't want or that makes you feel uncomfortable. Sex isn't really the main thing that interests me about our relationship." His focused, serious gaze left no room for confusion, she could tell. I'm with you because I love you. I'm connected to you by something deeply emotional, however, I also understand the needs that couples have." The car roared for a few more minutes as Damian pulled into the hotel parking lot and parked, turning off the engine with a turn of the key. Silence filled the place; this time he turned to look her straight in the eyes, his other hand holding hers. "I'm not going to lie to you, I respect you, a lot, but I also desire you as much as I love you. But in our relationship, I've kept the focus on all aspects, except sexual intimacy, so as not to make you uncomfortable or make you feel pressured into something you're not obligated to do."

The woman's gaze shone, her eyes wide open at her husband's words. She shouldn't have been surprised; he was always like that with her, but hearing him speak to her the same way made her feel secure, and in a way, that she's the one who holds the reins of the relationship in case they ever decide to be intimate. But on the other hand, she felt guilty because she didn't want to be the only one with a say in things, much less make him wait every time she wanted to do something.

"I know," she squeezed his hands, "but I don't like the idea of being the only one who decides when we should or shouldn't be intimate. I know you have your wants and needs, Damian, I don't want to deny them."

"Habibti"

"So," she interrupted, without taking her gaze from the other woman, "please don't leave me as the only one who decides just for my own convenience. The truth is, it makes me think that maybe you don't want it and I do, and when that happens, I'll feel like I'm forcing you to do something you don't want, and you're only doing it to please me, and that I'm taking advantage of your love for me, and I don't want that."

Damian remained silent for a few seconds, processing his beloved wife's words. He analyzed them and realized she was right. He had left it up to her to decide when and how to have sex, because he knows she tends to be shy and easily uncomfortable with something she doesn't like. But now that he knows what she's just confessed to him, he'll also take the initiative in intimate moments, because in a way, it would be uncomfortable for her to have the sole decision and for her to think he doesn't because he doesn't want anything to do with it. That would obviously lead to marital problems in the future, and he'd rather avoid that with his wife. Which leads him to think something else: since when has Damian Wayne not been the one who takes the initiative and makes decisions about the issues and matters of his personal life? Since the woman he loves so much came into his life and let her take control of some things, like now, giving him the freedom to decide when to have sex or not.

"I understand," his hand left hers to place it on her cheek, lightly caressing it with his fingers. "I won't hide from you when my libido is flailing for you."

The lady rested her cheek in his hand, a smile crossing her lips, her heart rate increasing from the emotionally intimate moment.

"Really?"

"Yes," he kissed her forehead, opened the car door, and got out, turning around and opening the door where his beloved was, giving her a hand to help her out. "And that's why I'd like us to get to our suite as soon as possible. I want to consummate my marriage to my beloved wife."

The woman, somewhat stunned by his response to the previous clarification, gave him her hand and got out of the car. The vehicle door closed, and Wayne led her by the hand to the reception desk to get the keys to their shared suite.

"I promise you, my love," he turned to look at her, with a dark green gaze of desire and a subtle, mischievous smile, "that you'll enjoy what's left of the night and the three days we have in this place. You'll be the one who ends up coming back to me for more."

I didn't like this. I haven't written in a long time, damn it.

[gurllss]

michael kaiser — crybaby

⤷ summary: you knew michael kaiser had a past—he was a heartbreaker, a player, a man built for the spotlight. but you didn’t expect it to hurt this much. and you didn’t expect him to choose you this softly.

⤷ content: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, romance, emotional healing, insecure!reader × protective!kaiser, established relationship

michael kaiser was a lot of things before he met you.

and everyone knew it.

a heartbreaker. a flirt. a man who left lipstick stains on his collar and never remembered the name of the girl who left them. they called him the emperor for a reason—not just because of how he ruled the field, but because of how he ruled hearts, only to toss them aside when he got bored.

and you? you weren’t stupid. you knew exactly who he was before you even let him touch you. you weren’t supposed to fall for him. but somehow, you did.

somehow, he made you feel like you were the only girl in the world.

but that didn’t mean the fear went away.

especially not tonight.

it started with a tweet. one you didn’t mean to see. you were just scrolling through your feed to distract yourself from studying, and there it was—#kaiserxamelie trending in bold letters. a blurry photo attached: michael, supposedly laughing with some model at an event you didn’t know he went to. she was stunning. the kind of beautiful that made you shrink in your seat.

people were already eating it up. shipping them. calling them "perfect together."

you stared at your screen until the words blurred. until your stomach twisted and your chest grew tight and you couldn’t breathe around the ache.

you tried to convince yourself it meant nothing. you tried so, so hard.

but your mind was a cruel thing, feeding you every 'what if' you’d been avoiding since you met him.

what if he found someone better? what if you were just another one of his phases? what if he never really stopped being a playboy—just got better at hiding it?

and worst of all:

what if he leaves you, too?

like the last one did.

so you cried. you cried the way you always did when the world felt like it was closing in. quiet and curled up under your sheets, pillow pressed to your face, trying to suffocate the sobs.

—

you spent the whole afternoon lying in bed, phone clutched in your trembling hand, that trending hashtag burned into your memory like a scar. you tried to look away, to distract yourself, to reason with the ugly voices clawing inside your brain—but nothing worked. every time you blinked, you saw his name next to hers. saw the photos. the quote retweets. the laughing emojis. the assumptions.

“kaiser and amelie confirmed?”

“i knew he couldn’t stay loyal for long.”

“poor girl, whoever she is.”

you felt like a fool.

every doubt you tried to bury started digging itself out of the grave. all the smiles he gave to others. the way girls still looked at him like he was god. the way he sometimes flirted just to win. and you—how could someone like him ever want someone like you? someone who cries when overwhelmed. someone who flinches at love like it’s a loaded weapon.

you sat there in the dark, curled up under your blanket like it could protect you from a heartbreak that hadn’t even happened yet. but god, it felt like it had. your chest ached. your stomach twisted. your brain wouldn’t shut up.

what if he really was tired of you?

what if you were just another name on a long list of girls who thought they were special?

what if he was already planning to leave?

you bit your lip until it bled just to stop yourself from sobbing again. but the tears came anyway, hot and endless, like they’d been waiting for this moment. you cried until your head throbbed. until your voice went hoarse. until your pillow was soaked and your hands felt cold and useless.

—

by the time michael got home, you were a mess.

"schatz?" his voice echoed down the hall, casual and light. "i brought your favorite—"

he stopped when he saw you. you didn’t even hear the bag drop to the floor. your head was still buried beneath the blanket.

"hey... hey, baby," he was kneeling by your bed in an instant, his hand gently tugging the sheets down. "what happened? why’re you crying like this?"

you turned away from him, biting back another sob. your voice was hoarse and small when you mumbled, "it's nothing."

"don’t do that," he said quietly. "don’t lie to me. talk to me, schatz. did someone hurt you?"

you shook your head. but your shoulders were trembling. he could see it—hell, he could feel it. his girl, the one who cried when she dropped her favorite mug, who got weepy over sad commercials, was breaking in front of him.

and he had no idea why.

"was it me?" he whispered. "did i do something wrong? please—please just tell me."

you finally turned to him. your eyes were red and swollen, lashes wet, cheeks blotchy from crying for hours. your lips trembled as you tried to speak.

"i saw a tweet..." you started, voice barely there. "they said you were with someone. some model. and—and everyone was saying you looked good together and i... i know it’s stupid, i just..."

more tears spilled.

"i got scared. i thought maybe you’d realized you could do better. that you’d leave. that you’d cheat."

and there it was.

the wound you’d kept hidden. the fear that festered quietly behind your smiles and soft kisses. it all spilled out in broken pieces.

michael was silent.

for a second.

then, gently, he cupped your face with both hands. thumbs wiping your tears away like they were poison on your skin.

"hey," he said, forehead pressing to yours. "look at me. look at me, schatz."

you tried, even through the tears.

"do you really think i’d ever do that to you?"

you hesitated. he kissed the corner of your eyes, soft and slow.

"do you really think i’d ruin the best thing in my entire life for someone i won’t even remember the name of tomorrow?"

you hiccupped, sniffling. he kissed your other eye.

"i know i used to be a dick. a dumbass, even. but i’m yours now. completely. every messy, chaotic, obsessed part of me. i’m yours."

his lips found your cheeks, warm and damp with salt.

"i don’t want anyone else. i’ve never wanted anyone else since the moment you looked at me like i mattered. since the moment you kissed me like i wasn’t just another pretty face."

his hands curled around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

his arms tighten around you, like he’s trying to convince your bones that they belong here—with him. he rests his cheek against the crown of your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“i don’t care what the world says about me,” he murmurs, voice low and scratchy, “but it kills me that you think i could hurt you like that.”

you sniffle, still curled against his chest, fingers fisting the fabric of his hoodie. “i—I didn’t mean to. i just... i got scared.”

“i know, baby,” he says, rubbing slow circles on your back. “i know what that kind of fear feels like. i hate that you felt it because of me.”

he leans back just enough to look you in the eyes—those pretty, watery eyes he swears he’d fight the world for. then, with the softest voice he’s probably ever used in his life, he says, “you’re my person, okay? no one else. no one ever comes close.”

he presses another kiss to the tip of your nose. “even when you cry so hard your nose turns red and you sound like a little hiccup machine.”

you sniff, letting out a shaky laugh through your tears.

“there she is,” he smiles. “still the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

"and if you ever see shit like that online again, please—please just come to me. don’t cry alone like this, schatz. my heart can’t take it."

your arms looped around his back. you felt so small in his arms.

"‘m sorry," you mumbled. "i just... i got scared. my ex—he cheated on me, and i keep thinking you’ll get tired of me, too."

he pulled back, just enough to kiss your lips.

"never. you hear me? never. you could cry every day, snore in your sleep, burn toast every morning, and i’d still pick you in every lifetime."

that made you choke on a laugh.

"...i don’t snore."

"you do. like a baby walrus. but it’s cute."

"kaiser—"

he kissed you again. slower this time. sweeter.

"go to sleep, crybaby," he whispered into your hair. "i'll be right here. always."

that night, for the first time in what felt like forever, you fell asleep in his arms. safe. loved.

and michael kaiser held you like you were his entire world.

because you were.

—

his grip stays gentle even as your breathing evens out, soft and steady against his chest. he brushes your hair away from your face, pressing one last kiss to your forehead, then shifts slightly—just enough to free one hand and reach for his phone on the nightstand.

his other arm never moves from around you. he won’t risk waking you. not when you look so at peace. not when you finally let yourself rest.

and god, the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks still makes something violent twist in his chest.

he's angry. not at you—never at you—but at the world for putting that look on your face. at the people online who think they know him. at himself, for ever giving you a reason to doubt how completely, utterly his you are.

he taps on his screen, presses call, and waits.

“hey,” he mutters when the line picks up, voice quiet but laced with steel. “get those fucking posts taken down. now. all of them.”

a pause.

“you hear me? i want everything wiped—tweets, tags, articles, reddit threads, burner accounts—everything. i don’t care if it’s 1 a.m. i don’t care if you need a damn lawyer. fix it.”

another pause. his jaw tightens.

“i don’t care if you have to contact the platform or sell your damn soul, i want every single photo and rumor wiped. i’m not asking again.”

his tone leaves no room for negotiation. he may be a player on the field, but off it? he’s a king, and he doesn’t tolerate disrespect. especially not toward you.

another pause.

“good.”

he ends the call with a sigh, sets the phone face down, and curls his arm back around you like that was where it always belonged. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath syncing with yours, finally letting himself fall asleep.

he’ll deal with the rest of the world tomorrow. the fans, the press, the rumors. he’ll face it all with his chin high and his crown steady.

but tonight? he holds you like you’re the only thing that matters.

and if the world was gonna try and make you doubt him again?

then he'd burn the whole fucking thing down before he ever let it touch you.

“and if the world ever dares to hurt you again, may it know the wrath of the boy who once swore to never let go.”

[gurllss]

ᡣ𐭩 ft: ryomen sukuna x f!reader

ᡣ𐭩 notes: honestly, the amount of fighter jjk fanarts i’ve seen here & on pinterest might have inspired this 😈

ᡣ𐭩 cw: underground!fighter sukuna, medic!reader, modern au, suggestive, heavy tension, fighting/violence

✶ underground!fighter sukuna only lets you patch him up — doesn’t matter if there are five other ring-side medics nearby. the moment he gets injured in the middle of a match??? he’s only asking for you.

“where’s my girl?”

“ryomen — we have five other medics here.”

“yeah, but i don’t want them… i want her.”

✶ underground!fighter sukuna would flirt with his female fans in front of you on purpose just to watch your reaction. he’ll wink at some girl from the crowd, sign her arm, maybe even lean in wayyyy too close when she asks for a selfie — all while keeping one eye on you. but if you don’t flinch? don’t glare, pout or even look a little bit jealous?? ohhh now he’s the one annoyed.

✶ underground!fighter sukuna makes every treatment feel like foreplay. you’re trying to clean a gash on his cheek, and there he goes saying shit like: “… you sure you’re only here to stitch me up? ‘cause the way you’re looking at me says otherwise...”

at this point, you’ve threatened to throw the antiseptic bottle at him at least once a week.

✶ underground!fighter sukuna flirts while he’s actively bleeding. black eye? bloody nose? split lip? this man will still try to flirt with you like he didn’t just crawl out of a cage match with another guy who is built exactly like a grizzly bear. “fuckkk that stings… you trying to punish me or turn me on?”

✶ underground!fighter sukuna sends you shirtless selfies with the wounds on his abs clearly visible — paired with corny captions like: “shit, this cut hurts… come sit on my lap and make it go away maybe?”

yesss he types that with absolutely zero shame & if he’s feeling cheeky enough, he’d even ask you to send him some “selfies” too.

✶ one time, another fighter flirted with you while underground!fighter sukuna was waiting to get patched up. he watched in silence with his fists clenched at his sides like he was physically holding himself back from lunging at him right then and there.

and well, the very next day — he stepped into the ring and knocked that guy out in under 60 seconds. it wasn’t just a win — it was a fucking massacre. the guy had a split lip with blood gushing from his nose, bruises already blooming across his jaw by the time sukuna landed his final blow; even the audience looked shaken and some whispering, “wait… isn’t that a little too much??” while his die-hard fans??? they just roared with approval, proudly saying, “yeahhh now that’s our fucking champion.”

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[gurllss]

Pretty and beautiful are two very different words or atleast they are to damian wayne.

Sure damian had seen pretty girls all around gotham. Sure they had good looking features and nice looking eyes. But none of them caught his eye.

Not like you have...

The moment Damian had seen you he had determined then and there that you were absolutely beautiful.

Perfect in his eyes. Not a flaw in sight.

Sure other girls had nice looking eyes but you?

Oh your eyes were the most beautiful thing he had seen. They held so much in them.

His heart included.

Sure your eyes might have not been the rarest in the world ,but to him he'd rather look into your eyes then remember his own name if give an alternative.

Your skin was much different then his own in texture and color. And he liked that.

No, he loved that.

You were different then him. Not as broken.

Sometimes he envied your perfection.

Because to him you are perfect. He doesn't notice your scars because to him they make you more special.

Or your stretch marks because to him they add detail...

Everything about you fascinated him. From your name to how you had gotten the smallest scar on your leg that was barely visible now.

He wanted to know everything..he needed to know everything.

But he couldn't.

He's not your friend ,no. He's not even your classmate. Hell you two don't even go to the same school.

Because as luck would have it the one thing damian wanted didn't even know he existed.

He's a stranger to you.

But to him your everything. His biggest desire.

His hearts keeper.

He had first seen you when he was on patrol. He caught a glimpse of you through your window and he had fallen right there on then.

And he had fallen hard.

He took notice of everything. From the color of your shirt to the pair of socks you were wearing.

You didn't see him though. And he's partially thankful for that. Because he knows he probably would've looked like a creep looking at you through your window.

You were in simple pjs, some Christmas ones to be exact. You weren't dressed up and your hair wasn't done. You had just showered and your hair was still slightly wet.

But gods did damian think you looked like a goddess.

In that very moment you had taken the ex assasins boys heart out of his chest and held it in your hand ever since that day.

But you didn't even know his name....

Oh and when he heard you speak for first time?

He new he was absolutely smitten.

He'd burn down gotham just to hear your voice.

And your smile?

He'd bring the world to their knees for your smile.

He doesn't know exactly how he'd do it. But for your smile he'd figure out.

His honor be damned.

When he looked at you he knew no morales would keep him from you. Bruce's rules might as well not exist. Because nothing was going to keep him from you.

For months Damian had kept his distance. Afraid of rejection Afraid of you not even liking him enough to be his friend.

But there was only so much time before the way his heart ached out weighed his fear.

After all he's an Al ghul.

Al ghuls take what they want.

Damian watches you as you sleep and whispers goodnight knowing this would be the final night that he is a stranger to you...

"You are mine ,beloved."

Thanks for reading! 💗

Comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated!

Part 2 is here.

[gurllss]

Hi, I love your writting!

I was wondering if i can request a Damian Wayne x reader where reader's parents don't accept their dating because they think Damian is a playboy like his father so he tries to win them over

Can the reader be a sweetheart and had a lot of fluff please?

Title: "More Than a Name"

Word Count: ~2,000

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Female Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Comfort, Slice of Life

Summary: Your parents believe Damian Wayne is just another entitled, cold-hearted playboy. But Damian isn't one to give up—not on you, and not on winning over the people who matter to you most.

---

“More Than a Name”

You never thought falling in love would feel like rebellion.

But here you were — sitting in your childhood living room, spine rigid, face burning, as your parents exchanged grim glances across the table. The conversation had begun innocently enough, with your mother asking how school was going and your father flipping through the newspaper. Then Damian came up.

And everything shattered.

“You’re still seeing him?” your father asked, voice cold.

You nodded slowly, lips parting.

“He’s not what you think,” you said quietly.

Your mother folded her arms. “Sweetheart, we know exactly what he is. He’s a Wayne.”

“And that means what, exactly?” you challenged.

She didn’t hesitate. “It means he’ll break your heart. Just like his father did to every woman in Gotham.”

The silence afterward was heavy. You wanted to scream. Damian wasn’t his father. He wasn’t even close. Sure, he had the same striking features, the same last name, the same arrogant gait when he walked into a room. But he wasn’t Bruce.

Damian was guarded. Fierce. Loyal. Underneath the sharp tongue and blunt words was a soul that had never been told it was enough.

And now your parents — the two people who meant so much to you — had reduced him to a stereotype.

“I love him,” you said, voice trembling.

Your father’s frown deepened. “Then he better prove he deserves you.”

---

You told Damian everything that night.

He said nothing at first. Just stood there, arms crossed, his jaw tight as the words sank in.

“They think I’m like him,” he said finally. “Like my father.”

You bit your lip. “They’re just... trying to protect me.”

“I’ve spent my entire life trying not to be like him,” he muttered. “I’ve fought, bled, nearly died—just to be better. For me. And now for you. But it’s never enough.”

Your heart cracked. You reached for his hand, and he let you take it, even though his fingers trembled slightly.

“Then let’s show them,” you whispered. “Show them who you really are.”

He looked up at you. “Challenge accepted, beloved.”

---

Week One

Damian came over the next day with a bouquet of soft pink lilies.

Not for you — for your mother.

She eyed them skeptically, but she took them. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to. Thank you… for raising someone I care about deeply.”

That caught her off guard.

Your father didn’t speak a word the entire visit. He merely observed. His eyes flicked to the way Damian stood too straight, like a soldier. To how he didn’t touch you — not once — even though he clearly wanted to.

Respect. Patience. Politeness.

But no progress.

---

Week Two

Damian arrived in work clothes and gloves, uninvited but not unexpected.

You peeked through the window. “He’s helping Dad with the car.”

“What?” your mom asked, genuinely stunned.

You nodded. “He saw my dad struggling with the ignition last week.”

Outside, your father handed Damian a wrench. The two spoke little, but they worked in sync. By the end of the afternoon, the car was purring like new.

Your dad didn’t thank him. Not out loud. But he gave him a firm nod as he packed up — and Damian didn’t say a word about it.

You knew, though. You saw the faint flicker of something like pride in Damian’s eyes when he caught your gaze.

---

Week Three

Your mother invited him in for tea.

It was awkward. Quiet. She asked about school. Damian answered everything calmly, formally.

Then she slipped in the real question.

“Do you plan to follow your father’s footsteps?”

Damian looked her straight in the eye. “In building a legacy? Yes. In how I treat people? Absolutely not.”

Your mom sipped her tea, hiding the tiniest smirk. “Good.”

He brought Alfred’s peach pie that evening, too. Apparently, your mother once mentioned to you that she missed that kind of pie. You must’ve told Damian offhandedly. He remembered.

She noticed.

---

Week Four

A family dinner.

Your stomach was in knots the entire time. Damian sat quietly beside you, well-mannered, answering questions without sarcasm or showing off.

Then your older cousin, ever the instigator, said with a smirk:

“So, Damian, how many girlfriends before Y/N?”

You saw Damian’s jaw tighten.

You held your breath.

“One,” he replied. “And she’s sitting beside me.”

Your cousin blinked.

Damian leaned forward slightly. “I’ve never cared for fleeting flings or attention. The only person I’ve ever wanted to understand me, truly, is her. And if you think I’d risk that for some passing amusement, you don’t know me at all.”

Silence.

Your father cleared his throat.

Your mom raised her brows — impressed.

You squeezed Damian’s hand under the table. He didn’t let go.

---

Two Days Later

You found Damian pacing your backyard, fists clenched.

“Damian?”

He turned. “I don’t know if it’s working.”

You walked to him slowly. “They’re softening.”

“Not enough.”

“You’re not doing this to win them, Damian,” you said softly. “You’re doing it to show them the truth. And you already did. They see it. They’re just… stubborn.”

He sat on the bench, looking defeated in a way that broke your heart.

“I’ve always been fighting for something,” he said. “Control. Approval. Honor. But with you, I’m fighting for peace. And I’m terrified it’ll slip away.”

You sat beside him and leaned your head against his shoulder. “You won’t lose me. I’m not a prize to be won. I’m here. With you.”

He sighed, long and low, and whispered, “Then I’ll keep trying. For you. For them. For us.”

---

Week Five

You came downstairs to hear laughter.

Your dad’s laughter.

You froze in the hallway.

“—and then Drake actually fell off the fire escape,” Damian said, his tone unusually light.

Your father snorted. “I like you more now that I know you mock your brothers.”

“I mock everyone equally,” Damian replied.

You peeked around the corner.

They were sitting across from each other — Damian in a fitted button-down, your dad in his usual polo — with coffee cups in hand and relaxed shoulders.

It was… surreal.

Your mom walked past you with a knowing look. “Told you pie works wonders.”

---

The Turning Point

It wasn’t a grand moment.

It was simple.

Your dad pulled Damian aside after dinner, while you washed dishes with your mom. You leaned slightly to hear.

“I was wrong about you,” your father said quietly. “You’re not your father. You’re not a boy playing dress-up in a man’s world. You’re standing on your own. And… you clearly love her.”

“I do,” Damian said, voice even. “More than I’ve ever loved anything.”

“Then keep doing right by her. That’s all I ask.”

“I will, sir.”

Your heart soared.

---

That night, as Damian walked you home under the stars, you noticed the quiet way he smiled. Not his usual smirk. Something softer.

“Did you hear?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “Every word.”

He stopped walking and turned to face you. “I don’t care if the whole world doubts me, Y/N. But not you. Not your family. You’re my home.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned into his chest.

“And you’re mine.”

---

Epilogue

Six months later, your parents invited Damian over for a birthday dinner — his birthday.

Your mother made his favorite dish. Your father handed him a wrapped box with a rare collectible book.

And your dad gave a toast.

“To family. And to Damian — for proving that sometimes, names are just names. But character? That’s everything.”

Damian didn’t say much, but he reached for your hand under the table and held it like a vow.

He had earned your parents’ trust.

But more than that, he had earned something even rarer in his life — acceptance. Love. And peace.

[gurllss]

2025.07.19 sweaty sae

[gurllss]

Alright alright…Damian Wayne secret GF/Family BUT WITH A TWIST. It’s an arranged marriage from his time in the leauge, and he just sort of. Never broke contact with her fully. It doesn’t bother her but with a father known as the world’s greatest detective?

Pleaaase and thank you if you do ❤️

The Birthday Blurbs Special

lets go with batman dami and old bruce <33

This would've never happened if Damian hadn't gone off planet for a mission. He had been diligent, he had been careful, and he always made sure to tie up loose ends.

However, being away longer than expected, the letters that were always timely answered by him specifically, were left unattended.

So, it was no surprise when he returned to the Manor, Bruce was standing in the Cave by the BoomTube, his arms folded.

"We need to talk-" Bruce said as soon as Damian exited the Tube.

"Can this wait, father?" He asked, walking past Bruce.

"No." The firm tone made Damian pause and turn.

"Did something happen-" He started but his voice fizzled out when Bruce held up multiple letters.

The stamp on the corner was so painfully you that he knew immediately. Though his heart had dropped to his stomach, he didn't show it outwardly.

"So, you know." He spoke with a controlled tone.

"Know? I think having a daughter-in-law is something I should have been aware of!" Bruce glared. However, he was Damian's father and he knew that he wouldn't get anywhere with him like this. He exhaled deeply. "How long?"

"Seven years." He stated as if it were a simple fact.

"And you never thought to mention-" Bruce stared daggers at his son.

"You never asked." Damian rolled his eyes, taking off his gear meticulously.

"I wasn't aware I needed to interrogate my own son for spouses." Bruce stayed put, leaning on his cane, watching him move around and removing the heavy armoured suit.

After a beat, Bruce spoke again. "You should go rest." He sounded calm. Too calm. Which made Damian raise a brow.

"Just like that?" He asked cautiously.

Bruce smiled ever so lightly, and Damian knew he was in danger.

"Of course." Bruce said softly. "You'll need to be well-rested and ready to receive her tomorrow."

"WHAT?!" The air was knocked out of him.

"I invited her to stay with us. Considering she is family." Bruce's voice was mockingly sweet.

The days following were agony for Damian. He tried his best to contact you to not come but he couldn't reach you. And finally, the day arrived when you were to be expected.

Damian stood in the foyer, tugging at his cuffs again to fix them even though they were perfectly fine. Bruce stood as straight as he could, given his age. He watched his son from the corner of his eye and how he fidgeted nervously.

"You had no right." Damian hissed.

"You got married in the mountains-" Bruce shot back. "And didn't even-"

"It was necessary." He stated, his eyes glued to the door.

"Well, I believe it's necessary to meet someone who could tolerate you for more than five minutes." Bruce matched his tone.

Eventually, the doors opened and there you were.

Bruce noticed how Damian's shoulders relaxed ever so lightly with your sight. He watched you walk into the Manor as if you belonged there. Not with arrogance, but with a simple grace that hadn't been seen in these walls for years.

"Beloved. I apologise for the inconvenience. I was off planet and-" Damian reached for your hands, "My father is...my father." He sighed softly.

He kissed your cheek with all the gentleness of a dancer. Bruce saw how you leaned into his touch. As if he weren't a master assassin but simply a man.

You turned to Bruce with a smile. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I wish I could say the same," Bruce smirked a little, earning a glare from Damian. "But now that you're here, I'm sure I'll get to know you well enough. Afterall, you did manage the impossible."

"You don't have to accept-" Damian started but at a gentle squeeze of his hand, he quieted immediately. Again, another sight that didn't go unnoticed by Bruce.

"Come. Alfred made Lamb." Bruce turned, walking towards the dining hall. "We have much to talk about."

Damian looked at you again, his eyes pleading with apologies still, but you simply patted his cheek with love.

"We'll survive." You whispered to him and followed your father-in-law.

[gurllss]

YOUR LOVE BLEEDS

Gojo would happily live a life in an overpriced apartment with a boring job if that meant having peace with you. But he wasn't born to have peace. So he at least tries to have you.

Angst (what's new). Bittersweet. Gojo Satoru × gn!reader

♪Softcore by The Neighbourhood♪

It's not fair.

The way Satoru is almost never home. The way he is always on the verge of death when he is. The way he wants to keep you close enough while sending you away. The way he loves you.

It's painful. It's borderline cruel. And it's mostly definitely not fair.

He knows it. He knows the smartest thing he could do was to completely leave you, so you could curse his existence and then move on. That would be something selfless. That should be an act of true love.

Satoru is sure he loves you. He's seen people describing love as the greatest thing known to humanity. The one thing that makes you want to keep fighting, to stay alive. The thing he feels for you is the most pure thing that ever happened to him. The most innocent too. There is no other explanation for it: he loves you.

But his love is not an ideal one. He can't give up the life he has for you. He hates this world, he hates the curses and he hates his superiors. He wants to get away from it. But this sense of obligation and guilt consumes him until he chains himself into this lifestyle. And he wishes he could give up on fighting so he could have a normal life with you. He would happily live a life in an overpriced apartment with a boring job if that meant having peace with you.

But he wasn't born to have peace. So he at least tries to have you.

Even if he knows it's unfair. Even if he constantly pushes you away so the things that come with him don't hurt you. Even if he can never give him all to you. Even if he knows you'll wait for him to come home everyday. And that one day he won't.

But he isn't a selfless man, not as much as he wanted to be. He keeps you around either way. He hugs you at night like he didn't just cover his hands with blood. But deep down, the worries are still there.

And no matter how many times he kissed you, his "I love you"s would always be followed by the sound of a broken heart and a hopeless future.

[gurllss]

"free" from kpop demon hunters is so peak idc bro.

[gurllss]

bags ft. damian wayne

"𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐄? 𝐈'𝐌 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄."

falling for damian came to you slowly, but the weight of realisation crashed down vehement and definite, carrying the same intensity he possessed himself. sometimes you didn’t want to be around him at all, a reminder of how far you had fallen from grace. so for now, you tread lightly- tentatively dancing around the boundaries between lovers and friends, and which ones you could cross.

one of those very boundaries was your name or, well, your nickname. like the end-stop line in a poem you couldn’t help the way your breath would hitch for a brief second, how your gaze would hesitantly linger for a moment longer. sometimes, you wondered if he could see right through you, dusty green hues challenging your own to stay a little longer.

 ‘qalbi’ was what he called you, you had asked him what it meant once to which he responded by shrugging in indifference when you questioned him, insisting it meant something harsher than he could translate. but you found that hard to believe, the nickname had dripped off his tongue so sweetly and effortlessly in reverence whenever you were alone like a sacred prayer, made to only be said in your midst.

still, you remained insistent in the belief that you were waiting for the right time to confront the feelings that bubbled up to your chest and seated themselves comfortably in the crooks and cervices of your ribcage, mimicking the feel of arrhythmia to raise the pace of your heartbeat - a not so subtle reminder of your swelling heart and the love that threatened to overflow.

“i can’t read you.” was something you had said within the earlier days of your friendship with him, a passing comment but much less of a statement and more of a question. it was honestly puzzling to you how someone’s stare could hold so much gravity, yet share so little about them all at the same time.

“stop trying to then.” he answered matter of factly, as if it was as easy as breathing, with that piercing gaze that made you forget your words and all reason. 

“that’s harder to do than you think.” it was impossible not to be curious about him, to you he was an enigma, a riddle you were constantly trying to solve that left your tongue tied and you less sure of yourself after every chance encounter.

each day those three words laid a little heavier on your tongue and prodded at your lips, continuing to reveal their truth in each smile that seemed to stretch a little too wide, in forehead kisses that seemed to linger too long and in the stolen glances shared between the two of you.

today was no different, the two of you sat on his sofa in the manor with your legs strewn atop of his. usually, you’d talk his ear off with whatever had piqued your interest, with him listening with an intent look in his eyes. 

damian must’ve picked up on your silence, of course he did, he was trained for these things. his thick brows knit together, furrowing as he gave you a curious look. “what is it that you’re thinking about, qālbi?” he hummed soft, taking in your expression beneath thick lashes.

what you were thinking about was him and your friendship, or whatever it was now. it seemed like the closer the two of you got, the further your relationship strayed from being merely platonic and somehow you found yourselves caught on the in-betweens. 

“you’d make fun of me.” you answered dismissively, you had considered telling him but quickly decided against it. If anything, you were better off keeping it to yourself instead of risking the friendship you had worked so hard to build up.

he looked at you with something akin to confusion because what could’ve made you think that way? damian had half the mind to question your ability to see, much less hear him because when had he ever made fun of you of all people? you were the one person he found to be the most tolerable.

“no, i wouldn’t.” he scoffed sharp and disapproving, he was mostly just disappointed that you had even thought that at all - maybe you were denser than he thought, was what he was thinking as he suddenly recalled your failure to recognise his blatant hints.

“yes you would.” you huffed, before abruptly drawing your gaze back towards the tv. but to your dismay, it seemed like damian wasn’t letting it go that easily given his expectant stare- one you constantly failed to resist.

“i want to know what i am to you, as in our relationship.” you confessed, albeit reluctantly. almost wincing, only to be greeted by his ever stoic expression.

“i don't understand, what do you think we are?” damian questioned, even more confused than he was before. hadn't you understood already? he'd never let anyone as close as he had you- not even his family came close to the way he adored you. for years, he'd spent his life remaining cold and reticent up until he met you, but perhaps he hadn't been as clear with his feelings towards you as he thought he had been.

“friends? i hope.” you glanced over at him to gauge his reaction, which carried more disappointment than you were ready to see.

“you hope?” he scoffed once more, green eyes carrying a scrutinising glare. “qalbi,” he uttered gentle as he urged you to meet his gaze, his voice losing its sharp edge it so usually carried. now showing a gentleness that, unbeknownst to you, he kept buried and reserved for those he held close to him.

“i hold you with higher regard than just a friend.” he admitted, much to your surprise. damian didn’t do casual, nor did he enjoy skirting around topics - he was as serious about you as he was anything else in his life.

now it was your turn to be confused. if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was reciprocating your feelings. as in, your crush was very much mutual. “oh, okay.” was all you said in response, before glancing back up at him. you didn't want to jump ship this early, you were afraid of scaring him off.

“so do you mean that as in bestfriends, or..?” you quizzed meekly, drawing an audible sigh from between his lips - which, by the way, seemed incredibly inviting.

“romantically- i thought you knew this, habibti.” clearly, you were so much more oblivious than he had initially thought. he studied your expression, attempting to gauge your reaction to his confession.

“you never said anything, what was i supposed to think?” you huffed, now a little frustrated you hadn't realised any sooner but damian was equally as guilty as you were. “i had a feeling, but it's hard to know these things with you, dami, i didn't want to be too forward- especially if you didn't feel the same.”

if he was being honest, you had a point; he could've done a better job in making sure you knew how he felt instead of letting you doubt yourself for the last several months. “that's.. reasonable, i suppose.” he nodded, “i'm sorry i wasn't clear enough with my feelings, i'm still.. learning to navigate it all.”

in that moment, damian didn't seem like the guarded former assassin you had come to know but someone softer, vulnerable and just as unsure as you had been the entire time.

you felt your own expression soften as you took in his weary gaze, taking a moment to decide your next action before a reckless thought passed your mind.

suddenly, you were leaning in ever so slightly to briefly press your lips against his own. it was awkward, tense and clumsy in all the ways a first kiss should be and it was just right in the same way a lock and key fit together, even if it took a little effort at first.

when you pulled away you didn't miss the way damian's lips curled upwards in a faint smile, so slight you could barely see it, with your own expression mirroring his. “what is it?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him playfully.

“what happened to being too forward, qalbi?" he hummed with a stupidly smug grin as he leant his face close to yours, leading you to roll your eyes and push his face away.

“yeah, yeah, whatever - are you ever going to tell me what that means?"

he only shook his head, smile growing wider as he tugged you closer. “you're smart enough figure it out.” he murmured, pressing a final kiss to your forehead - and this time, there was no doubt between the two of you.

SLIGHTLY longer fic yipeee 😛😊 but also i dont know how to write a kiss scene so sorry if its cheesy </3😪 also damian is aged up here obvi 😛

[gurllss]

「💤」

“If I was stuck in a time loop and I told you about it, would you believe me?”

Damian sighs, his eyes still closed as he mumbles lowly,

“Go to sleep, Beloved.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow next to him, bringing the sheets up as well.

“Don't act like that's such a ridiculous thing that could never happen. Everyone on earth got turned into a gorilla last week!”

Damian scratches at the faintest bit of stubble on his jaw, settling deeper into the pillow under him.

“Only for a few minutes.”

He creaks an eye open just to see your unwavering stare. He sighs again and turns on his side to face you.

“Yes, Habibti. I would believe you.”

“and you would-”

“Yes, I would find a way to get you out of the time loop. Ya Qalbi, please go to sleep.”

He reaches out to bring you closer and you let him. You shuffle forward until you're snug in his embrace. His arm is around your waist, the weight is calming.

He closes his eyes, feeling every breath from your nose brush his face. He can tell your eyes are still open, but he knows you just like staring at him sometimes so maybe you'll eventually get tired and fall-

“What if I was cursed to only speak in riddles?”

Damian sighs, he leans closer to rub his forehead against yours.

“I'm good at riddles.”

“What if I made a bad deal with an imp and had to give him my first born child?”

“Why would you-”

He cuts himself off with a huff, rolling onto his back and rubbing a hand down his face. He loves you but god, you test him sometimes.

“I am not giving my child to an imp.”

“Well, I didn't say it would be your child.“

He gives you a look and you huff a laugh. You nudge closer to give his cheek a little kiss, resting your head on his shoulder as he brings the blanket up higher over your bodies.

It's quiet, so quiet. Your breaths are slow and even. Damian feels your weight on him and it's a comfort he can't explain. His eyes flutter closed.

What you say next is so quiet Damian barely hears it.

“What if you die again? How do I know if you'll come back or not?”

He's not sure you even meant for him to hear it. After a long silence he whispers back,

“I'll always come back to you. Don't doubt me.”

With that heavy promise settling in the air you both finally sink into sleep.

「💤」

[gurllss]

i’ll just say "does your boyfriend pay for your nails?" just this, trust me <3

BLUELOCK: sae itoshi and micheal kaiser

Hearing your friends talk about how their boyfriends spoil them is often amusing. You enjoy watching how they unintentionally feel like queens of the world, and that genuinely pleases you. It's funny to you how, while they speak, they show off their long necklaces and their enhanced lips — things they only have thanks to their boyfriends' money

They talk and often make you feel almost inferior, simply because you're not someone who likes to show your private life — especially when it comes to your boyfriend's privacy

"So, does your boyfriend at least pay for your nails?"

You laugh, looking at your hands: no, he doesn’t pay for your nails. Your fingers are covered in rings from the world’s top brands, but the biggest one stands out on your ring finger: a natural and sparkling diamond, worth about the same as an entire stadium. He gave it to you a few weeks ago, during your last vacation in the Maldives, where your bank account remained untouched. A trip organized only because, a few days earlier, you had liked a post where the resort was mentioned — a like that he noticed very well

You think about how, in front of the whole world, he's precise, technical, charismatic — but with you, he’s the perfect definition of a clingy cat. You know perfectly well that if work didn’t call him away every day, he’d spend hours with his head nestled between your thighs, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, and you forced to stroke his hair

You think about how, twice a week, his only goal is to take you to your favorite restaurant — one of the most expensive in your city. These are dates you’ve been treating yourselves to for quite some time now, and yet, more often than not, you don’t even feel like going — because he comes back truly exhausted from his training, and it genuinely hurts you to see him too full or too tired. Still, you’ve never managed to get him to stay home on those planned date nights — not when his fatigue seems to vanish the moment he sees you in his favorite dress, the one he bought you years ago, and that still makes his head turn as soon as he even sees the color

You think about how there's not a night where you wear the same lingerie as last time. Your boyfriend loves only the finest things, especially when they’re on you: expensive silk, soft velvet, even the cutest little bows. Every time he buys a new one it doesn't last long because he has the habit of ripping it off of you — he thinks that's the best way to fuck you right

You think about how he handles everything involving you with absolute precision: never getting too familiar with other girls, never making an inappropriate comment when talking about you on TV — and never, ever making a mistake that would make you feel anything less than truly the most important thing in the world. When people ask you why you fell in love, you simply think about how he, despite being a world famous player, has never made you feel the weight of his job

Not even when he’s tired, he still cooks for you

Not even when your feet hurt from wearing heels, and he lifts you using just one arm while holding your heels in the other

Not even when, after scoring a goal, he looks at you as if you gave him the strength and the luck to score

Not when he kisses you as if his life depended on it, while he's deep inside you, whispering the nicest things to you while he's ruining you with the same grit he has on the field

So no, your boyfriend doesn’t pay for your nails

Usually, he pays the beauty salon directly to come to your home and do your nails with the best in the business, sparing you even the effort of driving to the beauty salon

✶ beautiful dividers by @pommecita !!

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[gurllss]

sae loves your noises

“baby, c’mon there’s no need to be so shy,” sae mumbles into your neck as he begins to slow down again, “you know i won’t let you cum till you let me hear all your noises.”

he’s been like this for the past half hour. you’re usually so quiet that he thinks that you might not be enjoying yourself. at one point a moan ended up slipping out of your mouth and he instantly sped up.

“baby, can you make more noises like that?” he mumbled into you neck.

“no, ‘s embarrassing,” you managed to get out through the quiet moans you were letting out.

at that point he had decided to slow down. for the past 30 minutes he had been slowing down every time you had tried to cover up your noises.

“all you have to do is stop muffling your noises? isn’t that so easy? i’ll give you exactly what you want once you do.” sae whispers, kissing your neck while thrusting into you slowly.

“haah-but saee, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper out.

“fine, guess i have to just fuck the noises out of you,” sae says.

before you could respond, he’s already pulling out of you and flipping you onto your back. he pushes you knees towards you chest and slams back into you without a word. he start a rough and fast pace, throwing your legs over his shoulders. it doesn’t take long before you’re a moaning, squirming mess for him.

“that’s it, baby. let them all out.” he says placing a tender kiss on you ankle.

© pomegranatkisses, please don’t copy, steal, or translate any of my work

[gurllss]

the strongest can't bleed

They call him the strongest, like it’s a gift.

But it sounds more like a sentence now.

Like a name carved on a headstone.

Gojo Satoru walks through a world that doesn’t touch him. Not really. Not in the ways that matter. People look at him and see infinity, power, the six eyes not a man. Not someone who wakes up in the middle of the night gasping from dreams where he couldn’t reach you in time.

Where his hands are too slow. His voice doesn’t reach. Where the ground splits before he can leap.

Where he isn’t enough.

(And gods aren’t supposed to feel like that, right?)

He remembers laughter. Yours, mostly.

You, barefoot in his kitchen. You, flicking water at him after brushing your teeth. You, saying his name like it meant something soft, not something sharp.

You touched him like he wasn’t a weapon. Just Satoru.

But the stronger he got, the more the world took from him.

He buried friends with dirt under his fingernails and blood on his cuffs.

He told himself: “This is the cost.”

But then it was you.

And the cost was too high.

People don’t ask him how he’s doing.

He makes it too easy not to. Flash a grin. Toss a joke. Hide the decay behind the sunglasses.

They never see the rot behind the white of his eyes.

They don’t hear the silence after he hangs up the phone no one answers anymore. Don’t feel the heaviness in the hallway where your shoes used to be. Don’t smell the faint trace of your shampoo on his uniform that he can’t throw away.

He’s always smiling.

Even when he’s choking on it.

He doesn’t visit your grave.

Too human. Too vulnerable. Too real.

He fights.

He saves.

He protects.

He performs the role of “the strongest” so well he forgets where the mask ends and the man begins.

And at night, when it’s too quiet to pretend..

He dreams of you.

Of your voice. Your warmth. Your hands brushing through his hair. The way you whispered, “come home safe.”

And in the dream, he never does.

Sometimes, Satoru wonders what it would be like to not be him. To be ordinary. To be weak. To be loved and held and kept.

He presses the thought into the back of his throat like a pill he’ll never swallow.

Because Gojo Satoru doesn’t get to want things.

He only gets to save them.

Or bury them.

The strongest can’t bleed.

But if you listen closely when the city is asleep, and the sky has no moon you’ll hear it anyway.

The sound of a heart breaking behind infinity.

Again.

And again.

And again.