#THREAD. at the snap of a string

[burstingatseams]

IS THIS PERHAPS ABT A CERTAIN PLSUH FRIEND..?

NO BUT IT SURE IS NOW!

WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY

STUPID COTTON-BRAINED BEHAVIOR!!!THIS IS THE ULTIMATE BETRAYAL! MY HAND-STITCHED HEART IS FRAYING!!! FRAYING AT THE EDGES!!!1!1!!!!1!1!

I LET YOU SEE, TOUCH, GRIP THE STRINGS, THE WIRES, THAT CONTROL ME, AND YOU TOY WITH THEM—FOR WHAT?

FOR WHAT?

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO TRUST SUCH AN AUDACIOUS, ENGINEERED SMILE! WOE IS ME, FOOL IS I. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU F̷̡̢̛̳́̾̃̆̍͗͛̌͆̽̈́̌͝͠U̵͉͕̯͓͕͖̔͂͝C̸̀̕ͅĶ̸̢͚̳̻͖͇̫̪̜̭͙̮͊̐̉̊̊̍̊͒̍̒ ̸̼̘̩͗̎̀̓̀̔̀́̃͐̂̈Y̶̨̳̞̯̠͖̰̯̐̇͆͛͗̓͂́̽̂͝͝ͅƠ̴̢̪̩̤̣̖̻͔̟̓͆̊͛̕͜͝͝Ū̸̱̭̺̣̣͖̬ FUC̷̨̨̦̼͔̲̗̻̈́̒͊K̸̨̛̥̮̖̘̖͍̞̹̗̳͚̯̾̑̆̏̏̊̍̅̉͆̎͋͜͝͝ ̸̧̬̺͇̪͖̄̃̽̑̈́̅̇͑͛̊̑͐̀̆̆͜Y̶̡̟̯̣̯̓O̵̩̩͎͂̿̐̋̄̇̓͑̋̃͘͠U̴͒̂͛͛̓̈́́͜ F̵̨̡̜̳͎͎͙̦̲͓̱̞̹͐͊͊͂̉̌̑̆̚͘ͅƯ̸̗̮̲͉̙̖̻̂̓͐͛̈́͑̄͝C̴̡̢̛̘̭̦̣͈̳̻̲̃̒̅̂̈̍̃͘K̷̡̛̥̲͈̘̱̗̫͙͙̍̐̀̂̎̀͋̄̓̈́͌̕̚ ̶̡̳̼̲̼̦͔͍̮̺̃̊͐̓̄̃̀͛́͌͝͝͠Y̶̧̡̜͓̙̮̥̬͎̺̱͎̙̽̈́̌̈͗̒̑̚̚ͅÒ̷̠̹̬̝̗͚̠͓̥̲͍̗̆̃͂̊̎̏͒̐̀̚͝ͅƯ̶̖̝͉̯̙̥̱̻͙̭̹͕̐̀̍͌̅̋̾̕͘ F̷̡̢̛̳́̾̃̆̍͗͛̌͆̽̈́̌͝͠U̵͉͕̯͓͕͖̔͂͝C̸̀̕ͅĶ̸̢͚̳̻͖͇̫̪̜̭͙̮͊̐̉̊̊̍̊͒̍̒ ̸̼̘̩͗̎̀̓̀̔̀́̃͐̂̈Y̶̨̳̞̯̠͖̰̯̐̇͆͛͗̓͂́̽̂͝͝ͅƠ̴̢̪̩̤̣̖̻͔̟̓͆̊͛̕͜͝͝Ū̸̱̭̺̣̣͖̬ F̵̨̡̜̳͎͎͙̦̲͓̱̞̹͐͊͊͂̉̌̑̆̚͘ͅƯ̸̗̮̲͉̙̖̻̂̓͐͛̈́͑̄͝C̴̡̢̛̘̭̦̣͈̳̻̲̃̒̅̂̈̍̃͘K̷̡̛̥̲͈̘̱̗̫͙͙̍̐̀̂̎̀͋̄̓̈́͌̕̚ ̶̡̳̼̲̼̦͔͍̮̺̃̊͐̓̄̃̀͛́͌͝͝͠Y̶̧̡̜͓̙̮̥̬͎̺̱͎̙̽̈́̌̈͗̒̑̚̚ͅÒ̷̠̹̬̝̗͚̠͓̥̲͍̗̆̃͂̊̎̏͒̐̀̚͝ͅƯ̶̖̝͉̯̙̥̱̻͙̭̹͕̐̀̍͌̅̋̾̕͘ F̷̡̢̛̳́̾̃̆̍͗͛̌͆̽̈́̌͝͠U̵͉͕̯͓͕͖̔͂͝C̸̀̕ͅĶ̸̢͚̳̻͖͇̫̪̜̭͙̮͊̐̉̊̊̍̊͒̍̒ ̸̼̘̩͗̎̀̓̀̔̀́̃͐̂̈Y̶̨̳̞̯̠͖̰̯̐̇͆͛͗̓͂́̽̂͝͝ͅƠ̴̢̪̩̤̣̖̻͔̟̓͆̊͛̕͜͝͝Ū̸̱̭̺̣̣͖̬ F̷̡̢̛̳́̾̃̆̍͗͛̌͆̽̈́̌͝͠U̵͉͕̯͓͕͖̔͂͝C̸̀̕ͅĶ̸̢͚̳̻͖͇̫̪̜̭͙̮͊̐̉̊̊̍̊͒̍̒ ̸̼̘̩͗̎̀̓̀̔̀́̃͐̂̈Y̶̨̳̞̯̠͖̰̯̐̇͆͛͗̓͂́̽̂͝͝ͅ0Ū̸̱̭̺̣̣͖̬ F̷̡̢̛̳́̾̃̆̍͗͛̌͆̽̈́̌͝͠00Ķ̸̢͚̳̻͖͇̫̪̜̭͙̮͊̐̉̊̊̍̊͒̍̒1Y̶̨̳̞̯̠͖̰̯̐̇͆͛͗̓͂́̽̂͝͝ͅ00 F̶̡̝̍̏0̴̫̲͓͉͍̫͉͈̝͔̪͉͍́1̶̡̬̥̙͍̰̟̟͍̙͙͕̟̋́͛̓̍̆̍͐0̶̢̢̠͇̮̰̝̱̩̥̲̺̭̺̳͗̑̏̀1̸̲̼͉̫̩̓͐̽̑͒̕0̷̡̡̟̝̱̪̯͚̮̈́̆͊1̴̞̲̫̪̘̠͇͍͋0̸̡̛̱̗͈͉͚̭͒̇̋̀̈́̊̏̌͗͛̚͝͝͠1̸̧̨̧̛͈̠̼̠̖̟̮̙͈͖̤͗̇͑́̋͂̇́͊͋͑̃̀̈́̅ͅĆ̴̢͔̪̮̙͚͈̬̖͈̺͆̌͑̓̔̾͘̚͜͝͝1 ̷̜̱̣̰̪̝̱̖̬̘͈̰͔̘́̽̔Y̷̧̛̞͎͍͍̞͓̹̮̱̺̔̇͆̑̓̂̔̊͌̈́͒̈́͐͊͜͝ͅ00 0̸̹̗̝̥͊̇1̷̰̉̈́̌0̵̟̥͎̱͙̌͛̏̚0̵̺̃̉͐0̶̫̀̆1̵̱̞͍̜̐̂́1̷͓̪͕̂0̷̧̧͍͂ ̸͍̈́̉͌0̵̲̬͍̋̓͊̒1̵̰̞̹͔̂̀̏̂0̸̤̽͛͗1̶̬̒͜͠0̴̖͚͇̈́͂̄͝1̸̧̻̬͂̓̚0̶̙͊̕1̴̰̳͈͛̀̈́͘͜͠ ̶̪͚̃́̇̈́͂0̸̱͎̳͔̮̓̔1̵̢̨̼̮̮͂0̵̛̩̈́̆̽0̷͙͓̯́̅͒͝0̵̗̤͠0̶̗́̽̋̓1̵͔̜̇͛͘͝1̴͖̽̈͘ ̸̺̟̭̥͆0̷̱͈̅1̵̯̮̉̉́͒͐0̶͙̈̀̉͊͝0̵̗̫̞̜̩̀͋́̊1̴̝̌̏̂̄0̸̜̻̹̹̎1̷͔͆1̶̤͖̹͛̚ ̷͍͍͖͈̚0̴̛͚̫͒͋̓̚0̵̛̫̜̞̟͜1̶̨̜̣̈́0̶̝̫͚̤͇͛͆͊̀͗0̷̰̉0̷̥̗̬͎̒́̿0̵̨͖̎͒0̶̟͙̠̠̱͛̈͊ ̵͔̫̄͆0̵̮̮̦͋͌̑̄1̴̼̖͇̽̅ͅ0̶̡̝̭̰͖̐͑̀1̶̹̼̝̻̞́̑1̷̹̈́̋̕0̸͎̅̕̕͘0̷̨̈́͜1̶̻͔͎͍̈́̆͂͂ ̶̦̘͍̺͒̌͒͐0̶̦͔̓̇1̸̗̳́0̷̡̦̗̩̕0̶͖̦̄̚1̴̮̹̬̀̊͑ͅ1̶̧̩͍̝̳̋̀̆̎̕1̵̣̯͆̿̏̈́̒1̷̟͉̻̈̄̌́̚ ̴̢̞̬̟̣́̽̆̈̾0̷̢̘̐͛̕͜͝1̶̤͔̉0̵̪̒̂͗1̸̰͂͂̌͛̂0̶͙͖̍̏1̷̙̫̎̽̍̏0̴̨̭̗̲̙̿̃1̴̨̱̙̥̏́͒͛̍ 0̸̹̗̝̥͊̇1̷̰̉̈́̌0̵̟̥͎̱͙̌͛̏̚0̵̺̃̉͐0̶̫̀̆1̵̱̞͍̜̐̂́1̷͓̪͕̂0̷̧̧͍͂ ̸͍̈́̉͌0̵̲̬͍̋̓͊̒1̵̰̞̹͔̂̀̏̂0̸̤̽͛͗1̶̬̒͜͠0̴̖͚͇̈́͂̄͝1̸̧̻̬͂̓̚0̶̙͊̕1̴̰̳͈͛̀̈́͘͜͠ ̶̪͚̃́̇̈́͂0̸̱͎̳͔̮̓̔1̵̢̨̼̮̮͂0̵̛̩̈́̆̽0̷͙͓̯́̅͒͝0̵̗̤͠0̶̗́̽̋̓1̵͔̜̇͛͘͝1̴͖̽̈͘ ̸̺̟̭̥͆0̷̱͈̅1̵̯̮̉̉́͒͐0̶͙̈̀̉͊͝0̵̗̫̞̜̩̀͋́̊1̴̝̌̏̂̄0̸̜̻̹̹̎1̷͔͆1̶̤͖̹͛̚ ̷͍͍͖͈̚0̴̛͚̫͒͋̓̚0̵̛̫̜̞̟͜1̶̨̜̣̈́0̶̝̫͚̤͇͛͆͊̀͗0̷̰̉0̷̥̗̬͎̒́̿0̵̨͖̎͒0̶̟͙̠̠̱͛̈͊ ̵͔̫̄͆0̵̮̮̦͋͌̑̄1̴̼̖͇̽̅ͅ0̶̡̝̭̰͖̐͑̀1̶̹̼̝̻̞́̑1̷̹̈́̋̕0̸͎̅̕̕͘0̷̨̈́͜1̶̻͔͎͍̈́̆͂͂ ̶̦̘͍̺͒̌͒͐0̶̦͔̓̇1̸̗̳́0̷̡̦̗̩̕0̶͖̦̄̚1̴̮̹̬̀̊͑ͅ1̶̧̩͍̝̳̋̀̆̎̕1̵̣̯͆̿̏̈́̒1̷̟͉̻̈̄̌́̚ ̴̢̞̬̟̣́̽̆̈̾0̷̢̘̐͛̕͜͝1̶̤͔̉0̵̪̒̂͗1̸̰͂͂̌͛̂0̶͙͖̍̏1̷̙̫̎̽̍̏0̴̨̭̗̲̙̿̃1̴̨̱̙̥̏́͒͛̍

[thegreatcrowdragon]

Soulmates au pureshadow would go hard especially with the Red String of Fate variety because. Strings. Puppetry. I’d imagine that pv was always curious about his soulmate, and once he attempted to follow the string only to have to stop because it was going over the ocean. Anyway time skip, the gang is going to Beast-Yeast, and pv notices with growing curiosity that they’re actually going in the direction of his string. More story stuff happens, they get to the village n stuff, and pv is hit with overwhelming dread as he realizes the string leads directly into the tree. The sealed tree. With the Beasts inside of it.

[sparklyseblos]

rina moodboard - made aug 2023

[leyiorr]

i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

[zorosdimples]

꒰ ITADORI YUUJI X READER ꒱

minors do not interact—i will block you! cw: gn!reader, rimming (yuuji receiving), male masturbation. note: i have no excuse for this…

“F-fuck,” Yuuji gasps, back bowing off of your shared bed. He strokes himself feverishly, the sticky clicks of his arousal and the loud slurps that tumble from your mouth echoing in the room. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna—”

You pause your ministrations, a thread of iridescent spit connecting your tongue to your boyfriend’s wet, fluttering hole. When you pull away, the string snaps. You shift to lay your head against his muscular thigh, mischievously rubbing the strip of flesh that rests beneath his sack; he shivers.

“You say that like you don’t want to finish.” A mock-pout graces your slick lips while your hand dances up to his balls, fondling the hot, velvety skin.

“Shit.”

He sucks his teeth. His fist slows as it reaches the base of his thick cock, foreskin pulled back, a fresh bead of pre pearling at his flushed tip. You sit up and lean forward to lap at it, dipping your tongue into his slit. A clammy palm catches your cheek as you taste his desire—rich and tangy; he nibbles his lip and smooths a calloused thumb up your cheekbone.

“Keep going—please.”

You reposition yourself between Yuuji’s strong legs. Slowly, you spread him apart—breath kissing his puckered rim—watching it twitch in anticipation. “Ask me again,” you murmur. His frustrated groan earns him an airy chuckle.

You’re a fucking tease, after all.

The man above you could easily overpower you; he could drag you by the hair and slot your panting mouth right where he wants it, using you to get off.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he yields to you. You may not give him what he wants, but you always give him what he needs.

“Baby please,” he whines, voice ragged with desperation. He looks down at you with heavy lids, his gaze molten amber—liquid gold. Dew shimmers at his temples and mats his blush hairline, and a sliver of pink darts out to dampen his lips. “Needa come so, so bad.”

Yuuji barely gets the words out before you finally swirl your tongue around his hole then slip the muscle inside, allowing him to roll his hips and gently buck against your mouth. Each time his ass makes contact with your face, you both moan, and it’s only a matter of moments before he finishes across his spasming abdomen with a cry.

Boneless, your lover nudges you away with his knees, then pulls you on top of himself, chest damp with sweat and heaving against your own.

“Yuu!” you shriek as his tacky spend oozes between your bodies and smears across your belly. He playfully squeezes your hips, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

“All you should worry about is how ’m gonna return the favor,” he mumbles into your skin. Before you can reply, he flips you over onto your back—showing you that a little mess is the least of your concerns.

[amandapearls]

𝓜𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓼: 𝓔𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓷 & 𝓛𝓾𝓬𝓲𝓮𝓷 🌺

My lovely friend @melphss and I were able to commission with insanely lovely art by @jjflorentina

The artist did such an incredible job showing Elain and Lucien in a sweet embrace.

@melphss thought this quote from Elain in ACOWAR reminded her of a quote from Jane Eyre so I attached both of them. I thought it was a lovely correlation.

Elain: “It felt.. strange, like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib?”

Jane Eyre: “I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me.”

Link to Instagram post

Characters belong to Sarah J Maas

[celestemona]

⋆˙⟡ — TANGLED FATES

pairing: kinich, kaedehara kazuha, wanderer x reader

cw: soulmates! au. characters may look ooc. approximately 3k words. no pronouns mentioned though "my lady" is said in kazuha's part. fluffy, angsty, lovely. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Kinich

Kinich had always felt a subtle pull toward something—or someone—just beyond his reach.

From the moment he was born, the thread that connected him to his soulmate had been a delicate shade of translucent red, often fading to the point of nearly vanishing. It was a constant reminder of the distance between them, a tangible sign that his soulmate was far away, perhaps even in another nation.

The people of Natlan revered the concept of soulmates, believing that every thread was woven by the hands of fate itself. Kinich, however, was not the type to wander beyond his homeland in search of this elusive connection. The rugged beauty of his tribe, the thrill of hunting, and the camaraderie of his people grounded him. He found comfort in the familiar rhythms of his life, though sometimes, during quiet moments beneath the canopy of the trees or while gazing at the stars, the thought of his soulmate would flutter in his mind like a restless bird.

Yet today was different.

As Kinich navigated the vibrant festival of the Scions of the Canopy, filled with laughter and the smell of roasted meats mingling with the sweetness of ripe fruit, he couldn’t shake a strange sensation. He glanced down at the red string on his finger, and to his surprise, it was brighter than he had ever seen—deep crimson, like the fiery sunsets that painted the sky at twilight. The sudden vibrancy sent a jolt of energy through him, and his heart raced with possibilities. For the very first time, it felt that his soulmate was closer than he had ever imagined.

The thought barely settled in his mind when a commotion broke out nearby. Kinich turned to see a crowd gathered around the bungee jumping platform, a popular attraction that had people leaping into the air with exhilarating abandon. The sight of the participants soaring through the sky brought a fainted smile to his face—until he noticed one figure preparing for a jump.

His heart seemed to stop as he caught sight of you, your hair whipping in the wind, laughter mingling with the cheers of the crowd. You appeared fearless, but as the countdown began, Kinich noticed something off: the rope seemed frayed, a dangerous instability in an otherwise thrilling endeavor. Panic surged through him as the countdown reached zero.

Before his mind could catch up to his body, he reacted. The faintest snapping sound echoed in his ears as the bungee cord gave way—a horrified gasp echoed from the crowd, but Kinich was already in motion. With a practiced flick of his grappling hook, he shot toward you, the hook catching a solid anchor just as you fell.

In the heartbeat between falling and impact, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, jerking you from the void. Time seemed to slow as the world spun and your eyes locked onto his—the man who had saved your life.

Kinich landed gracefully with you in his arms, his grip steady and reassuring as if it were second nature. As the adrenaline pulsed through you, your heart raced not just from the near-death experience, but from the realization that your strings—both of yours—were now glowing vividly, a striking red.

The connection between you was undeniable, even if the situation was surreal.

“That was... close,” you murmured, still catching your breath, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Kinich’s usual nonchalance wavered momentarily as his eyes lingered on yours. He gently set you down, his hand brushing against yours as the string on his pinky tightened, pulling you two together subtly but magnificently. “You’re either very brave or very reckless,” he said, his voice low but calm, the faintest trace of amusement playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile, even through the lingering adrenaline. “Maybe a little of both.”

He let out a quiet hum, stepping back slightly but not breaking eye contact. “Seems I’ll have to keep an eye on you, then.”

Before you could respond, a pitched voice cut through the air. “No! I though you’d finally gonna get yourself killed, Kinich. Shit! It seems I was wrong again.”

Kinich’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he muttered under his breath, “You wish.”

You blinked, wondering where the voice came from and noticing the sudden change in his demeanor, but before you could ask, Kinich’s focus returned to you. His intense gaze softened as he extended a hand, offering it to you with an unexpected formality. “It seems fate has brought us together in the most dramatic of ways.”

You laughed softly, the tension easing. “Seems that way. And here I thought I’d get a thrill from jumping, not falling.”

“There are safer thrills,” he answered, his hand still holding yours dearly. “One that doesn’t involve falling from cliffs.”

You bit your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hide a smirk, the soft flirtation in his voice making your heartbeats go faster. “Oh? Like what?”

He let his gaze linger on yours, his thumb gently tracing the back of your hand. “Perhaps we’ll find out together.”

The red string between you entwined, as if urging the two of you closer. For the first time in a long while, Kinich felt more than just duty or the thrill of a adventuring—he felt the warmth of something that had been distant for too long.

And for you, the world around you seemed to quiet as the only thing that mattered now was the connection between you and the man fate had quite literally sent to catch you.

Kaedehara Kazuha

From the moment of birth, the faintest whispers of your soulmate begin to form in your mind, weaving through your thoughts, and growing clearer with time. The voices aren’t constant, but they drift in and out, as if carried on a breeze, reminding you of the presence of someone far away yet intimately close. Sometimes, it's a word spoken aloud, a laugh shared with a friend. Other times, it’s a fleeting thought, as private as a breath. And from childhood, this voice becomes an indelible part of your life, a companion whose face you have never seen but whose soul you know deeply.

Kazuha was still a boy when he first heard the voice. He was playing alone in the gardens of his family’s estate, surrounded by the quiet rustle of leaves and the gentle murmur of the wind. And then, as soft as a whisper, he heard it—a voice that wasn’t his own.

It was delicate, like the sound of water trickling over smooth stones. A voice so pure it carried the sweetness of a lullaby. At first, he thought it was part of the wind, some trick of the breeze, but as the days went on, the voice returned. Sometimes it sang, sometimes it hummed a tune that was unfamiliar yet soothing. And when it spoke, Kazuha listened, enchanted by the rhythm of the words, even if they weren’t meant for him.

Years passed, and the voice became a familiar presence in his life. He learned to recognize its tones—the way it brightened when it was happy, or softened when the person behind it was lost in thought. Even when he left the security of his childhood home, embarking on his wandering journey, the voice followed him. It was a constant companion, a tether that connected him to something beyond the world he knew.

The voice belonged to an opera singer from Fontaine, though Kazuha would only come to know this much later. As children, you’d hear each other speak, often unaware of the impact your words were having on the other side of the world. You’ve been singing since you were small, your voice a bright light in the waterside streets of Fontaine, and Kazuha had come to love the sound of it—first as a soothing melody in the background of his thoughts, and later as a force that brought him comfort during his travels. He could sense your emotions through your voice—the joy you found in your craft, the occasional frustration in your rehearsals, and the quiet moments when you’d murmur your thoughts to yourself.

You, too, had been listening to him. From the first haikus he had whispered into the wind as a child, to the quiet contemplations of a young man growing into his own. Though Kazuha was never one to speak much, the moments when he’d recite poetry or talk to the wind were enough to fill your heart with a sense of companionship. His voice, calm and steady, was a comfort to you as you navigated your own world of art and performance.

Neither of you knew exactly who the other was, but your voices had become a part of each other. Even without a meeting, you had grown up together—two souls connected by the invisible threads of fate.

As Kazuha grew older, his understanding of the voice deepened. He’d often find himself drifting off to sleep, only to wake with the faint echoes of your songs still lingering in his ears. He marveled at how perfectly your voice blended with the world around him—the wind, the sea, and the rustling of leaves in the forests he wandered. Your voice had become a song in the symphony of his life, and he cherished it.

For you, his words were like the poetry he often whispered to himself—a gentle, constant reminder that somewhere out there was someone who understood the world the way you did. You often wondered what he looked like, what kind of person could speak so softly yet carry so much meaning in his words.

Years passed, and though your connection remained strong, you never rushed to meet. There was no urgency, no desperation. Just the quiet understanding that one day, you’d find each other.

It wasn’t until Kazuha’s travels led him to Fontaine that your worlds finally began to merge. The hydro nation was a place where the beauty of the arts and the depths of the sea intertwined. Kazuha had no intention of seeking you out immediately. He had learned patience long ago and trusted that the wind would guide him when the time was right.

But as he wandered the streets of Fontaine, drinking in the sights and sounds of the city, he heard your voice again—clearer than it had ever been. This time, it was no distant whisper but a melody that floated on the air, rich and vibrant. You were rehearsing for an upcoming performance, your voice filling the opera house with the same beauty that had once echoed in his dreams.

He stood at a distance, watching you from the shadows. You were every bit as graceful as your voice, your movements fluid and elegant. Your presence commanded the space around you, yet there was a softness to you that drew him in. You were speaking with one of the directors with enthusiasm as you discussed the details of the upcoming opera. And though you didn’t know it, the man you had shared your thoughts with for so many years was standing just a few feet away, watching with quiet reverence.

Kazuha’s heart swelled as he took a deep breath, allowing the wind to guide him forward. It was time.

With the same grace that had carried him through countless battles and journeys, he approached you, his steps light and unhurried. When you turned, eyes meeting, the recognition was instant. The voice that had been a constant presence in your lives was now matched with a face.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It was as though the world had stopped, leaving only the two of you standing in the fading light of the afternoon. And then, with a soft smile, Kazuha spoke.

“My lady,” he said, his voice as gentle as the breeze that stirred the air around both of you. He took your hand in his own, bowing slightly as he lifted it to his lips. The soft kiss he placed on the back of your hand was filled with all the quiet emotion he had carried with him for so many years. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

Your smile widened, warmth rosing on your cheeks. “The honor is mine. I’ve heard your voice for so long… I almost thought I was dreaming when I heard you recite your poems for the first time.”

“As did I,” Kazuha replied, his crimson eyes soft as he gazed at you. “Your voice has been with me for as long as I can remember. Hearing you sing now… it feels as though I've been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

You laughed softly, the sound as musical as the voice he had come to love. “And I’ve been waiting for you. I always wondered when our paths would cross.”

“They were bound to,” Kazuha said, his tone warm. “The wind always carries us to where we are meant to be.”

With his and your hands still gently intertwined, you stood in the heart of Fontaine, the city alive with the murmur of art and life around them. But for the two of you, the rest of the world had faded, leaving only the echo of the voices that had connected you for so long.

In that moment, you knew that your journey—though long and winding—had led you both exactly where you were meant to be. Together.

Wanderer

In Teyvat, the concept of soulmates wasn’t something everyone discussed openly, but it was an unspoken truth understood by all. It was a tragic but beautiful reality for those people: no one ever dreamed—at least, not until they met their soulmate. The first and only dream a person would ever experience was a shared one, an intimate meeting with their destined one. This dream wasn’t bound by time or place, often filled with subtle moments, quiet connections, and profound understanding. But the dream itself didn’t mean immediate union. Many spent years after their dream searching, wondering when—or if—they’d ever cross paths with their other half in the waking world.

And not all believed they deserved a soulmate.

Wanderer had learned of the legend when he was still known as Kunikuzushi, back in the early days when he was newly formed and still discovering what it meant to exist. He hadn’t thought it applied to him, a puppet—a hollow being without a true heart, someone who was neither human nor divine. But one night, long ago, when he was still innocent and full of hope, he had a dream.

In that dream, he met you.

It wasn’t a vivid or wild vision. It was quiet, serene. You walked in a vast wheat field, your steps so rhythmic as if you were dancing between invisible trails that only you knew where it’d take you. Your back was turned to him but the sound of your laughter was a song that played like a lullaby in his head. When you looked up, your eyes meeting, something inside him stirred—a sense of calm, of being understood without words.

There were no grand gestures, no spoken promises. Just a glance, a soft smile, and a feeling that warmed him from the inside out. You were real, and for the first time in his short existence, he felt connected to something outside of himself. 

When he woke, the memory of that dream stayed with him, lodged deep in his mind like a forgotten melody. He tried to dismiss it, thinking it was some strange byproduct of his flawed creation. How could he have a soulmate when he wasn’t truly human?

Years, centuries passed, and Kunikuzushi became Scaramouche, and Scaramouche became Wanderer. He fell deeper into darkness, fueled by bitterness and anger. Yet, despite the walls he built around himself, the memory of the dream never fully faded. It lingered in the back of his mind, sometimes emerging in his quietest moments, like a long-lost hope he didn’t want to admit to. He believed that dream was lost to time, and that he had been undeserving of it. He had resigned himself to solitude, pushing away any notion that he might still have a connection to someone out there.

But everything changed the night he wandered the streets of Sumeru.

The night was calm, and the air was thick with the fragrant scent of flowers. It was one of those evenings where the city was still alive, bustling with life even under the veil of darkness. The marketplace glowed softly in the distance, filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. Wanderer had no purpose being there, only walking aimlessly, his mind drifting between thoughts.

Yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, the memory of that dream began to surface. The image of you, twirling in a field, returned with startling clarity. He could almost see the light in your eyes, feel the quiet comfort of that moment. His steps slowed as a strange, almost magnetic pull tugged at his chest, drawing his attention toward the marketplace.

And then he saw you.

You stood at a vendor’s stall, your profile illuminated by the soft lantern light. His breath hitched. It was as if time stopped. You looked exactly as you had in the dream—your presence both familiar and startling. He blinked, convinced his mind was playing tricks on him. After all this time, how could you be here?

You turned slightly, inspecting some trinket on display, completely unaware of him. The world around him blurred, all the noise fading into a distant hum as his focus remained solely on you. He felt his heart—did he even have one?—thunder in his chest.

A storm of emotions raged inside him. He hadn’t prepared for this. Could this truly be real? After all he had done—his mistakes, his hatred, his isolation—was it possible that fate hadn’t given up on him? Was he still deserving of a soulmate?

He found himself rooted to the spot, too stunned to move. He couldn’t approach you, not yet. How could he, knowing what he had become? A part of him was relieved, though—relieved that you existed, that the dream hadn’t been a cruel joke. But the hesitation that lingered was undeniable. What if you saw him for who he truly was and walked away? What if, after all these years, he was no longer the person you had dreamed of?

You moved away from the stall, and at that moment, your eyes swept over the crowd, casually scanning the area—until they locked onto his.

The recognition was instant, like a spark between two halves of a long-separated whole. You blinked, clearly processing what you were feeling as if the dream had come flooding back to you all at once. The same quiet understanding he had felt in the dream now passed between you in reality. Your expression softened, and though you seemed uncertain, you didn’t look away.

You took a tentative step toward him, your curiosity was evident. His heart raced again, the walls he had built around himself suddenly feeling fragile as if a single word from you could shatter them entirely.

And then you spoke.

“I saw you once upon a dream,” you said, your voice gentle, filled with the same warmth and wonder from the dream. There was no accusation in your tone, no judgment—just simple truth.

He swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, yet none of them made sense. All he could manage was, “Did you?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “I thought it was just a trick of my mind, but… seeing you now, I know it was real.”

He stood frozen, a mix of doubts, disbelief, and relief swirling inside him. The person he had dreamed of, who he thought was forever out of reach, was standing in front of him. And you remembered him.

His voice was quieter than he intended when he finally spoke again. “I never thought I’d find you.”

You stepped closer, a soft smile forming on your lips. “Neither did I. But… here we are.”

The warmth in your eyes was something he hadn’t felt in so long. It made the walls around his heart tremble, threatening to crumble. He wanted to say so much, to explain the years that had passed, to tell you how unworthy he felt—but none of it mattered in that moment. You were here, and you had dreamed of him, too.

Perhaps, despite everything, he still had a chance at something real. Something good. And for the first time in his long, fragmented existence, Kunikuzushi felt a flicker of hope.

[fangswbenefits]

Sharing is Caring (II)

Summary: Things get complicated, but you find yourself sharing a bed with Miguel… once again. Too bad someone else is in the room.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. Sharing one bed. Semi-public. Blue balls. Sexual tension. Mutual masturbation. Creampie. Implied cockwarming.

* ˚ ✦ Part 1. (you don’t have to read it to enjoy this one, though)

You were fucked.

Extremely fucked.

Not only had the anomaly managed to slip through your fingers, effectively disabling the trackers scattered around, but you were also fucked, because now you were left to deal with the aftermath of a very intimate encounter with Miguel.

It was nearly five in the morning and the night was nowhere near being done. Fortunately, it had stopped raining, which helped with visibility and grip, and having Lyla assist you as in replacing the faulty sensors was also very much welcome.

“Sensor 24 up and running,” the AI’s sing-song voice announced, as the device bleeped green.

You leapt over the railing, shooting a string of web to the side of the hotel, so you could swing through the window.

As you landed with a clumsy thump, you noticed Miguel had already gotten back from his reconnaissance check.

He looked positively… pissed off.

Great.

“Lyla, call her,” her grumbled, checking his watch.

“Already did,” she announced, appearing by his shoulder. “Want me to run a diagnostics of the perimeter once again?”

“Do it in five minute intervals,” he said flatly. “The anomaly must be nearby.”

You removed your mask and considered sitting on the bed, but were soon reminded that not even thirty minutes ago, you were getting fucked by Miguel.

A shudder ran through your body.

“You okay?” he asked, his narrowed eyes on you.

You shrugged. “Sure.”

The problem with having impromptu sex was that now you were left to deal with the soreness between your legs, and the frustration of an orgasm that never came to be.

Did Miguel feel the same way?

Your eyes roamed his body, and you find yourself glaring at his-

“Hey! I need you to focus,” Miguel said with a snap of his fingers. “There’s still a chance we deal with it tonight.”

You were about to snap back when a loud distorted buzz filled the room, swirls of flashing lights nearly blinding you, as the inter-dimensional portal expanded quickly in pulsating waves.

Through came Jessica Drew, followed closely by Peter B. Parker.

Fuck.

“What are you doing here?” Miguel growled, pointing at Peter.

“What?” he asked, eyes widening in confusion.

Miguel wasn’t known to be a very patient man, and you reckoned his patience was now hanging by a thread. “I called for Jess. Not you.”

Jess let out an exasperated sigh. “Easy, Miguel. We were both on the same mission.”

He straightened up, but crossed his arms. “Right.”

“Care to explain why I had to leave to be here?” she went on, resting on hand on her swollen belly. “How did you lose track of the anomaly?”

He exchanged a brief look with you. “The sensors didn’t alert us in time.”

That was true.

“Weren’t you supposed to be monitoring, regardless?”

“We dozed off,” you chimed in. “Momentarily! Just for a while.”

Not really true…

Jess glanced at you, suspicion written all over face.

“Sleeping on the job,” she then chuckled, eyeing Miguel deviously. “Didn’t think you’d ever do that, Miguel.”

He narrowed his eyes menacingly. “We weren’t sleeping. We were just resting our eyes for a moment.”

A blatant lie.

“What’s that on your neck?” Peter suddenly asked with a worried look on his face.

Oh….

You let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the tender hickey spot. “Bug bite.”

“Allergic reaction,” Miguel blurted out at the same time.

Fuck.

You shot him a murderous look.

Jessica arched an eyebrow. “Which one is it?”

“An allergic reaction to a bug bite,” Miguel said with a shrug, growing visibly annoyed.

A wave of relief washed over you momentarily. That seemed plausible enough.

But…

“Oh, really?” she asked with a knowing smile. “What bug? A spid-”

But Miguel was already cutting her off. “We don’t have time for this!”

Peter walked to you, craning your neck to the side. “You should have it checked. It looks serious.”

Ah, Peter… ever the innocent.

“Jess, you stay with us,” Miguel says, dragging Peter away from you at once. “We need an extra pair of eyes.”

She frowned. “No. Peter stays. I need to get some sleep,” she said, patting her belly.

“No!” Miguel growled.

“Actually, I was thinking of heading back home,” Peter drawled out, rubbing the back of his head. “Mayday should be waking up soon.”

“And I’m pregnant,” Jess shot, holding her chin high.

Peter swallowed and fell silent. The deal was sealed.

“Lyla, any updates?”

The hologram popped up instantly. “No, boss.”

Jess glanced over at you one last time, before stepping into the portal once again. “You should really have that checked. Whatever bug did that seems… vicious,” she then slipped into the vortex, which vanished behind her.

You momentarily froze in place, feeling the dread of realisation hit you like a ton of bricks.

She knew.

“I’ll be right back,” Peter drawled out with a yawn and a stretch, disappearing into the bathroom.

The moment you heard rhe door click shut, you turned to Miguel.

“An allergic reaction to a bug bite?” you hissed.

He scowled deeply. “Because simply saying bug bite sounded ridiculous.”

“She didn’t believe it, regardless.”

Miguel was suddenly towering over you, his face twisted in annoyance. “Then why does it matter?”

“Because… you gave me a visible hickey!”

It was a silly thing to get upset about. There were worse things in life than having Miguel O’Hara marking you as a result of built up sexual tension.

But you didn’t want to give in.

“Got carried away,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah…”

He cleared his throat. “But I have a problem.”

You looked up at him. “What problem?”

“Well…” he said, glancing at the bathroom door.

“Peter?”

“No!”

You clicked your tongue. “Then what?”

His placed both hands on his hips and glanced down.

Your eyes followed suit.

Oh.

Oh.

“What? Why are you… what?” you stuttered in disbelief at the sight of the outline of his hardened cock.

“Biology, remember?” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s not going away.”

You somehow managed to tear your eyes from the impressive bulge. “Go jerk off, then!”

He had you walk back until you hit the wall behind. “It won’t go away.”

Had you just given Miguel blue balls?

“How’s that my problem?” you huffed, staring intensely into his crimson eyes.

“This is all your fault.”

“Oh, really? I thought we were blaming Biology.”

Before Miguel could retort, the sudden squeak of a door being swung open, had you slipped past him.

Peter emerged, eyeing you both. “Oh, I see what this is.”

Miguel had to move strategically in order to hide his raging boner from him. “What do you mean?”

“I know what’s up with you two,” Peter said, with a playful grin. “All the whispering and whatnot.”

Great.

Were you two that transparent?

“Huh…”

Miguel had pursed his lips.

Peter paced closer to you, eyeing you with a knowing smile. “You’re deciding on Jessica’s birthday present, right?”

You blinked a few times and heard Miguel exhale nearby.

“Right? I knew it!” he threw his arms in the air as if he’d just won the lottery.

In truth, you were simply baffled at how innocent Peter could be. The immediate weight that was lifted off your shoulders was enough to draw a laugh from you.

“Sure!”

“Of course, Peter,” Miguel said, voice dripping with his trademark sarcasm. “We went on this mission, so we could go through birthday checklists.”

A layer of pride settled on Peter’s face. “Ah! You’re growing soft, Miguel.”

You winced at his poor choice of words.

“But fear not!” he said as if he was about to fight off the anomaly himself. “We’ll take turns watching. You two can get some rest and properly plan it out,” he then pinched his thumb and index finger together and dragged them across his lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Miguel didn’t budge at first, but you were all too grateful to stop this insane conversation altogether.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“Of course,” he smiled widely, pacing to the open hotel window, leaping into the the sky night.

You shot Miguel one last look before slipping inside into the comfort of the bedsheets, welcoming the softness.

But you were sorely mistaken if you thought Miguel wouldn’t have followed you.

Your heart skipped a beat. Or two.

You had turned to face the wall, hoping he’d take the hint, and leave you be.

But once you felt his erection pressing into your ass, you knew you were a goner.

There was something extremely empowering about having a man like Miguel be so needy and desperate.

He scooted closer until his breath fanned your ear. “Can you just…”

You scoffed, pride swelling inside you. “Go ask Biology to jerk you off.”

“Whawt?”

“You keep blaming it, so…”

Silence fell between you two.

His hand then came to grip your hip. “It’s you.”

“I didn’t catch that,” you said, feeling his thumb rubbing gently, as he pushed the top half of your suit increasingly higher.

He rolled his hips into you, letting out a shaky moan in your ear that had your skin raise with goosebumps.

You flipped onto your other side to fully face him, and Miguel immediately took your lips with his, kissing you hungrily.

His hand dragged the fabric all the way up until he managed to expose one breast, breaking the kiss only to move down to suck on your hardened nipple.

The thought that he might be too much vaguely crossed your mind. For the second time that night you were meeting a side of Miguel that you had never seen before.

A side you much preferred.

Your fingers dragged through his hair, silently praising him.

In no time, you watched his digital suit disintegrate, giving you full access to the beautifully sculped body underneath.

He gripped your wrist and lowered it until your fingers grazed his cock. Knowing fully well what he craved, you wrapped them around it, earning an immediate jerk of his hips.

“Miguel…” you moaned, letting him freely fuck your hand, spilling more and more precum.

He released your nipple and had his forehead resting on your shoulder, his hand on top of your, making sure you squeezed tighter and tighter.

It didn’t take long for your hand to be soaked with precum, making it easier for him to slide up and down.

You squeezed involuntarily and a gush of wetness spilled into your underwear, your body yearning for him to fill you up with his cock.

He moved his hips deliciously, and you focused on taking in the wet sounds that filled the room as well as his breathless grunts.

But such bliss was short-lived as you heard Peter bolting into the room with a swish of his web.

Well…

Miguel immediately stilled, letting go of your hand.

You didn’t let go of his cock, instead peeking over his shoulder only to find Peter rolling out a sleeping bag on the floor.

He then turned to face you, and your head immediately slumped against the pillow, eyes on Miguel’s.

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

Peter’s voice was but a whisper. “Your heart rate is accelerated.”

Ah… spider senses.

“Yeah… I’m just a bit tense… it’s fine,” you muttered, feeling Miguel’s cock twitch in your hand. “Go get some rest. I’ll take over.”

“Oh! Thank you,” he beamed. “Mayday has been giving us terrible nights, and I could use a few minutes.”

You watched as he fluffed out his pillow before settling down on his back with a yawn.

Miguel’s breathing has steadied momentarily and you eventually let go of him.

But he quickly got a hold of your wrist.

The implication of that action wasn’t exactly subtle and you widened your eyes.

“No,” you mouthed right away.

His crimson eyes had darkened and you spotted his fangs from behind his lips.

You shook your head vehemently.

This was a bad idea.

But as soon as Peter’s snores tore through the room, you felt your heart clench.

“Peter is right there… he will hear it!”

He pressed an urgent kiss to your forehead. “We’ll be quiet. I’ll help you be quiet,” he promised, pressing his cock further into your already soaked crotch.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and just as you were about to let out a low whimper, you felt his hand cover your mouth, effectively reigning it in.

“Quiet.”

The other travelled down painfully slowly, palm grazing your exposed breast briefly, before resting just above the waistline of your suit.

“You have to be quiet,” he warned in a barely audible tone.

You nodded and he lifted his hand from your lips.

“We shouldn’t…” you muttered under your breath.

But your words were not matching your actions, as you dragged your hand covered in precum across his hard chest, taking your time to gently rub his nipple with your thumb.

You thought Miguel had stopped breathing altogether, but soon realised he was merely attempting to hold back a moan.

His fingers quickly slipped past the the waistline, finding your clit and drawing small circles. You had to bite your lip hard to suppress a whimper, rolling your hips into him.

You found his cock again, gripping it desperately and giving him a few pumps that matched the tempo of his strokes.

The thrill of indulging in such experience even when someome else was in the room, and with the increased chances of being caught, merely added to the pleasure you were already feeling.

“You’re doing good,” Miguel praised you through a shaky breath. “So good…”

Impatience took over and you wiggled out of your bottom half of the suit, allowing you to grant him betterr acces, as hou parted your legs.

He immediately seized it and slipped one finger inside.

You had to clasp your hand over your mouth to keep from groaning, eyes fluttering shut.

His breath was on your ear again. “Can you take one more?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. A second finger immediately joined the first one, slinding inside effortlessly.

Feeling that you had managed to keep yourself under control, you dropped the hand covering your lips to grip his cock.

“And another one?”

You shook your head, fearing that would be too much. He pressed a kiss to your neck with a sigh, as he fucked your hand in a slow rhythm.

The knots of pleasure in your lower abdomen let you know that you were headed towards the precipice. You kept on riding his fingers relentlessly, your mind suddenly hazy from the feeling of being so full of him already.

“I’m close…” he mouthed, his breath shaky and cock twitching.

He had bared his fangs, and you thought you’d combust on the spot, realising he was truly overwhelmed with pleasure.

Finding your voice again, you whispered sensually, “Where do you want to cum?”

His eyed widened, pupils fully blown.

Your hips faltered briefly, grazing your clit across the palm of his hand. “Inside?”

He pressed his eyes shut and dug his fangs into his lower lip. “I won’t last.”

“I know,” you moaned, dragging thumb across his tip, feeling more droplets of warm precum coating your skin.

Peter suddenly let out a loud snore that made you jolt.

“Are you close?” Miguel asked.

“I’ll be with you inside me.”

You shifted on the mattress, and he removed his fingers from you at once, a wet sound filling the room.

Your body shuddered from the loss, but you soon felt his tip proding your entrance.

Before you could take another breath, he jerked his hips and slipped past your fold effortlessly.

His hand was on your mouth again, and this time you could taste yourself, as he struggled to keep your moans at a minimum.

It was also evident the sudden position was taking a toll on him. His steady pace was faltering with each passing second.

You soon entered the familiar point of no return, feeling an intense wave of pleasure tear from within you, blinding your vision with each pulse and contraction. It took all of your not to moan out loud even against his hand, the few shreds of sanity having a hold on you.

Miguel joined you, clearly not able to withstand the rhythmic squeezes around his cock as you reached your high.

Your caught a glimpse oh him biting the back of his other hand hard. He would for sure draw blood with his fangs, but you couldn’t even stay properly focused.

He bottomed out as deep as he could, spurts of cum coating your squeezing walls.

The two of you were struggling to breathe, shallow pants surrounding you.

“Oh my god! Butterfly!”

Peter…

You jerked away from Miguel in distress but with him still buried deep inside you, catching a glimpse of Peter sitting on the floor, breathing rapidly.

“Go back to sleep. It was just a dream,” you said with a smile.

Miguel pulled you into an embrace. “You did good.”

“Me? Not Biology?”

He scowled deeply.

“You can slide out now…” you whispered with a yawn.

Miguel didn’t move. “I want to stay a little longer likes this.”

Masterlist

[magicdustsworld]

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader; tw - Fellatio, cum swallowing, adultery; divider credits - @saradika-graphics

Imagine sucking off Yakuza boss!Sukuna while he is on a call.

Forced down to your knees, red tongue darting out to swirl over his frenulum—eliciting a lewd groan from him. Sukuna peers down at you, a corner of his lip curling up into a provocative sneer while maroon gaze scorches with an erotic desire.

"Yeah and? mhmm... what the fuck did Masume say?"

Holding the phone with his left hand, he brings up the pointer of his right to his lips—gesturing you to keep it low. (As if he really wants that?) You return his gaze with a leacherous one of your own—an invitation cum challenge he recognizes all to well. You pass a smirk and not a second later, you're eagerly accepting the glans penis inside your mouth. Lapping up at the tip, you proceed downwards, coating his entire cock with your saliva before readily sucking him off.

Sukuna's attention is allegedly on the call at hand. A blissful expression clouds over his eyes s he hums and murmurs curses under his breath while speaking to— whoever the fuck it is. However, as you go down on his cock, bopping your head in a to and fro motion, all to please him like a good girl, he just seems to not notice it. Taking it for granted, is he? Unknowingly, you scoff under your breath, trails of his musky precum settling on your tongue; you gulp them without much of a second thought.

You look up again and the same sight greets you. Yes, you know it may be an important call and you know you shouldn't do it. You still do it.

Your teeth grazes over his prepuce.

"Ngh Fuck– Huh? Nothing, just uh, don't worry. Whatcha' saying again?"

He glares at you, threading his fingers through your luscious strands; he tugs them back firmly. Mouth filled with cock, your protest only comes off as a jumbled mess. Leaning down, momentarily he retracts the phone from his ear, "Do this shit properly or this will be the last thing you'll be sucking." Said so, he is back to his call.

The threat lingers in the air—he isn't lying. You know. Countless times you have seen him snap the string of someone's life without an exchange of words. The grip of his Beretta M9 peaks out of his pocket, the looming peril and the sheer power he holds over you in this situation(and all the others) making itself stark clear. Despite the eminent danger oozing off of his body language, the thrill of it all sends a pulse to your core.

You clamp your legs tighter, the fabric of your panties brushing with your clitoris. Regardless, the warning does the job and as much of a desperate whore you can be for the man above you, you still want to watch and experience this charade play out.

Besides, you already got his attention, didn't you?

Gaze fixated on you, with both pair of teeth out in a menacing display akin to a ravenous beast being served, he watches you. You move your head back and forth, aiming to just give him a stellar fellatio while your cunt starts to drip with wanton need. You nibble on his his foreskin, forcing more of his girth inside your hot cavern, the wet muscle licking over the glans—raunchy moans escalating from you.

"Got over with– Ah shit! Where did you learn that? Wasn't speaking to you, just some maggots."

Seriously, maggots?

You deserve something more than that. However, before you can retract yourself from his cock, Sukuna’s strength comes to play. He, quite literally, forces you down on his cock till your smeared mulberry tinted lips wrap around his base. He buckles his hip, fucking your face on his own as he sets a relentless pace making tears to spring up your eyes. His cock head reaches so far and so deep that it hits your uvula. Manicured nails digging into the fabric of his pants, you try to balance yourself on your knees—task proving to be futile.

Guttural moans start to escape Sukuna as well. Struggling either to make sense of the speaker or let himself find reprieve with the way your mouth welcomes him.

The latter seems to win by a large mark.

"Heard ya' the first time, what the ahh– shit! You little minx," A smirk curves up his lips, forehead creasing as the product of erotigenic act knots in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck– wasn’t talking to you, bitch. Hang up."

No sooner he utters the last two words, the phone is discarded on the leather couch. He cages you in his grasp, lascivious noises releasing from him as the sweatbeads start to cling and drip down. The acrid smell of arousal and the squelching sound of mouth meeting flesh reverberates through the corners of his office.

His cock twitches in your mouth, your eyes have only partially widened when he is shooting thick ropes of cum down your throat. He holds you his place, tip of nose, pressing against his pubes till you swallow each and every seed he has to offer; something you find yourself doing alike second nature.

His grip loosens and you retract your mouth from his cock with a pop sound. A string of saliva connects your glistening lips with his cock. Trails of ecstasy running down your lips—Sukuna, extends his hands, gently wiping it away with his thumb. An act proving to be a stark contrast to the names he called you while he was bullying your throat.

With name calling, something flickers in your mind...

"Who was that?"

"Don't you wanna know?" He snickers, grabbing you by the bicep as he pulls you up on his lap so you're left to straddle him. "Just my dumb wife filling me on what she did today."

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THE BLUE OF THE SKY MUST HAVE BEEN MY IMAGINATION ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru can’t take your grief away. but on days when you feel as if it’s swallowing you whole, pulling you underwater, he’ll be there to reach a hand out.

word count; 10.9k 

contents; satoru gojo/reader, f!reader (gn prns are used, but gojo calls you sweet girl and princess), depictions of grief/allusions to death (reader mourns their dead best friend), hurt/comfort (heavy on both), fluffy towards the end, satoru is a good partner <3, stsg subtext if you squint, switching povs, reader is implied to be a non-sorcerer!!

a/n; i’ve always loved the idea of gojo being with a reader who also lost their best friend/other half, so this is just me playing around with that concept :3 losing a soulmate and finding a new one through the loss of that thread must feel really meaningful, right? + i’m also dedicating this piece to @neptuneblue my precious bday girl <33 i added an extra dose of devotion, flower symbolism and greek mytho refs just for you!! (pretty dividers by @/saradika-graphics <33)

a pang of sorrow.

as your consciousness begins to unfurl, cruelly torn apart from the realm of dreams, the sensation hits you like a hammer to a nail. your eyes flutter open, and your muddled mind adjusts to the soft light dyeing your bedroom a mellow gold — patches of sunlight splattering on the bed and warming up your skin, illuminating your features. gentle and soothing.

almost as if trying to coax you back to sleep; trying to protect you from something you don’t quite understand. just close your eyes, your body whispers, your mind shushes. don’t think about anything at all. 

but you don’t listen. 

part of you knows it’s a mistake. trying to identify the source of your sadness usually only makes your heart feel more tangled up — but you get the sense that this particular sorrow is one you should never, ever let go of. so you rest against the mattress, focus on the rise and fall of your chest, and simply feel it out. 

it’s a strange sensation. blooming like a flower, in the back of your brain, expanding at an alarming rate — seeping into your bloodstream, soaking the sheets beneath you with something dark and gritty, something that sends shivers down your spine. an acute sensation that something is wrong. 

that something has been wrong. for a very long time.

(and then it hits you.)

— ah.

an intake of breath. the open air has been warmed up by caring sunrays, bouncing off the glass of the windows. it tastes like dust and daydreams.

it’s today, isn’t it?

the flower in the back of your brain keeps unfurling, leaving you with a certain ache you can’t get rid of. a stain you can never, ever rinse away — and the sun’s comforting embrace does nothing to quell its weight.

what a shame, you think, gazing out at the blue of the sky. the weather is so lovely today…

something tickles your cheek. it snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts; and this time, you don’t need to feel it out to know what it is. you’re already well aware. your brain knows, your body, every string of your heartbeat.

a strand of white hair. ghosting over your cheek, causing you to stir. 

two big arms are looped around your midriff, heavy and slumbering, practically immovable. you’ve tried to peel them off more times than you can count, but they just won’t budge — if anything, that only makes him cling to you tighter. subconsciously or otherwise. 

(you suspect it’s the latter, on most days.)

as always, you’re pressed up against him, close as can be. completely enveloped by his scent and body warmth, strawberries and stardust, cocooned in the safety his touch brings you — like a big, weighted blanket. or maybe more like a clingy dog.

and, despite everything… it manages to cheer you up a little. doing what the delicate caress of sunlight couldn’t. just feeling him close is enough for the corners of your lips to curl up, a warmth trying to take root in your hollowed out chest; feeling his heart beat against your own, in steady motions.

satoru. your very own personal sun.

he’s admittedly cute like this, soft little breaths slipping from his parted lips, quiet snores that he’d deny if you ever brought them up — his jaw resting contentedly on the top of your head. it’s sweet. he’s sweet. but the feeling of his hair tickling your skin is a little insufferable.

insufferable, but still somehow so endearing. 

(you’ll probably always find him endearing, no matter what he does. maybe you should feel embarrassed.)

when you crane your neck, glancing up at the man in question — your breath hitches. halts, in the back of your throat. afraid to come too close. 

satoru is always pretty, but there’s something so serene about the way he looks in the morning. before he has a chance to wake up, cover up, make himself seem bigger than he is. right now, he looks so unguarded; so sleepy and pretty and comfortable. specks of sunlight scatter across that pretty face of his, like little freckles, caressing his skin with a heavenly glow. 

it really is such a shame. the sun is shining brightly, waving hello to the newly-awakened city, and your own personal sun is right by your side. snuggled up with you, and looking prettier than ever. 

but neither of those blessings are enough to change the inevitability of what day it is, today. you feel a little bad; but you know what you have to do. 

just to see the limitations, you squirm away — or try to. you don’t even move an inch. satoru’s got you trapped, caged in by his strong arms, like he’s making sure to protect you even in his dreams. a big, overprotective bear.

wanting not to rouse him from his peaceful slumber, you can’t bring yourself to make much of an effort, either. your hands travel down to the expanse of his arms, wrapped around your midriff, gentle and light as you try to tug them off. but he won’t relent so easily — the moment you succeed even slightly, those insistent arms fall back in position. only trapping you further. 

after your fifth attempt bears no fruit, satoru lets out a low groan; shifting closer, and hugging you just a little tighter. muttering under his breath.

so you resort to a different tactic.

when you finally get a proper look at him, craning your neck as far as you can, your eyes soften. his expression makes your heart melt; sleepy and snug, and just a tad annoyed. because of your numerous escape attempts, no doubt. 

he’s so beautiful it hurts. just a little, just to look at him, just to map out every contour of his angelic face. 

so you feel a little guilty. you really don’t want to wake him up, when he so rarely gets to sleep in like this — and he’s been working so hard, lately. doing his usual sorcerer thing, that he never lets you know too much about. the guilt seeps into your bones, growing deeper with every second spent etching his soft expression into your memory, knowing just how tired he must be.

it’s not like you really have a choice, though.

leaning closer, so close you can hear his heartbeat if you strain your ears enough, you put your lips against his skin. he smells like strawberries, from the shampoo he always steals from you, and he’s pleasantly warm. like a confectionary.

a moment passes. you drag it out as long as you can, indulging in the sweet fragrance.

then you begin trailing kisses up his jaw, ghosting over his skin. soft little butterflies, fluttering from his jaw to his cheekbone.. once you get close enough to see the way his eyelashes flutter, and he stirs ever so slightly, you lean in to whisper in his ear.

”satoru,” you murmur. ”just need to go to the bathroom. can you let go for a little bit, please?” 

you try your best to speak as quietly as you can, not wanting to disturb him too much — but you can tell he hears you, even in the state he’s in. all tuckered out, his muddled mind still registering the sound of your voice, how you move your lips to form sounds. a lullaby to his sleep-ridden brain.

bringing a hand up to his forehead, you brush his bangs away with palpable tenderness, leaving a kiss against his forehead. satoru stirs, again; letting out a sleepy noise somewhere between a groan, a sigh, and a whine. squeezing his eyes shut.

”honey,” you coo, hoping the term of endearment will get his attention. ”let go, please? i’ll be quick.”

satoru’s eyes blink open, slowly, like the shutter of a camera. you wish you could take a picture of him, right now — in all his angelic glory, painted over with warm colours and tangled up in freshly washed bedsheets. 

he takes a moment to adjust, unaccustomed to the bright morning light of your bedroom, face scrunching up — then his gaze falls on you.

and his heartbeat picks up.

you’re looking up at him so sweetly, fingers reaching out to cup his cheek, smooth skin against his own. the cerulean of his eyes flutter shut once more, as he nuzzles into your palm; moving one of his arms from your waist, just so he can place his palm over yours, where it rests against his skin. absentminded.

a smile crawls up to your lips. 

”… mm,” is all he manages, an incoherent little mumble. you make another attempt at getting away, only one of his arms caging you in now, but it still doesn’t work. the moment he feels you even try, he tugs you even closer. arm keeping you nice and safe in his embrace. 

satoru makes sure that his palm is still resting over yours when he leans forward, snuggles further into your side. nuzzling into your neck, pressing his lips against your collarbone, muffling a low whine.

”stay,” he murmurs, sleepy and upset, and you almost give in. he’s still too tired to really register what’s happening, only that you’re trying to leave him. 

it makes your chest ache.

a soft sigh leaves your lips. ah, this really is too cruel. how are you supposed to ever leave his embrace when he’s acting like this?

”satoru…” your free hand finds its way to his hair, carding through the pure white strands, and he practically purrs. ”just gotta go to the bathroom. i’ll be back, okay? i’ll hurry.”

another incoherent mumble. he doesn’t move, doesn’t even attempt to. still kissing your collarbone, content to have you run your fingers through his soft locks.

and you feel awful, you do — but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

as you feel him slowly, gradually fall back asleep under your caring touches… you opt to make your move. this time, you’re a little rougher — tugging his arm off and squirming away before he can think to stop you. it’s hard not to feel guilty, especially with the whine satoru lets out, arms blindly reaching out towards you — to no avail. you’re sure the loss of body warmth hits him just as hard as it does you.

an urgent voice inside your chest begs you to soothe him, to console him. seeing the little pout on his pretty lips, the furrow of his brow. 

so you lean over, carefully, cupping his cheek to leave a soft kiss against his forehead. a silent apology. ”i’ll be back soon, toru. go back to sleep, okay?” you hope he feels your love, in the action, in the words. even if he’s not really conscious enough to properly respond. 

just in case he doesn’t, you state your feelings more transparently. thumb caressing his cheekbone, as a whisper flows from out your lips: ”i love you.”

maybe it’s just your imagination, or a coincidence, but you swear he settles down a little after that. succumbing to the needs of his sleepy brain, still a little groggy and frustrated; but soothed enough to rest easy. so far, so good. caught up with thoughts of satoru, and how tiny he looks all alone in the big bed, your brain momentarily forgets about the sorrow. 

but the moment you step out of the bedroom, it’s there to greet you again. creeping up on you — a subtle, gentle kind of shock. almost kind. but hollow and cold, like the temperature of the room dropped, your almost-smile fading like a piece of paper blown away by the wind.

and suddenly, you remember what day it is. you remember what you’re supposed to be doing.

as you brew your morning cup of coffee, trying to distract yourself with the purring of the espresso machine in front of you, you find your thoughts drifting back to satoru. hoping he’ll manage to stay asleep, despite your interference — it’s his first day off in a while. he needs to rest. 

… and you don’t really know if you could deal with him, if he were to wake up and locate you right now. you can imagine what he’d say, what his expression would be like; and you can imagine the exact moment he’d realize that something is wrong, how easily he’d be able to squeeze the answers out of you. you’re weak to satoru. you’d tell him immediately, just to get him to stop frowning that subtle way he always does when he’s worried but doesn’t want you to know. 

which is exactly why this is your only option. sneaking away while he’s asleep, blissfully unaware, even if the guilt eats at your heart. you suppose it’s a welcome distraction. 

(today was going to feel awful, one way or another.)

everything feels a little like a struggle; putting your coat on, stepping into your shoes, making sure you have everything you need. and then, lastly, the note. satoru leaves them for you fairly often, on days he has to go to work early and doesn’t want to wake you, before late night missions and sudden workloads. when the reverse is true, you do the same. just something simple, a little act of love. 

i’ll be back around midnight. don’t wait up for me, okay? 

have a good day. :) 

don’t eat my portion of the kikufuku! i know you’re thinking about it.

i love you. <3

… usually, leaving a little note behind for him to find would make your heart feel light. but today, it’s not nearly as fun. you try your best to sound lighthearted; wholly aware of how ominous the contents still end up sounding.

good morning, satoru ♡  i’m sorry for waking you up before :( and for leaving without saying anything. i have an important errand to run, so i’ll be gone for a while. i’ll make sure i’m back before the sun sets, so just be patient, okay? i know you’re probably really mad, but don’t be too angry with me when i get back, please? i’ll buy you something sweet omw back!! ^^ that’s all, i think. i know how this sounds, but don’t worry. i’ll be back before you know it.  have a good day, alright? enjoy your day off!!  i love you ♡ :)

in all honesty, it’s a little mean. telling satoru not to worry about you is like telling the sun not to shine. he’s confident when he’s with you, thoroughly assured of his ability to protect you… but when you’re out of his sight, you think he gets a little anxious. even if he’s awfully good at hiding it.

still, there’s nothing else to do. you swallow the guilt, stick the note to the fridge, and step over the threshold. out into the real world, the cold world, the empty world. as the sun envelops you, and a spring breeze enters your lungs — that acute awareness strangling you only seems to grow deeper.

everything finally dawns on you, all at once. and it’s impossible to shake away that suffocating feeling —

the feeling that something is wrong.

(that something has been wrong. for a very, very long time.)

the cemetery is empty, this year.

you suspect the glaring sun has something to do with it. blinding you, casting a bright glow over the tombs of the dead, entirely out of place. no one wants to do their mourning in this kind of weather. it just feels wrong. 

that hasn’t stopped you, though. you wonder if it’s due to a love so strong it disregards the weather, or a blatant disregard towards the feelings of the dead. 

maybe both. probably both.

the solitude creeps up on you like a hungry ghost, but it’s a blessing in flimsy disguise; right now, you’re all alone. and today, that’s all you truly need. a feeling almost like stepping into another realm, one with no connection to things like reality or time. it’s just you, and the graves, and the ghosts. there’s no one here to see you cry, no one who can pretend like they understand. no one to witness the price you’ve paid for loving so fervently. 

slowly, you make your way across the cemetery. sparing a glance towards the city skyline, before fixing your eyes on one particular tomb. 

when you crouch down, the paper bag in your hand hits the ground with a soft crunch. all flowers are still in perfect condition; asters and forget-me-nots, haberleas and hyacinths. you cradle them tightly, pressed against your chest, feeding off your weakening heartbeat — your eyes moving, flitting over the grave, the name engraved into the stone. putting the bouquet down.

(you really hope she’ll like them.)

it’s surreal. to look at an object and still see a person, to touch the petals of a flower and remember the softness of human skin. you never quite got used to it. all you ever seem to do is lean into the strangeness of it all, the kick you get out of sullying something untainted. trying to remember something that should be left in the past. you can’t leave her alone.

”hi,” you whisper, so low you barely hear it. ”i’m back.”

with a sigh, you settle down on the ground; sitting cross-legged, getting comfortable. this’ll take a while.

the cherry trees are beautiful, this year. they always are; always in full bloom, almost mocking in their beauty. with their silky petals, fallen all across the ground, dyeing everything in shades of white and pink. as your eyes trail across the flowery landscape, basking in the sickening solitude of it all, that sense of otherworldliness deepens. you try not to look at the blinding sun, try not to think of the man it reminds you of. 

it’s just you, here. just you, the graves, and the cherry trees. just you, and her, and your sorrow.

for a moment, you delude yourself into thinking that it’s true — you’re in a different world, now. one that settles on the wrong axis and paints itself with the wrong colours. one that stopped spinning long ago.

(the tender stirring of your heartstrings never fades away. it sounds a little like a hymn.)

all you can think of is her. all you can feel is the grief. that hole in your heart, extending, extending, extending. it hasn’t stopped since she left. a black hole of a feeling. it’s been years since it opened, years of trying to patch it up, clawing your way to a state of normalcy. living with a piece of you carved out. 

losing your other half feels a little bit like dying in reverse. having to keep going with half your shadow stripped away, out of the tunnel, into the light. even if you’d much rather fall to the bottom, with your silhouette still intact.

(throughout the years, you’ve come to a single conclusion; orpheus had it so much worse than eurydice.)

despite everything, a smile curls its way onto your lips. something soft and fleeting, that blossoms within your irises, in between your ribs. she doesn’t answer you, as always, so you keep talking — anything to still feel connected to her. anything to fill the silence of the cemetery, the numbed out grief inside your chest. 

”let’s see. where should i start…” is muttered into the open air, followed by a moment of silence, as you think of what to say. ”i’m still with satoru, if you were wondering. everything is still… good. more than good. he’s a really, really good guy.”

a moment passes.

”i hope you’re doing okay. wherever you are. if you’re anywhere at all,” soft air leaves your lungs, a little slip of a breath, but it’s shallow, like your chest doesn’t really care if you miss an inhale or not. like just giving and never getting could keep you alive. ”i miss you. a lot. i wish i could see you…” 

a hum buzzes in your throat. you try not to think of her hair, the scent of her perfume. the flower in the back of your brain has grown bigger, you notice. unfurling at an agonizing pace, blossoming the way a wound heals. throat burning, heart aching, you swallow.

(the hole inside your heart feels jagged, like cracked glass seeping into your pancreas. a deep, internal ache.)

when you speak, your voice comes out small. nothing more than a whisper, a flurry of air. there’s an honesty to the words that makes it hard to breathe.

”… everything is so boring without you around.”

a shuddering breath leaves your wobbling lips, and you know it’s coming. you make a halfhearted attempt to keep your voice from breaking, but it doesn’t work. your eyes are already glassy, wetness spilling out, tears getting stuck in your lashes, dripping down your cheeks — you manage a meek chuckle, but it comes out sounding more like a broken whimper.

try as you might, her figure never leaves your mind. it’s all you can think of, ingrained into your retinas; a single silhouette, walking ahead of you. a sweet girl, maybe a little mean, but still so gentle. your very own moon, soothing in her confidence. every step she took was like a landmark for you to follow. 

if you strain yourself a little, she appears before you — a polaroid dug out from the depths of your memories. 

in almost microscopic detail, you can see her smile, the way the light reflected off her teeth. you can feel her hand, the way her fingers curled so perfectly around yours. you can see her, hear her, the colour of her eyes, the sound of her laughter. a moonlit girl, who left you all alone — walking ahead of you, always ahead, leaving you behind to catch up. bringing whispered secrets with her, soft bouts of laughter.

your one and only best friend.

(it’s not fair.)

something in you urges you to keep talking. it’s all you have it in you to do. and maybe it’s weird, maybe you’re crazy — to talk to someone who can’t hear you. less than a ghost.

but it’s nice. it’s comforting. it reminds you of the voicemails you would leave each other, on weekends you were both too busy to speak on the phone. her voice always came out a little fractured, from her shitty nuclear bomb of an iphone, but you strained your ears to hear every word she said. you always, always did.

(it was nice.)

so you continue. you tell her everything, and then some more. talking and talking, about you, about her, about satoru. by the time you’re done, the sun is getting ready to descend, painting the sky a bleeding orange. your voice has gone hoarse, eyes red and puffy from all the crying, but your chest feels a little lighter — the hole inside it a little more narrow, not as broken and split and jagged.

”so, well,” you clear your throat, finishing your one-sided conversation; smiling weakly. ”i guess what i’m trying to say is… i loved you this year, too.”

the smile on your face is tearstained, feeble, as you get back up on shaky legs, brushing petals and dust off the fabric of your pants. stretching your arms out.

”i’ll be back,” you promise, the same oath every single year. ”wait for me.”

one last look at her grave is all you allow yourself; soaking in the peace and quiet, the creamsicle sky framing it. parting with this sight always feels so strange. crossing the boundary, going back to a world where she’s dead and gone. discarding her so callously.

but you can’t keep satoru waiting, anymore. you promised him you’d get back before sunset.

when you begin your descent down the hill, you can’t help but look back — just one look, just in case she’s standing there. she never is, but you still spare a glance over your shoulder, every single time. you like to think of it as an act of love. 

it doesn’t feel as all-consuming, anymore, that exhausting numbness. the sorrow is still there, the grief is still there; but it’s a little less unendurable. and you feel that you can return to reality for another year, until you need to come back and cry some more.

for now, you can manage. 

(but you still have one big obstacle to deal with.)

it doesn’t take long to get back. 

as your fingers curl around the doorknob, you mentally prepare yourself. taking a shaky inhale. satoru definitely won’t be happy — you can already picture the frown he’ll have on his face, his crossed arms. the neverending flurry of huffs and scoffs. 

you’ll just have to bear with it. exhaustion crawls beneath your skin, and everything feels a little too heavy for you to bear without breaking. normally, you’d head straight to bed, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to coax the day into ending early. but you can’t pull something like that, today. not when satoru will be there to see it. you can only hope he’ll be understanding — even without knowing anything. 

(such an unfair thing to ask of a person.)

the door creaks open, and you step inside.

a particular scent engulfs you, as soon as you cross the threshold to your apartment. a blend between sunlight, and the fabric softener he likes, and freshly squeezed fruit juice. and, of course, that certain aroma you can only ever describe as home. 

it smells like satoru, too. then again, maybe that’s just the scent of home in disguise.

finally, the weight around your shoulders starts to crumble. it’s a little easier to breathe, like this, a weighted blanket of comfort around you. something sweet and soothing and smelling lightly of rosemary. peace — or as close to it as you can get, today.

a sigh pushes past your lips; heavy with fatigue. dripping with relief.

(you’re home.)

”well, well, well.”

— a moment passes.

the sudden noise makes you freeze up, eyes wide and alert, still in the process of kicking off your shoes. internally wincing, bracing yourself. here it comes. 

slowly, hesitantly, you raise your gaze from the floor — locking eyes with a certain man. 

satoru looks displeased, to say the very least. arms crossed, with a cute little frown playing on his lips. just as you imagined. you can’t see his eyes from behind his shades — but if you could, you’re sure they’d carry a sense of betrayal. 

”… hi, sato —”

”i can’t believe you.”

an amused breath slips from your lips. amused, but sheepish, awfully nervous. like you just came home to an angry wife, after promising to be back early from work. and satoru only huffs, staring you down like you just killed his dog.

”betrayed. deserted. by my own partner,” he scoffs, shaking his head in obvious disapproval. ”what, are you done with your errand now?”

”satoru,” you try, voice falling into a melodic lilt. smiling up at him, inching closer. to your surprise, he takes a step back.

(you must have really upset him.)

a sad smile. you exhale, wringing your hands together. ”… i’m sorry i left you.”

”you should be,” he pouts, voice wounded to a degree that must be at least a little bit exaggerated. ”and you said you were just going to the bathroom.”

you let out a small, guilty chuckle. he remembers that? ”i’m really sorry. i left you the note, though…”

”right. the note,” satoru scoffs, like the word itself is personally offensive. ”d’you know how awful i felt, seeing that first thing in the morning? no sign of you anywhere, and some silly note is supposed to make up for it?” 

oh, he’s being so unfair. looking so disgruntled, tapping the pads of his fingers on his elbow. you wish you could take him seriously, but he’s way too endearing. and he won’t let you get a word in.

”i was so worried. i thought someone had kidnapped you.” satoru doesn’t let up, even when an amused chuckle leaves your lips. ”you turned your phone off and everything! what were you even doing?”

”i know, i know. i’m sorry, really. i am!” you hang up your coat, brushing off a leftover cherry petal. ”it was a personal thing, like i said. but i dealt with everything now, so it’s fine.”

”that’s not an answer,” he mutters. ”you’re really not gonna tell me?”

a pang of guilt hits your heart. 

”… sorry,” you murmur, low and feeble. avoiding his gaze. ”some other time, okay?”

satoru only lets out another spiteful scoff, arms still crossed. you wonder if he’s holding himself back from hugging you, or if he really is so angry with you that he doesn’t want you near him.

”look, toru —” you try, again, molding your voice into something soft and sweet. ”i’m really sorry. i won’t do it again, okay? and i’ll make it up to you.” 

you hold up a paper bag, waving it slightly to get his attention. you can tell that it works. ”look. i got you your favorite pastries.”

satoru’s frown remains, despite the sweet treats. he must be angrier than you thought. ”really? you think some cookies will be enough to make things right?” 

so stubborn. you suppose it’s warranted, though. you know how satoru is — if you’re not by his side for an extended amount of time, he starts to mope. after a while, he starts feeling lonely. 

and then, finally, he starts to get anxious.

he’s told you, before, how much these days mean to him; days when the two of you can stay in and relax, and watch silly tv shows, and cook dinner, and fall asleep in each other’s arms. days when he can just be your toru, and no one else. your personal splotch of sunshine.

of course he’d be upset. 

(you really are cruel, keeping him in the dark like this.)

seeing him so grumpy makes you oddly happy, though. just his presence makes that suffocating feeling in your chest feel a little more bearable, easing the burden on your restless heart. he makes you feel vulnerable.

with a thud, the paper bag drops to the floor. you open up your arms, like a blooming flower, a sheepish little smile on your lips. ”i missed you?”

the words are tinted with honey, sweet and warm, but also kind of sad. you tilt your head to the right, slightly, a silent invitation into your arms. 

and for a second, something unreadable sparks in satoru’s eyes, hidden behind the black of his shades. you still notice it, though — almost as if his whole face pauses for a second. in clever contemplation. 

you wonder if he noticed it, then. your puffy eyes, the sagging of your shoulders; the fatigue seeping off you, sticking to your skin.

you wonder if that’s why he relents, finally, stepping closer to bring you in for a hug.

the moment your head meets his chest, you’re enveloped by his scent. strawberries and fresh laundry, and a hint of expensive cologne. home.

a sigh leaves your lips, deep and content. you clutch onto the fabric of his shirt, melting into the embrace — and satoru can’t really bring himself to be too angry, anymore.

”… well, i guess i could forgive you,” he muses, arms securely wrapped around your waist. you’re sure he’s trying to sound stern, but it’s not very convincing when he’s snuggling into you like this. ”but you’re gonna have to make it up to me. alright?”

”right, right,” you exhale, smiling. just thankful to be close to him, to feel that he’s there. ”thank you, oh benevolent satoru.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you feel it; the low tremor running through his chest, rumbling, as he rests his jaw on your head. ”careful with the snark. if you want to be forgiven you gotta be nice to me, sweetheart.”

you let out a breath, somewhere in between an exasperated sigh and a fond giggle. he’s relieved to hear the sound. satoru prides himself on being observant — being able to read someone with a single glance, notice if something’s off almost instantly. and he’s especially proud of his observant nature when it comes to you. 

as clear as the blue of the sky, or the brightness of the sun, satoru can tell that something’s wrong. he noticed it the moment he read that note, the moment you stepped back into the house, the moment he saw your meek little face staring up at him — desperate for comfort. as if one wrong touch could have you falling apart, shattering, like a flimsy sheet of glass.

whatever you were doing, today… it couldn’t have been pleasant. 

he’s curious, of course, and still more than a little irked at your escape — but that can wait until later. satoru can be patient, when he wants to be. at the very least, he can be patient when it comes to you. 

(for now, he’ll focus on cheering you up.)

nuzzling further into his chest, you take a deep breath, basking in the familiar sensation creeping up on you. satoru makes a halfhearted attempt to stifle his coo. 

”aw, look at you,” he grins, swaying you softly side to side. ”so clingy. you really did miss me, huh?”

a huff leaves your lips. ”shut up,” you mumble, feeling a heat rush to your cheeks. 

”be nice, baby.”

…

and you relent. the least you could do is indulge him, even if you know he’ll abuse the opportunity fully. you part your lips, and speak.

”… of course i missed you.”

”there we go,” a smug grin blooms on his lips. he rubs your back, absentmindedly. gosh, he’s infuriating. 

(you love him so much you want to sneak into his chest and gobble up his heart.)

after a moment, he pulls away from you. just a little, just to get a good look at your face. drinking you in, with his blue-soaked gaze, as your eyelashes flutter. he reaches out, the pads of his fingers meeting your soft skin — cupping your cheek with his palm, big and warm, cradling you the way a believer would cup a mouthful of holy water. 

then he leans in to kiss you. giving you no time to prepare, drawing you in, drawn to your touch, inexplicably. helplessly. 

it’s a chaste kiss, light and heart-fluttering. his lips are soft, tasting lightly of cherry chapstick. when you exhale against them, you feel him smile, almost smirking. a blissful little breath that he drinks in, hands squeezing softly at your hips, bringing you just a little closer. rubbing his nose against yours. 

his tongue flits out to lick at your bottom lip, a teasing flick, and then he’s pulling back — still close enough to make you flustered. 

”missed you too,” he purrs, voice deep and raspy, rumbling through his chest. ”thought i was gonna go insane without you.”

with a flushed face, and something akin to a pout playing at your lips, you avoid his gaze. you’re sure that if you looked now, you’d see those pools of blue peeking out beneath the black glass. 

satoru leans in to kiss you, again. giving you no warning, as always; unable to resist the temptation. 

(you really are too cute for your own good.)

it’s a little intoxicating, the way he breathes you in. sweet and warm, like he’s trying to say i love you without using any words, with just his lips and lungs and tongue. he’s a little too good at it — someone so inexperienced has no business being so naturally good at kissing. it’s a little irritating.

but that’s satoru, for you. always surpassing your expectations; like there’s no limit to his love.

satoru finally decides to spare you, satisfied with the tiny squeak that bubbles up in your throat when he nibbles at the flesh of your lip. he’ll demand more kisses later — preferably when you’re seated in his lap, and he can properly turn you into a boneless puddle.

”alright,” he chirps, a melodic lilt to his voice, stepping back with a palm still on your hip. his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric. ”let’s see those pastries.”

”oh. right…” you’re quick to lean down, snatching the paper bag from where it lays on the floor. passing it to satoru, so he can look into it.

seemingly satisfied with the contents, he lets out a contemplative hum. ”okay, this is a start,” he nods, decisive. ”c’mon. let’s eat ’em by the couch.”

…

you narrow your eyes, suddenly suspicious. ”… hang on. have you had lunch yet?”

satoru gapes, as if in disbelief, barking out a soft, offended little scoff. ”really? you’re doubting me?”

”that’s not a yes.”

a pout forms on his lips. ”of course i have. who do you think i am?”

”oh yeah?” you give him a smile, a tiny raise of your brow. something in you knows that he’s lying. ”what’d you eat?”

”what is this, an interrogation?” he huffs. ”i’m a grown man. i can eat what i want!”

”not when i’m around,” you deadpan. then sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. ”satoru, you can’t eat a bunch of sweets for lunch. it’s not good for you.”

”so you can abandon me for hours, but i can’t have a little treat every once in a while? is that how it is?”

a roll of your eyes. you shift on your feet, letting out a low groan, and satoru has to reel in his growing smile. ”alright, drama queen. i get your point.” a moment passes, and you hum. ”… want me to make you something? or should i just order take out?”

satoru pouts, again, like a big huffy dog. ”babe, don’t you trust me? i’ve already had lunch. i got yakitori from the place downtown!”

”oh? you mean the yakitori place that’s closed on sundays?”

”huh. that’s weird,” he muses, smiling faintly. ”must’ve been some other place, then.” 

you give him an unamused look. he returns it with a vague upturn of his lips, completely unbothered.

a sigh.

”… i’ll order take out.”

”whatever you say, princess.”

you stifle a smile, and go digging for your phone, feeling your own stomach rumble a bit. in the midst of the banter, you almost forget what day it is. 

and satoru feels satisfied. you look a little more alive, now. a little more anchored to reality. as you call the takeout place of your choosing, he can even spot some earnest light in your eyes. he’s not exactly worried — but you did seem oddly stiff, just now, a little blurry. faded at the corners, like a dusty old polaroid.

and if there’s one thing satoru gojo can’t do, it’s leave you alone when he knows you need him.

satoru’s punishment for leaving him alone so long is swift and severe.

you’re seated in his lap, caged in by his long arms, and this time you know there’s no escaping them. even if you could, you wouldn’t dare to try. being caged in like this, warm and comfy in satoru’s embrace, isn’t really much of a punishment at all — even the kisses he has you press against his lips and jaw aren’t unwelcome, albeit a little embarrassing. he’s a merciful tyrant. 

but you can’t help but feel like you’re deceiving him. 

you still feel so lost, somehow, a murky sensation you can’t seem to shake off. and you know it’s because of your brain, because of the correlations it’s stitching and crocheting between today and her and you. 

it simply won’t let you be happy, today. 

you can’t help but feel a little greedy. ungrateful. even though you have your precious sun with you, even though you should feel warm, her absence hangs heavy on you. her continued absence, in your world, your life. a chill that rots your bones from the inside out. you know you’ll never get over it. you don’t ever want to get over it. it’s tough, though. 

you should be happy, snuggled into your boyfriend’s arms, but her sorrow clings to you. you should be mourning, but his arms feel so secure like this. no reaction feels right, no emotion warranted.

(you really are greedy, aren’t you?)

satoru chuckles, a sound both delighted and amused — snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. as always.

you’re watching a movie he likes, some cheesy old romcom. you really, really don’t understand his taste. but his commentary is always entertaining. judging by his cute little noise, someone just said something funny — funny to his standards, anyhow.

it’s too tempting to resist. you crane your neck, glancing up at him, wanting to see his face. from this angle, you can spot the blue of his eyes — beautiful and bright, flickering with splotches of pure white. they flit down to meet your own, gleaming with amusement.

”do i have something on my face, baby?” satoru chuckles, leaning forward to get a better look at you, all tucked against his chest. he grins, smooth, handsome; tailor-made to make you flustered. ”you’re staring at me real hard, there.”

(what a tease. 

unfortunately for him, you saw this one coming.)

”nah,” you show off a grin of your own, bubbly and teasing. ”you’re just pretty.”

he blinks. a few seconds passes by.

then a smile breaks out across his face. his eyes crinkle softly at the edges, like little petals, snowy bangs gliding against his skin when he tilts his head.

”oh?” he leans closer, hands still keeping you in place, making sure your gaze stays locked onto his. ”so forward. am i really that irresistible?”

there’s something soft in your eyes, something tender in the way your fingers go to touch his skin. a ghost of a caress, paired with your flimsy smile. you look at him like he hung all the stars in the sky, breathing out an exhale. ”… i wouldn’t go that far.”

”aw, don’t be embarrassed,” he lets out a coo. ”come on — tell me i’m pretty again.”

”you liked that, huh?”

satoru flicks your forehead, no real strength behind it, so soft you barely feel it. there’s a certain reprimanding tilt to his voice, teasing as it is. ”be nice.”

he’s lucky you’re feeling too vulnerable to put up a fight. you turn around, to face him properly, squirming in his hold; reaching out to cup his handsome face.

”pretty boy,” you murmur, running your thumb along the expanse of his cheekbone. satoru grins, and your heart thumps loudly in your chest. you can spot earnest giddiness on his features — such a sucker for praise.

blindly, he searches for your other hand, bringing it to his lips. they’re warm, you notice, as he kisses across your knuckles, the tips of your fingers. soft as a feather, tickling your skin. like every peck is a whispered psalm, a silent worship. but it’s light, it always has been — the weight of his boundless adoration. it’s not the heavy kind of love that gods give, not the one you hear about in stories, that always ends in death. satoru’s love isn’t crushing, and it isn’t suffocating. it’s delicate and careful, soft. it reminds you of how sunshine licks at your skin in the morning.

nothing more or less than one human being’s wholehearted love for another; giggles buzzing against your skin, crinkled eyes and mouthfuls of honey. blissful summer days.

(it reminds you of her, but it’s also something entirely different. something you can only ever make sense of when you think of the sun. when every single corner of your home has been doused in sunshine.)

a moment passes. so, so intimate, unbroken by the grief inside your chest. balm to your fractured heart, smoothing across your jagged edges. satoru leans into your palm, into your touch, relishing in the affection you give him. like a bee to a flower, blooming, wilting.

a nagging need tugs at your heartstrings.

(you want to see him. up close.)

although a little unsure, you reach your hands out, slowly, delicately, like approaching a frightened fawn — eager to remove his shades. he makes no move to stop you, so you assume that it’s okay. his eyes flutter open, when you do, white lashes parting like a bird taking flight; crinkled at the corners, overflowing with warmth. like sunshine streaming in through the curtains of your childhood kitchen. 

your heartbeat stutters at the sight.

all you can do is stare. transfixed, losing yourself in their calming hue, drinking them in. you sigh; a soft, quiet little sound. ”you’re so pretty.”

…

satoru lets out a breath, tinged with laughter. his eyes are teasing, but warm even still. ”… am i, now?”

”mhm. the prettiest.”

he chokes back another chuckle. hoping you won’t notice the slight flush to his ears, the heat on the back of his neck. he’s grown skilled at keeping a poker face, even when you try to fluster him — but it’s harder when you’re not trying, when it comes to you so easily. when your words are honest.

just when he’s about to turn the tables on you, you duck your head under his jaw. nuzzling into the crook of his neck, inhaling his cologne, craving his warmth, knowing how much it grounds you. 

that, and his eyes are just a little too beautiful to stare into for too long. they always see right through you, deep into your soul, into every little nook and cranny of your mind. that undivided attention makes you feel a little meek, like you’re bare and raw before him. like there’s nothing you can hide.

(something in your hollowed-out chest begins to crumble.)

falling silent, you absently fiddle with the hem of satoru’s shirt, resting your forehead against his shoulder. he doesn’t say anything. the room would be silent were it not for that cheesy romcom, still buzzing in the background — you think the main couple just got divorced, again. or did get they married? you can’t really keep track of the plot. you can’t keep track of much at all, right now.

satoru makes you too happy.

so happy you forget what day it is, forget you’re supposed to be mourning. sometimes, you forget she’s even gone at all. as if she’s resting on some summer field, outside of your vision, alive and well. 

but she isn’t. you can’t forget that.

guilt. how long has it been part of your life? you don’t know the answer. you’re not sure you want to know. most of the time, it’s all you can feel. guilt, because you’re sitting here, happy, with the love of your life — the most wonderful person you know. guilt, because you haven’t told him what’s going on, because you don’t trust him enough — even though you’d like to think you just don’t want to burden him. you don’t trust anyone enough to let them glimpse into your decaying chest. you’re afraid of the rot. you’re afraid it’ll mold his hand at the slightest touch.

guilt, guilt, guilt — because you’re lucky enough to meet such wonderful people, over and over again, and never quite manage to deserve them.

(having lost its moon, where does a star find solace?)

a hand begins to stroke your head. the weight is a comfort, reassuring, a jolt of warmth trickling down your spine. for a moment, it’s all you can feel.

(— in the warmth of the sun.)

”sleepy?” he murmurs, low and soft. a little teasing, mostly inquisitive, a calm lull of his tongue.

are you? you didn’t really notice, until now. things are starting to feel a little hazy, aren’t they? you feel comfortable, too comfortable, your body aching for a moment of rest, a chance to shut off. sleep, sleep, sleep. don’t think about anything anymore.

satoru notices your sleepy little breaths, the way you gradually soften under his touch, melt into his arms. so he continues to run his hand over your head, petting you gently — knowing it’ll coax you into resting. he’d like you to stay up and binge shows with him all night, but you seem awfully tired. just this once, he’ll let you sleep — the plot was starting to get boring, anyhow. the sequel’s way better.

”you can rest, baby,” he coos, with a gentle intonation. his voice buzzes in your ear. ”i’ve got you.”

(he’s got you.)

the words make you feel so horribly, awfully safe. you can already feel yourself drifting away. his hand smooths down your hair, and a yawn slips from your lips, and you’re just so, so tired. how nice it would be, for the day to end. to be able to forget, for another year.

yeah. how nice. 

you wonder why you don’t take the opportunity.

maybe it has something to do with satoru. with the way he seems to bring you back to reality so effortlessly, soothes you without even really trying. maybe it’s the way he bares himself in front of you, blue eyes on full display, allowing you to see every single part of him. 

maybe, it makes you want to do the same.

”… satoru?”

your voice sounds meek. tiny, unguarded. the man in question only hums, feeling you slump against his shoulder. ”hm?”

”today…” you trail off, unsure how to proceed. you can only think of a certain girl, a certain moon. the melancholy is almost overbearing; it pushes you over the edge. ”i went to a cemetery.”

satoru doesn’t respond. he gives you space to continue, never once halting the motion of his big hand on your head, smoothing down your hair. you gulp, trying to force your dry throat to make sounds.

”… my best friend is buried there. she died today. a couple years back… so i —” a coldness crawls under your skin, words hollow as they leave your lips.

”… you know.”

”yeah. i figured.”

a blink. your eyelashes flutter, in surprise — you can’t see satoru’s face, with the way you’re pressed up against him, but you still look up.

what tipped him off, you wonder? 

you believe him. satoru has a way of seeing through you, one way or another, always more observant than you give him credit for. he’s tactful, in how he brings it up, and that slumbering maturity he tries to hide comes into view. there’s no judgement in his tone, no pity — only understanding.

”… oh,” is all you can mutter. dumbfounded.

”i’m sorry. about her.”

”don’t be,” you murmur, managing a soft shake of your head. ”i’m — i’m sorry i didn’t tell you. i just wanted to go there alone, and… deal with it? i guess.”

after a brief pause, you keep going. feeling so, so small. but satoru holds you so tenderly. a whisper slips past your lips, dripping with longing.

”… you’d have liked her.”

”what was she like?” comes his reply, instantaneous.

…

huh.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. your mind spins in circles, but nothing happens. 

(what was she like?)

”… i really loved her.”

satoru lets out a breath. vaguely amused, but he isn’t smiling. his words have a kindness to them; an understanding, more than anything. ”that’s all, huh?”

a slight intake of breath.

— then you bring yourself to think of her.

you think of her face, how her lips curled up into a smile when you tripped over air, the splotches of sunlight reflecting off her white teeth. you think of her laughter, how it always echoed in your head, how she took your hand in hers when you were too scared to walk ahead alone — taking the first step so you wouldn’t have to. a whole human being, multifaceted, enough traits and quirks to fill the whole night sky.

your moon. your eurydice. the only one who understood you.

you loved her a lot.

”… when i was with her, even sitting around and doing nothing made me happy.” nostalgia seeps into the whisper, like warm honey clogging up your throat, choking you. ”just her being there made every day feel like a good one.”

satoru doesn’t say anything. but he holds you, and he doesn’t let go. even when your voice begins to waver.

”i guess that’s… how i’d describe her.” a small breath. then a smile, even smaller. rueful, but it’s there, and it means everything. ”i’d do anything to have that yesterday back.”

satoru stays silent. 

you’ve spoken about her, before. he knows some things. not a lot. he knows she’s important to you; the person who shaped you into who you are, your very best friend. he tries to picture her, inside his mind.

you let out a tiny sigh, your lungs feeling empty of air. ”… i’m sure you two would have gotten along.”

”yeah,” he hums, palm smoothing down your back. stifling the thought that threatens to sneak into his mind — you wouldn’t have gotten along with him, but i would’ve wanted you to. ”i’m sure we would have.”

it’s a little too sweet to be true. but it makes you happy, just to imagine that kind of reality — the two of them, together. satoru would tease her, and she’d ignore him, hiding a smile behind her palm. she’d warm up to him eventually. they’d bicker over who knew you best, and demand your own verdict — 

you’d smile, not saying a thing.

your voice has gotten a little shaky. it’s scary, opening yourself up for him to see; it feels a little like being sewn open. but you force yourself to keep going. satoru rubs your back through it all, soothingly.

(he’s so, so proud of you.)

”i was thinking…” you trail off, gaze fixed on satoru’s shirt, fingers gripping the smooth fabric. ”maybe, some time in the future — i mean, if you want to — you could… come with me? maybe?” 

silence.

”you don’t have to say yes. but if you do want to —”

”i do.” 

satoru’s voice is absolute. there isn’t any room for doubt; he makes sure of that. ”i’d like to meet her.”

… oh.

it was that easy, huh? 

(you wonder what you could have possibly done to deserve him.)

”… okay,” you mumble, meekly, breath fanning over his skin. ”next year, then.”

satoru glances down at you. curled up against him, nearly sleeping, looking a lot less burdened than before — though there’s still a desperation in the way you lean into his touch, a silent terror, like you could drift away if he doesn’t keep you close. satoru wants to fix it. he wants to run his hands across your skin, stitch the scars life has left you with, even if his touch could never be as gentle as he’d like it to be. he wants to be tender.

but there’s no fixing grief. it lingers, always, no matter how much you try to scrub it away. even if you run a washcloth over your skin until it starts to bleed, the scent still remains. 

and there’s a sickening sense of comfort in the knowledge that it always will.

(there’s no getting rid of him, satoru knows. and deep down, he’s glad that it’s true.)

more than anything else — satoru is content. content in the knowledge that you trust him, that you can bring yourself to open up to him about something so personal. that you chose to tell him, even though he gave you a way out. something about it makes him feel almost overwhelmed with affection. the kind he can’t bear not to show you, the kind that makes him seek you out almost subconsciously; seeking out your touch, your laughter. the smile on your face.

and maybe, just maybe — it makes him want to be a little more open with you, too.

”yeah,” he murmurs, craning his neck to leave a kiss on the crown of your head. ”you can sleep, baby. we’ll talk more about it tomorrow, okay?”

”… i’m sorry for leaving you this morning,” you whisper, suddenly. a little meek. ”i felt really bad.”

satoru chuckles. raspy, an amused little breath. ”you’re forgiven, honey,” he coos. ”just don’t do it again, hm? might break my heart.”

with a yawn, you loop your arms around his neck, nuzzling further into his warmth. fighting the urge to close your eyes. drowsiness washes over you all at once, as if it was waiting for you to get the last of your worries off your chest. ”… i love you.”

”i love you too,” comes his reply, a smile tugging at his lips. ”my sweet girl.”

it’s hard to resist the temptation. almost impossible, with how warm satoru feels, your eyes helplessly fluttering close. you were supposed to stay up with him — you haven’t even finished eating. and you didn’t finish his awful romcom. 

but he runs his hands over your head, and down your back, and it’s simply too hard to withstand the temptation. so you close your eyes, just for a second —

and that’s all it takes.

satoru keeps petting you, softly, until he’s sure you’re asleep, soft little breaths falling from your parted lips, drool slipping down your chin. he’ll forgive you for staining his shirt, just this once. with you in his lap, sound asleep, he feels himself soften — hands running down your back, rubbing circles into your skin. cradling you closer and closer, ensuring that you’re comfortable. taking a few sneaky pictures, that he’ll tease you about tomorrow — 

(though in reality, he just wants to be able to look at them whenever he wants.)

even while eating, romcom flickering on and on, all he can think about is you. how you look so pretty sleeping against him, how you trust him enough to let him see you at your lowest. how you trust him to take care of you, run his fingers across the scars etched into your soul. even if it does no good, even if his touch is clumsy at best — that act of trust alone sets his heart aflutter.

he wonders what he could have possibly done to deserve this happiness.

”well, here we are.”

satoru holds a bouquet of flowers in his arms, putting it down on the grave, crouching down next to you.

a sigh leaves your lips. 

”… this still feels a little surreal,” you admit, sparing a glance at the man to your left. ”sure you’re not a little freaked out?”

”nah. don’t mind me, just do your thing.”

”that’s… easier said than done,” you murmur, arranging the flowers for the grave. asters and forget-me-nots, haberleas and hydrangeas.

a hum buzzes in his throat. ”well, what do you usually do when you’re here?”

”i… talk to her, i guess…?” you gnaw at your bottom lip, turning your face away. you feel a little awkward, admitting it out loud, but if satoru finds it weird he’s frighteningly good at hiding it.

all he does is take a step back, as if giving space for your words to fit in. respectful, accommodating. so smooth you barely notice it. ”then talk.”

”… i can’t do that with you here.”

”eh? why not?”

”because — i just can’t, okay?” you let out a huff, averting your gaze, shying away from him. ”whatever. i’m just gonna do it in my head. she’ll have to manage.”

satoru turns his head, looking down at the city skyline below you as you clasp your hands together. when he looks back, he sees you mouthing something, no sound coming out — and decides to leave you be.

the grave is well kept. he wonders how many visits you’ve managed to sneak past him, in the years that he’s known you. he wonders if it’s supposed to feel this foreign, being here, staring down at something he knows must mean the world to you. the grave of your very best friend. someone who holds a piece of your heart, a side of you he never got to see. 

he’ll have to make a good first impression.

satoru clasps his hands together, too. and he speaks, silently, with no words; lips pursed in a tight line. 

(hi, there. it’s nice to meet you.)

it’s not like he has no experience of talking to the dead, himself. he’s more than acquainted with one-sided conversations, lonely visions of boys with black hair, men with sad smiles. framed by the setting sun.

so it doesn’t feel too odd. 

satoru talks. about this, about that. he tries to keep it professional. this is important to you, so by nature, it’s important to him. the conversation comes to a close, and he looks at the grave with an unreadable expression — hands still clasped in silent prayer.

(i promise to take care of them.)

a sniffle. 

satoru glances over at you, just as you turn away — trying to hide from him. but he knows. he’ll always, always know when you need him most. 

two strong arms curl around your waist, stabilizing you, anchoring you to earth. ”i’ve got you,” he whispers, and you fall into his embrace. allowing him to pick up the pieces, to put you back together. ”i’ve got you.”

”i —” your voice breaks apart, crumbles into stardust, a shuddering breath that escapes from the back of your throat. there’s nothing to see through your tears. ”i miss her so much.”

satoru cradles you close to his chest, tucking you under his chin. ”i know,” he soothes. your little sobs leave his heart with a bitter feeling, and he wishes he could make them disappear; but he knows you need this. 

when he holds you, something brushes against the fabric of your clothing. the soft thrumming of his heartbeat. something alive, deep within his chest, something for you to ground yourself with. and you know it was intentional, on his part — the decision to press your hearts together, a promise he doesn’t have to find the words for, because you know.

(stay alive for me. i’ll stay alive for you.

when you can’t breathe properly, i’ll be here to do it for you.)

your tears stain his brand-new coat, but he doesn’t care. all he cares about is you, the fact that you’re crying, how to properly comfort you. it’s new to him, all of it, everything about you is just so new and he’s so afraid of messing it all up again —

but he holds you close. murmuring, right by your ear, endless sweet nothings. he waits for you to get it all out of your system, and he doesn’t let you go.

when you finally collect yourself, thoroughly tired out, eyes red and puffy — satoru smiles. it’s brighter than the sun, positively life-envoking. it gives you something to hold on to. he parts his lips.

”thank you for bringing me here.”

a shake of your head. soft, as he thumbs away your tears, one by one. ”thank you for coming with me,” you smile, small as it is, holding onto his hands. feeling the warmth of his skin, the smoothness of his palm.

after saying your farewells, and promising to come back next year, the two of you begin your trek down the mountain trail. hand in hand. it’s mostly silent, but not at all in a bad way. satoru knows when to be serious, and when not to be. today, he knows you’re especially fragile — he wouldn’t dare overstep.

(especially when he knows your pain so well.)

”hey,” you break the silence. ”thank you, really. for… well, everything.”

satoru brushes you off, with a light squeeze of your hand. ”don’t mention it. i’m your boyfriend, aren’t i?”

”it’s not about that,” you chuckle, an embarrassed smile on your lips. ”just… thank you for existing, i guess. i love you a lot.” 

…

satoru hums.

if he were any other person, maybe he’d respond with something just as sincere — something to let you know exactly how much you mean to him, how you make his world brighter just by being in it. how you mend scars he didn’t even know he had, as effortlessly as brushing a strand of hair away from your face. how you remind him of a certain boy, but also something entirely different; a love so light it makes him feel human.

but he’s satoru gojo — and so he has to do things in a more roundabout way.

”hey,” he starts, with a soft click of his tongue. ”next christmas. are you free?”

you blink up at him, with a tilt of your head. ”… of course. we always do something on christmas, right?”

”no, i don’t mean that.”

another tilt of your head. satoru hums, low and contemplative, humming quietly.

”eh,” he flicks his hand, waving you off. ”you’ll see.”

”… okay?”

silently, you study his expression, hoping to find some sort of hint that’ll give away the meaning of his words. you can’t find anything except a carefree smile, his eyes still obscured by his shades — hidden from you and the rest of the ghosts.

you suppose it doesn’t really matter. satoru seems happy; and, really, that’s all you could ask for. 

so you only tug him closer, greedy for his warmth, basking in the feeling of it enveloping you. protecting you from the chilly air. 

satoru closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

(a boy with black hair smiles behind his eyelids.)

[emmyrosee]

“Don’t look at me like that. Freak.”

Kiyoomi’s words have you snapping out of your daze of, indeed, staring at him, blinking lazily and smiling dopily at him. His fingers continue to thumb through his book, just as he has been for as long as you’ve been staring at him.

Usually, Kiyoomi won’t say anything in regards to your staring, normally opting to be quiet and merely continue with his day, but today, he knows something feels different.

You have to get closer to him.

Your perch on the couch has you strangely close enough, close enough you smell his curl cream and the natural scent his body has due to not applying cologne or lotion.

He smells so good. You have to get closer.

“Stop staring at me.”

“I can’t. It’s against the rules.”

“Well my rules are: I’m gonna beat you up if you don’t at least blink while you stare at me. Feel those damn eyes fixated on mine.”

You laugh but say nothing, merely scooting closer.

“I love you,” you purr, kissing his cheek. He hums contently before gently grabbing your chin to keep you close, and he turns his head away from his book to kiss you properly.

Even sitting, you’re weakened from the affection, elbow buckling under the weight of holding you up being tampered with by the affection.

You have. To. Get. Closer.

“Kiyoomi?”

“Yeah babe?”

“You know how sometimes I really like skin to skin?”

Kiyoomi flicks his eyes up at the sky, both in thought and in preparation for your question, “yes. Yes I do.”

“I love you,” you assure once more.

Before he can question, it’s too late. You’re getting closer.

“What’re you do- AYE! HEY! NO-“

It’s too late. With a smile, you force yourself under his shirt, his hands failing (and, to be honest, not trying very hard) to still you and get you back out of the shirt. He squirms slightly under the feeling of you jamming yourself under the fabric with him, trying to shove you out because yeah, he loves you, but what in the sam hell are you doing?

Threads in his shirt start popping, and he screams in agony once again, “I LIKE THIS SHIRT, NO!”

As if he’s truly trying to make you stop.

He could easily stop you, he’s done it before, he’s not fooling you any time soon.

“Just- hold on, let me-“ you show no signs of stopping your squirming.

“It ticKLES FUCK OFF!” He snarls, and he sends you a glare of rage once your head pops through the head hole with him.

Basically nose to nose with him, you smile and nudge him softly, “hi you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, he lets out a hot breath of fury through his nose.

“Listen,” he whispers yells, and you let out a string of giggles. “No, you listen to me-“

“Okay.”

“This has got to stop- between you stealing them and you destroying them, I’m running out of shirts!”

“So don’t wear any,” you offer, and his face drops in annoyance and a roll of his eyes, and you laugh harder despite being pinned against him.

“No,” he snarls again, voices still pitched in a whisper, “no, you can’t keep doing this, just bite me for fucks sake! There’s no need for this!”

“Okay,” You say, and before he can even take his words back, you sink your teeth against his nose, biting softly while still giggling at his expense. He blinks unamused at you, clearly still in the act that he’s mad at you. “Sounds like you really just want me to bite you, Kiyoomi. Should I accept the invite?”

“IF IT KEEPS YOU FROM GRABBING MY TEETH, SNIFFING UNDER MY ARMS, AND CRAWLING IN MY SHIRTS, YES!” He barks, and you wheeze before thunking your head against him.

“You and I both know that those are not going to stop,” you assure.

He sighs, “yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” you say, giving him a small kiss for compensation. Then, you look around, your neck starting to hurt from being crinkled, “so… how do we get out of this?”

“YOU PUT US IN THIS!”

“Yeah but I have to pee.” You smack on a pair of puppy eyes and he rolls his, “unless… you don’t mind-“

“I’d rather rip this shirt to shreds and have you piss on it, than carry you to the bathroom and pee attached to you. I don’t love you that much.”

Liar.

Regardless, he pulls against you to try and pop the threads, back arching to force you up. You giggle and whine as you plant your hands on his chest, trying to push against him. The shirt stretches quite a bit under your forces, and with another grunt of effort, Kiyoomi reaches around you to grip the collar in his massive hands, and with one final shred, the shirt comes apart; it frees you both from the prison of fabric, and you let out a breath at the feeling of being released.

Now that there’s shreds of shirt in his hands, mouth releasing pants of adrenaline out, you do feel a little bad for it; with a small frown, you lean back next to him as he gathers the small bits of fabric, and you him for his attention. He glared at you from under his lashes.

“Thank you for getting us out,” you plant a compensatory kiss on his lips, initially to be used as a peck, but your heart beats wildly as one hand come up to cradle your head and keep you there as a proper kiss.

“I’ll always get you out,” he says simply against your lips.

When he doesn’t let go of your head though, your heart beats a little bit faster.

“Kiyoomi?”

“What?” The intensity of his kisses grow. You start to giggle against his lips, your hands planting on his shoulders to try and force some distance. “Why’re you freaking out?”

“Let me go!” Your words are smushed against his lips. He chuckles and pushes you impossibly closer, the entirety of his weight flipping on you and keeping you pinned. You squeal and try to fight more, only resulting in his kisses being planted down your neck and chin, making you erupt into more laughter.

“Thought you wanted to be close to me.”

“Too close!” You titter.

You feel him smirk against your skin.

“No such thing.”

[xxsugarbones]

Lessons

It’s not that he doesn’t know how to give head. Sometimes he just likes a little encouragement in the form of a very.. Hands-on lesson.

-ft. poly!satosugu x fem!reader

cw - poly relationship, cunnilingus, teaching satoru how to eat pussy, satoru is lowkey filthy in one part, sugu pulls toru’s hair twice, pet names, praise

wc - 535

a/n - this is shamelessly inspired by a friend and I’s roleplay ideas and is very very self indulgent. When you see this, you’re welcome bb 🥰

NSFW BELOW THE CUT - MDNI

Don’t get him wrong. Satoru was already good at giving head. But sometimes a little lesson from Suguru wouldn’t hurt, right?

Surely not. Because with the way you’re spread out in front of the two of them now, one leg spread wide over each of their broad shoulders to keep you nice and open for them, while your pussy visibly throbbed in need and glistened in the soft lighting being cast over your three forms, Satoru saw this as nothing but a blessing from whatever Gods above.

“Fuck, princess, look at you.” Suguru crooned, leaning forward to give a slow, wide lick of your slit, letting his tongue rest over your clit. You gasped, jolting up into his mouth, but he quickly pulled back before you could give yourself any more stimulation. A thick string of saliva and slick connected your pussy and his chin, which Satoru quickly dipped his head down to catch in his own mouth before it hit the sheets. Who would he be to let such gold go to waste?

“See what I did there, Satoru?” Suguru muttered, taking one hand and yanking the white haired man up by his soft locks. Satoru whimpered at the stinging pleasure, before locking his eyes onto your quivering cunt. Fuck. You looked divine.

“Slow and teasing always gets her riled up more. Slow the fuck down.” He pushed the man’s head towards the apex of your thighs, Satoru’s hot breath hitting your soaking core, which made you buck up towards his soft lips. And he gave you exactly what you wanted, flattening his tongue and pressing it right against your pretty little hole, and licking a slow, fat stripe up your slit. Like Suguru his tongue lingered over your clit, making you whine. But he kept going. Slowly his tongue rolled around the sensitive bundle of nerves in circles, and your eyes were quick to snap into the back of your head.

“Oh fuck, Toru, look at her.” Suguru hissed, unable to stop his hand from shooting down to grab his painfully stiff cock through his boxer briefs. Satoru followed his other lover’s demand, looking up to your face. And he moaned into your pussy at the sight, hips suddenly bucking into the air.

“See? Good boy. I told you slow and steady. Look how fucking pretty she looks.” Suguru cooed, his free hand coming to thread his fingers into the back of Satoru’s hair, pushing his face further down into your cunt. The vibrations of the blue eyed man’s moans shook you to your core, your hole clenching around nothing and a borderline pornographic moan being torn from the pit of your chest.

Satoru always enjoyed these lessons. Though it was obvious that he always pretended to forget what he had learned, he didn’t mind being told what to do again by that deep gravelly voice of his boyfriend’s, while he drinks down his sweet girlfriend’s cum time and time again, along with her filthy moans. Suguru never seemed to mind “teaching” him again, either. Sometimes he would even join the fun and eat you out alongside his partner.

And holy fuck, you did not mind one bit. Not one bit at all.

[radiance1]

Alfred Pennyworth has in fact, perhaps, in the slightest of chances.

Picked up his Master's habit of collecting children as if they were on sale.

He was spending his time on one of those rare vacations he decided to take, it was nice, to relax with only the vague overhanging worry of something going wrong back at the manor that he's gotten very good at ignoring.

Only to come across a child bleeding out in an alley, heavily injured.

He would not be able to live with himself if he didn't at least try to help them however he could.

Such is how he acquired a child he later found to be a meta who whished to learn the ways of a butler.

---

Danny had escaped from a GIW compound, after having been handed over by his family a while after his reveal. He felt, completely and utterly betrayed, when it happened. His parents, while hurt, he was at least capable of actually seeing them do it, but never would he have thought Jazz would do so as well.

They did it so happily, that he wondered if letting him go really was the greatest thing to happen to this family.

He chained, muzzled, all the ways to bind him they pulled all the stops too, knowing how dangerous he was. He wouldn't have even done anything then, too stunned by his families apart willingness at handing him over to the government.

He hated them.

He hated them so much.

The GIW facility was a terrible, cold, unfeeling place. One where they drilled thoughts into his head again and again until he found himself unconsciously repeating them when his head felt empty, one where his body gained a new mark day by day and pushed through tests, he had no clue of even hoping to comprehend what they would gain out of it.

It was a cold, unfeeling place. Placed in a cell of white and nothing else, with low walls and chains binding his body in place until the time came for another experiment.

It was a room he grew used to. One he even held some kind of strange, twisted affection for.

It was a room that held a tiny piece of safety, of rest. It was a room that taught him to hate.

A deep, powerful, disgusting, twisting hatred that crawled from the depths of his cells, corrupting his blood and carving itself deep into his bones. Forcing it's out of his pores until it practically oozed from his flesh.

It drowned his mind, tainting each and every thought, every memory, every dream, every waking moment until he could feel nothing but hatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehate.

When he was taken out of that he could feel nothing, with the drugs swimming their way through his blood that snapped the thin string keeping him between a person and an emotionless puppet.

He thinks that's what the GIW thinks he is.

And when he was placed back in that room, he could only hate.

It was a cycle. Stuck between feeling either nothing or hatred.

He hated feeling nothing, it made him feel like he wasn't real. Like it snapped the thread that held him between what a real person was and a dream.

So, he allowed himself to drown deep into his hatred. Until the white walls of his far to small room seemed to fade, until whatever sound he could have heard became nothing but dull noise.

Until the passage of time seemed to become just a blink.

He didn't know what day it was, when he saw it. Saw them. He didn't know the time, the date, the day, the hours. He knew nothing.

But he could recognize his family. Recognize one of the objects of his intense hatred that he forced his thoughts too. The people who willingly gave him up just like that and one of the causes for his current life.

He didn't know why they showed him them, he felt it some sick, utterly cruel joke. A joke he didn't know the punchline for, a joke the universe sent his way to make his life all the more miserable.

There were multiple of them. Multiple clones of his family. Som within test tubes, some being pulled out from the tubes, some walking around in lab coats. A waste of talent, they called it in his dad's case, a waste of intelligence in his mother's, and a waste of intellect in his sister's case.

His original family was already dead, he was told. Replaced by clones, clones that took over the legal decision to change his guardianship. Clones walking around twisting and desecrating his family.

'At least it was painless.' One of the clones said, talking with his mother's face. 'Far more than they deserved for having keeping a thing like him' spoken by his father's imposter.

The drugs pumping through his system to keep him calm, to keep him feeling nothing was suddenly pierced through by an intense feeling of horror, hate and self-loathing.

He should've known it wasn't his family. He should've done more! More to protect them! To keep them safe! The could've still been alive if he just knew.

In that moment, watching imposters speaking, walking, talking, breathing, with his families faces. He exploded. Exploded with a power fueled by nothing but his intense hatred for every. Single. Living being in this goddamn facility.

He killed whoever stood in his way. Managing to get his hands on relatively newly designed weapon, an ectoplasmic scythe (that also apparently could revert into an everyday item). Which he used to rip and tear throughout the entirety of the facility. He got injured, of course, he couldn't dodge everything, but he didn't care.

A body stuck between life and death, incapable of fully going one way or the other no matter what happened. Gifted supernatural powers fueled by wrath and twisting hatred and a weapon made by man yet in the range of the supernatural.

They didn't stand a change. He killed them all. No matter who it was, man, woman, clone. He didn't, couldn't care. He could only kill, only maim, only hurt.

And that's what he did.

It was then, when the facility was blanketed with silence tainted by despair, death and hysteria. When previously white walls were covered by blood, and the halls turned into rivers of blood and corpses. That he broke down, the overwhelming hatred he felt replaced by relief then sadness then self-loathing.

His family didn't give him up! But they were killed. Kill because of him. He couldn't stand being in this place, anymore. His body felt as if it were moving on unseen strings as it walked through the halls, the scythe shrinking back what it was when out of combat, his mind too occupied by thoughts and feelings.

It walked through a portal, one to the ghost zone, and then promptly into another portal and spat him out into an alleyway. Which he then promptly collapsed and curled into a ball, curing the shrunken scythe in his palm and he was out like a light.

A few days after he woke up, he found himself growing attached to the human that found him in that alleyway. An old man, maybe, but a nice one. He didn't want to meet anyone, besides that man, so he turned invisible when anyone else come into contact with him.

Alfred Pennyworth.

It was a name he clung onto mentally and a man he clung onto physically as well. He wanted to be like that man, someone so nice and caring, someone who didn't mind that he turned invisible at the sing of another person, who let him cling onto him both invisible and not whenever he wanted to.

He did panic when he heard Alred saying his vacation was over, and such that he had to leave. He didn't want to be left alone again, he didn't know what he would do if he was left alone again.

Until Afred said we were going home.

We. As in, him plus another. Alfred plus Danny.

Home.

Heat blossomed in his chest, seeming to replace the constant, low hum of hate sitting beneath him skin.

Home.

[gaberoothekangaroo]

ah yes. i see. its apparently a ‘get angry’ at everything kind of day

[mischiefmanagers]

Azriel Fic Rec Library pt. 2 🦇💙

I'm back with another list of one hundred Azriel x Reader and Azriel x OC fics for the Azriel lovers out there! these are in no particular order. enjoy!! ✨

🌼 personal favorite 🥀 angst 💞 fluff 🔥 smut

by @ellievickstar

River Side Confessions 💞

by @itsphoenix0724

Peony 💞

Gardenia 🥀💞🌼

Hold Me Gently 🥀🔥

by @azrielslostshadow

I see you 💞

lemon tart 💞🌼

by @imaginesmai

i love you 🥀

right around the corner 🌼

Something new 🔥

by @daycourtofficial

Cassian is a Nosy Busybody Who Can’t Keep to Himself 💞

We’re Bumping Booties, Having Us a Ball 💞

Prophesize Me 💞

Love Potion No. 9 💞

Everything is Not As it Seems 🥀

Your Love is My Drug 🔥💞

by @lidiasloca

even in sickness 💞

by @bubbles-for-all-of-us

only you my girl 💞

Pretty like the wind 💞🥀🌼

by @gothicbabydollz

more than a distraction 🥀🔥

by @azrielslightintheshadows

Princess 🥀

Best mistake 💞

Scary mate 💞

Failed proposal 💞🥀

Oops 💞

by @thesunloveschips

Eye of the Storm🌼

by @azriels-shadowsinger

Confessions 🥀

by @writingcroissant

As a Trophy 🥀🔥

by @tadpolesonalgae

Milestones 💞

The Secret World of Borrowing

Unchained 🔥

The Dregs of Tragedy

by @spellbookd

Little Mouse 🔥

by @serpentandlily

Untouchable 🥀

Mystique 💞🌼

Arcane 💞🌼

Scared to be Happier 🥀🔥

by @angelshadowsinger

Assistance 🔥

by @batboylover

mating bond snaps with a stranger 💞

Rhysand's Sister 🥀

protective w/ pregnant mate 💞

degradation gone wrong 🔥🥀

by @sxnktaalxna

Threads

by @mika-no-sekai-blog

Mirror, Mirror 🥀

Not my cup of tea 🥀💞

by @florencemtrash

The Artificer 💞

by @readychilledwine

Losing Forever 🥀

Love and 100 Other Lies 🥀💞🌼

Cat and Mouse

Whispers in the Dark 🔥

Lollipop

The Last Cabin on the Left 💞

Past and Future - Threefold 💞

Breathe 🔥

by @sarahs-library

Forgotten 🥀

by @parkerslatte

Drawn to You 🥀💞

Strings That Bind Us 🥀💞

Not Fated 🔥🥀

by @fieldofdaisiies

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart 🥀💞

by @fairydustblossom

losing control 🥀💞

encroaching promises 🥀🌼

by @mxigo

soul sick 🥀

by @leafsandstarlight

Bad Idea, Right? 🔥🌼

Never the One 🥀

Inadvertently Yours

by @jeannineee

Resolve 🥀

by @lure-of-writing

forgotten anniversary 🥀

by @danikamariewrites

Binx 💞

I Just Feel You 💞

Back Off 🥀💞

Alone? 💞

I'm Married 💞

Combined Aesthetics 💞🌼

by @theostrophywife

in my head. 🔥

by @cosmic-whispers

Control 🥀

by @artists-ally

Only Me and the Devil Know🔥

Train Wreck 🥀🌼

Smoke on the Water

by @soulessjourney

Autumn's Whispered Secrets 💞

by @aroseinvelaris

Guardian Angel 💞

by @pricklepearbloom

Late for Dinner 🥀

Baked With Love 🥀💞

by @moonlightazriel

Fake it until you make it… 🥀💞

by @lalacliffthorne

sleepy in the library 💞

sunday mornings 💞

when Azriel has a nightmare 🥀💞

by @whisperingmidnights

To Long-Forgotten Gods 💞🔥

by @sapchat

We Are Not Our Fathers 💞

by @thelov3lybookworm

Don't grieve 🥀

Babysitting 💞

by @throneofsapphics

bad idea 💞

by @throneofsmut

Size Difference 🔥

Hunter/Prey 🔥

by @shadowdaddies

The Greatest Casualty 🥀

by @fever-fluff

Home

Cats Out of the Bag, Claws and All 🥀

Take my Hand 🥀💞

by @thevanserrras

Tricks For Treats 💞🔥

by @moonlightazriel

Mask Off

by @azsazz

Midnight Muse 🥀💞🌼

by @acourtofmenandthirst

Love You In The Dark 🥀

[bluesidez]

request for curvy girl and Miguel on their first date night after having a baby?

[Parents Night Out]

 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Curvy!Reader, Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel and his girl enjoy a night out without their baby as best as they can.

content warning: fluff, mom and dad pet names as endearment (and a hint at something more), Miguel loves reader’s body, some mentions of a horror?? film (but nothing gruesome or horrible), a little suggestive but mostly fluff

word count: 2k

a/n: It took me a while to get here, but I hope you enjoy it!

You pull your dress down at the sides, smoothing out the wrinkles, the material scrunching up every time you move. 

Dangly earrings to match the necklace on your chest, a spritz of perfume to your wrists and neck, a slide of gloss across your lips, and a final look in the mirror to see if everything was in check. 

“Honey, you almost ready?”

Miguel stepped into the bedroom, eyes focused on the cuff of his shirt.

“Yeah, I just need to put on my heels,” you peer at him through the mirror and turn around. “You look very handsome right now.”

Miguel peered up at you with a soft smile on his face. He walks over to you as you stand, “Thank you and you look stunning, Mama.” He runs his hands over your hips, squeezing the plush skin.

“No, no, no. We said no baby talk tonight!” you chide like you didn’t almost cry leaving your baby at your mom’s house. You gave her what felt like a binder full of notes just for her to lodge it back in your passenger seat with a comment on how she knew what she was doing. When you got back to your house, you wallowed for an hour before realizing that you could finally take a long, long nap without the small cries of Gabriella forcing your eyes open.

“I didn’t say anything!” He holds his hands up. “I’m just saying your name.”

You hum as your head tilts, “Is this just a scheme for me to call you Daddy?’

Miguel pursed his lips before he answered, “No. But, I’m not opposed to that.’

“Of course, you’re not,” you laugh as you move him out of your way. 

He follows you as you walk to the closet and grab your shoes, hands never leaving you when you bend down deep.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this,” you sigh as you snap back up and look at him from the corner of your eye. “But we have to make it out of the house today.”

“We’re going, I promise,” he kissed your lips. “Let me put on your heels for you.”

Miguel held your waist as you both walked to the door, taking constant glances at you. 

During the third trimester, you had worried that the baby would change your body drastically, a frown on your face as you rubbed cocoa butter onto your stretch marks. Miguel was always there, taking over with steady rubs and affirmations into your skin. 

You were doing something magical and remarkable by bringing another human into this world, by having his child. He was going to remind you everyday that you were beautiful. 

Plus, the baby weight only made him love your body more. He’s been holding you from the waist down nonstop for a little over a year now. 

He let you use his shoulders as leverage as he slid your strappy shoes on and kissed your knee after tying the strings tight. The movement was a habit built from your pregnancy and inability to see your feet.

“Let’s go party.”

The two of you were a vision in coordinating red and black. Miguel’s tiny details from his tie and threading matching the dark velvet of your dress. 

Getting to the restaurant is the fun part. 

He won’t let you touch a single door handle, running to every door before you can even blink. 

He holds your hand as you step into the passenger seat and buckles your seatbelt for you, grinning wide when you peck his cheek. 

On the way to the reservation, the two of you sing wholeheartedly to R&B with no fear of waking the baby with the slightest sound. 

At a red light, Miguel belts through a long riff using your hand as a mic as you laugh at his antics. When the song switches to something even more romantic, he’s gripping your thighs and rubbing circles into the top of your hand. 

When he pulls up closer to the restaurant, you gasp loud. 

“Miguel!” your eyes sparkled as you read the large sign. It was a place you were dying to try for over a year, but every time you called, they were booked. “How did you even get a reservation?”

“I have my ways.”

At the valet, he runs around the car and guides you out, holding your purse for you, not wanting to see you bothered with it. 

He handled everything tonight, from the place you were going to, to the reservations to the movie tickets. You could only see him as he gave his name to the host at the front. 

“Thank you,” you say to him once you both are inside and settled at a table. “Such a gentleman tonight.”

“Anything for you. Don’t want you to worry at all. Just enjoy this.”

The waiter came with complementary bread and water, sliding the menus in front of you both. Miguel ordered a bottle of wine, not even gawking at the price, while your eyes scanned the list of options. 

You both settled on an appetizer to share, entrees to split, and a sweet dessert to feed each other. 

“It’s so lovely in here,” you look around, the dim lighting making it a more intimate scene. A jazz band was playing softly on a stage and the centerpieces sparkled on the table. “I love it.”

“I’m glad,” Miguel reached across the table, “I know you’ve been eyeing this place for a while. I really wanted to surprise you.”

Your eyes almost tear up taking in his sincere expression, “Thank you, truly. This means a lot that you listened.”

“Listening to you comes easy. It’s only when I can’t do something to help you that I feel like everything closes in.”

“Oh,” you blink fast at his words. You look up and fan at your face, “Miguel that’s-”

He pulls out his handkerchief, not wanting you to ruin your makeup. 

“Don’t cry here, baby,” his voice is soft and sweet. 

“I won’t. I just love you lots.”

“And I love you lots more.”

By the time the food comes, you both have stated several more love declarations and recounted your younger days together. You helped yourself to glass or two of wine, the smile never leaving your face, but the giggles escaping every second. 

Now, Miguel was telling you an old story about how he busted his ass to impress you. 

“You don’t get it, cariño. I was so…adamant about getting a certain look because I was certain you didn’t even know who I was.”

“What you don’t know is that a lot of women love nerdy men. I definitely noticed you, I was just waiting on you to make a move.” 

Miguel fed you the last bits of a cream puff dessert, watching your lips slide over the fork. 

You hum and cover your mouth as you chew, “Do you remember that punk phase you had?”

“Oh, would you look at that,” Miguel glances at his watch and waves down a waiter. “If we don’t leave right now, we’re going to miss the movie.”

You cackle at the peeved look on his face.

He was cute with his uneven mullet and pleather jackets. It definitely wasnt’t his scene, though.

The night continues in a pink, warm haze. The sun is slowly setting as you both head to the theater. Miguel hands you more comfortable shoes and places his tie in the back. 

It’s fun to walk into the theater hand-in-hand like a young couple without a care in the world. Buying a popcorn bucket to share and big slushies like you didn’t just eat. 

The movie is what messes you both up. 

It starts off nice. The two of you are settled on the last row with no one else around, the perfect spot for cuddles, kisses, and more. 

Miguel moves the middle arm to bring you closer to him and you slot into his hold like butter. 

The main characters are a couple moving into a new home in the middle of nowhere with a teenager, a child, and a baby. It’s sweet and a little cliche with the couple thinking that the change in scenery would help them connect with their oldest daughter. 

However, of course, there’s something wrong with the house. It’s a bit too perfect, the area too serene. 

You hold Miguel tight as you watch the mom and dad fight for their lives to make sure whatever entity that resided in their house didn’t take their family away from them. 

The father is kicking through a bolted door, trying to pry it open for freedom. The mother is holding her daughter by the legs as she tries to keep her brother alive. You breathe easier as she pulls her brother out of the crumbling floorboards. Your heart stops its rushing pace as you see four of the family members rushing outside. 

“Where’s the baby?” Miguel’s voice snapped you back into pace. His hands were firm on your skin but his eyes were glued to the screen. 

“I, I don’t know,” you whisper.

The scenes that played after had Miguel anxiously moving in his seat. His foot was shaking by the end of the chair, his arms were twitching around your body, and his hands kept fiddling with your jewelry. 

The dad traversed his way back through the house, listening for cries. Miguel looked like he was holding back a yell, body leaning forward as he locked in on the scene. 

The father made it out alive with his baby daughter in his arms. 

By the time the movie was over, the velvet of your dress had his handprints all over. 

You look at him as the lights turn on, his face blank of emotion. 

The walk to the car is quiet, nothing to be heard but the crickets in the grass and the blast of music from someone’s passing vehicle. 

When he slides into the driver’s seat, you lean over the console with a squeeze to his arm, “Are you alright?”

“Is it,” his hand grips the wheel. “Is it ok if we call your mom? To check on Gabriella.”

“Of course, baby,” you rub his shoulders and pull out your phone, your mothers number at the top of your most-recent list.

After a few rings, she picks up. Her head shakes as she takes in both of you with your heads smooshed together in the camera’s view. 

“Look at you both,” she fusses. “Just sad.”

The camera blurs for the longest seconds of your lives, and then it shuffles over a sleeping Gabriella. Her chunky belly moved up and down with her soft breaths and her eyelashes long against her cheeks. She was like a little angel, tiny fingers twitching every now and then. 

Miguel let out a long breath next to you as if he was holding it all this time. 

The camera goes back to your mom who shuffles back to her own bedroom, “Do you two know what the definition of break is?”

“Yeah, mom. Miguel just wanted to check on her. The movie we watched frazzled him a bit.”

“It didn’t frazzle me,” Miguel sniffed. “I’m just a concerned father.”

“Well get unconcerned and don’t call me back! Me and my grandbaby are perfectly fine and you’ll see her tomorrow. Got it? Good.”

She hung up as you let an affronted sound, “I guess you heard that.”

The night ends a little easier. Miguel is more relaxed and decides to take advantage of the empty house. 

He prepares a hot relaxing bath filled with bubbles and a flowery aroma, candles lighting the bathroom while you turn on a sultry playlist and bring out some champagne. 

There’s a dark glint in Miguel’s eyes as you step into the tub, body open for him to see. You bend down and lay on him face to face. 

“This was an amazing date night. Baby-snatcher house and all.”

“We should do it again sometime,” Miguel massages his hands into your back. “While we still can.”

“But for tonight?” your hands run over his wet shoulders, eyes roaming from the curves and turns of him up to his lips to his eyes. “Let’s have fun.”

Miguel groaned as his lips met yours, the water splashing around as his legs move to the edges of the tub.

“Let’s go all night.”

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