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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 4 months

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come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes.

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks.

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth.

it’s beautiful.

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded.

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere.

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again.

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling.

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.”

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face.

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips.

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs.

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!”

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there.

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot.

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.”

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word.

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology.

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown.

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it.

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.”

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?”

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.”

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.”

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow.

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice.

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter.

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself.

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest.

he hopes it never goes away.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but...#the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good.#listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.

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delirious-donna · 2 months

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Thinking about how well your husband Nanami treats you on those days when work is just… overwhelming. How he already knows from the curt replies to his text messages throughout the day and the absence of the little heart emoji you usually insist on sending to him. Something so trivial and yet… he misses it more than he cares to admit.

You’d told him at length about the project that was taking every ounce of your strength to work through, not to mention all of your brain power. Your husband was a diligent man—perceptive to a fault—so when it seemed that the day had been especially bad, what else could he do but leave work early to be there to pick up the pieces.

When you return home to find your normal evening chores completed, the smell of cooking luring you into the kitchen by your nose and the sight of your husband standing by the stove, it’s all you can do not to cry on the spot.

There are fresh stemmed flowers in the vase on the window sill and the small kitchen table is set for two, a glass of wine ready and waiting for you. Kento is there beside you before you can move, a large reassuring hand at the small of your back whilst he wipes away the tears you hadn’t realised were falling with his other hand.

Moments like these brought it back with startling clarity how goddamn lucky you were. Your husband was attentive and practical, and you were fortunate to have found a man that was your perfect counterpart. He filled the gaps in you, and you did the same for him. He brought silence when your mind was chaotic and noisy. You gave him hope and a reason to fight when the paths of right and wrong became unclear.

“What would I do without you?”

Kento huffed, pressing a kiss to your head. “Lucky for you, you’ll never need to find out.”

#delirious writes #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #jjk fluff #just a thought given the day I’ve had

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ghostaholics · 11 months

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I am LIVING for your jealous/possessive enemies with benefits ghost. He sees reader being a little too friendly with another man and goes FERAL. Nobody knows why. Not even him.

❝ 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐋. ❞ Fucks your throat raw, likes seeing your lips stretched around his cock, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth and trickling down your chin as you struggle to take all of him in, just a little messy; the way you allow your muscles to go slightly lax to deep-throat him, but it’s still so goddamn tight. And you spoil him with your mouth, gently sucking at the head and tonguing the entirety of him, even better when you add your palm too, can’t quite wrap your fingers around his cock but it’s hot and slippery and all that matters is you’re trying your best. His hand is threaded through your hair, close to the scalp, close to the roots and flexing hard when you swallow him to the hilt – loves that this lets him control your movements. From the expression on your face, this fucked-out, glazed-over look, he can tell that you’re enjoying it more than he is; gets his point proven when you snake your fingers down between your legs to play with your clit because you just can’t help yourself. (❝ What would all of ‘em think if they saw you on your knees for me, huh, sweetheart? ❞) And there’s something really satisfying to him hearing how utterly wrecked your voice is the next day when you sound hoarse trying to talk to other people.

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇. ❞ He has you facing the mirror, sitting reverse on his lap with your legs wrenched apart – forces you to pay attention to how his cock’s got you split open like this, the easiest way for him to work himself inside your cunt. He’s got one hand on your hip, guiding you up and down just how you need him at a rough and steady rate. His other hand spans over your jaw, your throat; directing you to look at your reflection and how it’s him that’s ruining you – your wet and sticky slickness soaking his cock. He wants you to see what he sees: you, taking him so well, everything that he offers. (❝ No. Eyes open. Gotta remind you who’s the only one that can turn you into such a fucking mess like this, yeah? ❞)

❝ 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓. ❞ He mutters it under his breath, has a hand over your mouth to stifle your noises – Jesus Christ, you’re so goddamn loud; in the blackness of the supply closet where he’s got you, back against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist (❝ Just a quick fuck, c’mon. I know you’re aching for it. ❞) – only needs five minutes to get you off. And when you’re groaning too fucking much while he pounds into your cunt, Ghost tells himself that he doesn’t want to be caught dead with you like this. You don’t either, of course, considering the mutual feelings of animosity shared between the two of you. So it’s a low growl, a warning from him: ❝ If you don’t shut up, they’re gonna hear us— ❞ But the idea only rips another long moan from your throat. And when he sees how much you might actually want that, for somebody to walk by and figure out that you’re getting stuffed full of his cock, it makes him fuck you even harder just to test how good you can keep quiet for him.

𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔!𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 || 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

banner credit by cafekitsune

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pillow-anime-talk · 1 year

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{♡} music and vocaloids month. ; CLOSED!

Welcome to ‘Music & Vocaloids Month’! Throughout april, I will be posting one scenario about a character who is related to anime/musical manga or is a vocaloid. Sometimes it will; one character x reader, sometimes two characters x reader, and sometimes several characters x reader. There will be fluffy, angsty, smuts, romance, sfw or nsfw ... It all depends on my mood. Also, most of the stories will be about a female or gender-neutral reader, because it’s more comfortable for me to write it this way :).

This is not the first time I organizes such an action. I added a similar post two years ago during ‘Genshin Impact Month’ and a year ago during ‘I love girls Month’!! I hope you will like it this year too!

As mentioned above, the characters you see below are completely randomly selected by me; I simply chose 30 characters that I like or listen to. I tried to distribute the days fairly so that every fan would be happy. However, if your favorite character is not here, please don’t worry! When april is over you can send me your own scenario request!

I love you all (as always)!

done | 01/04. your first concert with HATSUNE MIKU

done | 02/04. first ‘i love you’ with JIRO YAMADA from BUSTER BROS!!!

done | 03/04. manager with ALL BOYS from ROCK DOWN

done | 04/04. besties with MEIKO

done | 05/04. cunt with OUKA KIRA and ISSA KIDUKU from VAZZY

done | 06/04. bratty you with RYOUTA SAKURABA from GROWTH

done | 07/04. your support with MOMOTARO ONZAI from MOONS

done | 08/04. learning how to play the guitar with NOBUO TERASHIMA from BLACK STONES

done | 09/04. cutie with GAKU YAOTOME from TRIGGER

done | 10/04. make-out session with RUI MINADUKI from PROCELLARUM

done | 11/04. you’re her favorite stylist with GUMI

done | 12/04. lil sis with IORI SUISEKI and WHOLE GANG from AKAN YATSURA

done | 13/04. debut with SEEU

done | 14/04. thighs with SOSHI KAGURAZAKA from SOARA

done | 15/04. daddy with NAOAKIRA SAIMON from THE CAT’S WHISKERS

done | 16/04. mommy with OTOME TOHOTEN from PARTY OF WORDS

done | 17/04. his biggest fan with KAITO

done | 18/04. fashion week with ANNE FAULKNER from BAE

done | 19/04. sing for you RITSUKA UENOYAMA from GIVEN

done | 20/04. new hairstyle with REN JINGUJI from ST☆RISH

done | 21/04. romance with LAYLA SERIZAWA from TRAPNEST

done | 22/04. new member with ALL GIRLS from HO-KAGO TEA TIME

done | 23/04. disease with MEGURNINE LUKA

done | 24/04. ‘twins?!’ with NAYUTA and KANATA YOTONOKAMI from COZMEZ

done | 25/04. boobs RAMUDA AMEMURA from FLING POSSE

done | 26/04. paparazzi with YUEZHENG LONGYA

done | 27/04. confession with ELI AYASE from μ’S

done | 28/04. friend-zoned with NAGI ROKUYA from IDOLiSH7

done | 29/04. yandere with MAYU

done | 30/04. engagement ring with HARU YAYOI from SIX GRAVITY

done | 01/05. extra post with MY THANKS TO YOU!

navi | status | masterlist | rules | ko-fi

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miraclewoozi · 10 days

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SPECTACLE. -j.ww

in which your new boyfriend, wonwoo, doesn't give a crap about his expensive eyewear.

pairing : wonwoo x fem!reader. content : smut. pwp. tags under the cut. MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. w/c : 2.7k. notes : yeah i kinda. went insane over this idea. so. bon appetite to you, and also to wonwoo ? i guess.

content + smut tags : established - but new - relationship. making out. FACE SITTING. impact play? (one gentle butt slap). the shenanigans are on a couch if that matters, i don't know. reader is a little shy about doing it. PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything.

Wonwoo looks flushed when he pulls away from where he’s been kissing and nipping at the side of your neck, hair stuck up in every direction thanks to your tugging fingers and your gentle guidance to help him find your sweet spots. His lips are pink and a little plumped. His glasses are steaming up, sitting halfway down the bridge of his nose, and every slightly heavier breath he takes makes his broad chest rise and fall where it’s pressed wholly against yours.

You can’t help yourself from leaning forward into another kiss; he’s completely irresistible. Maybe the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. And while this isn’t really news to you, the dynamic of your relationship with him shifted a month or so ago and you’re still getting used to the privilege of seeing him this close up.

He’s still adjusting too, if the way he groans directly into your mouth, hands groping harder at the curve of your ass as you shuffle in his lap is anything to judge by. Still learning, still figuring you out. But – and this is how you know what you’re building here might be the real deal – even when it’s clumsy, and when you knock teeth while you’re kissing and burst into slightly pained giggles, or when things accidentally slip out of place while you’re getting steamy… everything Wonwoo does makes your spine tingle. Makes your stomach flip. Makes your core throb.

Even when it doesn’t always work? It makes sense, and it’s perfect, and losing yourself in the way his lips caress and worship yours is so damn easy when he murmurs your praises just for letting him do this in the first place.

“Will you do something for me?” He asks after a small forever, pulling back just far enough that he's not breathing up your nose. His hands have made their way under your – his – hoodie now and he’s grazing his fingers over your ribs, tickling enough to make you whimper, not enough for you to want to swat him away.

You think you’d give him the world if he asked for it in that deep, rough voice he adopts when things start heading in this direction. The moon too. Shit, if you could get a lasso around the sun and bring it closer to keep him warm, you’d do that as well. So, whatever his little request is now, you know you’re going to agree; resting your hands on his shoulders (finally leaving his gorgeous hair alone), you lean back from him and nod your head.

“Anything,” you say. You’re certain that you feel his cock twitch in his sweatpants where it’s pressed against the inside of your thigh, but you’re not quite sure why.

It makes you feel hot, though. More-so when he bites back a grin, lips curling in that adorable way. It feels greatly unfair that you can’t swoop down right this second to kiss him again, and again, and again; as painful as it is though, you do exercise enough grace to wait for him to come out with it.

“Get up,” he says softly, dropping his hands down your sides and squeezing at your hips once.

You do as he asks and move off his lap, sitting on the other side of the couch; he doesn’t say anything else as he stands up himself, pulls his hoodie off over his head and tosses it to one side before sinking all the way down to the floor. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t see you. He shuffles into place with his back against the edge of the seat and only once he’s comfortable does he turn to look at you over one shoulder, grinning brilliantly.

“Okay,” he says, bending his knees and planting his heels into the floor. “Come here.”

You stand up off the cushions now and look down at him for a second, wondering what on Earth is going through his mind, but you know better than to start questioning his strange ideas. Especially when he’s in this sort of a mood. You step over him, one foot either side of his hips, and start to drop down too, but he puts a hand on each of your knees and stops you before you’re in his lap once again.

“No,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. His hands then make their way to the backs of your thighs and he pushes forwards, trying to guide you where he wants you. Your knees bend of their own accord and press against the couch on both sides of his head. “Like this.”

You don’t exactly freeze up, but it is as if you forget how to control all of your muscles for a second. The ones in your legs seem to turn to jelly and you know it’s only because the sofa is currently taking a portion of your weight that you don’t buckle completely and fall onto the top of his head. The ones in your face give you a slack-jawed, wide-eyed, unblinking expression.

Your abdominal muscles tighten and your cunt flutters at what you’re sure he’s trying to suggest, the rush of wetness you feel only worsened by the intensity in his eyes as he tips his head back and looks at you.

“Please?” He asks, all sweet but deep and rough at the same time.

“Are you s–?” You start to ask.

Wonwoo clicks his tongue at you and tries to encourage you further onto the couch to prove his point. “Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly.

And then, just so you really can’t mistake what he's asking for–

“I want you to sit on my face.”

Your entire body heats up at how bluntly he says it. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the inside of your cheek so that you don’t accidentally laugh with the nerves already trying to burst out of your tummy.

It’s not that you don’t want to. If you had a penny for every time you’d thought about him giving himself up for your pleasure this way, you’d be rich. You do. You’re going a little crazy just imagining how good it’s going to feel.

It’s just that him being so bold about it has you feeling shy, and that’s never happened to you before. You’re at a loss. You’re totally stumped.

When you open your eyes again and look down at him, Wonwoo is just as earnest and hungry for you as he was a few seconds ago. If anything, it’s as if he wants it more. It’s without a doubt the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re nodding at him; his fingers start to drag up and down the backs of your thighs happily, before they hook under the waistband of your shorts and gently make that first little pull.

“If you don’t like it, we can stop,” he says to you, only pulling them all the way down when you start to help him. They get tossed over to the side to join his hoodie after you step out of them. His eyes glance to the panties you’re wearing – the last barrier, the final thing keeping him from what he’s so desperate for – before he looks back at your face and flashes you a smile. “Just tell me, okay?”

“It’s not that,” you laugh softly, taking off your own jumper and throwing it onto the pile. Wonwoo groans at the sight of you; you roll your eyes at him. “You just… took me by surprise.”

“Good,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around one of your legs and letting you settle onto your knees in position over his mouth, pressing his fingers into the top of your thigh.

The first soft press of his lips over your panties makes you gasp and you hold a little tighter onto the back cushions as you look down at him. His eyes are closed already as he breathes your heady scent in, deep enough to hopefully stain his lungs, enough that he’ll never get rid of it, that he’ll be able to carry you everywhere he goes.

But Wonwoo’s closed eyes aren’t the only thing you notice between your thighs and a soft laugh replaces the pleased sounds already spilling from your lips. One hand drops down to where he's settled and your fingers brush against his temple as they try to pinch at one side of his glasses. He looks affronted when he catches your gaze.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, gently moving your hand away.

You tilt your head at him. “Your glasses,” you prompt, moving to reach for them again. His fingers curl around your wrist and he shoves your hand into his hair instead, rubbing the tip of his nose against the inside of your thigh.

“I want to keep them on,” he tells you.

“What if they break?”

“Don’t care,” he hums, kissing his way back towards your covered pussy. “I’ll buy a new pair. I just wanna see you.”

You swallow at this and decide that you’re definitely not going to try and change his mind, instead choosing to tilt your head back and let his skilled tongue work you up through your underwear. It’s a mess of arousal and spit and they’re soaked, translucent, clinging to you by the time he’s frustrated with them; frankly, so are you, and it's a relief when he concludes that enough is enough.

“Baby,” he groans as he pulls your underwear to one side and has to crane his neck up to lick the flat of his tongue in a stripe up your slit. You whine, the cool air and his hot breaths a menacing mix of sensations, but you don’t have the sense to respond; one soft slap of his hand against your ass makes you look back down at him, though, and you’re met with dark eyes, flushed cheeks and a practically frenzied Wonwoo in the space between your hips. Your sweet, softly spoken boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

“I said, sit.”

His strong arm tugs you down and your knees slide against the cushions, bringing your pussy even closer to his face, literally forcing you to rest against his lips. He chuckles triumphantly and buries his tongue between your folds, tasting you so much more legitimately than before. The way he loves – straight from the source, the spring. You feel him prod at your hole and your walls clench around what he gives you – barely just the tip, but it’s enough to have you reeling already, and when his other arm hooks around your other thigh, when he starts to move you back and forth, you take very little convincing to start to rock your hips down against him on your own.

“Oh,” you whimper as his lips seal around your clit and he sucks at it once, giving a few experimental flicks of his tongue at the same time. The hand in his hair tightens immediately and Wonwoo groans with you still in his mouth, sending delicious vibrations through your sensitive nerves and making you gush onto his chin.

“So fucking pretty like this,” he tells you, stroking his thumb over your waist. “Might be my new favourite view.”

He keeps lapping at you teasingly, testing circles and sideways motions, precise swipes, long drags; every subtle change as he tries to find what makes you scream in this position draws a different sound from your throat. He tenses the muscle and fucks your dribbling hole with it while encouraging you to move enough forward that his nose bumps against your clit with every jerky rock of your hips. You’re grinding faster, now, pressing down against his mouth harder, caring less by the second about whether his glasses are actually going to break in two. Besides, the way he drinks you down tells you that he could do this for a week straight without getting tired; he doesn’t want you to stop, or slow down, or ease up. He wants more. And if you’re too shy to give it to him, he’ll just take, take, take.

“Just– oh, fuck,” you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again and he laps at it with so much zeal that he could rival your favourite vibrator. “Just like that–”

Both of his hands grasp you tighter, squeezing and massaging and kneading at your soft skin as you chase your high on his pretty face. His eyes are tightly closed in his own rapture, and you hope that he won’t blame you for wanting him to open them; your hand pulls harshly at his hair again, hard enough to make him cringe, enough to make him stop for just a second before he sees how wound-up you look. You try to pull off from him a little, at least enough for him to catch a couple of breaths, but Wonwoo captures your pussy between his lips before you even hear him inhale.

“You– you wanted to s—see me,” you stutter out as the fire starts to catch and you feel warmth and ecstasy start to build at your core. “Fuck– ah–”

So he does. With big, hungry eyes, Wonwoo watches as you hurtle towards oblivion, as you writhe and squirm and grind down against his ardent mouth.

He sends you crashing over the edge with a wet sob, your own eyes closing now as you see stars in the darkness and ride your high out on his still-moving tongue. There are tears on your cheeks before you can do anything about it. Your walls spasm around nothing. He barely slows, taking back enough pressure so that your pleasure doesn’t turn to pain. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t even blink until you’re out the other side of your climax, though.

When your pants start to die down and you’re twitching to get away from him, so sensitive that even his tiny kisses make you shudder, Wonwoo drops his head back down to the pillows and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. You don’t have the strength to move yet, still reeling, still too floaty to try for any level of coordination, but he doesn’t mind. Your swollen, glistening pussy right over his face is something he'd pay millions to see.

“Didn’t even break the glasses,” you laugh weakly once your voice decides to come back to you.

“Mm,” Wonwoo hums, sliding them off his nose and inspecting them. He ‘tsk’s before putting them back on. They’re steamed at the edges and a little smeary now, and he surely can’t actually see that clearly through them. He obviously doesn’t care. “That’s not good enough.”

“Huh?” you ask, moving carefully so as not to plant your knee into his jaw but still trying to bring your legs together so that you can sit to one side. He isn't having it, though, and slowly shuffles up onto his knees, turns around to face you and lays his fingers on one of your ankles, wasting no time in trying to pry your legs apart again.

“That’s. Not. Good. Enough,” he repeats, using his other hand to palm himself over the fabric of his sweatpants. The tent in them would be comical if it weren’t for the animalistic look in his eyes; there’s nothing laughable about the way he’s looking at you right now, though.

“So what are we gonna do about it?” You ask, opening back up for him and not hiding how you stare as he rips his shirt off over his head. Then, he slides his fingertips up the inside of your calf, to your knee, down your thigh… he drags them over the lips of your pussy and collects a little of your slick on them before bringing his hand to his lips and sucking it clean.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he tells you, groaning at your sweet taste as if he wasn’t just drowning in it a minute and a half ago. He lowers himself until he's once more level with your cunt and guides both of your legs over his shoulders, smirking up at your expectant face. “Maybe try to squeeze your thighs a little more this time. See if that does the trick.”

thank you so much for reading!! i hope u enjoyed this hehe. as always, likes, reblogs, replies, feedback and asks are always super appreciated.<3

#wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #kpop smut #*#j writes.#this is the best title i've ever given anything and if you disagree. argue with the wall #i'm fucking hilarious. anyway don't perceive me.#taking myself to horknee jail right this second

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therosebunpost · 8 months

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This is so dumb, but I find it so funny:

Steve, getting caught by Vampire! Eddie and literally just flirting with him like how Donkey flirts with Dragon in Shrek. Complimenting his teeth, and smile as Eddie cages him up against a wall. Like, he doesn’t even think, he just does it and we all know flattery works with Eddie. Eddie, half in control and half not, just melts into the praise as Steve starts petting his hair and letting his mouth run away with him. “No really, you probably hear this a lot from your food, but uh, you got one hell of a smile-“

And Eddie just grins against his throat, that otherworldly purr rumbling in his throat as he gets distracted by all the attention. “Just you, Sweetheart. I usually don’t let ‘em live this long~”

Once he’s back in full control, Eddie can’t stop teasing Steve and urging him to play as a Bard in his next campaign.

#thebunspeaks #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve stranger things #eddie stranger things #Steddie #fluffybunnycorner #listen I love that scene and I too would flirt with Vampire! Eddie if given the chance #I was gonna do this as an X-Reader and Steve #but just having Steve flowed easier #feel free to use this as an x-reader idea too tho!

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kiwisluv · 9 days

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curls - jude bellingham blurb

warnings: insinuation of smut

you're standing in front of the bathroom mirror while jude showers, doing your morning facial routine to start getting ready for the day. you smile fondly as jude gets out of the shower, still visibly tired. he's still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, holding back a yawn. as he wraps the towel around his waist, he takes a few steps over to you and places a kiss on your cheek from behind, then walks into your shared bedroom to dry off and pull on a pair of boxers before coming back into the bathroom. he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your torso, letting his head rest on your shoulder as his eyes flutter shut. you smile at your reflection in the mirror, feeling warm inside at the complete domesticity the two of you fell into together. you turn your head to press a kiss to his temple and gently ask, "what's got you so sleepy this morning?" instead of answering, he just presses his face further into your neck, leaving a kiss on your skin. "oh come here, you big baby," you say with an amused smile as you turn around to wrap your arms around his neck, placing a few soft kisses on his lips. with your back to the counter, you hoist yourself up to sit on the surface and open your legs so the man can stand between them. he goes to kiss you again, and afterwards you pull back to reach for the moisturizer you had just used. "come 'ere," you say softly as you dip your hand into the tub, rubbing the cream between your hands before gently placing it on jude's face, rubbing it in all over. he allows his eyelashes to flutter shut, a faint content smile appearing on his face at the soothing feeling. after the moisturizer, you follow up with an eye cream before placing a kiss on both of his cheeks. "that feel good?" you ask, to which jude responds with an "mhm." you laugh lightly at the boy's exhaustion, reminding him that the two of you do need to get ready for the day. after a little bit of convincing, jude retreats to the bedroom to put on a shirt and some shorts. it doesn't take long for him to return to the bathroom, wanting to spend as much time as possible with you before you had to part to go about your day. "wanna do my hair?" he asked, holding up his sponge. you look at him for a minute, considering turning him down since you were in the middle of doing your makeup. however, you could never resist that tired but loving look in his eyes, so you agreed. he sat down on the closed toilet, allowing you to come up next to him and start swirling the sponge in circles to form his curls. as you do so, he leans into you once again, wrapping one arm lazily around your waist as you continue to work on his hair. it doesn't take long with the sponge, so you have him stand up and look at you so you can make the last few adjustments with your fingers, picking at certain curls and making sure nothing was sticking out in a funny manner. once you were done, jude looked in the mirror to check for himself. he smiled as he turned to you, swiftly grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you back up onto the counter. "looks perfect," he mumbled, inches away from your mouth. he didn't waste time in connecting your lips, lazily making out as you lightly scratched the back of his neck and his hands rested on your hips. after a bit, you pulled away for a breather, brushing your fingers over his eyebrows to smooth them down. you couldn't deny, you still felt intoxicated at his every touch, and the feeling of his large hands on your hips made you dizzy. "keep acting like this and i might mess up your hair," you quipped at him, messing with a curl towards the back of his head. "i'll fix it," he smirked, before kissing down your neck and placing his hands underneath the waist band of your shorts, pulling them down cheekily. your fingers found a home between the curls you had just perfected as he kneeled to the ground, not caring how messed up they got as he placed his head between your legs.

#ffs i've given myself fanny flutters #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fanfic

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eldenbiscuit · 11 months

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The Golden Hour (Prelude)

The Golden Hour is an ambitious Elden Ring graphic novel about King Morgott's life. It is a purely fan-made project, by two women: Writing & art editing: EldenBiscuit/ Lin Art & Illustration: Maledicta Art/ Sofia

We hope you like it!! <3 If you did, please consider sharing it with others, so that more people can enjoy it!

#margit the fell omen #morgott the omen king #the golden hour #elden ring #elden ring comic #mohg #morgott #elden ring manga #fanmade #morgott the grace given #morgott x reader #elden ring morgott #elden ring margit #elden ring godwyn #godwyn the golden #marika #eldenring #Elden Ring manga

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ddarker-dreams · 2 months

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the word that best describes yan scaramouche is greedy.

he consumes your every waking moment. this is by design — if your respite was to be found outside him, then he'll deprive you of it. it isn't enough for him to reappropriate your future or lord over you in the present. your past is subject to his scrutiny as well. he dislikes that you existed before he entered your life. it's irrational and he knows it, which irritates him to no end. his emotions are loud, cacophonous interlopers that overrule reason. you push him to extremes but he does little to resist the shove.

this version of you, roughly visualized from hearsay, exists beyond his control. all the power in the world couldn't undo your first crush, first kiss, first love. lightning can't transcend the boundaries of space and time to smite those who brought you happiness he can never replicate. you may be isolated from the outside world, unable to rebel against him outright, yet watching you smile over some memory hurts worse than if you were to tear him limb from limb.

how will he ever compare? so long as you know that you deserve better, he'll never have your heart, he'll only serve as its warden. your past is why you hate him, yet your past is why you're you. erasing that would require erasing the person he cherishes most. it's frustrating; it's humbling.

perhaps you'll never physically be free of him. still, your capacity to wish for escape means you'll never belong to him in your entirety.

#you: *stares out the window and sighs wistfully*#scara: they're thinking about how much they loathe me. how if given the chance they'd have me drawn and quartered.#puppet boy is a touch insecure . Maybe a bit more than that.#yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #scaramouche brainrot #concepts

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appleblueberry-pie · 1 month

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Yandere Toji Fushiguro Concept

Concept: Broke Toji obsessed with you.

Toji was everywhere, all at once. He was a balance between the good and the bad. At both his lowest and highest, he had nothing to his name that he would proudly tell off was his. When he was in the Zen'in clan, he was worthless, nothing to his name but his body and seemingly useless mind, no matter how much money he was provided with. When he was on the streets, doing assassinations to make enough money to get by, he would spend it all in his own flurry of pleasure. Essentially, in both of his lives he was nothing. Yet, he was defiant. Only he could tell you how many times someone tried to gain his trust just to stab him in the back. Only he could relay how people played kiss-ass for so so long, only to toss him out of their home and mind. Only he could state how many invisible monsters he had to let mangle him just to bring himself back to his own feet.

He doesn't know a damn thing about the jujutsu world or even the real world. But if there was one thing he could say confidently, it is that no one ever gave a single fuck about him. No one. But he never seemed to be able to die. Or even move. No one could reach him, even if he had 2 pennies in his back pocket. No one could match his power if they wanted to. The Zen'in misogynist could only dream of being anything similar to him, and he never got there. Toji was nothing and everything. That balance. He flourished in his own twisted way. But it's not like he cared what would happen, anyways.

That's what he would've said if it wasn't for the hot, one thousand needles that sunk deeper into his cold, dead heart every time he attempted to deny his fate of meeting you. He remembers when he first started working with the shitty organization that pays him. He always wanted to strangle the two men behind the front desk that tried to negotiate the price on his paycheck that was supposed to be finalized. He always left with a little less than he was supposed to receive. That building would've been burnt to the ground by his hands if it wasn't for your sexy ass always strolling past him in your little work uniform. Your little shoes clacking as you pass by, your beautiful legs that he wanted to touch, your ass, your neck, your face that he couldn't stop staring at. Toji always got there when you clocked out of your shift, and he realizes why the two jackasses fuck him over out of his money. You were a huge distraction, more of one than he was willing to admit. Whenever you pass the three arguing, Toji always made sure to greet you when you walk out, giving his most "innocent" smile he could to you. You would beam back at him and even wave, your scent rewriting his brain chemistry and making his cock twitch. He wanted you all to himself, but for now, he'd control himself.

It's not like he was stalking you. Not like he would snatch his money-filled envelope and follow you back to your car. Not like he took assassination missions around your city in hopes of seeing you in the crowd of thousands of people walking around. Not like he threatened the people that paid him to give all of your personal information to him so he could stalk you more than he already was.

But it was never enough. Even if he had your address and would stroke himself in front of your window that gave him direct access to your bedroom, even he followed you to and from work everyday, stalked your socials and pretended to be someone else just to talk with you, it wasn't like having you right there. He needed to feel you, touch you, hear you more, see you more. It almost made his skin crawl when he realized some people are seeing you for almost 8 hours a day when he was left with crumbs of you. He felt embarrassed. He felt ashamed, humiliated, vulnerable and felt that same thick passion rush through his veins: it really makes him SWEAT when he accidentally admits to himself for the 15,000th time that day that he is so fucking in love with you.

And he knew that he would never be the man that you wanted. Broke, fucking homeless, a shitty personality and a sly tongue. The type of person a regular woman would shame for even having the audacity of showing themselves in the light of day. He killed and often dragged himself back to the place he could barely call a living space meant for people just to do it all over again in the morning. He couldn't take it anymore. But still, he did another mission. A horrible one, really. But it was worth sitting in an alleyway, cold, hungry, and in excruciating pain when you found him close to death, laying against the wall of some random building.

"Oh my god!!!" You exclaimed as you ran up to Toji, scared to touch his wounds, but knowing you had to do something. "No," He said, shaking his head slowly. "Leave me." You stuttered in fear, wrapping one of his arms around the back of your neck to attempt to lift him to his feet. "I can't just- just leave you here! You're bleeding out, and dying, and-" You grunted as you managed to slowly pull him to his feet, turning around to drag him out of the alleyway. He stared down at you as you rounded the corner, your place only half a block away. "You need to leave me here. Just go home and go to sleep, doll. I'll be fine." His deep voice sounded scratchy as he spoke. You tried so hard to ignore the blood seeping through your clothes and even falling down his soaked shirt. You couldn't leave him like this. "I've been through worse. Shit is like nothing to me."

You looked over at him in worry at his words, knowing this is already crossing many lines for you. This wasn't that bad?? You couldn't even imagine what else he could've gone through. Toji was in heaven currently. He was practically rubbing against you as you both walked, if he let his head hang enough, he'd feel your warm breath on his forehead. He wanted so badly to stay like this with you, letting his open wounds rub against you, but he wanted you to be safe. And you can't be safe like this. Not with him around.

Toji felt his heart leap with joy when you opened your front door, bringing him to your couch to drop him. This place was so much nicer now that he was inside of it. Everything. Everything smelled like you. Everything was placed in places it felt like you would put them. And you were here to take care of him to. He didn't know whether to let you take care of him, or just take over entirely, keeping you locked up in your own house and let him take care of you. He decided to let you just do what you want. He didn't want you to be scared of him, because it seemed like you really wanted him around at the moment, reasonably so. So, for now, he'll see how long this heaven will last until he has to take the reigns.

[I genuinely wanted to write more for this, but like I don't know how to continue the story without making it sound corny. I physically felt my writing become bad as I was writing this, so i stopped there. I like what I have going on here, so if anyone has oneshot ideas based on how i characterized him here, send some in.]

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