psychopathseraphim · 2 years ago
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SCP 049 x reader who does s/h
This is a little something else,, did this out of boredom; no one really requested this.
TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR the mentions of self harm, blade/s, and cuts
♡୨୧ SCP-049 doesn't do too well with identifying what's wrong. . . He may be a doctor, but his abilities to read someone is a little effy, mainly because you, a research scientist, always stands behind thick glass.
♡୨୧ Although he does pick up on it eventually. . . Through careful observation,, given that you are practically the only research scientist that spends enough time with him as you do, he carefully notices small things.
♡୨୧ He first noticed something was up when he realized you had been bleeding through your lab coat. A reddish stain in the shape of a puddle, pressed gently against your skin like the clinging of dried or drying blood. . . This definitely alarmed him, although he thought it would be rude to ask.
♡୨୧ But this began to happen more frequently which caused him to worry more frequently. You looked sickly and pale, you always had a stain on your lab coat, and you always rolled your lab coat up beyond your wrists, as if you were hiding something.
♡୨୧ What could that be? Well SCP-049 eventually asks. "Ahem," he clears his throat, his figure still as he stops working on the Foundation's given carcass, "I apologize if my asking seems rude, but. . . Why do you always seem to have a press of crimson liquid on your lab coat sleeve?"
♡୨୧ It's really your choice if you want to tell him or not. . . Even if you didn't, he wouldn't force the question on you any longer. But he does worry, just very very silently.
♡୨୧ After this encounter, his first words to you when you would enter his cell would always be something along the lines of, "Salut, Doctor. How have you been?"
♡୨୧ Isn't very good with human psychology, isn't very keen on reading people. But he does try his best to offer his support as someone you can talk to. As long as you get all the bad feelings out of your system, that is.
♡୨୧ Pesters guards and scientists to always do routinely checks in your office. Does not tell them why ("I fear they might be carrying. . . Weapons, good sirs,"). Wants to make sure that your office is clear of blades, ropes, pills, that kind of thing.
♡୨୧ If you ever resort to telling him about your self harming, he'd be glad as ever to assist you in patching up your wounds. I know something along the lines of his lethal touch being blocked if he wears thick mittens, so he does just that before tending to your wounds.
♡୨୧ If you cut anywhere else, say your thighs or legs, then he might, if he even will, pick up on it a little later. He might need you telling him for him to find out about it.
♡୨୧ Would do anything to be your distraction from self harm. Always tells you that if you ever feel like doing it, you could always come to his cell to have idle chit chat with him. He'll always listen.
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aemehhh · 10 months ago
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Heya! I don’t usually wrote requests so sorry if I come off as awkward😅 I was wondering if you could write a small thing about gorino being with someone who’s insecure about their height
I’m 5’10 and sometimes I just feel down about it Yknow? I don’t feel desirable because guys prefer short girls or whatever, if this is to much you can completely ignore this. I do really enjoy your work btw<33
YAY!! I got my first ever request!!! :D
It's definitely not too much to ask, I think this is an amazing request! I had to ask some of my tall girlie friends about their experiences, because I am on the opposite end of the height-spectrum 💀 This is also a little rushed, so I'm sorry if it doesn't meet your expectations!
Also, I am so sorry I took so long to write the request! I hope you had a wonderful start to the new year!
Little message to the Readers in general; I just want everybody to know, you're absolutely gorgeous, no matter your height!!!
Giorno is ~20 and Reader and him are engaged, so it's an established relationship :3
Giorno with a tall! fem! Reader
Wc: 905, a short lil thing!
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This day was genuine ass. You went shopping with you friend and genuinely couldn't find a single piece of clothing that looked good or that fit right. Jeans that looked perfect on your shorter friend were way above your ankle on yourself and the long-sleeved shirts you tried, since winter is approaching, just looked so weird on you. You didn't even attempt to look for shoes, instead you told your friend you were going home because of an "emergency".
And there you were, sitting on your bed, cuddled up in a blanket and reading a book in order to distract you from the loud voice of insecurity that rang in the back of your head. Turns out the book wasn't helping, though.
It was a regular romance book, sappy as shit and a slow-burn. Usually you ate these up like crazy, but the main character was described as a short, beautiful woman. There it was again; having to lean up on your tip-toes to kiss your partner, your partner looking down at you, all those things that were considered super cutesy and desirable. You weren't that. You threw the book on the bedside table with a mad huff, throwing your blanket over your head.
Fuck, no, you're literally taller than your beautiful, angel of a fiancé. You lean down slightly when you kiss him, and you don't have to stand on your tip-toes in order to hug him. You just knew the nonnas on the streets send judging looks your way when they see you two holding hands.
Speaking of your fiancé, he entered your shared bedroom, seemingly home from whatever job he had today. You were aware Giorno most-likely already knew you didn't buy anything today; you've seen his subordinate follow you around the whole time. To be frank, you kinda signed up for constant supervision when you started dating the Don of Passione.
"Cara mia, are you alright?" Giorno spoke softly, he always does so with you. His voice held the upmost adoration for you; a tone nobody got to hear, but you. He knelt down on the floor by your bedside and lifted your blanket slightly to look at you. His beautiful, bright eyes met yours as he took your hand into his.
"Just a bad day, don't mind me, my love." You spoke and sat up. You felt Giorno's hand grasp yours just a tad tighter.
"I do mind, though. Something is bothering you, I can see that clear as day. Alessandro told me you didn't get yourself anything today either. What's the matter, amore? Please let me know so I can take some of the burden off of your heart." Giorno reached up and put his hand on your cheek oh-so gently. His touch was full of love, as usual.
You averted your gaze to your sheets. You felt stupid for thinking the way you do. You know all too well that Giorno loves you more than anything in this world, but you don't feel as desirable as other women. They would look so much better by his side, so why did he choose you?
You were silent for a little while, but then you started to feel guilty. Not telling him would make him feel as though you didn't trust him, which you did. So, you took a deep breath and told him everything. You spoke about your shopping trip; how it made you insecure about your height again and then about how your book made it worse. All in all, your head really wasn't up in the clouds and by the end, you almost had tears pricking in the corner of your eyes, which you tried masking by blinking a lot and looking at the ceiling.
Giorno noticed, of course. He stroked your cheek gently and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand before he spoke again.
"Amore, you're the most beautiful woman that has walked this earth. I do not care about your height in the slightest. I love you more than I have ever loved anything ever before. If these measly, cheap stores do not carry clothes appropriate for you, I will hire the designers personally to tailor the perfect clothing for you. If someone looks at you the wrong way, consider them dead tomorrow. There is nothing that would stop me from making sure you're comfortable and happy. You're the light of my life, the ray of sunshine in the early mornings of a beautiful summer day and I wish, I so wish you would see yourself in the way that I see you. You're perfect to me in every way, my love. Just seeing you smile makes my heart fill with so much joy, I wish to scream it out to the whole world. Sono pazzo di te, tesoro." Giorno's voice was filled with sincerity as he put a hand to your chin, gently tilting your head to face his eyes again. He then smiled and gave you a gentle peck on the lips before getting on the bed on top of you to hug you tightly.
Giorno's words made you smile as you returned his embrace, croaking out a quiet "I love you" before burying your head in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.
In a world that doesn't see your worth, Giorno worships the very ground you walk on. He vows to do so until the day he dies.
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stars-and-clouds · 1 year ago
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HE DIDN'T WANT TO LET GO HE DIDN'T WANT TO LET GO HE DIDN'T WANT TO LET GO!!! -screams-
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lxnarphase · 17 days ago
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sukuna holding your baby for the first time, looking at the little bundle in his arms with wide sparkling eyes, trying so hard not to tear up as he looks at them.
all he can think about is that he used to be this small, he was this vulnerable, he couldn't talk or speak or fend for himself, and his parents decided he was an abomination to the world and he couldn't do anything about it. but now he just knows he will never let that happen to his baby, no, he'd die before letting his baby suffer like he did.
and sukuna doesn't even realize tears are dripping down his face as he cradles your newborn until you coo, reaching over to tiredly caress his face, murmuring that everything is gonna be okay
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tswkento · 1 month ago
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“i have love and dreams too! but you know, one day everyone will grow up and leave me behind, right?” satoru chuckles as he waves his hand at yuuji nonchalantly, unaware of the weight that his words carry as you look up at him with watery eyes.
you rub your temples with one hand as to hide the incoming tears as you wait for their conversation to be over so you can speak to gojo. as soon as yuuji leaves, you enter the room; quick to approach the white-haired man and wrap your arms around him, burying your face between his shoulder blades.
“oh? missed me that much?” he tilts his head to the side, eyeing you as he gives you a small smirk. it disappears when he feels a wet spot clinging to his back and satoru manoeuvres his body around to face you, hands instantly cupping your cheeks as he looks down in concern, “hey now, that’s not very cute of you. i hate it when you cry.”
you push your face into his chest, a broken sob escaping your throat as you wail into his shirt, “you’re the one who makes me cry! saying stuff like that.”
satoru’s eyes squint in confusion before he ahh!’s in recognition, a cheeky smile appearing on his lips, “you and i both know that it’s not about you. i married you so we could be outgrown by the kids together.”
you slap his chest that rumbles with chuckles and press your ear against his left pectoral, spending a few quiet seconds searching for his heartbeat.
“i can still feel sad.” you murmur under your breath, tightening your grip on him as he rests his hand on top of your head, fingers weaving through your hair.
“feel sad for me?”
“mhm.”
satoru hums, stroking the back of your head, and smears a small kiss on your temple, muttering against it, “c’mon, baby, there’s no need for that.”
you sniffle into the sturdy surface of his chest, fingers digging deeper into his back, “i-i missed you so much. and now— now you’re going away again! it’s not fair.”
satoru’s movements on your hair come to a halt as he pulls away slightly to take a look at your face. his big palms cup the sides of it, concerned gaze scanning over your features as he exhales, breath coming out unsteadily. his eyes harden for a brief moment before ab apologetic expression settles on his face, the corners of his lips trembling as he speaks.
“i’ll do my best to make it quick, alright?”
you stare up at him, brows creasing upwards in confusion since that clearly wasn’t what was on satoru’s mind, but don’t push — too tired to attempt anything again as you bask in his warmth for as long as you can before he goes to fight sukuna.
something didn’t feel right.
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nkogneatho · 9 months ago
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Toji has never once shown his vulnerability towards the scar he has on his lips. He never even talks about them. But you know he is somewhere insecure about it when he stops and stares in the mirror while shaving, green eyes scanning the scar. Or when he purposely rests the right side of his face in his hand so the palm hides it. He thought he was being subtle with it, but you noticed. You noticed how deep down he was scared to even talk about it, let alone wear it with pride. That scar was a nightmare and he hated how it was visible to him, to everyone in the most obvious place.
"Toji?" you cooed from behind, walking into the hall while he was watching TV.
"Yes, baby?"
"I bought a new gloss, and i want to test if it's transfer proof."
"Don't know what that is but c'mere, lovie. Sit on my lap while you do it." You smiled and plopped yourself on his lap. Before he could finally look at you, you pressed your tinted glossy lips at the end of his lips where the scar settled.
he tried opening his lips to catch yours but you didn't really kiss his lips. he was so confused why you were pecking one spot.
*one peck. two peck. three peck. smooches tightly*
"D'ya know? I love this." You ran your thumb over the skin. "It makes me realize how strong you are, Toji. Sooo strong. Please don't hide it. It makes you look more handsome." He couldn't form words. The sudden love bomb opened a can of bad memories. Yet, oddly, he was comforted by your words. For a man so big, he was still weak over you and your love. Because you determined his vulnerability. Which is why your relationship was perfect. He is not the kind of man to be vocal about his issues but you read him like an open book. You understand him before he even has to spell it out.
Toji rested his forehead against yours, inhaling and exhaling with his eyes closed. God. He feels so in love, it kills him. What would he do without you? Everyone picked his flesh till it was just his heart exposed in the dirt, still struggling to beat. But you found it. Not to pick anymore flesh(there was none left). But to rip open your ribs and keep that heart locked in you forever. Safe and sound.
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forgettable-au · 3 months ago
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PROLOGUE
FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 1-9)
AND SO IT BEGINS!
[CONTINUE] [MASTERPOST]
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feathert3ther · 2 months ago
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[Constellation, ‘Demon King of Salvation’ has reached his ◽️◽️.]
[Your ◽️◽️ is ‘Eternity’.]
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pookieace · 5 months ago
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✰ . . . minors do not interact !
gojo and you fucking in missionary makes him dangerously sensitive as it is because he feels so much love as he looks down at you. how pretty you look, how a layer of sweats coats your skin. how your hair is a mess after multiple rounds. how you’re reaching out and grabbing at any part of his body for some form of stability while he fucks your cunt. he can see how you two are a mess where you both join, splatters of your wetness and white sticky remnants of his from previous rounds. you look so stunning. so so so beautiful.
he’s on the verge of cumming every second when you fuck missionary. he adores how he can see you flutter your eyes open and look so fucked out but still gaze at him with love. he gets even more sensitive the second you run your fingers through his undercut. he's groaning, hips faltering as he visibly shivers. feeling the pads of your fingers against his undercut is one thing but feeling your nails against them? that's another. three more thrusts and he's got his balls flushed against you, letting them drain, emptying them right into you.
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matchamiko · 7 months ago
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Teaching Dabi how to eat pussy the way you like it but he’s so desperately sloppy and messy about it that you just hump his face with one hand gripping his hair and the other tight on your own throat.
He’s inexperienced, mostly, he doesn’t give often if not at all to the partners he’s had in the past, few and far between; but then you came along and all of a sudden he’s offering and begging and demanding. He’s so used to seeing pussy eating in porn, in magazines that he’s got no rhythm, no method, no thought behind his guzzling and slurping and biting. So when you anchor yourself to him with a frustrated little whine, lifting your hips and grinding smoothly and sweetly against his tongue and his nose; Touya swears sees new colours and hears new sounds. The wet click of your cunt against his lips and chin, the shuddering of your thighs either side of his head, your mumbles and gasps against your constricted throat, and your encouraging praises of him just staying right there, just like that Touya. He cums loud and wet as he looks up at you through his lashes, half angry that you’re not teaching him like you said but half insane over the state of you, using him to your heart’s content.
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bi-writes · 2 months ago
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Would Simon do cute-sy couple things with MOB in public? Hand holding, kisses/cuddles, pet names? Or since they are out in the open, is he always reserved until they are in a restaurant or in the car- just away from the public eye
mail-order bride
in private, this man is on his knees for his wife. in the car, he'll put his hand over yours on your thigh or just look over at you time to time to check on you. at home, he fixes your hair for you, offers to cut your nails if you don't get them done, oils your hair, brushes it. he learns your skincare routine and will help you in the bathroom mirror, smoothing it over your face and making sure your skin is hydrated and treated. he definitely asked you to show him how you take off your makeup so that he can help you do it at the end of a long day; he'll come into the bedroom with micellar water and cotton and have you lay your head in his lap as he takes it off for you and murmurs how pretty you are.
he loves putting your shoes on for you, especially if there's laces or things to tie. gets on one knee for you and buckles your heels or ties your runners or zips up your boots.
he doesn't like when you use the stool to get to the top shelf. he likes showing off his strength, picking you up to get you to the shelf, groping you a little and making your head spin when he sets you down and buries his face into your neck.
in public, he's still affectionate, but he doens't initiate much. but he never turns his girl away.
he always wears his mask, so kissing doesn't happen much, but you make it work. when he buys you some flowers at the farmers' market, you kiss him over the mask softly, cooing in his ear, telling him he's so nice, he's so kind. doesn't say anything because he's blushing mad under the mask.
when you're walking along the main road checking out the shops, you reach over and take his hand, and he intertwines your fingers gently as you keep walking.
simon always keeps you away from the road. subconsciously even, always getting between you and someone else, always standing at your back, glaring when someone looks your way too long or looks at you funny. he carries your things for you; shopping bags, groceries, heavy packages, he doesn't let you hold a thing, but you don't mind, especially when the items get heavy. you try not to stare too long as he grunts when he lifts up a heavy box for you, big arms bulging as he carries it into the house.
calls you love, sweetheart, luvvie. his most frequently-used petname is baby, he adores calling you that, cause that's what you are to him. in public, baby makes you shy, in the bedroom, it has you a whining, squirmy little mess.
he doesn't love to be too affectionate in public though. the most he does is hold your hand or keep you close; at the pub, he likes when you sit in his lap sometimes, but he keeps it very cool and casual. although he does grip your chin sometimes or say something into your ear, and it definitely has you squeezing your legs together when you think a little too much about it (effortless sex appeal ok).
in a restaurant, simon is just a straight gentleman. opening doors for you, pulling out your chair, taking your purse for you to hold it or set it aside (and to keep you from paying, although it's adorable when you use the credit card he gave you to give to the waiter). when you need to go to the toilet, he gets up, takes your hand, walks you over so he can see you go inside safely. doesn't matter if it's a fast food place or a fancy restaurant, simon is just always concerned about you and can't sit still unless he knows you get to and from somewhere safely.
with his mask on in public, it's a lot of noses touching, foreheads pressing together, chaste kisses through cloth. always brief and always quiet, but they are intimate exchanges anyways. they are almost always silent, and you speak with nothing but your eyes, but you don't need much else with simon. you know each other by now, can read each other, and you take comfort in your new reality.
he is most himself at home, though. most himself without his mask, cooking you dinner, leaning over you as you bake something for him in your new cast iron pan (he saw the red color of it and thought of you in that cherry dress, couldn't help himself). he's most himself feeding the cats, cutting up whole sardines and quail eggs, a pump of salmon oil and some freeze-dried chicken hearts (the black cat prefers veggies, too, in an elevated bowl--the orange one is forced to eat from a lick mat or else she'll eat too fast for her own good). he's most himself watching you in the mirror, stealing glances of you coming out of the shower, tucking you into bed.
and he feels the most alone when he stands in front of you, duffel bag over his shoulder as johnny honks on the car horn outside. he feels the most alone, the saddest, when he tries to ignore your trembling lip and teary eyes as he says goodbye to you.
in his own home, mask on, feeling so close to you and yet somehow, the farthest from you. and when he kisses you goodbye, mask hiked up over his nose, he tries to forget the taste of your tears and the sound of your choked i love you.
if he thinks about it too long, he won't move from this spot.
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celestie0 · 2 months ago
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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]
title. let me be free of you
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He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.
ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls
ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending
ᰔ word count. 4.8k
a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33
➸ masterlist
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“I’m engaged.”
The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it. 
He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.
He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.
“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.
“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.
“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket. 
Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.
“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.” 
Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.
His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.
So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.
Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible. 
It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.
It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–
“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.
He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you. 
“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”
“To be married?”
“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”
“You’re not allowed to get married.”
He snorts. “Says who?”
“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks. 
There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.
“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”
“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age. 
“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”
“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.
“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”
His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”
“How come?”
“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”
“Her father?”
“Yes.”
“And why is that?”
“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”
The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.
“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?
He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.” 
“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him. 
“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you. 
But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?
“So…are you marrying her because of–”
“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.
“Satoru…”
He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation. 
“Listen…” he starts.
He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.
“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”
You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.
“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.
His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.
“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”
His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time. 
He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.
Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes. 
But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.
“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”
You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.
“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–” 
“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”
“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.
“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.
You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.
“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.” 
“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–” 
“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you. 
He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.
Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.
Ah.
But.
But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden. 
Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.
He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.
When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.
His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.
“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut. 
“Heading back?” he hears you ask.
He stands. “I’ve got to.”
“Okay.” 
You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating. 
“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.
“Yes?” you ask.
He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw. 
“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”
You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes. 
“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”
You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie. 
“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape. 
You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”
“Friends.”
You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”
His eyes widened slightly.
Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”
“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you. 
“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”
His heart stills at those words.
You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”
His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.
“The thing is,” you continue, “you would��ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”
He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.
You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”
You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”
He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist. 
He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you. 
“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”
He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now. 
It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives. 
It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.
You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.
His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains. 
“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.
His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”
.
.
.
[the end] 
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a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)
➸ masterlist
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randomgarbagecan · 5 months ago
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rafedaddy01 · 2 months ago
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READER GETTING A TATTOO “r c” BETWEEN HER TITTIES PLSSS😫😫😫
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Summary: you show rafe the little surprise you got just for him, and he can’t get over it
Warnings: smut! smut! smut!
“Rafey.. I have a surprise for you” you whisper into your boyfriend’s ear as he sleeps soundly in your shared bed. “Wake up”
“Mmm, baby? You finally home”
You’re a little tipsy from the night out you had with your girls. “Look, I got this just for you”
Rafes eyes suddenly pop open, wide awake from his sound slumber, “holy shit-“ he groans as he stares at your perfectly supple breasts and down the middle you have his initial R with a heart next to it. His dick immediately standing at attention.
“Do you.. do you like it?” Your suddenly nervous as his expression gives no hope of him liking it but rather of shock. “It was stupid, I- I was a little drunk, and-“
He cuts you off with a kiss, sloppy and filled with utter lust as his tongue speaks to you the words he isn’t able to communicate. “This is the hottest thing you could do. Marking your body as my territory, all mine”
He lifts you onto his lap as his lips attack yours once again, his big hands fall to your hips as he grinds your body’s together. Your tight little club dress riding up your thighs and exposing your pantyless crotch against his hard cock.
You moan into his mouth and he devours it.
Both of you are animalistic as you kiss like your starved. Like you can’t get enough air, mouths open wide and tongues fighting for dominance.
You can’t even pull away as your hands work down his boxers and you grip his cock, rubbing his angry mushroom tip against your sore and needy clit. You whine as you feel an electric shock of pleasure shoot up your spine.
Rafes lips move down your neck and chest, when he gets to the tattoo he kisses it softly and it makes your insides melt. When his lips latch onto your right nipple you push down on his cock and both of you groan from the stretch.
You give yourself a minute before you start rocking, feeling how good he stretches you open the more you push down on him. He continues to suck on your sensitive nipple before moving to the left one and sucking harsher.
You’re bouncing ferociously at this point. The slapping sound of skin filling your room, the slick of both your juices (mostly yours) slipping down your thighs and onto rafe and the bed as it acts as lube.
“Close” you whimper as your legs shake and tremble with pleasure. Rafe grips onto your hips and your palms smack flat against his chest for stability.
He starts thrusting up into you and taking over as you fall against his rock hard body, nuzzling your face into his neck and kissing.
He’s pounding so hard below you that the bed moves and squeaks and the headboard bangs repeatedly against the wall.
All that’s heard is your moans and small squeaks of Rafes and yes’s before you have the most mind blowing orgasm ever.
He doesn’t stop thrusting up into you until his own release hits him and he lets a strings of groans and I love yous fall out into the air.
You feel the warmth immediately, his cum painting your insides white and making you feel warm and fuzzy and safe.
His thrusts slow as he keeps his cock in you and the cum drips out of you and all over him and the bed, but none of you care as both of you doze off into the night. 
Taglist
@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover
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nkogneatho · 1 year ago
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"i can't believe you did this to me, toru" you looked at him with almost tears in your eyes. your heart was aching. you couldn't believe that you just witnessed the love of your life betraying you. and the worst part was...he wasn't he even sorry about it. not an ounce of shame or regret masked his face.
"you want me to be sorry? aww poor thing. you'll never get my apology, y/n." he mocked you.
"after all those times we spent together...this is how you treat me?"
"you deserve it if i am being honest," he spat. how can he say that? did he never love you? was all that a lie??
"i can't believe you right now. i wish this was a nightmare. i loved you so much but you? you give me this in return?"
"babe. i love you too but pick up 24 cards. you can't win this time," he pointed at the deck of uno cards. he really pulled out three draw fours on you. well he was right. you did deserve it since you did the same last week. but you thought he'd go easy on you.
"i hope your favorite kikufuku stores shuts down." you glare angrily at him while counting the cards you have to pick
"you take that back or i'll give you another draw two."
"FUCK YOU, GOJO SATORU!!"
"yeah, i love you too"
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river--ghost · 2 months ago
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