urvape1kz

[urvape1kz]

Sienna.

I've read so many beautiful fics inspired by this song, and I finally took the time to write my own version. Hope you like it! <3

Pairing: Jason Todd [RH] x !Reader

Word Count: 2,467

Jason stared at the flickering red neon light, its harsh glow spilling across the cracked sidewalk like a warning. The light bounced off his Philly's cap, painting it with a fire he didn’t quite feel anymore. He stood motionless under the arch of the entrance sign, hands curled into fists at his sides, boots rooted to the concrete like the ground itself wouldn’t allow him forward.

Inside, the muffled sound of your voice wrapped around the notes of some old Sinatra song, a sweet, slurred melody that carried through the open windows like smoke. It was like the city itself was whispering your name to him, luring him in. Tempting him to step into something he wasn’t sure he could face… you.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

You were tipsy that night, soft giggles breaking loose like bubbles as you hiccupped against his skin. Your body was draped languidly across his lap. Grease smudged your fingertips, tracing lazy circles over the bare skin of his chest.

“Princess,” Jason muttered around a crooked grin, lifting a grease-slick wrench between two fingers without even looking at you, “kinda in the middle of something.”

You didn’t care. That helmet, half-gutted on the coffee table, had taken up all his attention for DAYS now. Some bolt on the inside had popped loose again, and he was determined to fix it like it was the only one he had. Like it wasn’t just another in a long line of armor he refused to throw away.

“Not anymore,” you giggled, teeth biting down on your plump bottom lip before you snatched the wrench right out of his hand.

“Mmm… sometimes I think love you that helmet more than me.”

“Really?” he smirked, cocking his head.

“Yeah, really…” you pouted, rubbing your cheek against his skin like a sleepy cat.

He chuckled low under his breath, then gently tilted your chin up, thumb brushing along the inside of your bottom lip, slow and teasing. “It’s the one I wore the night we met. In that alleyway.”

His voice dropped a little. “I’m keeping it... forever. Just like you.”

Then his hands slid down, settling firmly on the curve of your ass, holding you like he didn’t care about the mess on his fingers, the grease, the half-built armor on the floor. Just you in his lap. Soft and close.

You pushed the hair out of his eyes, brushing it back gently, fingers tracing the old scars carved across his face. The kind no one else was allowed to touch, no one but you.

“…Baby…” you murmured, lips brushing the edge of his jaw.

“Hm?” he hummed, eyes half-lidded, smile lazy.

“I want a baaaaby,” you slurred, grabbing his face, squishing his cheeks like warm dough.

He blinked, once, and then laughed, that real kind of laugh that cracked through his chest like thunder on a quiet night. His big hands wrapped gently around your wrists, prying them from his face, but not letting go.

“A baby?” he echoed, grin still lingering. “Mrs. Todd wants a baby?”

“Yeah… she’d look just like you,” you whispered, your forehead resting against his, breath soft and sweet between you.

Jason didn’t say anything right away. He just held you closer, his chest rising slowly against yours.

“And what would this little troublemaker be like, huh?” half teasing, half like he actually wanted to know.  You blushed, eyes fluttering as if you could already picture her tiny hands, tiny shoes, loud feet echoing down the hallway. “She’d be so cute…”

“She’d have your temper,” you added, half-laughing, half-serious. “And run around like you. Always moving. Always loud.”

Jason’s breath hitched, barely noticeable, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“Sounds like you’re trying to replace me,” he said, voice rough at the edges.

“Sienna could never replace you, Jason…” you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him, really look at him. And even though your eyes were glassy with sleep, your expression was dead serious.

He blinked once. “Sienna?”

Your face scrunched up in horror. “Wait—oh no. Is it ugly? It is, isn’t it? I knew it was ugly.”

“Hey, hey, baby—no,” he said, reaching up to cradle your face. “It’s beautiful.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower, lips brushing along your neck like a slow exhale. “I was just surprised you picked it without me.”

You hummed softly, breath catching as he kept kissing you. “Mmn… I couldn’t wait. I look at you and I just get so excited thinking about… forever.”

His expression shifted, just slightly, but it was unmistakable. The tenderness in his eyes sharpening into something darker, hungrier.

“Guess this mask is gonna have to wait,” he murmured, pressing you back gently against the desk.

“Jas—eek!”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“JASON!”

The memory shattered as fast as it came.

His eyes snapped open as a loud voice and a heavy hand dragged him straight out of the past and dumped him back under the neon lights outside the bar.

Roy.

Grinning like an idiot, clapping him on the back like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Man, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

Jason exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. “Saw you last week,” he muttered, tugging his cap lower as if he were hiding from something, or someone. 

“Yeah, I know that,” Roy said, hands gesturing toward the neon sign overhead. “But I haven’t seen you here.”

Red Jack. The bar you performed at every Friday night. The one place Jason had avoided like the plague.

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes flicking away. “I know.”

Roy pushed the door open, stepping into the pulsing warmth of the bar. “So… why are you here?”

Jason didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

That was the problem.

He hadn’t meant to end up here. Hadn’t meant to stand under this red glow, stomach in knots, memories clawing their way back up.

Not when things between you were still raw. Still tense. And especially not when he had no one to blame but himself.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“I don’t know how long you think you can pretend we’re fine,” you shouted, your voice trembling with more than just anger. “Because we’re not, Jason!”

It had been stupid. A fight over a misunderstanding. But he hadn’t been able to handle it. The emotion. The drama.

“I told her I didn’t want to see her again—why are you going bat-shit over this?” he yelled, hands in his hair.

You laughed, broken and sharp. “Because you left at three in the fucking morning, Jason! Just to tell Artemis your star-crossed lover or whatever that you didn’t want to see her anymore, and I find out from your brother!”

You threw your hands up, pacing the apartment like your skin didn’t fit right.

“You were sneaky. Cowardly. You could have—”

“Could have what?” he snapped.

“You could have told me, Jay” Your voice cracked. “You could have told me.”

And then you were gone, storming out of the apartment, sobbing, like you didn’t want him to chase after you, wrap his arms around your waist, whisper that he was sorry. That this was just another storm you’d ride out together. 

But he didn’t.

And you hated him for it.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

“You know she sings a few songs for you,” Roy said quietly, taking a sip from his beer.

Jason’s head was buried in his arms, shoulders hunched. “Yeah. Right. Like she told you that.”

“She doesn’t have to.” Roy leaned against the bar, arm slung across Jason’s broad back, drawing slow, grounding circles over his leather jacket. “It’s obvious.”

Suddenly the crowd around them began to shift,  bodies inching forward toward the stage.

“Ah… must be her final number,” Roy said, giving Jason’s back a light pat. “The last ones are always the best.”

The lights on stage dropped lower, golden and soft, casting long shadows.

You stepped up to the mic, wrapping your fingers around it like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“This song…”

You swallowed, eyes scanning the crowd, but never landing anywhere for long.

“It’s… something I’ve never played before. The band hasn’t practiced it much, I didn’t let them. I wanted it to be raw. Real.”

Your hand curled tighter around the mic stand.

“So I’m sorry in advance if it sounds a little rough… but I wanted it to be his song. Just for him.”

You took a shaky breath, blinking back tears. The lights caught the shimmer in your eyes.

“This one's for you.”

The band starts behind you, soft and slow, drowning out the crowd until it’s just you and the sound.

“Ooo... Sienna...”

Jason chokes on his beer. The bottle slips just enough to spill down his chin, foam catching in his throat. People glance, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even blink.

Roy leans back slightly, arms folded, watching you with a knowing softness. He sees the way your eyes scan the crowd, like they do every Friday night. Quiet. Searching. Hoping.

Praying.

That he’d be there.

“…Would’ve been cute.”

Then your eyes lock.

And Jason forgets how to breathe.

You see him, really see him, and something in your gaze falters. Your lips tremble. Your glossy, dark eyes fill with something you’ve never let anyone see on stage before.

Tears.

“Ooo… Sienna…” “Would look just like you…”

Your voice is softer now, trembling.

“With a temper like you…”

“Run around like you…”

“Jumpin’ in the pool, like you…”

Your throat tightens mid-verse.

The sob escapes before you can stop it,  cracked and quiet, but it cuts through the bar like a siren.

And suddenly it’s just the two of you again. In this too-loud, too-small bar with bad lighting and worse speakers.

You, him… and Sienna.

The girl who never existed and somehow always had.

You keep singing.

Because if you stop, she disappears. And if she disappears, so do you.

Your voice shakes through the final verse barely holding on, but still strong enough to carry the weight of every memory, every ache, every quiet "I miss you" tucked tightly between lyrics.

“And I smile when I think of all the times we had

On the beach in the winter when the waves were mad

Down by the water, crystal clear

See her face in the forest, then it disappears…”

As the song ends, you feel it again. Her. Sienna, alive in your chest, alive in the air between you. In your voice. In your love. You look into his eyes and pray Jason feels it too. Feels her. 

But he simply stares. Stares like a man undone. Like a fallen angel looking at the heaven he lost, not because it vanished, but because he was cast out. Because he forsook it.

His breath shudders as a tear falls.

Then, without a word, he grabs his cap off the table. Stands. Fast.

“Where are you going?” Roy asks, brow raised.

Jason doesn’t look back.

“Getting some air,” he mutters.

And then he turns.

No goodbye. No glance back.

Just the door creaking open, then closing behind him.

He steps back into the cold, into the rain. Back into that lonely space where he’s convinced he belongs.

His feet walk for blocks.

No real direction. No thought. Just movement.

His boots splash through puddles, his jacket clings to his skin, and his breath fogs the air in front of him.

Then,  he turns down an alleyway.

And hears it.

A soft splash.

“Hey.”

He stops.

Water drips from his face, not from the sky, not from rusted pipes above, but from him.

His tears.

He doesn’t look up right away, but his voice comes, rough and low, cracked with the weight of it all.

“You remember her…” he says, like it’s a secret he’s been holding in his chest too long. “You remember Sienna.”

Your laugh bubbles out, wet and broken. “Drunk or not, I could never forget a night with you, Jason Todd.”

You step closer. Careful. Gentle. Like approaching a wounded creature.

“Do you still think about her?” you ask.

Jason turns to face you, and your breath catches.

His face is a mess, tears mixing with rainwater, hair clinging to his skin, eyes so full of pain you almost can’t stand to look.

But you do.

You always do.

“How could I ever forget?” he whispers.

Your chest tightens painfully.

And suddenly, you feel her heartbeat again. Not imagined,  but present. Loud in your ears. Soft in your bones.

Still alive… in you.

“Please,” you say, voice breaking, “don’t let me walk away again, Jay. I was scared. I was mad. But it was stupid. I should’ve known you’d never do something like that behind my back and—and…”

You take a shaky step forward.

“I just miss you. I miss you so—”

That’s all it takes.

Jason closes the space between you in two strides, his hands cupping your face, your jaw, your back, all at once, and then his mouth is on yours.

Desperate. Hungry. Home.

A kiss that’s been aching behind ribs and buried in silence for months.

A moment stretches between you before the kiss begins to soften, slow, aching, your lips parting just enough to breathe each other in. 

His hands stay on you, grounding you, one resting low at the curve of your back, the other cradling your jaw.

“I keep thinking about her,” he says suddenly, voice hoarse. “About Sienna. What she would’ve looked like. The way you said she’d run wild through the house, yelling, laughing, driving us both insane…”

His smile is broken, barely there.

“Sometimes I hear her in my dreams. Little feet. Little voice. She always says your name first.” He laughs under his breath, bitter and beautiful all at once. “Figured she’d love you more.”

“Jay…” you breathe, throat tight.

He lifts his eyes to yours, and God, they’re so full. Of ache. Of guilt. Of everything he’s never said out loud.

“I don’t know if I deserve you. Or her. Or any of it,” he says, lips trembling. “But I know this. I never stopped loving you. Even when I was too much of a coward to say it. Even when I walked away.”

A long pause.

“I don’t want to keep running,” he admits quietly. “Not from you. Not from the life we almost had.”

Your heart cracks wide open.

Jason shifts, his hands now framing your face. “Do you think…” He swallows hard. “We could try again? Not just for us. For her. For Sienna. For what we almost had.”

You stare at him, your eyes swimming, but your smile breaks through.

“Jason Todd,” you whisper, the words catching on a sob, “that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

And then they exploded and died.

[urvape1kz]

Wedding Crasher

Pairing: Jason Todd [RH] x !Reader

Word Count: 2536

There were moments Jason had wished he’d died a second time, not in fire or ash, not in some dark alley with a crowbar splitting his bone, but in the small, colorless hours between breath and regret. The kind of death that isn’t violent but slow and quiet, like grief that won’t let go. That’s what it felt like the day he left you in that hospital bed, not just like running, but like burying a part of himself alive. You’d gone down because of him. A mission gone wrong. One turn he shouldn’t have taken. He saw the moment unfold in reverse over and over, how he’d barked the call too soon, how you’d followed without hesitation, how the explosion ripped through the corridor seconds later. You never blamed him, not once, but you hadn’t opened your eyes either. 

They said it was a coma. Temporary. But Jason couldn’t stand to hear the word. He couldn’t stand the machines, the smell of bleach and loss, or the way your skin looked paler with each passing hour. 

He hated hospitals, really hated them. Not because they were cold or quiet, but because they reminded him of his mother. The way she used to lie in beds just like yours, skin gray and breath shallow, tubes in her arm from the overdose before and the one still coming. The way she'd always looked at him with that empty kind of apology  like she didn’t know how to be better, but wanted him to forgive her anyway. 

That same sick helplessness had crept up his spine as he sat beside your bed, fists clenched in his lap, begging a God he didn’t believe in to trade places with you. And one morning, just before sunrise, he realized he couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t sit there and wait to see the moment your eyes opened and saw him, the man who had let you down. So he left.

He didn’t disappear entirely. Not the way he wanted to. He sent a letter, short, cowardly, a bleeding wound dressed in too few words. Every year after that, he sent something else. Small gifts, all without a return address. A book with your favorite author’s first edition cover. A pressed flower sealed in a leather-bound journal. A new set of combat gloves, custom-stitched with reinforced knuckles, like he still knew what you needed. He tracked you the way ghosts haunt places they used to love. Always close. Never seen. He watched you recover from afar, watched you start walking again, training again, laughing again, even when he wasn’t sure it was real. You moved on, and Jason stayed frozen in the space you left behind. Because every time he tried to come back, something stopped him. The shame. The fear. The memory of your body broken under flickering lights. He lived in rooftops and shadows, always near but never known, and maybe that was his punishment: to see you live a life he no longer had the right to touch.

And then, the invitation. It showed up in his PO box one Tuesday morning, sandwiched between two burner invoices and a half-empty pack of nicotine gum. No return address. Just a name. Yours. He knew your handwriting instantly, the way your Y curled slightly too long at the base. It punched the breath from his lungs. He hadn’t realized you’d found him. 

Inside was a photo, printed in soft matte ink: you and another man, Cole Harren. Jason knew him. Not well. But well enough to know he was the kind of guy who looked clean on paper, did everything by the book, checked all the right boxes  and thought that made him worthy. He didn’t love you like Jason did. He couldn’t. Not really. And it showed in the way he held you in that picture, possessive, polished, too proud of what he had in his arms. Like you were something he won, not someone he loved. 

You weren’t smiling. Not really. Your lips were curved like they were told to be, like someone was watching. And that was all it took.

Everything Jason had buried, every feeling, every ache, every moment of silence he’d forced himself to live with, snapped its chains and came clawing back like vengeance. The jealousy, the rage, the guilt. The love.

It should’ve been him. It was supposed to be him. He knew it the way a man knows when a gun is pressed to his ribs, in his bones, in his breath. And maybe he always knew this day would come. He just never imagined he’d be the one who let it happen.

Not without fighting. Not without seeing you one last time.

So he did what all lost dogs do.

He found his way back home.

He didn’t stop moving for three days. Ran names through blacklisted servers, bribed crooked bartenders, cornered old contacts in alleys and smoke-filled basements, all to find you. Everyone knew something, even if they didn’t realize it.

Piece by piece, he followed the trail until it brought him here, to the kind of house you used to dream about. A small colonial. White picket fence. A creaky porch and a garden so perfect, it looked like you’d poured yourself into it every quiet Sunday.

A home big enough for a family of three. Maybe four. Big enough for the life he never stopped seeing when he closed his eyes.

He stood across the street, half-hidden behind the frame of his helmet, watching as Cole stormed out of the driveway. Jaw tight. Hands clenched. He looked pissed, like you’d fought. Like he’d lost. Jason smiled, not because he enjoyed the scene, but because it confirmed what he already knew: you two weren’t as picture perfect as you seemed. You could do better.

As soon as the car disappeared, he crossed the street in a few quick strides, moving straight to the side of the house. He kept low, close to the siding, until he reached the kitchen window. It was cracked open, just enough to slide your fingers in and lift. Maybe a coincidence. But it didn’t feel accidental.

He climbed in without hesitation, boots landing soft on the kitchen tile. The air smelled like apple and cinnamon. A dark red candle flickering out on the counter. The space looked warm, lived-in. A perfect little domestic postcard. 

He felt his stomach churn, a wave of something sharp and sick hit him as he looked around, imagining what could have been, what he gave up.

He crossed the floor in slow steps, each one quieter than the last, his hand dragging across the white walls, pausing when his fingers brushed against a frame. A photo of you and Cole on the beach. You were smiling, but now how he remembered. His jaw tightened, a sharp twist of jealousy curling low in his chest, bitter and ugly. He hated the way Cole touched you. Hated the frame, the house, himself.

But all of that disappeared the second he saw you.

You stood in front of the mirror, veil in hand, dress half-zipped, spine rigid like you were holding yourself together by sheer will. And just like that, every thought bled out of his head.

You looked breathtaking. Like a fucking princess.

“Jesus…” he whispered. “You look beautiful.”

You turned slowly. Like you already knew he’d be there. “Jason…” you breathed, voice trembling. 

You stepped toward him, slowly, like your body didn’t believe he was real. “What are you doing here?” you asked.

Jason stared at you, eyes wide, like he was trying to memorize everything, the curve of your cheek, the way your hair was pinned back, the dress clinging to your body like it had a future. And then he laughed, a short, broken sound that had nothing to do with joy and everything to do with disbelief.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” he said, voice raw. “I could be ruining your life right now. I know that. I know what this looks like. But I couldn’t stay away. I saw your name in that invitation, I saw your face next to his, and it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I thought I could handle it. I told myself you’d moved on, that it was better this way, that I made the right choice by leaving. I thought if I watched from a distance, if I kept my head down, if I stayed out of your life, you’d be safer. I believed that, I really did, and that’s what scared me most. Because I wasn’t thinking about what you needed, I was thinking about what I could survive. And I couldn’t survive seeing you in that hospital bed, I couldn’t sit there day after day and watch the person I love more than anything in the world waste away because of me. I blamed myself, because it was my fault, it was always my fault. I led you into that mission, I made the call, I should’ve taken the hit, but it was you, and I looked at you lying there and I saw my mother, I saw every hospital room I’ve ever hated, and I panicked. I told myself walking away was the merciful thing to do. But the truth is, I was a coward. I didn’t leave for you. I left because I was too fucking scared to stay.”

You opened your mouth, tried to speak, but he kept going, voice louder, faster, like he’d been holding this in for years and couldn’t stop now.

“And then you found me,” he said, taking a shaky step forward. “You found my goddamn PO box, something no one else has ever managed to do. You sent me that invitation, you knew I’d see it. And you left the window open. Don’t tell me that was an accident, because I know you. You wanted me to come. You knew I would. And I did, because I can’t stay away from you. I never could."

He could feel his throat clench as his voice rose, his knees bruising against the cold floor as he fell, staring up at a goddess. His goddess. 

“I’m begging you,” he whispered, voice hoarse and strangled. “Please. Please don’t marry him,” he cried. “I’ll do anything, fucking anything.”

“Jason—” You moved toward him, trying to pull him up, your hands tangled in his jacket, but he wasn’t listening.

He grabbed your waist like you were the edge of a cliff and he was about to fall off.

“I’ll be anything. I’ll be your stray. I’ll sleep outside the door like a dog if I have to. Just don’t marry him. Don’t do this. Not to me. Not to us.”

“Jay, get up—please—get up—” you sobbed, collapsing beside him, your knees hitting the floor with a thud.

But Jason was gone, or close to it. His forehead rested against your stomach, his arms wrapping around your waist, like you were a boat drifting away from him, and he was trying to anchor himself to you before the current pulled you out of reach.

“It should’ve been me,” he gasped. “God—it should’ve been me.”

“Me at the altar. Me holding your hand. Me waking up beside you every morning, bickering about baby names and the smell of burnt pancakes. Fuck, I saw it all. Every detail of our life and I still let you go.”

When he finally looked up at you, his eyes were bloodshot, swollen with the kind of grief that simply festers in the soul. Whatever was left of the fight in him had bled dry. All that stared back at you was the shell of a man who’d already buried the best part of himself.

“You were all I had,” he said, breathless. “And I destroyed it—you, us. I walked away like a coward. I’ve lived with that lie every damn day, and it’s eaten me alive. But if you give me one more chance—just one—I swear, I won’t let go again. I’ll love you better. I’ll love you louder. I’ll love you through the pain, through the healing. The way you always deserved."

You were both sobbing now, shoulders trembling, your fingers in his hair.

“Please,” he breathed into your skin. “Don’t marry him. Let me come home.”

—Ten years later—

“You were such a romantic Dad!” Catherine squealed, jumping onto him with a giggle. Natalia followed right behind, both of them toppling him over on the living room floor.

“Catherine, Natalia, be careful!” you scold, trying to hush your voice as you bounced baby Peter on your shoulder. “You’re not five anymore, you’re going to crush him.”

“You’re the only thing that can crush Daddy, always breaking his heart,” Natalia teased, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Catherine snorted, adding, “...and maybe Cinderblock. That one time.”

Jason groaned dramatically from the floor. “Okay, one time. And he didn’t crush me. I was strategically retreating.”

“Right,” you said dryly. “You ‘strategically retreated’ into a pile of dumpsters.”

“The important part is that I lived. You’re welcome, Gotham.”

The girls broke into laughter, piling even closer around him like they were babies again, all limbs and noise and warmth. You smiled as you watched them, the way Jason played it up, let himself be soft for them. Like he'd learned how to stop running, and finally stand still in love.

You kissed the top of Peter’s head and moved to his crib, gently laying him down and brushing his tiny curls off his forehead. He shifted, sighed, then settled again.

Before you could step away, you felt him. Strong arms wrapping around your waist like muscle memory. His forehead rested against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

“You ever think about having one more?” he asked, almost shy.

You leaned back into him, a quiet laugh slipping out. “That’s what you said before Catherine.”

“And before Natalia,” he said, pressing a kiss to your neck. “And look how perfect they turned out.”

“Debatable,” you teased, but your smile said otherwise. And Jason didn’t need the words, your eyes had always told him the truth first.

You turned in his arms and kissed him, soft and slow, just the way you liked.

From the couch, the girls sat in hushed awe, their eyes fixed on the two of you as if watching their favorite celebrity couple live, in love, and utterly unaware of the audience. Catherine cradled your wedding portrait in her lap, quietly comparing it to the scene unfolding just a few feet away.

In the picture, Jason was kissing you like he still couldn’t believe it was real, his hands trembling at your waist, your veil slipping down your back like silk. 

She studied the two of you now, then looked back at the photo.

There was no difference. Not in the look in his eyes. Not in the way he leaned toward you, still pulled by the same invisible thread of devotion.

Natalia leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder.

“You think they’ll be like this forever?”

Catherine smiled, eyes still on the photo, then on you and Jason in one another's arms.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, I do.”

[urvape1kz]

'party 4 u'

Pairing: Jason Todd [RH] x !Reader

Word Count: 2691 

Summary: You left the vigilante life behind. No more blood, no more rooftop stitches, no more Jason Todd. But one night, Gotham pulls you back in. He’s there. Staring at you like no time has passed. And suddenly, you're not over it. Not even close.

I wrote this high and in my feelings, so most of it may or may not make sense. Inspired by party 4 u by charli xcx . Hopefully, I can revisit this idea to write it in depth, the way it deserves to be. Enjoy :)

There were nights when the weight of the world didn’t crush you, it hollowed you. Nights when the silence in your head was louder than the devastating chaos outside. When life moved on without you, day after day, and you let it. Drifting beneath it all like the tombstone of someone long forgotten, mourned by no one.

Tonight was one of those nights. 

Gotham pulsed around you, horrifically alive in all the wrong ways. The city didn’t sleep; it twitched, restless, breathless and red-eyed, lit by neon lights and cigarette ends. You didn’t know what you were looking for anymore. Salvation, a distraction, an escape? You just couldn’t stay in that hell of an apartment any longer, where walls whispered truths you weren’t ready to hear and the mirrors showed you a ghastly version of yourself, unfamiliar to your eye, thinner, faded, tired, like a photo left out too long in the sun. 

So like a shipman entranced by a siren's call, you followed the noise, the bodies, the blur of light and motion. Allowing the light to swallow you whole.

Inside, the bass beat like a second heart, yet louder and steadier than your own. It was all so overstimulating. The music rattled through your bones, lights flared too bright, and cheap perfume clung to the air like smoke you couldn’t escape. Bodies pressed in from every angle, moving like they were trying to sweat out memories they couldn’t forget. You danced too, not because you wanted to, but because standing still made it worse. You let strangers touch you. You let someone pull you close. His voice was low in your ear, sticky sweet and meaningless.

But even in that chaos, you felt it… that dull, aching emptiness in your chest that nothing could fill.

Not anymore.

The man behind you pulled you closer, his grip bolder now, more possessive. You felt the swell of his crotch against you, the rhythm of his breath brushing against your neck as he leaned in and murmured something low and carnivorous. You didn’t catch the words, didn’t care to. But then his hand tilted your chin, and before you could react, his mouth was on yours, uninvited, unfamiliar, and completely wrong.

It was sloppy. A mess of lips and teeth, too wet, too eager.  You didn’t close your eyes. You couldn’t. Instead, you stared blankly past his shoulder, your body stiff beneath the hands trying to make you feel wanted. 

And that’s when you saw him.

Across the room. At the bar. Half in shadow, half lit by the moody lights above him. Jason, Jason Todd.

He stood with a drink in his hand, untouched. He wasn’t looking at the bartender. He wasn’t looking at the woman beside him. He was looking at you.

A violent tremor ran through your hands. The man kissing you didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, and he mistook it for a shiver of pleasure instead of the quake of a world tipping off it’s axis.

Jason looked the same and different at the same time. Older, maybe. Sharper around the edges. A newly earned scar down his left cheek. But his eyes—God, those eyes. They still held you captive, even now, even after all these years and the wreckage of your breakup. 

In that moment, it was like the room dimmed. The music slowed. The world paused, just long enough for you to remember what it was like to breathe him in.

He didn’t move. He didn’t need to. Just by standing there, just by looking at you, he stole the air from your lungs. He was a wound you’d long since given up trying to heal. And yet, somehow, seeing him again was like watching color pour back into your life of grey.

“Jason…”

The man behind you stilled. “Who’s Jason?” he asked, annoyed, or confused, or both.

But you barely heard him.

Because in that split second between breath and heartbeat, between music and noise, it all came back.

The blood on your hands from late night missions. The way his skin had looked under the harsh glow of a bathroom light as you sewed him back together, pressing a gauze to his side while he muttered cocky jokes just to keep you from crying. The way he’d kissed you after, slow and tired and grateful, tasting like copper and adrenaline. 

It all returned. Every soft moment between missions, every whispered promise you never made out loud.

And now, now he was here. Not in a memory. Not in a dream. Not in the old photos you still hadn't deleted.

Worst part is, he didn’t move. At all. Not toward you. Not away. Maybe he didn’t know what to do either. Maybe he was just as wrecked. But his eyes locked with yours, unflinching, and your stomach turned inside out. You felt like you were falling.

Behind you, the man’s hands still clung to your hips, his presence suddenly unbearable. 

And still, you couldn’t look away. Not until the panic hit at least. 

Your body grew hot, too hot, like your skin didn’t fit right anymore. So you moved.

You shoved the guy off, harder than you meant to, maybe hard enough to bruise. A half assed apology tripped off your tongue, or maybe it didn’t. The music was too loud for you to even hear yourself. 

You just needed out.

You pushed through the crowd like you were ripping through paper, barely noticing when someone cursed at you or grabbed your arm to steady you. Nothing felt real anymore. Nothing except him.

You didn’t stop until you crashed through the club doors like they might lock behind you. Like if you didn’t make it out in time, you’d drown.

The cold Gotham wind slapped you across the face, chilly, damp, real. The rain hit you fast, hard, soaking through your clothes like the sky wanted to rinse the painstaking regret off you. You stumbled to the side, leaned back against the rough brick wall like your legs might give out.

Your breath came in short, broken pieces. Your heart wouldn’t slow down.

You weren’t crying.

But your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You stared at the street like it might give you an answer. Neon signs reflected in the puddles, red, blue, flickering gold, too pretty to be real. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed. Somewhere closer, tires hissed through wet asphalt.

You told yourself you were over him.

You told yourself you’d moved on.

You told yourself you were better off without all of it… the rooftops, the near death experiences, the blood and bruises and secrets. Him. You left because you wanted to be normal. You wanted out. You left. 

But normal never came. Only silence.

And seeing him again, his face, his eyes, the way he looked at you like no time had passed, it wasn’t just a memory crashing back. It was something worse.

It was desire.

It was the reminder that you still felt everything. That maybe you’d never stopped.

And that scared the hell out of you.

You turned away, pressing your palm harder into the cold brick, trying to ground yourself. You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to fall apart not out here, not tonight, not again. But your body betrayed you with its shaking. 

And then you felt it.

Not a sound exactly, but a presence. Like something old creeping through the seams of your world.

You didn’t hear him.

But you knew he was there.

Your spine straightened. Every nerve in your body went tight, as if your past life instincts were roaring awake.

Jason.

You turned slowly, afraid that if you moved too fast, he’d disappear. 

But he was there.

Coming toward you through the downpour like the storm had spit him out just for this. Jacket soaked, hair matted to his forehead, boots steady on the pavement. The rain didn’t seem to touch him the same way it touched everything else. He moved like the city owed him space. Like it still remembered who he was.

And God help you, so did you.

He stopped a few feet away, close enough for you to feel his heat under the cold. He looked at you like you weren’t real, or maybe like you were too real.

You wanted to say something. Anything. But your throat was tight and he beat you to it.

“You always did like to run,” he murmured, breaking the silence.

A bitter laugh escaped from your throat. “I only run when I see ghosts.”

That hit something in him. His jaw flexed. His eyes darkened like a storm beneath the one falling around you. But he didn’t look away.

“Then what does that make me?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

Because he already knew.

And so did you.

But this time, he didn’t let the silence win.

“I called you,” he said suddenly. “Every day.”

Your breath caught.

He stepped closer, his voice low and sharp, like it had been honed by the years without you. “Every single day for almost two years. 687 days, to be exact. I had Babs run every system, ping every burner phone we ever used, check every old contact. I even sent a message to the guy who used to sell us black market adrenaline shots in Blüdhaven that’s how desperate I got.”

You stared at him, wide eyed, rain running down your cheeks like tears you refused to shed.

“I thought you didn’t care,” you whispered. “After that night, I thought you were done.”

“Done?” He laughed, and it was bitter and hollow. “You said you didn’t know how much more you could give. And then you left. No note. No trace. No goodbye.”

“I was tired, Jason. I was so goddamn tired. We were bleeding every night for a city that never noticed. I wanted something real. Something normal.”

He was in front of you now, close enough to see the raindrops clinging to his lashes. “We were real.”

Your lips parted, chest aching with a pain deeper than any stab wound you'd ever taken. “I changed my name. Burned everything. I thought… if I disappeared, maybe you'd understand. Maybe you'd see the fear in it. I was scared, Jason… I thought if I left, you'd chase something better. Something normal. I thought you'd let go of me… and maybe forget what we were.”

His jaw tensed. He shook his head, slowly, eyes glinting with something furious and breaking. “You don’t get it,” he said. “I couldn’t let go. Even if I tried. You were in me. Everywhere. In alleyways. In safehouses. In the blood on my hands. You were always there.. even when you weren’t.”

You felt your voice crack on its way out of you. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I left, you'd finally be free. Free to live something better than this life or free to continue protecting the city-”

“I didn’t want better!” he snapped, voice rough, real. “I wanted you. I said all that shit about duty because I was scared, I didn’t know how to protect Gotham and you. But if I’d known what losing you would feel like…” His voice dropped, a tremor threading through it. “I would’ve chosen you. Every damn time.”

He stepped closer, reaching for you like you were something fragile, something that might slip through his fingers if he moved too fast. His touch was hesitant, reverent, like he was afraid you’d disappear all over again. And part of you wanted to. Because you didn’t deserve that kind of gentleness, not after the way you left.

But then his lips brushed your skin, soft, familiar, devastating, and the past came rushing back.

—Two years ago—

“You almost got yourself killed out there,” he snapped, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah? So did you.”

“That’s not the same,” he growled. “You were off. You hesitated. You’re never like that.”

You flinched, not from pain, but because he was right. You had hesitated. Not out of fear, but because your body was tired. 

“I’m just... tired, Jason,” you said quietly.

Something shifted in the air behind you. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost afraid. “We all are.”

“No,” you said, turning slowly to face him. Your eyes met, and for once, he didn’t look angry; he looked scared. “I’m tired of feeling like I don’t matter unless I’m bleeding for something. Tired of waking up sore, of wondering if the next mission will be my last. Of losing people and pretending like that’s just the price we pay.”

He looked like you’d slapped him. “You think I don’t feel that too?”

“I know you do,” you said. “But you’ll never leave. Because you still think this city deserves to be saved more than we deserve to survive it.”

“It does,” he said without hesitation. “We’re the line. If we step back, Gotham burns.”

You shook your head, the weight of it all collapsing inside your chest. “And what happens when we burn, Jason? Who puts us out?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

And that was the moment something inside you finally cracked.

If I stay, this will kill me, you thought to yourself.

So you didn’t.

—Now—

You weren’t sure how you ended up here.

Maybe it was the way he said your name, like it had weight, like it hurt. Maybe it was the 687 days of obsessive calling. Or maybe, it was the kiss outside in the rain, wild and sudden and shattering. His lips had crashed into yours like a promise, hands gripping your face as if anchoring himself to reality. As if the only way to survive the storm was to drown in you.

And you let him.

Because your hands were already in his hair, and your mouth was already chasing his like it never forgot how.

Now, you were in the hallway to his apartment, the walls dimly lit, the silence pulsing around you. His door was open behind him, but neither of you had moved past it. Not yet.

Jason’s shirt was gone, somewhere between the elevator and the second kiss. His skin was warm beneath your palms, marked with old battles and half healed stories. Your gaze dropped for a moment, landing on the scar just beneath his ribs, the one you’d stitched years ago in a safehouse with trembling hands and too little light.

“I remember this,” you murmured, brushing your fingers over it.

His breath hitched. “I think about that night all the time,” he said, voice low against your neck. “The way your hands shook. The way you stayed anyway.”

You leaned into him, just a little, just enough to feel the way he trembled too…like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“I’m not going back to that life, Jason,” you whispered, your voice almost drowned out by the sound of his mouth moving along your skin. He kissed the slope of your neck, then nipped at it, slow and deliberate, and you felt yourself melt against the doorframe.

“I know,” he breathed, his hand sliding to the curve of your hip. “I know.”

“I’m not built for it anymore. I can’t lose myself like that again.”

His mouth stilled. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and unflinching. “I’m not asking you to.”

You blinked at him, chest tightening. “Then what are you asking?”

“Nothing,” he said, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “I just want this. You. Here. Now. No suits. No blood. Just us.”

You exhaled slowly, like your lungs were remembering how to work again. You pressed your forehead to his.

“No saving the city?” you asked.

“No saving the city,” he promised, lips grazing yours again.

His hands roamed lower, heat blooming under every place he touched, and for the first time in what felt like years, you didn’t feel like you were running. You felt like you were being found.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

edit: ty for the likes & reblogs i love u all 😭

[urvape1kz]

CRAVING HIS TOUCH Gojo Satoru

Pairing Gojo Satoru x Reader!

Summary: After divorcing Gojo Satoru following years together and raising two children, you find yourself facing lonely nights. Encouraged to start dating again, you meet the seemingly perfect Kento Nanami. However, every moment with him only intensifies your longing for Satoru, who coincidentally also misses you.

Warnings: Authors first smut, MNDI, cheating, possessive behavior, toxic relationship/behaviors, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, choking, breeding kink

Dating, a degrading practice in the shoes of an underpaid not to mention divorced mother of two. A year ago you found yourself divorcing the man of your dreams, rich play boy Satoru Gojo. Satoru knew your heart inside out as if it were a map to paradise. He showered you with gifts from Dior and dates straight out of fairy tales on the top of the eiffel tower. Leaving him wasn’t fun; let alone easy. But his family's constant backhanded and abusive comments, along with their comparisons to his ex-girlfriends, made life with him unbearable. Despite your pleas for him to cut them off, he dismissed you with a casual "you know how my parents are” and never touched the subject again. 

At some point it all just became too much and you inevitably left. Since then, your friends have been relentless, practically pleading with you to to look into dating apps or let them play matchmaker. So, after slogging through eight apps and enduring at least a million disappointing encounters, just when you were about to lose hope, you stumbled upon Kento Nanami.

He wasn't as handsome as Satoru, that was for sure, but he was no ordinary catch. Kento was a world-renowned chef with undeniable charm, easily winning you over. he other day, he asked you out to the movies, and you couldn't resist saying yes. 

You spent hours preparing for your date, every detail was meticulously planned from your dress to your makeup. Everything was going perfectly, just as you had imagined, until you felt a slight buzz from your back pocket—it was your babysitter. 

"I'm really sorry, Ms. (L/N)," came her shaky voice on the other end. "My mom had an accident, and I don't think I can sit for you tonight." She sounded on the verge of tears. 

You let out a heavy sigh, understanding that it wasn't her fault. "It's okay, kid," you reassured her gently. "Take care of your mom. I'll keep her in my prayers."

A heartfelt "thank you" echoed through the phone before she hung up. As panic started to rise, you wracked your brain for options. Then it hit you— Satoru was still available wasn’t he?

Your finger hovered over his contact, once decorated with a bunch of heart emojis. You paced back and forth in your room, questioning whether reaching out to your ex so suddenly was morally okay. 

Who calls their ex out of the blue like this? you wondered. But it's fine.. you reassured yourself. We're co-parents; this is completely normal I mean I would have done the same for him. 

No you wouldn’t.

Despite your horrible attempts to muster courage, you couldn't bring yourself to call him. So, you opted for a text instead. 

"Satoru, I know this is short notice, but could you watch the kids tonight? I have plans."

Almost instantly, he replied—unsurprisingly, for him.

Of course. You don’t even have to ask their papa’s been missing them a whole bunch anyways :)  

His words tugged at your heartstrings, reminding you of the strained relationship you caused between him and his children. Taking a deep breath you shoved those thoughts away into an abyss because tonight was about you. 

--

Going to Satoru's house felt like stepping back in time—a mix of nostalgia and trepidation. Everything looked the same as you left it; the flowers you'd planted were still there, blooming as beautifully as ever not to mention the welcome mat you purchased over four years ago when you two first moved in together. 

Before you could muster the courage to knock on his door, your four-year-old twins Kyoko and Yugo darted ahead, banging eagerly on his huge sturdy wooden door.

"Daddy, we're here! We're here!" they shouted, their voices echoing in the quiet.

Almost instantly, the door swung open, and they melted into his arms like ice cream. Standing up his gaze locked onto you with a deliberate intensity that felt almost robotic. His eyes traced over your short red dress, lingered on your bold red lipstick, and took in your meticulously styled hair. The air between you was thick with unspoken words and memories.

"You look... amazing," he finally said, his voice betraying a hint of awe that clashed with the tension in the room.

Before you could respond, your son Yugo's innocent voice broke the silence. "Mama's got a date, Papa!" he giggled, oblivious to the weight of his words.

A sudden chill swept over you, and you felt the atmosphere grow heavy as the four of you stood there, caught in an awkward tableau. Satoru's face tightened, his eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and resignation. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.

The tension was finally broken by your kids' eager pleas to play video games inside. Satoru hesitated, his hand lingering on the door as if he wanted to say something—anything—but couldn't find the words. Then, with a sigh he slammed the door in front of your face, the door that you two once struggled to open entangled in passionate kisses that you could still feel on the tip of your lips.

Gathering your strength, you made your way to your car, feeling on the brink of tears. Just when it seemed like the weight of the world might crush you, a text from Nanami lit up your phone.

"Just bought the tickets. Missing youu 💋"

Despite the stress you were feeling, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. You put the car in gear and headed to meet him at the movies. As you pulled up, you spotted Nanami waiting outside, a beautiful bouquet of white roses cradled in his arms. His face lit up as he saw you, almost tripping over his feet to greet you.

"You make me feel underdressed," he smiled, planting a kiss on your cheek.

"Oh, please. You do that to me every day with your fancy suits and ties," you teased back, taking his hand in yours as you walked inside.

"So, what movie did you pick? You never really told me," you asked, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked inside.

"'Amants Interdits.' It's a French film. When I heard about it, I just knew you'd love it," he replied, excitedly swinging your hands back and forth.

While his intentions were undoubtedly good, the movie turned out to be a melodramatic mess that tugged at every lingering heartstring in your soul, reminding you uncomfortably of Satoru. As the credits rolled, you felt Nanami's hand gently cup your face, his eyes searching yours.

"Did I pick a bad movie?" he whispered, leaning in to kiss your lips softly.

"Mm... no, it was amazing," you whispered against his lips, trying to muster a smile. "Just... sad. I'm not really into dramas," you added with a forced laugh. As you leaned in to kiss him again, he pulled back slightly.

"You look beyond beautiful tonight, but there's something in your eyes... a sadness," he observed, his tone soft yet tied with concern. "You stepped out of the theater more than once, and I can't shake the feeling that it wasn't just the movie weighing on you. Why don't you head home and rest? Tomorrow's another day for us to enjoy each other's company right?” he smiled pressing his forehead against mine. 

“Nanami I don’t deserve you do I?” you muttered as the two of you walked out the theater cradled in each others arms. As he kissed you goodbye you opened your purse to find 2 hour old messages from Satoru.

Bought the kids take out hope you don’t mind

I don’t know if you want them to stay over but they’re asleep

As you drove, your mind raced with questions about how to handle picking up the kids. Should you say something? Should you ask for his help getting them to the car? No, that wouldn't be right. Lost in thought, you found yourself in front of his house sooner than expected. Taking a deep breath, you approached the front door and lightly tapped on it with your knuckles.

"Satoru, it's me," you whispered. Almost instantly, the door swung open, and your eyes met. There he stood, looking disheveled. His hair looked as if it had been untouched for days, and his eyes were reddened, as if he'd been crying for hours.

"You look la mess" you murmured, to which he scoffed, "You're one to talk," his eyes darting to the red smeared lipstick on your face. "How were your 'plans'?" he asked, his tone a mix of sarcasm and barely concealed anger. His breath carried the unmistakable scent of alcohol, worrying you with the kids in the house.

"Satoru, you've been drinking again, haven't you?" you yelled. "Where are Yugo and Kyo?" you demanded, pushing past him. 

"They're fine, (Y/N)! They're my kids! Do you really think I'd hurt them?" he shouted, his voice escalating. "You’re probably too busy to think about that when your mind is on other men though right?!" he accused, closing the distance between the two of you.

"Satoru—"  you began, but before you could finish, he had pressed your body against the wall, his hot breath mingling with that of your own.

Slithering his coarse hands between your thighs he felt the absence of your panties. 

“You never dressed like this for me, was I just not good enough for you?” He whined as his fingers found their way to your core, teasing your clit."I've already cut off everyone—my mother, my sister, everyone. I'd cut off the whole world to have you back with me," he groaned into your ear. “Satoru.. You aren’t in your right s-state of mind right now..” you muttered stumbling over your words “the kids are here..”

"The kids want us to be together, can't you see? Kyoko told me how much you miss me. She said that when you're alone in your room, you whisper my name, pleading and begging for me, are you that desperate and needy to be filled? Does he just not do it for you?” You opened your mouth but before you could answer his his fingers slammed in your pussy making your body jerk with a cry.

"(Y/N)..." he whispered, biting down on the rim of your ear. "Tell me you don't want me, and I'll leave. I'll let you go forever, just as you want me to," he growled, his lips brushing against yours.

His touch was like a key turning in a lock, unlocking a flood of memories that surged through your mind. Each sensation seemed to echo with the past—every whispered word, every shared laugh, and every tender moment you had once cherished together. The feelings you'd buried deep inside started to resurface, tugging at your heartstrings and making your pulse quicken. It was as if time had rewound, pulling you back into the whirlwind of emotions you once knew so well.

Your silence was enough of an answer for him as he kissed up your neck. Allowing you to lean back onto him with your head on his chest. Soft moans falling past your lips as you let yourself grind on his fingers. Another loud cry filling the air when he landed it hard on your ass instead.

Carrying you to his couch he plowed you on the red leather sofa the two of you bought after you gave birth you the texture brought you back so many memories but between that and satoru touching you your midn went blank 

"Look at yourself." He commanded sternly, forcing your head upward until you gazed at your reflection in the foggy window. Your eyes widening in embarrassment as you realized the state you were in. "Gonna give you another set of twins, triplets even, you want that baby?"

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly nodded, desperation filling your heart. You needed him so badly; you longed for his cock to fill the emptiness inside of you. 

"Ahh, fuck." Another sharp slap echoed through the room, stinging your already tender ass. "So you do talk" He smirked, eager to hear the words he desired. "Please fuck me."

He chuckled, enjoying your pathetic submission. "You can do better than that, baby." His deep voice sent shivers down your spine. "Please. Please fuck me Toru. I've been so alone, aching for you. W-want you to fill me up." You pleaded, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"That's it. That's my slutty girl." His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he thrust into you, claiming your wet entrance with a single powerful stroke. Your knees buckled beneath you, and your back arched involuntarily as his thick cock stretched you wide. You could feel the swollen tissue near your cervix protesting against the relentless invasion.

A low growl escaped your throat as his hand wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer to him on the sofa. Your hands instinctively pressed against your back, feeling the rough fabric beneath your fingertips. Your heart pounded wildly, your body responding to his dominance.

Just as you were about to reach your climax, the room was suddenly interrupted by the shrill ringing of your phone. Satoru's eyes narrowed, his grip on your neck tightening momentarily. He snatched the device from off the floor, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen. Jealousy flared in his eyes as he recognized the caller ID: “Nanami <3”

"Toru, please, just put it away," you begged, tears starting to form. But before you could say anything more, he answered  tossing the phone on-top of you, his smile smug, as if he'd just won the lottery.

"H-hello, Nanami," you stammered, trying to catch your breath as Satoru sped up. "Sweetheart, you sound terrible. Are you sick?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. You felt a lump in your throat, torn between guilt and pleasure. Ripping the bandaid off you blurted out "Nanami, we can't see each other anymore!" before abruptly hanging up. 

Once again, you were caught in Satoru's snare, the familiar sting of knowing you were heading for heartbreak not enough to make you turn back. Despite the pain you knew was coming, something inside you couldn't let go, couldn't stop yourself from falling into the same old pattern, even if it meant ignoring the chance for something real with Nanami.

"Good girl..." he hummed, his voice thick with lust as he slammed into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain throughout your body, leaving you breathless and vulnerable. "You know I just want the best for you, for us, for our kids," he blurted out in the heat of the moment. His words were laced with sincerity and madness, blurring the lines between love and manipulation.

Your heart raced, unsure whether you should trust him or run as far away as possible. But the intensity of his touch, the way he claimed your body, made it hard to resist his charms. You moaned softly, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.

Good girl..." he hummed, his voice thick with lust as he slammed into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain throughout your body, leaving you breathless and vulnerable. "You know I just want the best for you, for us, for our kids," he blurted out in the heat of the moment. His words were laced with sincerity and madness, blurring the lines between love and manipulation.

Your moans filled the room, a testament to your surrender. As you both reached your climax sloppily kissed you “Get pregnant.. m’gonna have you all to myself” he blurted throughout kisses as his eyes gleamed with anticipation envisioning your soon to be large belly.

You let out a loud defeated whimper, feeling the warm residue trickle from inside of you as he pulled out. Your senses swam in a haze as your eyelids fluttered shut, and you went limp in his arms, surrendering to the overwhelming emotions and fatigue. He cradled you gently, his gaze fixed on your face as you drifted in and out of consciousness. 

---

Waking up to the familiar scent of pancakes, memories of lazy breakfasts from your honeymoon in the states flooded back. Blinking your eyes open, you tried to sit up but quickly realized something was off. The room around you wasn't yours—it was Satoru's. Confused, you scanned the space, spotting your own furniture awkwardly placed among his belongings as if he had moved all your stuff  in.

Slipping out of bed in one of Satoru's oversized shirts, the scent of freshly brewed pancakes grew stronger as you made your way downstairs. As you descended, the sounds of morning chatter became clearer. There, in the kitchen, you found Satoru at the stove, flipping pancakes, with Kyoko in a high chair, happily munching away. Yugo, spotting you, abandoned his toy cars and rushed over, wrapping his little arms around your leg.

"Mommy, mommy!" he cheered, his eyes shining with excitement. "Papa says you're staying together forever, and we're gonna have little  brothers and sisters!"

Your heart skipped a beat as you shot a pointed look at Satoru, who paused mid-flip, giving you an awkward, guilty smile. 

You truly despised him with every fiber of your being, yet there was a burning desire in you that betrayed your feelings. 

“Gojo Satoru what have you done to me..”