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#he died for him and then every single year he dies for him again.

maarriiii · 2 days

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just another little blurb for my bby boy <333 (no warnings unless mentioned)

my masterlist :))

~~~

"You know, if it was anyone else, I would've shut them up before they could say a single word about it."

You chuckled, but not looking at him directly. From the corner of your eyes, you could see Jason standing next to you, his hands on his pockets as he looked down at the ground in front of him, more specifically at the headstone in front of him—adorned with his name, the year he was born and died, and the classic words of 'beloved son, friend, and partner.'

"So, I'm lucky you didn't?" I asked half jokingly, crouching down to place the bouquet of flowers in front of the headstone—an arrangement of fresh white lilies and roses.

"Yeah, very lucky," Jason muttered, watching you intently.

It was an odd sight, seeing you visit his grave. The only thing keeping him slightly sane, not feeling like he was a ghost, a spectator, was the fact you kept talking to him. Every little stupid, silly, and random stuff that he said, you replied. Maybe you knew this help him, maybe you don't, but Jason was grateful nonetheless.

You stood up from your crouching position after plucking a few weeds and brushing your fingers against the tombstone. Your hand found Jason's again, fingers lacing together with your free hand placed on his arm and your head leaning on his shoulder.

"You didn't have to come with, you know," I whispered, still staring at the grave.

You felt Jason squeeze your hand, a small smile appeared on your lips at the small action. "I know. Just wanted to come with you."

You only replied with a small hm, your thumb brushing the back of his hand. After a short moment of silence in the Wayne family cemetery, in Gotham's usual chilly night air, Jason spoke again.

"I'm here. Not gonna plan on dying again anytime soon."

You laughed softly, nodding, cheek pressed against his leather jacket. I lifted my head and looked at him, smiling at the grown-up face of the young boy that left you too soon.

"You're here."

#i litterally wrote this after the death day post lol #dc #dc comics #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you

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buckttommy · 1 day

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established bucktommy where they've been together for like five years and Buck gets to enjoy Tommy going all salt and pepper in his curls (Also the joy of living long enough to go grey when both of them have lived dangerous lives)

i have a thing for buck having a thing for tommy's hair. like. god. he thinks his boyfriend is beautiful all the time anyway, but when he starts to go grey at the temples? when he starts to visibly age? buck feels himself fall in love all over again every single time he looks at him. and one day, tommy calls him on it. they're at a restaurant and tommy can feel his eyes on him. and at first it's cute but after like fifteen minutes of this (evan hasn't even looked at his menu to order) tommy is just like exasperated and he's like "what is it evan" and buck doesn't say anything at first. but then he's like. "you know i... when we started this —" gesturing between them to encapsulate their entire relationship, he's like — "i didn't really... know what life had in store. you know? we got together but either one of us could have died the next day or the day after that but we haven't. we're five years in and i can see every day of that in your face, in your hair, and it..." and he shrugs because he's running out of words but tommy puts down the menu because he's embarrassingly close to crying already because he thinks he knows what evan's saying anyway and he's not used to this much intimacy even half a decade later. so he clears his throat and he's like "are you calling me old?" and it's supposed to be a joke but. it falls kinda flat. and buck kinda nods his head in a sorta gesture and he's like "older, yeah. i just... when i started falling in love with you, when i realized i was falling in love with you, i planned to love you for the rest of my life, rest of our lives. that could have ended at any time. i'm just really glad we've had five years. and counting." and tommy is quiet for a long moment but then of course he HAS to kiss him because if he doesn't he'll do something crazy and stupid like sob or have a panic attack anyway yeah that's what i think about that

#SOB !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#jack answers mail #tv: 911 #bucktommy

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avensthetic · 3 days

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𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐄, 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐌 (iu)

i'll be there, behind you who walks alone singing till the end, this song will be endless take a big breath for you who forgot how to cry aloud... i'll sing

𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙖, 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙚𝙢

━━ ╸there are nights when i see it in your eyes – that flicker of darkness, when you revisit those old wounds. it breaks my heart to see you doubting yourself, picking apart the scars that are a part of you. know this, aventurine – when you hurt, i hurt too. but i won’t turn away. in this tangled mess, i’ll be with you, choose you over someone easy to love, every single time.

love, y/n

aventurine jolted awake, another nightmare clinging to his senses like a shroud. the sheets felt damp with cold sweat, the familiar tremble in his hands a stark reminder of the horrors his mind relived each night.

the bedside lamp cast a warm glow onto the remnants of his untouched glass of wine. the sight of the deep red liquid sent a wave of nausea through him. too similar, too much of a reminder of another shade of red, the one that had stained the sand, the one he could taste at the back of his throat, even years later.

he stumbled toward the bathroom, desperate to rid himself of the phantom taste. in the mirror, his eyes met the reflection of the commodity code on his neck. a permanent brand of his past as a slave. a reminder of a time when he was merely worth 60 tanba, and aventurine believes that didn’t change. despite all the luxury, he was still bought by a few, measly coins.

he sank to the floor, breath rasping in his chest. doubt gnawed at his resolve. how could he deserve someone like you? you, who woke night after night to his restless stirrings, who held him without question, who saw past the facade he so carefully maintained. your patience, your warmth, was something aventurine thought he would never feel again the moment his remaining family died.

he wasn't enough. how could he be, when his past clung to him like a stain, his nights—and sometimes, even days—a torment he dragged you into? he should be protecting you, not becoming a burden you bore without complaint.

a sluggish arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into a loose embrace. you mumbled sleepily, voice thick with concern, "it’s okay, don’t hide. with me, you’re a blessing, not a burden.”

he could only nod, burying his face in the crook of your neck. you were always like this, you didn't pry, didn't demand a story he didn’t want to relive, didn’t grow tired of him. slumped together on the cold bathroom floor, you held him, a silent pillar of strength. your quiet understanding was something he didn’t know he needed, when all he received was judgement and contempt.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 - 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓

#💌. from me to you #aventurine x reader #aventurine x y/n #aventurine x you #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr imagines

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t-r99 · 2 days

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His Light

Honestly, how dare they give us this beautiful bastard only to make him the ultimate manwhore?

LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL BITCH

Okay anyways, Aiku fluff because☺️

Oliver Aiku x fem reader

wc 554

Mr Oliver "His ideal type is someone who doesn't look like they'd be a hassle when breaking up" Aiku is the type to invite two women on the same date in hopes of all three of them enjoying each other's company, the type whose favourite season of the year is summer so he can "see swimsuits" (okay Aiku🙄), but then he meets you.

Sweet little you who has him speechless and stuttering nervously for the first time in his life. He feels all warm and fuzzy, head going blank whenever he tries to use one of his standard pickup lines.

He's used to girls blushing and batting their lashes at him, sometimes crossing their hands behind their backs so they can pull their shoulders back and push their tits out. On the other hand, some girls like to play hard to get instead.

None of it ever matters, though. He always gets what he wants because he's Oliver Aiku, the Captain of Japan's U20 team. He has it all, looks, charm, charisma. A master of getting girls to swoon over him.

You, however, are nothing like all those other girls.

You giggled when he stammered nervously with his cheeks going pink, but not mockingly. You thought he was cute. Your laughter is soft and genuine whereas every other girl he has ever talked to has faked most of it in the hopes of getting him to give her more attention.

Oliver finally gives up on trying to pick you up and simply looks down with a pout on his handsome face that is now bright pink, hands shoved in his pockets and almost glaring down at the ground and angry at himself for turning into a little pussy.

You tell him he's cute when he blushes, and that takes him by surprise. No one has ever called Oliver cute before, and no one's ever smiled at him the way you are right now with those pretty eyes that he could get lost in forever. His face still feels hot, his ears are still warm, but he stills when he meets your eyes again.

Oliver feels like he's standing in a sea of darkness with only a single source of light.

You are the light.

His light.

You are warm like the sun.

Is this what it feels like to fall in love? Oliver wonders. Is he falling for you?

He realizes that he's staring, but finds it impossible to look away. How could he ever turn away from you now?

You laugh softly when his blush deepens and walk up to him. Oliver nearly dies on the spot when your hands, soft and delicate, end up on his arm. His hands are still in his pockets but you hold his forearm and smile up at him.

Oliver gets worried that his palms are sweaty so he keeps them tucked away. You don't mind, at least he hopes, and simply squeeze his forearm instead. "You're just a big softie, aren't you?" You have the voice of an angel, Aiku thinks. How can it be possible for a human to have such a soothing and dreamlike voice?

Your words have him pouting again. "'m not." He mumbles.

Of course he is. Oliver is only soft for you.

After all, you are the light of his life.

#blue lock #bllk #oliver aiku #blue lock oliver aiku #oliver aiku fluff #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku x you

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hoodhinata · 1 year

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like my dad asks why don't I care what I look like when I go out to work or w/e and it's like. i have a massive disconnection to this body and when it's of no use to me I don't care what happens to it. he's seen my recent self harm but he's like CONSTANTLY denying anything is wrong with me. sir you are in denial.

#and like he had nerve 2 cry or w/e cause his girlfriend died of an OD and *there was tooootally nothing up with her* and like #i want 2 grip him by the throat and tell him every single thought ive ever had but the man is out of touch #and it would break him emotionally beyond repair. hes so out of touch with his emotions he only recently started hugging me #and telling me he loves me like 4 years ago when my mom started drinking again

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screampied · 2 months

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gojo had a dream you died.

it was partially the reason why he woke up in a cold sweat… it was horrid.

he could still hear your screams, the life leaving your eyes, but more importantly, he remembered your final words that were murmured to him. “satoru, don’t… cry, i’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.” and he believed you, that everything would be okay. despite tears filling his eyes, labeled the strongest at that moment, he couldn’t have ever felt so weak.

the dream felt so real, that was the scary part. he remembered each and every detail. from the feeling of you giving his wrist a light squeeze, the sweet smell of your natural scent.. the eerie sounds of your irregular wheezes as you were clinging on your final moments.

“don’t leave me,” he mutters, he remembers saying that. three simple words, yet his dilated pupils spoke a thousand. he started to repeat it. again and again as if it was a mantra. his words, his tone broke the more he spoke to you. that cute smile of yours never left his lips, it remained there. regardless of your inevitable incoming fate, he sobs, “you’re…you’re all i have left. i don’t wanna be left alone again, just stay. please, baby.”

“i’m not going anywhere, ‘toru,” you’d reassure him, a single tear drop of his falls onto your cheek.

after that moment, gojo wakes up. trembling, yet the dream wasn’t that feared him the most. it was him waking up with you not next to him..

cold, everything felt cold.

he shot up immediately from his dream. the cold sweat that forever continued to race down his back as he panted.

he was so used to your warmth taking up part of the bed. albeit, in this case though. it felt empty. isolated.

it was near the middle of the night, gojo was drowsy, rubbing his eyes to blind his vision with imaginary stars. feeling for the bed, it was frigid.

“baby?” he’d grumble, white lashes partially open. silence called back to him, and if it was anything about gojo, he hated being alone.

oh, he loathed it, yet whenever you came into his life. he didn’t have to worry about that. you were always besides him, no matter what.

until now.

it takes him a split second before it dawns on him. your fatal death, it wasn’t another one of his silly surreal dreams. it was nothing but mere reality.

a breath gets caught in his throat once he realizes, being brought back into harsh realness. you were gone.

it’s been years, speaking of which…

it was your anniversary with him. the same exact day he proposed to you. he remembers it vividly, getting down on one knee with the goofiest grin. he didn’t even say, “will you marry me..?” instead, he snorts a sheepish, “let’s get married, heh.”

“i always forget around this time,” gojo sighs to himself with a soft tone, his voice was a bit raspy from abruptly waking up. intaking a sharp inhale, he goes towards your side of the bed and he reaches into his pocket.

“it should have been me,” and he doesn’t even care he’s talking to himself, it’s like for whatever reason, your presence was near him. “our marriage,”

and then with a brief sniffle, he glances down at the ring you once wore proudly. he strokes it with a thumb before huffing out a shaky, “our marriage, it was supposed to last us for infinity…”

but it didn’t.

with hot tears streaming down his face and a power he wished he never have because in the end, it didn’t save you. he couldn’t save you.

and now…

the strongest, the most brave to ever live and walk could easily be mistaken as the weakest.

#★vegasbaby.#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk fic #jjk drabbles

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yawnderu · 4 months

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Price shares everything with his boys. Gear, masks, eye black, weapons, ammo... you name it. So when he's informed he'll have to be away for the holidays, what kind of man would he be if he doesn't share his wife too?

Having known Simon before he became Ghost, John knows how much he struggles with the holidays even years later. It takes a little bit of convincing, telling Simon about his wife and how great she is, reassuring him that she'd be more than happy to have him there as long as he takes care of her needs. Every single one of them.

It started innocently, really, it did. Simon wasn't one for affection, but he found himself sitting closer to you on the couch, arm draped over your shoulder as you cuddled up to him. Simon never knew this much warmth, this level of intimacy and closeness was something foreign to him, muscles so tensed up cuddling with him felt like holding a boulder with arms.

Once his brain realized he was safe, he dared to be touchier. Starting the cuddles himself, holding you close while some show was playing on the background, muffling the lewd sounds coming out of your lips as his long fingers moved inside your wet cunt, his thumb rubbing on your swollen clit.

''That's it...'' He whispers right into your ear as soon as he feels your walls tighten on his fingers, needier and whinier moans leaving your lips as he helps you ride out your orgasm, giving you time to breathe before his hand goes up to your mouth, letting you suck your own cum out of his long fingers before pulling you in for a kiss. His tongue wraps around yours, free hand coming down to rub your needy cunt again until you whine out, holding his wrist and breaking away from the kiss.

''Need more.'' You almost plead as you look up at him, noticing the hesitation dancing on his eyes before he gives in to the desire that has been building up for almost a month. His mouth claims yours again, helping you lay down on the couch while his hands fumble with his belt, barely managing to unbuckle it once he feels his knuckles make contact with your wet pussy.

''Tell me I can have you.'' He's short of begging, brown eyes looking down at you and trying to find any hints of hesitation in your eyes, finding none at all. He manages to pull his hard cock out, laying it down on your stomach while planting soft kisses all over your neck, allowing you to see how deep he'll be inside you. He's big, as you expected, but you're not backing down.

''I'm all yours.'' For now, at least. He adjusts himself to be able to rub the tip of his cock over your folds, a small smile on his lips when he hears your whiny moan at the sensitivity. He sinks into you slowly, giving you time to feel and adjust to every single inch of his cock before he starts moving inside you, lips firmly planted on yours while he begins to pick up the pace.

The sounds of your combined moans and groans and the slapping of skin on skin has you both so distracted that you don't even notice the door opening, the man sneaking on both of you and watching the sinful scene with a smirk pulling on his lips.

''I see you've been busy.'' You tense up and Simon stops his thrusts, about to pull out until your husband speaks again.

''No, no. Keep going.'' There's some hesitancy in Simon as he looks up at Price, waiting until the man gives him a small nod and a reassuring smile before he resumes his thrusts, going deeper and harder than before, not wanting to disappoint his captain.

Your half-lidded eyes are set on your husband, looking at the way he starts to remove his gear, feeling the stress peel off of him as each kilo of heavy equipment comes off of his exhausted body. He turns around to give you a small smile in return, nodding his head once in acknowledgement before he sits down on the couch, legs spread and one hand rubbing his clothed cock up and down. Your body belongs to Simon for now, but your mind is reeling now that your husband is back, looking better than ever even when he's covered in dirt and sweat.

Simon's hand gently clasps your jaw to get your attention back to him, looking deep into your eyes before he's claiming your lips again, thrusts now being slower and deeper, much more passionate. He's not fucking you, he's making love to you while your husband watches. Like a conditioned dog, the sound of John's pants unbuttoning almost gets your attention back on him until Simon's cock hits your spongy cervix, dragging a whorish moan right out of your throat.

''Focus on me.'' He whispers, his words nothing short of an order as he keeps hitting that spot over and over, mind reeling at the way your eyes roll back and your cunt tightens up around him. He's close too, hand coming down between your sweaty bodies just for his thumb to rub your puffy clit in circles. You can hear your husband's footsteps, yet you're too far gone to even look at him no matter how much you missed him.

Simon's stimulation becomes too much as your orgasm washes over you, legs hooking on his waist to pull him even closer as your lips meet again, feeling his fat cock throb inside you as he goes all the way inside you, shooting ropes of sticky cum into your needy cervix. You only break away from the kiss once his head gets pulled back by John, too fucked out to even register the warm cum shooting down all over your face.

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 4 months

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

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

word count; 4.6k

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

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

”holy shit!”

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

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

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

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

(snowing.)

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

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

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

it’s beautiful.

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

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

the first snow of the year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

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

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

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

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

”hmph.”

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

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.

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

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

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

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

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

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

”of course not! blasphemy.”

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

he hopes it never goes away.

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

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sukunasteeth · 1 month

Text

Taking Care of a Tired Sukuna

Sukuna has had a long day.

Well, night.

Morning.

Fuck.

Working construction had been twisting up his sleeping schedule. At this point, Sukuna was starting to feel it in his body; in the strain in his muscle, and the aches and pains that randomly gripped him.

They had him working on a new project that could only be done at night, while the public was off the main roads, and that meant his new work hours were starting from sometime in the middle of the evening and ending in the morning or the mid-afternoon. Being nocturnal wouldn't be so bad if his commute home wasn't during rush hour. The traffic was always worse when he just wanted to crawl onto his couch and fall asleep there. And when he does come home at the end of the day - he's aching, exhausted, and every bone in his body is vibrating with the noise from a jackhammer or the hum of a forklift.

Sukuna has always liked something that keeps him busy, interested, something that tests his strengths. So, he can't say that he hates the job, but he does wish that it wouldn't occupy so much of his time. He's wont to forget things when he's so wrapped up in a new task.

Like today, for example, when he finally swings his truck around the front of his apartment building, barely making it off the freeway without murdering someone, and he spots your car parked there in his spot.

He starts a bit, his sleep deprived brain suddenly spinning as memory serves him.

That's right. You were supposed to come over today after he got off of work and spend the night- and he didn't plan a damn thing. There's no flowers in the backseat, he didn't stop to grab lunch for the two of you, he doesn't even have anything in his fridge for dinner tonight, besides a few forgotten beers tucked away in the side door.

As Sukuna searches for a parking spot much further down the street, he knows he should be disappointed with himself, but he can't help the touch of excitement that's suddenly dissolving the exhaustion from his muscles. Sometimes, Sukuna resents the fact that you manage to reduce him to this. He hates that he can't control that his heart skips a beat at the thought of seeing you again, like he's in some sappy romance novel.

But it was the hold you had on him, and he was starting to accept it.

You got to Sukuna's apartment about two hours before he was scheduled to be home. It was a day off for you, and you woke up with butterflies fluttering around in your chest.

You were giddy to see him. You always were. And not a single butterfly has died in your heart-space for him since the moment you met Sukuna, around two years ago. He has tended to each of them since then with his gentle but stubborn touch, although, he would never admit it.

You adored him for that.

It's still early in the morning when you use the key he had made for you to unlock his front door. Immediately upon stepping in, you're hit with how dark his studio is. The sun had risen over the horizon hours ago, and yet, the only hint of its light came from a small gap in Sukuna's blackout curtains. When you pull them back, you turn around and wince at the room behind you.

Yep, he's working too hard.

There's construction tools all over the house; sitting on the counter, in the sink, on his bed-stand, there's even a huge oil covered machine beside the front door that you nearly trip on in your trek over to the curtain. His coveralls and work clothes are strewn across the living room like he's been too exhausted to even make it to his bed at the end of his days, which is not very far from the couch. Meanwhile, his bedroom and the kitchen look nearly immaculate, telling you he hasn't cooked in days and confirming your suspicions about his sleeping arrangements. You wander over to his fridge and pop it open, sighing hopelessly when you're greeted with nothing inside.

Good thing he has you.

By the time he makes it home, it's around one in the afternoon. You've got his laundry hanging on the clothesline outside, more in the washing machine, and all of his tools and odds and ends have been sorted and dusted clean. You've opened every window he has, and cool, fresh air sweeps away the oppressed darkness his apartment held before. Everything was back in equilibrium.

When his keys jingle outside the door, you're just finishing up the last of folding his laundry. Sukuna steps inside, and your heart aches at how drained he looks despite the way his eyes widen as he peers around the room in surprise. His clothes are covered in dust from the construction site, and there's a smear of dirt on his cheek that makes him look like a chimney sweep. There's a tool in his hand that looks rather heavy, straining the muscles in his arm, but he seems to have momentarily forgotten to put it down. Half moon circles are embedded under his eyes, but they only bring out the intensity of his gaze.

"Hi 'Kuna?" You chime, calling his attention to rest on you.

He blinks, taking a moment to process the situation. You don't recognize the glimmer in his eyes then, and part of you starts to sweat at the thought of him taking this all wrong. Sukuna had never been particularly picky with you, but vice versa, you had never done something like this for him before. He never gave you the opportunity, after all. Out of the two of you, Sukuna was usually the one who was always effortlessly put together.

"You... cleaned..." He notes.

You swallow, "I did but I didn't move things around though. Just tried to put things back. Your laundry is right outside and I got you some groceries-" Sukuna drops the tool in his hand without warning, and you start talking faster, your voice raising a pitch as he starts towards you. "Okay, thinking back, I guess I should have asked. Maybe texted- no, you hate texting. Maybe called-"

“Did you clean the paint specks off of my air compressor?” He was standing in front of the machine beside the front door, which you painstakingly made sure not to ruin in your cleansing, despite having no idea what it was.

When he looks at you for an answer, continuing to close the distance between the two of you. You swallow the rock in your throat. “Too much?”

He’s made his way across the room and his surprised expression finally settles into a familiar hungry grin. He grabs you by the hem of your jeans, yanking you roughly towards him. You catch yourself on his chest, making a small noise of surprise. When you look up to scold him, Sukuna is an inch away from your face, his lips almost brushing yours, save for half a centimeter of space between them. He smells like sawdust and menthol, you can taste it in the close proximity as he greedily takes your breath away.

“Off. Now.” He growls, but his fingers are already undoing the button clasped in the front of your pants. “I’m about to fuckin’ eat you, sweet thing.”

You end up skipping lunch, but you're well satisfied a few hours later. A certain hunger: satiated. Sukuna is resting peacefully beside you. You can hear his even breathing against the sound of the cicadas outside, screaming in through the windows. Seeing him so content, sets your heart at ease and you release a sigh of relief.

Now, to end the night, it was time to slip out of bed without him noticing to finish folding his laundry.

Or so you thought.

As you carefully peel back the blankets and try to sneak off the side of the mattress, a warm pair of fingers loop themselves around your panty line, effectively preventing you from going anywhere. Guiltily, you peek over your shoulder to see Sukuna glaring at you with half of his face still smushed into his pillow, genuinely disgruntled with the fact that you were trying to leave his bed. You can't help but chuckle.

"I'm just gonna go grab your laundry." You reassure him, brushing a tousled tuft of his hair out of his eyes. The knot between his brows deepens.

"Let me do that later. C'mere. " He tugs on your panty line, confident that you'll be submissive for him.

The sun outside was casting tall shadows on the walls of his bedroom and the glow was now deep and rich, telling you that it was preparing to set. You didn't want Sukuna's laundry on the balcony all night, which is what you were sure would happen if you didn't go and grab it now.

You hear a thread rip in your panty line interrupting your contemplation and, quickly, you grab his wrist, squeezing it as a signal for him to let go.

He continues to hold fast, his brow cocking in a silent dare.

"'Kuna, come on." You try, "Lemme take care of you-"

"You've been doing nothing but take care of me all day." He scoffs, like the idea of it is absurd to him. Rarely does Sukuna allow you the opportunity to show him as much care and adoration as you have today. Being doted on was not typically something he enjoyed. You knew that, and that's how you also knew that he was exhausted to his bones that day. "Get your ass back here."

There's a tug again, and another thread snaps somewhere. You pout at him, already having the foresight that this pair of panties wasn't going to last you long either. Your partner had the tendency to rip them off of you, and this wouldn't be the first pair to become a shred of what they once were. To be fair, he was also known for giving you his credit card and telling you to go buy "some things for him to see you in", so it would be at no cost to you. But, you happened to like this pair.

Sukuna watches you consider your options silently, unrelenting in his hold on your lace. When you peek up at his gaze, testing one more time, you know you've already lost.

"Don't make me chase after you." He warns, the promise of your inevitable surrender is evident in the predatory glint of his eyes. If Sukuna had a tail at that moment, it would be swaying back and forth, preparing for a pounce. "It's been a while since the last time I had you tied up. I do miss those sweet little bruises we left on your wrists."

You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention upon his recollection. The last time Sukuna had you in ropes, you had to call off of work the next day. Your backside stings with the memory, but half of you can't help but ache for it too. Tied up in Sukuna's bed while he was forced to care for the boneless pile that was his girlfriend, drunk off of his lovemaking? That wasn't the worst place to be.

But, on the other hand, you could tell how exhausted he was with the new construction project at his job. You have a flashback of showering with him at the end of the night and scrubbing sawdust out of his hair. Having to gently prod and kiss him awake as he fell asleep standing up in front of you. You were adamant that you weren't going to do anything to tire him further tonight.

Before you can properly give in, Sukuna must have decided that you were taking much too long to obey him.

His other hand reaches over and winds around your lower waist, pulling you backwards into the soft cushion of the pillows and easily flipping the two of you so that he’s mounted above you. In your surprised stupor, he collects both of your wrists in one of his hands and pins them above your head.

"You've forgotten how to follow directions again, kitten." His murmur is like velvet against your ear. His teeth graze over his favorite spot on the nape of your neck, where he’s already tortured it with his teeth and hickies. You didn’t realize how raw the skin was until he bites you there, drawing a whimper from your throat.

"Let's remind you."

#jjk #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #fluff #just love the idea of Sukuna coming home filthy #I'd eat it up personally #also good god i want to see this man in a pair of coveralls #my writing

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yandere-writer-momo · 3 months

Note

Need more Liam and Jesse headcanons

You write men way too fine

It’s not good for my health

I can only ever date fictional men now. You’ve ruined me. I hope you’re happy

I live to ruin people and their perception of love

But yes I can. And I’ll also share more lore on Liam Isbert.

Yandere Headcanons: Happy Family

Yandere single father and Yandere platonic stepson

Getting used to living with Liam and Jesse was strange. First you had been abducted to live with the two of them. You do not ever expect to play happy family after you yourself had went through an abusive relationship.

For many years, you had been scared to love again. So this is all very new to you. You did not expect to be loved so intensely by a father and son who are so desperate for love to the point they’d abduct you from your life to be in theirs.

Liam often bought you roses to try to make up for your abduction. He would take you on dates and clumsily attempt romantic endeavors with you. Such as fancy diner dates with exquisite clothes you could never dream to afford. Or he would take you and Jesse on vacation to tropical Islands. The world was at Liam‘s fingertips… you had no idea a man could be so wealthy.

Jesse often snuck into your room to sleep beside you. The young boy desperate for your affection. He’d always bring a book with him so you could read to him every night.

Jesse often would want to try to get you to help him tie his shoes or cut his crusts off his sandwiches too. He’d even try to get you to style his hair for him, he adored your love more than anyone. And he wasn’t happy about you shying away from him and his dad. Couldn’t you just accept them?

Liam never touched you in ways that made you uncomfortable (save for that kiss many months ago before he took you home). Liam was apologetic about his actions but he didn’t want to return you… he too was scared by a relationship

In confidence, Liam shared with you his trauma without Jesse present. It turned out that Liam was assaulted by a woman who wished to be involved with the Isbert family at a dinner party his father organized. From that traumatizing night, Jesse was conceived and that woman did her best to threaten Liam to pay her or she’d ruin his name.

Liam was lucky she had died during childbirth but his experience with her made it hard for him to bond with Jesse. He knows that Jesse was not to blame and was just as much a victim as him, but Liam saw snippet of Jesse’s mother in him.

Liam was so grateful to you for showing him how to love and move past his trauma. That he wished to do the same for you despite not knowing much about comfort.

Liam truly wants a happy relationship and he’s willing to give you as much time as you need to accept him, but he won’t give you back your freedom. Liam has too many enemies and snakes that desire your spot, you could be killed and he’d never forgive himself for that…

It takes a few more months for you to open up to trying a relationship with Liam and he’s over the moon.

Liam is a bit clumsy as a lover, but he’s trying. He’s turned off his emotions for so many years and he’s not used to expressing them in a healthy manner so you’ll have to teach him how to love

Over all, he’s not a horrible husband and father. Liam is very easy to guide and teach.

And Jesse is just thrilled to finally have you as his mommy. He finally has the happy family he had dream about since he was three.

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