#the hard life of beta | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetomorrowshow · 1 year

Text

what to keep

Trust AU Masterlist - Previous

i couldn’t leave yall on a cliffhanger for too long :) here’s the next part of the trust au!

cw: blood, violence, vomiting, vertigo

They blindfold him first.

He’s not sure why—he’s seen the portal before, and he knows exactly where they are. It isn’t like spinning him around is going to make him lose his sense of direction in this instance. They spin him anyways. Too much. All it does is make him nearly throw up. He manages to hold it back, even if his stomach sloshes rebelliously.

At some point during his repeated swallowing, rough hands tear off his elytra. He doesn’t know who. He doesn’t know why they literally pulled through the leather harness instead of unbuckling it from around his chest. All he knows is that with a snap, the light wings are brushing against the backs of his legs and crumpling to the floor at his heels.

“Ready to go to the End, Jimmy?” Sausage crows, stripping off Jimmy’s long gloves and using them to tie his wrists together. They’d torn his veil to use for the blindfold, so he isn’t exactly surprised that no one thought to bring rope. He flexes his wrists at first, hoping to relax them later and slip out of the binds, but Sausage pinches his hands until he stops.

He supposes they really want him to stay out of the way while they fight the dragon rumored to be on the other side—otherwise, they wouldn’t bother to go through all this trouble when every person in this room has beaten Jimmy in a fight and could easily take him down if he were to try to escape.

The End is also supposed to have a lot of Endermen, isn’t it? Maybe the blindfold is because they don’t want him looking in the eyes of a stray Enderman, bringing it upon them and causing chaos.

Which would actually be a decent plan, and Jimmy’s kind of ashamed that they clearly thought of it before he did.

He doesn’t answer Sausage, aiming for an enigmatic and proud presence. Even if his pride is currently in pieces on the floor, he’s not the angry fry he once acted like. He’s a hero to his people, a cod of great importance. He can at least pretend to be worthy of that.

“Gosh, whatever Scott did to him made him so boring,” drawls Joey, close enough behind Jimmy that he can feel his breath on his neck. “He’d usually still be fighting right now. I miss that.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have that kind of time, honestly,” fWhip says. He sounds distracted, and Jimmy wonders for a brief second what on earth fWhip could be focused on that’s more important than this. “We can go beat the crap out of Smajor after this if you want a fight, okay?”

A sigh. “Fine. Let’s go, then! Can’t keep my XorXor waiting!”

Jimmy doesn’t have a chance to share his thoughts (most of which consist of utter refusal and demands for freedom) before he’s shoved forward, feet finding nothing before him.

He falls, and falls, and falls—the air is thin, so much thinner than anything he’s used to—his heart drops into his stomach and he thinks he screams—

Then he hits solid ground.

He finally loses the battle to his stomach and vomits on hands and knees, barely able to catch himself. He reaches blindly forward and meets nothing, nothing but the edge of a platform and what could be a short drop or an endless void. He doesn’t know.

He spits a couple of times, clearing out any last chunks, then rocks back onto his heels, feeling all around with his bound hands together to see if there’s another drop-off.

Once he feels secure, he reaches up, intending to tear off the blindfold, but before he can do anything there’s a thud beside him and the sound of someone retching.

At least he’s not the only one.

Two more thuds come in quick succession, but nobody else throws up, which is probably for the best but would’ve felt like a small victory, if Jimmy’s honest with himself.

“Oh, wow,” fWhip murmurs, closer than Jimmy expected. “Look at her.”

I can’t, I’m blindfolded, Jimmy wants to snark back, but he restrains himself. He wonders, briefly, who it is that fWhip’s looking at.

Then he hears the heavy beating of wings in the distance and he knows.

“Sausage, bridge out,” commands fWhip. “Joey, when you’re done puking, help me with him.”

Jimmy only has a minute’s peace before he’s being grabbed under both arms, two people (ostensibly fWhip and Joey) dragging him to his feet. In the process, whatever knot Sausage had used to tie his gloves pulls apart, the binds falling to the ground.

Perfect. The first step to escape!

Like there’s anywhere to escape to, at this point. And he doesn’t get the chance to try, Joey pinning his arm to his body on one side and fWhip doing the same on the other. He’s well and truly stuck between them, no choice but to follow along with them.

They frogmarch him away from wherever it is that they’d landed, across what feels like cobblestone until they hit unfamiliar ground, ground that’s uneven in an unrecognizable way. He stumbles over it with almost every other step, toes getting caught in holes and ankles rolling over mounds. His companions do nothing to help him.

He can hear Endermen nearby. He doesn’t usually fight Endermen, preferring to let them mind their own business, so as long as those vwoops stay far away from him, everything will be fine. He’s blindfolded, anyway. He shouldn’t be able to anger them.

“Sausage, you take him,” Joey says suddenly, next to Jimmy’s right ear. His shoulders hunch at the unexpected noise. “I’m going to go start the summoning.”

There’s a roar overhead, and Jimmy ducks, turning his head this way and that, as if he’ll catch a glimpse of the dragon. fWhip chuckles, continues to pull him along. Joey drops away, a sturdier body taking his place.

Then, suddenly, they stop. With a smile in his voice, Sausage pronounces, “Jimmy, welcome to the End!”

The blindfold is pulled loose.

Before Jimmy is an endless void.

He gapes at it, at the little flecks of color floating in the blackness. It’s—well, it’s pretty, but not what he’d expected. He’d expected to actually see . . . something.

He looks down. The ground beneath him is made up of some sort of yellowish, holey, coral-like thing. It’s kind of gross-looking, honestly. And beyond is just—nothing.

“I don’t understand,” he says, voice oddly suppressed for such an open space. Sure, he’s never seen anything like this before—but where is the dragon? The Endermen? The rumored towers and pyres, the cities and creatures unknown?

This is just—nothing.

“How about we show you,” fWhip snickers, before shoving him hard in the back.

He very nearly falls. He stumbles, arms flailing, and he very nearly pitches headfirst into the abyss before him, but one of the odd holes in the ground catches his heel and helps him regain his balance, if a couple steps closer to the edge.

Just because he doesn’t fall doesn’t mean he didn’t come very close, and Jimmy’s suddenly sweating all over, stomach flip-flopping as adrenaline pumps through.

fWhip pushed him. fWhip meant to send him careening over the edge, into nothingness.

fWhip just tried to kill him.

And Jimmy isn’t inclined to believe it was a joke.

“This is it?” he whispers, horror gnawing at his insides. Forget that he gave away the location, forget that he lost the Codfather head, this is the end!

This is the End.

“This is the End? Death is the End?” he manages, glancing back toward fWhip and Sausage.

Sausage shrugs. “That’s one interpretation.”

fWhip feints forward, arms out to push him again, and Jimmy ducks away, left foot catching on the edge and throwing off his balance entirely. He windmills for a moment before properly regaining his footing, one eye on the void behind him and one eye on his captors.

Behind them, he can see a tower of obsidian. Several Endermen loiter around it. The End is otherwise unpopulated.

The only witnesses of his death will be his enemies.

His family isn’t here. Lizzie and Joel are probably fast asleep somewhere, not even aware that the jig is up and their brother is about to die. He won’t ever see them again, he won’t get to make up for his mistakes, he won’t ever get to hug them and let them know how much he cares about them ever again.

He’d never even told Scott he loves him.

It seems silly, now, how he’d danced around it. How he’d never outright confessed. There’d been so many perfect times, so many opportunities to share his feelings, but he’d been too scared of rejection to take the chance. And here he is, moments from his death, and Scott will never know how he feels.

He’ll never know that he was one of the greatest loves of Jimmy’s life. His savior. The first spot of light in an endless void.

“Why?” he asks, and he’s never felt more detached from a word.

“Like I said, you’ve become an issue,” fWhip says, punctuating his words by stepping closer. “You had to go talk, get Scott in your little alliance and let him spread all those vicious lies about how cruel we are. Now Gem barely trusts me!”

“And Katherine doesn’t trust us at all!” Sausage pipes up. fWhip nods.

“See, Jimmy, you’ve got a good heart. And that makes people like you, and trust you, even if you are a bit hotheaded. You’re someone they care about. Taking you out will drop their morale real fast.” fWhip shrugs, then adds, “And you’ve just been really annoying lately. I kinda just want you dead.”

Jimmy swallows. His eyes and ears dart back and forth between Sausage and fWhip. He can maybe take one of them, but certainly not both. That had been proven in the woods back home.

And even if he did manage to squirm free, he has no clue how to get home. Joey and the demon would grab him before he could do more than get back to where they had started—wherever that was.

This is it. This is . . . this . . . this is the end.

fWhip pushes him.

It’s almost in slow-motion. His foot slips, his arms stretch out (as if to grab something and pull himself back up, but there’s nothing there, of course there’s nothing) and he’s falling, he’s falling, he’s falling into the void.

They laugh as he falls. There’s no regret in either of their expressions. They just watch, and they laugh.

He’s a swimmer by nature, and though the void’s air is a bit thinner than earth’s, when Jimmy falls, his back arcs gracefully, his fins and arms outstretched to provide whatever resistance they can.

Air rushes past him, battering his earfins and whistling in his ears, but he just closes his eyes

And doesn’t think

And falls.

And Jimmy ceases to exist in his mind.

The only sound is the wind. The pervading silence of the void presses in, becoming more and more invasive.

And it’s beautiful, in its own sightless way. Utterly incomparable, when this is all that has been and all that will be and the silence and the wind are the only reference points in history. The wind is still, constant, a low roaring that will never end even as time unravels. The silence isn’t still, but ever-moving, fluid, pushing and pulling and taking without giving.

It’s not too long before the void starts to hurt.

The pressure of the silence weighs down harder and harder, pulling away with a vengeance to strip him of what he used to be. It hurts, it burns with the blazing fire of nothing he’s ever known, and yet there’s nothing he can do. He has no voice with which to scream, stolen away by the silence. No control over what occurs. He falls, and all he knows is pain.

It’s not too long before he feels a fin on his arm pull away, the skin and scales on his neck and hands starting to flake off as his clothing pulls apart as well.

He forces open his eyes, even as it feels as though needles are pricking through the lids. The world above is a very small blink of light.

And that light illuminates something.

Something that’s quite quickly coming closer.

And then there are arms around him and shouting in his ear and the sound of wings and blue hair and—

“Hold on!” Scott yells, cracking through the silence, and it still hurts, it hurts badly to even think (and it’s affecting Scott too, his nose is bleeding and a patch of his face is bright red with new, scabbing skin), but what’s left of Jimmy does his best to pull the pieces of himself back together and desperately hold onto Scott.

It’s slow, of course, Scott’s wings stutter a few times but he manages to find the strength to carry Jimmy’s deadweight and lift him higher, until the light above becomes a more-defined place rather than just a pinprick in a sea of nothing.

Jimmy sucks in a breath that he hadn’t realized was in his chest. He hasn’t been breathing, he registers vaguely; it’s easier to not breathe, it’s easier to let the darkness claim him.

“I’ve got you, okay?” Scott gasps, voice cracking, and Jimmy just hangs there, limp, trying to remember how to breathe.

How much time has passed? How long has he been falling?

“You’re okay. You’ve got to be okay, all right? I. . . .” Scott trails off, his chest heaving as his wings work to support both their weight.

Jimmy doesn’t doubt for a moment that he’ll save them.

And after several long minutes of flying straight up, Scott collapses onto holey, coral-like ground, still clutching Jimmy to him.

It’s as if, suddenly, a bubble has popped. No longer is Jimmy’s world just the oppressive silence of the void and Scott’s breathing. Now there’s screaming, shouts of directions, the roaring of a dragon, explosions, and it’s so much noise—

Scott pushes away from him and sits up, and Jimmy sees tears streaking down his face, delicate hands coming up to frame Jimmy’s face. “You’re alive,” he whispers. “I got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

His whole body aches, stinging in patches where he’d begun to—disintegrate? Fall apart? He’s not sure. He’s not sure all that happened in the void, can barely comprehend some of it, so he pushes it to the side and places his hands over Scott’s, looking up at him from where he lies on the ground.

Scott’s hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, blood dripping from his nose down his lips, his chest is rising and falling rapidly with every frantic breath, his eyes are wild and terrified and so very bright.

The beauty of the void’s silence pales in comparison.

“I’m alive,” he croaks, and he’s really—he’s alive.

Scott saved him.

As if struck by impulse, Scott leans forward and presses a kiss to Jimmy’s forehead, small and sweet and full of so many emotions.

And Jimmy didn’t die.

“I love you,” he blurts out, the rasp of his voice putting a strain on his vocal cords. He doesn’t care. He didn’t die. “I love you. I love you.”

There’s so much more he wants to say. He wants to explain that he had been about to die without ever confessing his feelings. He wants to tell him that it’s okay if the feeling isn’t mutual, because he nearly died and somehow that makes everything that once seemed important fall away.

He wants to tell him how he’s looked at him every day and fallen a little deeper into love, even as his heart breaks again and again.

He doesn’t, though. He can’t find the words.

“I love you,” Jimmy says again, even as his voice collapses on itself. “I’m in love with you.”

And Scott, to his credit, only looks utterly shocked for a moment before he bends down and kisses Jimmy on the lips.

It’s quick, and Scott’s lips are chapped but soft and warm, and it’s a lot to feel for someone who had been convinced he’d never feel anything again as he fell into a comfortless void, but it’s got so much love behind it, and when Scott pulls back, Jimmy sees stars in his eyes.

“I love you,” Scott tells him, his fingers digging into Jimmy’s cheeks in a way that’s almost painful but mostly grounding. “We’re talking more about this later. I have to—Xornoth—”

Scott shifts as if to leave, but his hands don’t let go of Jimmy’s face. Jimmy squeezes his hands briefly, pushes him away. “I’m fine. Go,” he rasps, using Scott’s hands to pull himself up into a sitting position.

Scott nods, brushes Jimmy’s knuckles against his lips, then runs, feet pounding against the uneven ground.

There’s a battle beyond Scott. The dragon twisting furiously through the air while figures throw potions at it. People running to and fro, destroying strange floating crystals or replacing them. A dark presence atop one of the obsidian towers. So much shouting and screaming.

And Scott loves him.

There are black spots on his vision when he stands, and his legs and arms don’t feel quite like they’re where they belong, but at least he can stand. At least he’s alive.

One step at a time, he heads toward the battle, until the steps become easier and easier and he doesn’t feel as though the ground is going to collapse beneath him, sending him once again into that peacefully horrible void.

He’s exhausted. He’s bleeding all over, patches where his skin had disintegrated now raw and painful. The air of the End, again, is thinner than the Overworld, making it hard to get a good breath in and leaving him a little lightheaded. His limbs are still shaking from the trauma of falling to his death just moments ago, adrenaline and despair still crowding his brain.

But he has his people to think of. And his family. And Scott.

Jimmy dives headfirst into Sausage, knocking him away from Shubble, who had been facing away, easing a strange floating bundle of crystals to life.

They both hit the ground hard, and what little breath Jimmy had gained is knocked out of him, making his vision fuzz as he rolls on top of Sausage, pinning his arms to his side with his legs.

Sausage’s eyes widen when he sees Jimmy, face going from determined to complete shock in a matter of milliseconds. “I—but you—fWhip—”

Jimmy runs a hand under his nose, wiping away a trickle of blood, and does his best to grin, despite the way he feels his lip split with the motion. “Think twice before trying to kill me next time, yeah?”

There are a lot of things in life that Jimmy finds satisfying—squishing and molding slime with his fingers, running a hand over burlap sacks full to bursting of grain, skimming along the surface of the ocean with a pack of dolphins—but none of them even come close to punching Sausage square in the nose.

Sausage howls, trying to wriggle out from under him. Jimmy would’ve hit him again—he really wants to, after all—but before he gets the chance, there’s a bone-rattling roar from behind him and the force of it sends him and Sausage flying meters apart, both scrambling for purchase on the holey ground.

It’s enough to start his head spinning, but Jimmy starts to get back up, a bad taste in the back of his mouth.

There’s a rush of wind and a figure lands beside him, pulling him into a hug before he can even register what’s happening.

“Don’t you dare do that again!” Joel practically screams, gripping him so tight Jimmy can’t breathe. “Lucky Scott was awake—you could’ve died, you idiot—”

Joel cuts off his rambling when Jimmy buries his face in his chest, weak hands gripping him as tight as he can.

“Hey—it’s all right,” Joel says awkwardly, though he makes no move to detach himself from Jimmy.

Jimmy can’t bring himself to speak, just does his best to not cry. He’s alive, but it had been so close. He’d been mere moments from never seeing his family again, and now Joel is here and real and—

“You look terrible, Jim—why don’t you stay out of the way, yeah, and when we’re done here—”

“Sorry,” Jimmy chokes out, but he doesn’t let go. “I didn’t mean—it was—”

Joel shushes him, pats his shoulder lightly. “I’ve got to get back to it, but—stay here, yeah? We can talk later.”

And then Joel’s gone, and Sausage has run off too, and there’s so much going on that Jimmy doesn’t even know where to look.

And suddenly, it all explodes.

Not all of it, certainly, but the dragon does, rising into the air and bursting apart into little pops of light, creating a rather morbid fireworks show.

Across the battlefield, Jimmy sees Scott fall to his knees. Katherine shields her eyes to look up at the dragon. Pix lets his sword hang at his side.

And past the sounds of the dying dragon, Jimmy can hear a horrible, echoing laugh.

He may be alive, but they’ve lost.

None of the other emperors blame him. When he tries to apologize, they wave him off, say that it would have been found eventually.

He can see the disappointment in their eyes, though. Whatever his intentions, Jimmy has caused the rule of the demon.

It’s Pix who carries Jimmy to the Ocean Kingdom infirmary, who sits by his side through all the hustle and bustle and impromptu meetings of rulers, gathered in the infirmary both for Jimmy’s convenience and for treatment of various small wounds.

It’s a solemn gathering, bereft of the three on the other side, with Gem hovering awkwardly near the door as if she shouldn’t be here.

“It’s my fault as much as it is anyone’s,” she admits when Jimmy first tries to own up. “I knew they had the Codfather head, I’m so sorry, Jimmy—they told me they wanted to put it in the End, so I helped look for the portal. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“They shouldn’t have taken it in the first place,” Joel points out. Lizzie is beside him, radiating such powerful levels of anger that no one has been brave enough to meet her eyes, for fear that her ire will fall on them. “That was a violation of the House Blossom Alliance, and probably like, a declaration of war, honestly.”

“Jimmy—why didn’t you tell us that they took it?” asks Katherine, face twisted in a grimace as she applies pressure to a small but deep cut on her arm. “That seems like a very important piece of information. We could’ve helped!”

Jimmy avoids looking at Scott. “Political reasons,” he mutters. That doesn’t satisfy Katherine, though, so he amends to say, “To save face, mostly. Admitting that one of the most precious treasures of the Cod Empire had been stolen? Terrible for PR, and makes us look like a target.”

Gem knows something, Jimmy realizes with a sinking feeling as she shoots him a look, then glances away. Sausage must’ve shared with the rest of the Wither Rose Alliance the importance of the Codfather head.

Katherine, on the other hand, gasps. “Wait—your engagement, though! Was that just a cover-up, to make your empire appear stronger than ever? You guys tricked me?”

Right on the money. Jimmy opens his mouth, about to concede, but Scott interrupts.

“No,” Scott says firmly. Everyone looks toward him—leaning against the wall, hair messy, the permanent bags under his eyes heavy and dark. His eyes are fixed on Jimmy, who can’t seem to look away.

Scott loves him.

“The betrothal was rushed, for certain reasons, but I still intend to marry Jimmy,” Scott continues, and the way Jimmy’s stomach flips—

“Our betrothal may be put on hold to deal with recent developments. That does not mean we are not fully committed to each other, nor is it indicative of the legitimacy of our relationship. I will not be saying any more on the matter.”

Shubble changes the subject pretty quickly after that, but Jimmy can’t keep hold of the conversation. He just . . . gazes at Scott, Scott who loves him. Scott who just risked his life to save Jimmy, who held him and kissed him and said that he loved him.

He can only bask in the wonder of it for so long before it’s just too tiring to think of. His eyelids start drooping, and someone must notice, because at some point he blinks and the infirmary is nearly empty, just him and an attending nurse.

He should probably be involved in whatever discussion is going on without him, but he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to even get up, let alone walk to a meeting and stay awake for the entirety of it.

Instead, he leans back and lets his eyes flutter shut, happy to sleep. He can deal with the nagging guilt later. He needs rest right now.

He’s not sure how long he’s asleep, only that the lights are low when he wakes again, no sun shining through the windows.

That doesn’t tell him anything—when they’d returned from the fight, it had still been in the early hours of the morning. Has he been asleep for an entire day, then, and it’s night again, or has it been maybe an hour, the sun not yet risen?

There’s a creak beside him, and Jimmy starts, turns to look.

“Sorry,” Lizzie whispers, in a chair at Jimmy’s bedside. “I was on my way out, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

It’s Lizzie. It’s his sister, and he almost died and never saw her again and somehow he’s been so lucky as to have a second chance.

He struggles to sit up, his body so stiff it feels as though he’s been sleeping for a thousand years.

“Don't hurt yourself—” Lizzie moves to help him, hands steadying Jimmy’s shoulders. Jimmy, however, doesn’t lie back down—instead, he wraps his arms around Lizzie, holding her as tightly as his unforgiving muscles will allow.

Lizzie doesn’t react for a moment, but when she does, she sits on the bed beside him, hefting him partly into her lap and enveloping him in her arms.

And there, in the hold of his sister, Jimmy finally cries.

He’s alive, and his sister is alive, and they’re here together.

He’s not sure how long he quietly cries into Lizzie’s shirt, but when he raises his head at a sound, cheek sticking to her briefly, the room is still empty, door clicking shut. It’s just him, crying, and Lizzie, rubbing his arm comfortingly in a way that only family knows how.

“Sorry,” he croaks, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Lizzie hushes. “You just survived certain death. Scott said—” her voice breaks— “Scott said it was really close. That must have been traumatic.”

Jimmy nods. It was traumatic. And if what he’s been saying to Scott lately is true, then it’s okay to not be okay after such an ordeal. It’s okay to take time to get back to normal.

“And you know what?” Lizzie continues, squeezing his arm. “We may not admit it, but we all would have done the same. Scott showed us the messages he sent you. We all would have fallen for it.”

Jimmy doesn't want to think about that. He doesn’t want to consider how he’s caused many deaths and years of darkness.

He just grips Lizzie a little tighter, numb fingers curling in the fabric of her shirt.

“Sleep, please. You look exhausted.”

He needs to talk to Scott still. They need to figure out exactly what they are now, what that means for them in the future.

But not right now. Right now he can feel sleep pulling at him, allowing him to relax in the safe embrace of his sister.

Jimmy falls asleep, alive, and his family watches over him.

64 notes · View notes

henb-y · 9 months

Text

look at mengtai NOW

youtube

behold

#utau #secretly this is mako's beta bank #but given new life!!#behold my old voice and old mic #I gave nobooru this vb after I asked on twt if anyone wanted the bank #cuz it rubs me wrong to just let the bank sit there with a functional oto #dead in my hard drive yknow #its so nice seeing it be loved #Youtube

5 notes · View notes

milkweedman · 1 year

Text

Finally caved and ordered a spoon carving knife. Not really for spoons (altho i may make some)--want to carve some spinning bowls and you really need a round knife for that. Ive got a couple boughs ive found and dragged home that would make awesome bowls lol.

More than anything i cant wait for summer, when its warm enough to just sit outside and whittle things.

#made another spindle today #am on day 6 of this fucking migraine #whittling n spinning are the best activities for migraines when theyre not so bad that i can do nothing but lay in bed with my eyes closed #which is. often #i had 16 days of migraines last month #i sort of wonder if eventually i will have migraines every day #i really hope not. its hard to live with just half my life #have been like. unable to cook for myself or really eat anything #cant sleep. can barely think #should probably message my neurologist and tell her the beta blockers arent doing shit #besides making my head spin when whenever i move #and the sumatriptan mostly just makes me feel sick to the very core. but it does bring the migraines down a little #but still i whittle and spin. and have been singing a lot.#chronic illness #whittling #spindle making

17 notes · View notes

unlimitedhorsepower · 1 year

Text

*refreshes a minute after i post a ryankeith fanfic* no hits:/ my life is over.

ill let you know i spent like the entire day trying to post this bc i have a special brand of adhd so i dont know how i managed to spend hours on this. summaries are just hard to write. anyway if posting an explicit fic doesnt net me at least twice the hits as my other fics im gonna pack up my little rucksack and leave to travel the world alone. its gonna be raining and snowing also. and thundering and high winds. ill develop every disease if that happens you know

#ryanyuri fanfic is in hell rn bc i have some issues with formatting...how to format text messages in the nicest clearest way...#ive been trying to edit the latest chapter but nothing makes me satisfied is the biggest reason though. ngl.#im my own beta reader and im a horrible nitpick and i dont know when to stop. i need an outside force to stop me #its sooooo hard to be me. i wish these were my biggest issues in life btw. good lird!

5 notes · View notes

artekai · 2 years

Text

Emotional about the Marukis and the Sobecks tonight :')

#ramble #oc: artekai #oc tag #character death cw #words hard but. lis and takuto. aloy and kai. kai and beta. man #what if we were both gonna die but the last thing we did was to spend our last days working to give life on earth a second chance #to build a world for the family we never thought we'd get to have #to give them a chance at the life that we got robbed of #what if we gave up on the world we have because we didn't stand a chance #but my son and your daughter stood together to fight for the world we gave then DESPITE not standing a chance #what if we were soulmates not in the sense that we're destined to meet each other or fall in love #but in the sense that my son and your daughter CHOSE each other without knowing anything about their shared past #what if i kept choosing you. over and over again. in every lifetime.#what if my son believed in your daughter the same way i believed in you a thousand years earlier.#and he took some of the weight off her shoulders and her presence made him feel less alone in the world #what if they treated each other's wounds after battle and braided each other's hair in the morning and watched the stars together at night #what then. what then

2 notes · View notes

xbellaxcarolinax · 11 months

Text

Scent

Miguel O’Hara X f!reader

Summary: It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. (In which Miguel goes feral when you ovulate)

Word count: 4k+

Warnings: Language. Obvs. S m u t. Obvs. Oral, f receiving. P in V (no protection), cum eating. Cheesy probs. Reader says Miguel's name a lot lmfao not beta read.

Minors DNI.

Honestly, I don’t know how any of this stuff works. This is some bullshit and none of it makes sense. Enjoy.

...

Miguel was fucking losing it.

He couldn’t focus, couldn’t keep his head on straight. There was a thick fog clouding his judgment, disorienting him like a fever he couldn’t sweat out.

It started with a scent.

Light at first, a barely there whiff of something.

It lingered at HQ, trailing between passageways and different conference rooms. There were times when it didn't linger at all for weeks. Then it'd start right up again, progressively getting worse.

It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. How could it not be when you spent the most time with him?

It happened once a month for a week at most, and like clockwork, his body reacted viciously, betraying him of all logical thoughts. Your scent seized him by the throat in a sort of chokehold. Some days were unbearable, your scent so strong that he’d have to fight with every muscle and nerve in his body not to touch you, to not bend you over and—

Well. That wasn't a healthy thought.

Recently (the last two months to be exact), he’d have to excuse himself and step out of the room for a few minutes whenever you’d arrive from your world to report for duty, sneaking off to the restroom to tug on his cock till he felt some relief. Images of you would flash in his mind: you on your knees with your lips wrapped around him, or the pained face he'd imagine would twist your features when sinking down on his thick length. He'd come in his hand, sticky ropes of white, using his release to coat his stiff length and go again.

He never truly felt satiated. It was something to keep his appetite at bay. But once he’d come back and face you he’d get hard all over again, drugged out on whatever smell it was that emanated off of you.

He’d salivate like a dog and his bulge would grow uncomfortably large in his skin-tight suit. It got to the point where he couldn’t face you, and whenever you’d greet him he’d return it with a simple grunt, giving you a clear view of his broad, imposing back. He never looked at you anymore unless to sneak in a quick glance and even then, it’d make his cock twitch in desperation, the head weeping, begging to be touched.

He was fucking feral, like a Neanderthal, primitive and obsessed.

You smelled rich, mildly tangy—not like the fruity perfumes some of the spider ladies wore around him. No, it was something else entirely, something earthy, like what he imagined was between your delicate legs. Like wet cunt ready to be taken.

And God, did he want to take it.

…

"Miguel."

He tensed up at the sound of your voice, running a hand through his unruly dark hair. Maybe the cafeteria at HQ wasn’t the best hiding spot.

It was the middle of the month—July fifteenth to be exact—which meant you had that smell again.

You were ovulating.

He knew enough about female anatomy to put the pieces together when he realized that about two weeks after his body reacted to your scent, you'd be in a terrible mood.

"What crawled up your ass?" He'd asked you once, keeping his eyes on all his monitors but immediately noting your discomfort. You sat on a chair beside him, head in your arms as you leaned on the desk.

He could feel you glaring daggers at his profile.

"Shut up. I'm on my period, asshole."

He did shut up after that.

Blood immediately began to rush toward his cock, bringing it to life.

You stood in front of him, one hand on your hip while the other held a plastic container from the empanada joint everyone had a taste for.

"What?" Miguel uttered, keeping his eyes trained on a particular stain on the otherwise pristine white table. Any distraction was a welcomed distraction.

You pulled back the chair opposite of his, plopping down on it unceremoniously. The action sent waves of your aroma toward him like a crashing wave, engulfing him completely. He stiffened, dropping his head slightly while the heel of his hand pressed over his growing bulge.

"You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?"

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said through gritted teeth, fangs visible when he grimaced. His scarlet eyes wandered over your face for a few seconds before he ripped them away, barely avoiding the twitch in your brow and the growing frown on your lips.

“Seriously?” You scoffed, “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, two months? I’m surprised I got a hold of you. You’re never in the cafeteria.” You ripped open the container, digging inside to grab the fried little snack. “Do we have a problem I’m not aware of?”

Miguel watched you take a bite of the empanada, committed to memory the way your tongue lapped at the grease coating your lips. His hand pressed harder over his cock, and at that moment he cursed himself for implementing the suit-only rule. He could really use a pair of sweatpants right now.

“Well? Do we?” You challenged him, defiant as always. You had this look in your eye that he’s seen before—your adrenaline was about to kick into overdrive. Always ready for a fight.

He sighed, shaking his head, willing himself to breathe. He felt sweat begin to bead across his hairline, strands of his hair sticking down the sides of his face. Your scent was becoming unbearable, overwhelming him to the point where he felt lightheaded. He licked his dry lips, carelessly running the tip of his tongue over his sharp canines only to pierce through the delicate muscle. The salty taste of iron exploded in his mouth and he grunted, pinching his eyes shut in frustration.

"Mig."

“No!” He finally barked, slamming a fist over the table. It shook from the weight of his large hand, the empty container almost flying off the surface. You went wide-eyed for a moment at his outburst before pressing the last bite of your snack between your lips, unfazed.

“It clearly doesn’t seem that way,” you replied calmly, but the twitch in your brow remained and your eyes narrowed. You wiped your mouth and fingers with a brown recyclable napkin meticulously, “if you have a problem, say so.”

One thing you had in common with Miguel was your bluntness. You always cut to the chase, saying what you needed to without much thought. It was one of the things that he appreciated in a fellow spider person but right now it only served to irritate him. That last thing he wanted was to deal with someone as fucking stubborn as him.

He must've looked like hell because when you regarded him, the hardness in your eyes softened immensely as if only just realizing his disheveled appearance. You went to touch his hand over the table but he snatched it away before you could, glaring.

"You don't look so good,” you reasoned quietly, stung by his actions, “d’you need some help?”

"M'fine."

"I don't think—"

"Listen to me very carefully," Miguel hissed, nose flaring and skin burning hot, "I need you to get away from me."

"What—"

"I'm not gonna tell you again," he seethed, cock struggling to break free from the constraints of his suit, "Go. Leave."

You were stunned into silence, tapping your fingers over the table awkwardly before grabbing your mess and leaving without another word.

Miguel watched you leave with a groan, dropping his head back in aggravation.

He was so fucked.

…

You hadn't shown up to HQ in a while. He couldn't blame you.

While that should've been a win for Miguel, it wasn't. Sure, the violent attacks on his body had diminished somewhat, but now, just because you weren’t around as much didn’t mean you didn’t leave his thoughts for a second.

He could've called you—had that stupid watch to contact you—see if you were okay. But his pride assaulted him every time he so much as glanced at his watch.

His thoughts circulated and continued, imagining you in all the positions he wanted to put you in, which landed him back in the restroom for a daily cock tug when he should’ve been working.

The spiderverse needed to be controlled and admittingly, you were one of the best on his team. You were stealthy and intelligent—he needed you more than he'd cared to admit.

And...he missed you.

But you were off fighting crime and restoring the peace in your universe—at least that was the excuse you'd given him, only showing face when it was absolutely necessary.

Which, as of late, wasn’t very necessary.

And still, he suffered.

...

Earth- 0708.

A shit show of a universe where the height of winter was in the middle of fucking August. It was snowing, small tufts of flurries lightly coating the ground in white.

Miguel knew exactly where to find you. Sunnyside, Lowery Street off the seven train. On the corner of a bodega by the broken lamp post. He could walk to your apartment complex blind if he really wanted to.

And there it was. He could smell you upon arriving—through the concrete and rusty red brick, up the five floors to your window—he could smell you. His hands shook (not from the cold) as his claws gripped the aging wall, his cock doing its usual swelling.

You must have sensed him immediately, slamming your bedroom window open and peering out into the darkness before he could even make it to your window. The cold wind blew and carried your scent. Mierda.

“Miguel?” You called out, squinting down at him as he scaled the dusty brick wall. When he finally came face to face with you, he lowered his mask, revealing his flushed face and sweat-slicked hair. He could see his breath come out in short, little puffs.

“You couldn’t use the front door like a normal person?” You asked with a roll of your eyes, crossing your arms.

“When were we ever normal people?” It was meant to come out smooth as butter but Miguel’s voice was hoarse, throat seemingly drier than the Sahara. He cleared it, stepping through the window, turning around to quickly slam it shut. He was concentrating, forcing himself to take a deep breath before turning around to face you, except, you were already gone, disappearing deeper into your apartment.

He grunted, rubbing his eyes. He thought he’d gotten better at controlling himself. The gentle breathing helped, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t struggling to keep his cock under control. It twitched a few times, and he groaned, exiting your bedroom. It was now or never.

You were in your tiny kitchen, stirring a cup of tea while the TV in the living room softly played some sitcom he remembered you were into. You were in a black hoodie and gray sweats, your hair messily thrown up in a ponytail. He’d seen you this way more than he could count. When did you become so pretty? Miguel didn’t understand it. You were under his nose this whole time, and he never really looked at you. Well, that was wrong. He did, of course, he did, but he never indulged. He was too much of a workaholic for that.

“What do you want?” You asked, monotoned, “I took care of all the bad guys so I know you're not here for that.” You propped your elbows on your kitchen counter, resting your chin in the palm of your hand as you peered up at him. You’d always told him he looked massive in your apartment as if his shoulders would cave the entire place in, and now, with you looking at him like that—all doe eyes and confusion—just a tiny thing, well…his cock twitched.

He swallowed thickly, jaw tense as he looked away from you to collect himself.

“I gotta ask you somethin'.” The words rushed out of his mouth, the flashing images on the TV seemingly more interesting to him than anything else.

“Shoot.”

“It’s… gonna sound weird, bare with me.”

“O…kay.”

Miguel turned away from you as he always did, hoping to curb his sweltering need to take you against your wall like a beast. “Are you ovulating?” It was quiet for a beat, and his heart flew into his throat in pure mortification.

“What?”

“You heard me, I’m not repeating it again.”

“Miguel, what the fuck—”

“Just—answer the Goddamn question, por favor.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, bowing his head in frustration. He felt hot, his body burning as if molten lava flowed through his veins. His tone must have done something because when he looked over his shoulder you were on your phone tapping a few buttons.

“...Yes,” you finally answered, bringing your gaze to meet his half-lidded eyes, “according to my app.”

“Mierda,” He groaned, dropping his head in his hands, “fuck. Okay.”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, Miguel?”

“And you ovulate mid-month? Between the twelfth and sixteenth? No don’t—don’t look at me like that, please,” Miguel choked as he began to pace back and forth, ignoring the incredulous look on your face that was both humiliating and overwhelmingly arousing at the same time, “Just—just answer.” Another beat of silence engulfed you both as you searched the information through your period tracker with a shaky hand.

“Uhh, yeah, t-that’s right.” You placed your phone down on the counter, your tea now cold and long forgotten. “Mig…what’s with the questions? How d’you even know that?”

He finally paused his steps to run a hand through his hair before facing you from a safe distance, hoping you wouldn’t notice the growing erection burning hot between his legs from the angle he was in. If you noticed the large space between you both, you didn’t mention it.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” you snorted at the comment, and again, he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I haven’t been ignoring you by choice, me entiendes?”

“So what is it then?” You took a couple of steps closer while he took a couple of steps back.

“It’s your scent—you smell so fucking good and it's driving fucking crazy, muñeca.”

“I-I don’t understand, Mig, what—”

“Look, I don’t understand it either,” he ran a hand through his locks again and again as if ready to rip the strands off, “all I know is you have a…scent when you ovulate every month…and, well…” he dropped both arms to his sides, standing there like an idiot as you stepped closer to drink him in. Your eyes traced him over, his broad shoulders and muscled arms, his thick thighs, and his engorged co—

“M-Miguel?” Your gaze was pinned to his bulge, pushing against the confines of his suit. “Why didn't you tell me anything?”

The question made him burn—made him bare his fangs and curl his hands into tight fists.

"What did you expect?” He spat, pacing again, “How was I gonna tell you some shit like this?" He licked his lips, his body feeling feverish. If he didn't leave soon he was sure to do something he'd regret.

“Miguel, come here.” He ignored you, much too irritated and embarrassed to do anything but just stand there. His jaw clicked, the bone shifting under the skin as he grinded his teeth in frustration. He could hear your footsteps padding softly behind him until you stood in front of him, craning your neck just to make eye contact.

It was unbearable being in your presence. He was going lightheaded again, the arousal almost blinding.

“Mig? D-did you need some help?” You whispered, your fingers ghosting over his chiseled abdomen, ready to trail lower but his large hand gripped you by the wrist, halting your movements.

“No.” He choked, “I’m not gonna force you to do something you don’t want to. Just came to tell you.”

“What if I want to?” You continued, lifting your free hand to press your warm palm over his heaving chest, “What if I told you I’ve wanted to do this for a long time?”

Miguel hissed as soon as you cupped his erection, gently rubbing your palm up and down the smooth surface of his bulge, hidden behind the silky fabric of his suit.

“Poor Miguel—all this suffering, all this grief, when all you needed was for me to relieve you,” you tutted, feeling how incredibly hard he was, “so I have a scent, huh?” Miguel groaned, his head lolling to the side as he watched your careful movements. The friction wasn’t enough, but it was more than he could have asked for in the last few months. His hand was nothing compared to yours. “What do I smell like then?”

“Like wet pussy,” he swallowed thickly, hands fighting the urge to grip you by the waist, “smells amazing, muñeca.” He hissed again when you gripped him firmly.

“Yeah?” You smiled, your eyes just as hooded as his, “And what do you want to do to me?”

A growl rumbled in his chest. Without saying another word, he pushed you back against the closest wall, caging you in his large arms.

“You have no idea the things I want to do to you.” He whispered, brushing the tip of his nose over yours. Your eyes fluttered, lips parting to take the tiniest breaths, chest heaving in arousal.

“Show me.” You breathed before Miguel kissed you. He curled around you, sealing you away from everything that wasn’t him. Your scent had his head buzzing, had him licking wildly into your mouth, his fangs grazing your skin more times than you could count.

He pawed at your hoodie, his claws sinking into the black fibers of the fabric. “Do you care about this?” He said between kisses, skimming the delicate skin underneath.

“It was an ex-boyfriend’s.” You yelped when Miguel tore into the hoodie immediately, ripping apart the seams with ease. You weren't wearing a t-shirt underneath, leaving you bare above the waist.

“Not important then.” He muttered, tossing the thick shreds of fabric aside in favor of touching your bare skin. He noted your eyes, how blown your pupils were at his actions. You were cold, nipples pebbling and goosebumps forming over your arms. Miguel cooed, his thumbs reaching out to rub the sensitive nubs on your chest, tugging them between his fingers. Your head fell back against the wall, a mewl escaping you.

“Miguel,” you moaned, arching your body into his skillful hands. He brought you flushed against him, pressing his face into your neck and licking a stripe up to your ear.

“¿Qué pasó, hermosa? I barely touched you,” Miguel chuckled, lifting you up in his arms with ease and walking to your bedroom. He threw you on your bed, and within seconds, your sweats were pulled down with your panties, hastily tossed to the side.

He observed you like a beast on the hunt, eyes trained on your glistening cunt. There it was, the source of his misfortunes for all those months, weeping and swollen with arousal, just waiting to be fucked. His mouth watered, watching you slowly swirl your fingers between your folds, coating two digits with your slick before presenting them to him.

“Wanna taste?”

He saw how your juices clung to your fingers like glossy webs when you wiggled them toward him. He kneeled in front of you, gripping your wrist in his hand and lapping at your essence, plunging your fingers into his mouth. He moaned in relief as if tasting you was the cure to every issue he'd encountered.

You gasped, mouth slightly ajar as you watched him. It was so obscene how this man took pleasure from your taste alone, coating your fingers entirely in his spit. You whined, the sensation of his tongue causing your cunt to flutter, desperate to be filled.

“Miguel,” you whined, “get rid of the suit.” He chuckled over your fingers, letting you feel the tip of his fang over the soft pads before releasing them with a gentle pop. He stood to his full height, dwarfing you, glowing in that suit of his. Slowly, the tech that held his suit together scurried down the length of his body like falling stars until he was completely nude. His cock sprung forward, finally released from its prison, standing large and proud.

“Oh my god,” Miguel heard you mutter, saw how your eyes were trained on the angry red tip, shining with precome. His chest puffed with pride. You licked your lips, mind already set on the task you'd given yourself. You moaned, desperate for a taste of him.

He didn't give you much time to react, surging forward to place a hand around your delicate throat, putting the slightest bit of pressure before pushing you down flat.

"Next time. I need to taste you." His eyes were glowing, burning red in the dim lighting of your bedroom. He knelt again, grabbing your hips firmly and pulling you roughly toward the edge of the bed before devouring your cunt like a starved man.

"Shit," you cried, hands immediately tugging on his hair as you threw your head back, "M-Miguel." He was insatiable, tongue swirling around your clit several times before lapping at your soaked folds, moaning at the tangy taste.

"Que rico," he muttered to himself, the vibrations of his voice over your cunt causing you to cry out. He continued his assault, dipping his tongue into your hole, a testament of what was to come. Then, without warning, he plunged his middle finger inside, immediately hitting something that made you see stars. You choked and heaved, pulling at his hair as he fucked you with his thick finger while sucking on your clit.

"Fuuuck, Miguel, I-I think I'm—" you threw your head back, eyes rolling as you came, gushing all over Miguel's mouth and hand. You trembled, almost sobbing when he hadn't let up, feasting on your juices as his finger continued to thrust into you.

"M-Miguel, I can't," you whined, your hands fighting to lift his head away from your aching cunt, but he ignored you, too drunk on your taste to stop. He carefully added a second finger, easily finding a rhythm to thrust into you. The stretch had you gasping for air, thighs trembling on either side of his head. If two fingers were too much for you then his cock would surely be a challenge.

Miguel's eyes were closed, tongue hungrily lapping at the wetness you produced, and within seconds had you falling apart with a wicked moan. Your cunt squeezed his two fingers when you came again, coating his hand and chin with your slick. You sobbed, begging him to stop, and he did, placing a wet kiss on each of your inner thighs before carefully pulling his fingers out.

"Look at me, hermosa." You hiccupped, craning your neck to look at Miguel with blurry eyes. He already had his red gaze pinned on you, and when he had your attention he placed his cum coated fingers into his mouth, humming in approval at the taste.

You were mesmerized, not even fucked by his cock yet but somehow already drunk on the anticipation. You whimpered, watching him lap up the last of your juices on his fingers.

"M-miguel?"

"You taste so fucking good," he growled with a shake of his head, pushing his face into your pulsating cunt one more time to breathe in your intoxicating scent. His hot breath over your pussy made your toes curl, sighing in contentment when he placed a quick kiss on your swollen clit.

Miguel climbed on the bed, caging your hips with his muscular thighs. His cock slid against your folds, your slick already lubricating him. You were still shaking, your hands now finding purchase on his biceps.

"¿Estás bien, amor?" He asked, leaning down to pepper kisses over your tear stained face. He was getting sappy, he knew. He couldn't help it, not with the way you came so pretty for him.

"Mhm," you sighed, letting him arrange your trembling legs over his hips, his cock pressing more firmly into your aching wet core.

"Good." He spit on his hand and ran it over his stiff shaft a few times before pushing your thighs up so that your knees touched your shoulders, effectively folding you in half. He lined up the head, ready to push in, but stopped when he heard you whimper.

"It's been a while, Miguel," you explained with wet eyes, "I haven't...in a while a-and you're so big—"

"It's okay, I know you can take me, hm?" Miguel brushed a few damp strands away from your sweaty face. He leaned down to kiss you, and he knew you could taste yourself on his lips. It made his cock twitch over you, and with no further delay he notched the head of his cock into your hole, slowly pushing in.

You moaned, eyebrows knitting at the stretch of him. He panted, pushing inch by devastating inch, all the while watching your face for any signs. You were falling apart, eyes screwed shut and nails digging into the meat of his arms.

"I can't," you choked, your hips fighting against the offending pain, but Miguel was quick in securing you in place, continuing to spear you with his cock, "M-Miguel, y-your too big, it's too much!"

"Shhh, hermosa, si puedes," Miguel closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the way your cunt fluttered over him, fighting to take him in, "look how good you're doing for me, mm, así mismo."

He pushed deeper, swallowing your cries with a kiss as he bottomed out, his balls pressing nicely against your ass.

"¿Ves? " He cooed, bumping his nose against yours as you whimpered, "I told you, you could do it." He chuckled at your glare, kissing you again before thrusting experimentally into you.

You moaned, tossing your head back, exposing your throat. You felt full to the brim, completely stuffed. Miguel wasted no time surging forward to lick and nip at your neck as he moved above. Each thrust shook your bed, the springs of your mattress coming to life as Miguel fucked you deeper. Your pussy was drenched, soaking his cock as he glided in and out of you effortlessly. The stretch burned but it was delicious, and Miguel knew you were cock drunk when your mouth fell open, tears running down your cheeks.

"¿Así te gusta, hermosa?" Miguel moaned, his breath fanning over your skin as he pounded deeply into you. His cock reached something within you that had a sob ripping from your throat.

"Oh my God," you whined, feeling the constant slap, slap, slap of his balls against your ass, "Fuuuck."

"That's the spot?" He heaved, his fangs glistening with saliva, "That's where you want it?" He continued his relentless pace, hitting that spot with precision over and over again. The sounds of your squelching pussy made him feral, slamming into you until you screamed, watching you fall apart before his eyes.

You came hard, gushing all over his cock, vision blurry and head in the clouds. Miguel helped you ride your high until you were nothing more than a quivering mess below him, sobbing as he continued to thrust before emptying his load inside you.

He grunted, head tossed back as he pressed his hips tightly against you, filling you up with everything he had.

"Fuck," he groaned, pausing to give himself a moment to breathe before slowly fucking his cum into you. It was too much, leaking out of your hole and over his cock, soaking into the sheets below. "Even better than I imagined." He muttered, shifting to pepper kisses all over your face again. You sighed in content, feeling comfortable in the way his cock was still nestled in you.

"¿Estás bien, muñeca?" Miguel asked, dropping his forehead against yours. He still had you folded in half, his large arms on either side of you. You nodded with a sigh, turning your head to place a chaste kiss on the inside of his wrist.

"Good," he grinned, gently snapping his hips against your ass, letting more of his spend leak from your hole, "cuz I'm not done with you yet."

#spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction

27K notes · View notes

sttoru · 4 days

Text

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you show your husband some affection, thinking you two were alone - only to be interrupted by your son.

tags. dad!toji fushiguro x wife!female reader. fluff, suggestive. mentions of toji developing / having a dad bod. & reader having a mom bod. reader gets called ‘princess, mama (by gumi)’. baby gumi waking up bcs of a nightmare. excuse me - not beta read bcs i was half asleep when writing this rt_t

“tooooji,” you smile as you enter the kitchen. you’ve put megumi to bed - finally - and have the chance to spend some one-on-one time with your dear husband. both of you deserve the rest after a hard day of work.

toji has been putting the dishes back in their designated spots whilst you were away. the dark-haired man turns his head to the side once he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist. a small grin tugs at his lips, “missed me, princess?”

you roll your eyes. even if years have passed since your marriage, toji has not stopped using that specific nickname for you. he loves calling you ‘princess’, because that’s what you’ll always be to him. in his eyes, at least.

“mhm,” you decide to indulge him. you bury your face into his broad back, feeling the muscles he’s worked so hard on obtaining. after megumi was born, toji did let himself go for a bit, but that is a good sign.

it means he’s content with his life - this peaceful life that he’s settled down for with no regrets. no more being reckless, no more battling for money; he’s now got a family to come back home to after all.

“is the little brat asleep?” toji asks while putting the last dish away. he’s visibly enjoying your warm hands that have slid under his shirt. your skin is so soft to the touch compared to his.

you chuckle and nod to his question. “gumi’s sleeping like a baby,” you rub your husband’s stomach gently, feeling the little bumps of his fading abs. you’re loving his new body - just as much as toji loves yours.

toji turns around to face you, desperately needing to return the favor. he can’t get enough of being with you. his rough hands grab your waist and bring you closer against his body, until your chests are nearly touching. he lowers his head to your neck, “that means i can show my wife how much i love her, yeah?”

you shiver at how toji’s voice turns from soft and gentle to sexual and husky. big hands find their place on your tummy, massaging the loose skin with its stretch marks. you can hear your husband’s breath hitch. “fuck,” toji swallows his spit, his fingers moving to grasp your hips.

toji loves how your hips got wider after you’ve given birth to your child. every change in your body, whether big or small, is completely welcomed by him. your body has blessed toji with a son he loves and he’ll forever be grateful for that fact. the least he can do is take his time to appreciate you.

“so beautiful,” toji sighs as he leaves soft pecks on your neck and throat. his fingers are working their way down to your thighs and ass—not leaving a single patch of skin untouched. his lips eventually find yours and you melt into his embrace.

it’s getting heated and the tension is palpable. toji’s about to lift you into his arms when you catch a glimpse of a short figure in the doorway. your eyes widen and you immediately detach your lips from your husband’s.

toji quickly catches on and sighs. he cocks his head to the left, the sight of his toddler standing at the doorway coming into view. “damn kid,” he whispers, nearly pouting because of the interruption. you playfully slap his bicep—a warning to fix his potty mouth in front of megumi.

“h-hey, gumi,” you say with an awkward giggle, walking towards the child. you fix your shirt in the meantime, straightening the material. you crouch down to megumi’s level and pat his head tenderly, “what happened? why are you out of bed?”

megumi stares up at you with teary eyes. he’s clenching onto his dog plushie, hugging the stuffed animal to his little body. you can easily guess that he’s scared—probably because of a nightmare. he’s been getting those more frequently.

though, instead of explaining himself, megumi searches for answers to something else. he points at his dad who’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. the toddler then looks back at you like he’s made some big discovery;

“mama papa kissing!”

you nearly choke on your spit. megumi’s a clever little boy and it shows through his advanced vocabulary. you’re surprised that he’s learnt what that meant already. you try to deny what your child said, “no, uhm, mama and papa were just hugging!”

toji snorts at your half assed excuse. he lazily walks over to you two, hands in his pockets. he bends forwards and looks megumi in the eyes with a huge smirk on his face. “yeah, we were. ‘n you totally ruined it,” he utters without any shame and menacingly sticks his tongue out at the little boy.

you hiss and lightly shove toji—he cannot take anything seriously. you’re trying your best to distract megumi’s attention from what he’s seen his parents do, to what his reason is for waking up.

“did you have a nightmare again?” you coo and pick your son up. he instantly snuggles up to you and presses his face against your chest in search of comfort. you smile and can conclude that your assumptions are right.

you pet megumi’s head whilst softly humming one of his favorite lullabies. toji watches your interaction with his son and his mood softens once more. he silently hugs you from behind—also wrapping an arm around megumi—turning it into a little family group hug.

“y’re all right, buddy,” toji mutters to megumi and the little boy sniffles in response, “mama ‘n papa ‘re right here.”

after a couple minutes, you carry megumi back to his room before putting him down in his bed. your husband stands next to you as you make sure your kid is tucked in properly.

megumi stares up at you with a sniff and you nearly melt at the adorable sight. you brush his bangs out of his eyes and kiss his forehead, wishing him a good night. the toddler nods and hugs his plushie to his chest again, still a bit shaken up from the nightmare. however, he’s doing a lot better after he got comforted by both his parents.

“sweet dreams, gumi,” you whisper and rub megumi’s cheeks with a fond smile on your lips. toji simply stares at you conversing with megumi—his face showing little to no emotion. though, from within, toji is absolutely in awe at your motherly personality. you’re the perfect mother.

megumi gets drowsy and tosses onto his side so he could be more comfortable. he struggles to open his eyes, but manages to look at toji. the little boy pouts and points another finger at his dad, this time drowsily warning him, “papa no kiss mama, ‘kay?”

that comment catches you off guard. you’re embarrassed by the fact that megumi still remembers what he’s seen in the kitchen. you try to clear your throat and explain yourself, but toji’s one step ahead of you. he silently mimics megumi’s words and rolls his eyes—

“yeah yeah, whatever. i won’t,” toji promises his son. the toddler clearly inherited your husband’s protectiveness. you chuckle at the playfulness between the two, enjoying the jokey banter the father-son duo have each time.

megumi huffs in victory and nods. he can sleep in peace now, knowing his dad won’t try anything funny with you. he closes his weary eyes and is asleep within just a few seconds.

you stretch your arms and sigh in content. you can’t help but chuckle once you notice how megumi’s fallen asleep with a tiny smile on his lips. you give the child one last forehead kiss before leaving the room in silence.

toji follows right behind you. now that his son is sound asleep, he doesn’t have to keep his promise. technically— he wasn’t planning to anyway.

“c’mere,” your husband mumbles and grabs your hand. he pulls you into a tight hug, hands instantly roaming your body which he admires so much. he plants his lips onto yours not a second later.

you smile into the kiss, finding it funny how toji couldn’t keep his (fake) promise for even one second. he would die if he actually couldn’t kiss you, and that isn’t even an exaggeration.

toji pulls back after a moment and smirks at you—those bedroom eyes of his very telling.

“so, where were we?”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x you #toji x you #jjk fluff #toji fluff #jjk x y/n #toji x y/n #star divider by benkeibear

4K notes · View notes