✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧. (almost none of these posts are mine as in its pretty much all reblogs. please give credit to original posters) also I'm 18 so pls no one block me
Look, I can see you’re 18 so there’s much of fandom etiquette for you left to learn. In fandom we don’t critique and we don’t shame. People do this for free on their own time, and the human behind the screen writing things can have a vastly different life than what you think.
Some people that have these fantasies were victims themselves and this is how they cope. If you want to actively shame a victim… then that says a lot about you as a person. You don’t get to judge someone for how they deal with their fantasies because at the end of the day that’s all it is. A fictional fantasy. It’s not hurting anyone. You don’t want to see it, block tags and block the creators. It’s that simple.
I can come on here and judge you for reading anime smut because I personally find pining over drawn pictures weird. But guess what? It’s none of my business to. Because it doesn’t concern me what you like. So what if I find that weird? Who cares. I see something I don’t like, I scroll past and I block. It’s that simple. Actively finding ways to engage in something I don’t like is more of a waste of energy if I simply did nothing and scrolled past.
You’re young. You probably haven’t been in the fandom space as long as a lot of us have. Everyone uses the fandom space as a safe space to take their minds off of what’s happening outside. Don’t judge someone for what they like when you don’t know their story. I say this to you as someone who also doesn’t care for that kind of content. But guess what I’ve done? Block, scrolled past, and minded my business and curated my tumblr dash with things I like. It’s that simple.
My suggestion to you would be to learn fandom etiquette. What you click on, interact with, and read is your responsibility, not the authors.
I know a lot of that, but I also personally didn't know you could block tags on Tumblr cause while it's not my intention to shame others I just think that certain topics need to be places where they can be filtered out like ao3. Now that I know that you can filter on Tumblr, which I didn't know you could do before, I'm fine with it. Also I'm sorry if I did shame anyone I'm aware that shaming other goes against fandom etiquette but at the same time topics like zoophilia, pedophillia, and incest kinda freak me out. And it appears I let that freaked out part of me speak out and negatively affect others I apologize. Oh and my original comment was just about keeping it to ao3 but now I know you can filter on Tumblr so wtv. Idrc anymore and the original poster can and needs to chill out. I also think how to filter things should be brought up more cause I've been on Tumblr for like 4+ years and I had no clue you could do that.
you can still block the tags, you won’t see it. no one has to censor their art just because you’re a pussy
Okay one I didn't know you could block on tumbler, two I'm most definitely not a pussy for seeing sibling x sibling stuff and thinking it's gross like I'm sorry but personally I can deal with noncon it's just with incest were I get a little grossed out. Also I just tried to find the tag so I could pick it and it's not letting me find it
Pairing: Soldat!Bucky/Bucky x Reader
Word count: 6.4k
Warnings: PTSD, memory loss/memory retrieval, Bucky coming to terms with what the Soldat did, forced proximity, takes place after the events of CATWS, SMUT (dry humping, f oral, p in v, m masturbation), yearning, creampie, scent kink.
Summary: After the events of the causeway in D.C., you find the Asset— sorry, Bucky on his way out of the Smithsonian. Will he come with you to the safe house?
+fran: I'm cutting myself off after this! No more prolonging this story (watch me bite my tongue and have something to write after this lmao. dividers by @/enchanthings
can be read alone, part 1 here and 2 here
Bucky.
His name was Bucky.
The museum lighting was too bright, too clean, reflecting off the glass in front of him like it was trying to show him a stranger. The man in the picture looked young. Confident. Grinning with the kind of careless charm that came from believing the world would keep turning the way it always had.
Well, it was James, but he went by Bucky. At least that's what the Smithsonian exhibit said. And the fragmented, barely-there memories that came back after beating Steve into a pulp.
Steve.
Captain America.
He remembered his metal fist coming down again and again, splitting Steve's skin against the shiny knuckles until his lip was bloody and he had purple blooming around his eye. Before he realized who he was in a fractured memory, he remembered wanting to make it hurt.
Wanting to make it hurt because—
“I was in the middle of getting myself off.”
After hearing Steve knock, he watched you shuffle to the door trying to put clothes on, trying to pretend you weren't leaking with him still.
As he hid in the doorway of your closet, in the dark trying to tuck himself back together, he heard your voice trail off, and bit back a growl in distaste. He didn't like Steve knowing you that intimately. “Like. Fully committed. Lights low. Door locked. Very enthusiastic.”
He heard the silence and then Steve's voice. “Oh.” A few other murmured words, and he heard you again.
Cleary, this time. “You don’t want to supervise?” The thought of Steve touching you like that in any way, shape, or form, made him want to snap his neck like a twig.
You.
Steve's shadow and neighbor. Steve's friend.
He remembered your scent first. The strongest sense tied to memory. Peonies and musk and vanilla bypassed his thalamus and landed straight into his hippocampus and amygdala, burrowing deep there.
As he walked the halls of the exhibit, more and more pieces came back, slow and disjointed, like shards of painted glass scattered across the floor of his mind.
He passed the stand of pictures of him and Steve, the Howling Commandos, and what seemed to be his own fucking funeral. Bits and pieces battled for space in his brain he didn't have yet, giving way to a pounding sensation on the inside of his skull, sudden enough it made his vision blur for a few seconds.
Like some version of him was trying to break out.
His hand came up instinctively, fingers pressing against his temple as the museum hallway tilted slightly beneath his feet.
The exhibit around him blurred into color and glass and distant voices as another memory tried to surface, clawing its way up through the conditioning Hydra had hammered into his skull.
He staggered sideways, gripping the edge of a display case to steady himself. The metal fingers of his prosthetic curled against the glass with a faint screech that made a nearby tourist glance over.
Bucky pushed away immediately.
The air inside the museum suddenly felt wrong — too clean, too loud, too full of ghosts trying to claw their way back into his head.
He turned sharply and walked toward the side corridor he’d noticed earlier when he came in. A service hallway.
His footsteps echoed off concrete instead of polished marble now, each step sending another dull pulse through his skull. The headache hadn’t eased — if anything, it throbbed harder the farther he moved from the exhibit.
Like his mind was angry at him for walking away before the picture was finished.
He pushed the door under the glowing red "EXIT" sign, and as soon as the sun hit him, the overhead of the exhibit faded away and the busy noise of D.C. filled his ears, he could feel oxygen in his lungs again.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
As he breathed deep, he noticed an unmarked black car parked there. All tinted windows.
Bucky's heart raced again and his body tensed automatically. Predator instincts snapping into place before conscious thought could catch up.
Did they find me? Already?
His brain was going a million miles a minute and overheating.
He looked around, planning a getaway, looking for traps, snipers, and before he could get much further than that, the door opened, and out of the car you stepped.
He didn't recognize you, per se. But his body somehow… knew.
There was a manila envelope tucked under one arm, thick with papers and creased from being held too tightly. Your clothes were practical — thick, dark leggings, what looked like running shoes, a jacket zipped halfway up over a hoodie, and sunglasses.
Sunglasses that did nothing to hide the purple blooming on the apple of your cheek.
His fingers flexed as his stomach twisted at the sight, a little part of him knowing that was probably his doing. A small, ugly thought flickered through his mind.
You stopped a few feet from the car, studying him like you’d been doing it for a long time already.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You could see the tension in his body, the uncertainty and distrust flashing in his eyes.
When he spoke, his voice came out rough, shaking at the beginning of the sentence, from not being used. "Who did that to you?"
The question seemed to surprise him almost as much as it did you.
He studied you for another second, like he was trying to fit you into the fractured spaces in his mind.
“That,” you said quietly, “is a long story.” You walked to the other side of the car, opened the passenger door and threw the envelope on the seat, tuning back to him. "You coming?"
Washington faded in the rearview mirror in slow increments — traffic thinning, buildings lowering, glass and steel turning into brick and then eventually trees. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windshield in long, warm streaks that flickered across the dashboard as the road curved deeper into Virginia.
Bucky.
It felt so weird he had a name now.
You wondered exactly how much he remembered. You read the files as you gathered them before it all went to shit, you knew whatever twisted version you had of him, it wasn't the same one Steve tried to save.
Bucky didn’t speak much.
He sat angled slightly toward the window, one arm resting loosely on the door, metal fingers flexing every so often like they had their own restless thoughts. His eyes moved constantly — mirrors, tree lines, passing cars.
You kept the drive steady, hands loose on the wheel, like this was just another quiet afternoon road trip instead of the first time you’d seen him since the causeway.
Eventually the paved highway gave way to a narrow two-lane road, then a gravel path that wound through thick woods. Tall trees leaned overhead, their branches forming a natural tunnel that swallowed the last hints of civilization behind you.
The cabin sat tucked beside a wide, slow river that caught the sunlight like glass. It wasn’t large, but it was well kept — simple wood siding, a small wraparound porch, wide windows facing the water.
You parked the car near the edge of the clearing and turned the engine off.
For a moment neither of you moved.
The sudden silence of the woods settled around the car — water moving gently over rocks, leaves rustling in a breeze that smelled like pine and river mist.
Bucky’s eyes swept the property. He narrowed his gaze at the lack of findings. His jaw tightened, “Too clean,” he muttered under his breath.
You snorted. “Yeah, well,” you said as you opened your door and stepped out onto the gravel, “I vacuum.”
His boots crunched lightly against the gravel when he got out of the car, as he stood beside the door, scanning the cabin again with the same sharp caution he’d had since the alley behind the museum.
As you walked to the trunk to get your duffel bags, one of your belongings and the other of food, you decided you'd be the chatty one. As it's always been.
You lifted a hand, gesturing vaguely toward the surrounding forest.
“Off grid. No utilities tied to my name. No property record in any government database worth a damn. Bought it under three shell companies and a retired fisherman in Montana who thinks he owns a lake house he’s never seen.”
“Hydra doesn’t know it exists.” You tilted your head slightly. “And neither does SHIELD. That part made his eyes narrow a fraction. You pushed the trunk closed and started toward the cabin steps. “Just me.”
As he followed you in, his eyes took inventory of the inside of the cabin. Warm air spilled out — wood smoke, clean linen, something faintly herbal from the kitchen.
Simple furniture. Neat. A couch near the fireplace. A small table at the center, over a rug. A bookshelf. A kitchen tucked into the back corner with the smallest kitchen island known to man.
"Bathroom's that way," you nodded your head to your left, dropping the duffel bags in the kitchen by the cabinets. "Bedroom's the door before."
No surveillance. No technology. Just quiet.
You put refrigerated things in the small fridge by the kitchen corner, and grabbed the duffel bag, handing it to him. "I figured you and Steve were the same size." He looked at you puzzled. "Got a few changed of clothes for you, washed away all his star splangled piousness."
Bucky didn't say anything, just stared at you like he was trying to grasp at a thread in his brain that kept slipping away.
You looked back at him, and nervously chuckled. "Okay, tough crowd."
Bucky’s gaze drifted back toward the table. Toward the envelope. It sat there like it had weight far heavier than paper should.
You followed his line of sight. “Yeah,” you said after a beat, pushing away from the counter. “That.” You fidgeted with the corners of the envelope. “It’s everything I could find.”
He tilted his head, as if spurring you on to keep talking. You stepped back again, folding your arms loosely.
“On Bucky,” you continued. A small pause. “On the Winter Soldier.” Another pause. “On whoever the hell you decide you are when you’re done reading it.”
“HYDRA records. SHIELD files. Soviet archives. Mission logs.” Your mouth tilted faintly. “Some things even Natasha doesn’t know exist.”
The cabin creaked softly as the wind moved through the trees outside.
It took Bucky two full days to feel some semblance that his body belonged to him again. He didn't feel underwater — at least not fully — anymore.
The envelope stayed unopened.
It sat on the small table near the couch like a quiet third presence in the room, its corners curling slightly from the humidity drifting in through the cracked windows. Every so often Bucky’s eyes would land on it, linger for a moment, and then move away again.
Instead, he watched you.
Not in the way he used to — not from rooftops with the cold focus of a rifle scope — but with a quiet, almost instinctive attention. Like his body had decided something before his mind could catch up.
He followed you without realizing he was doing it.
When you moved around the small kitchen in the morning, he drifted closer under the pretense of getting water. When you stepped outside to the porch with a mug of coffee, he appeared a minute later, leaning against the railing like the river had been calling him there all along.
Sometimes he didn’t even seem aware of it.
You’d turn around and find him standing in the doorway watching you chop vegetables, or sitting on the edge of the couch while you flipped through one of the battered paperbacks on the shelf.
Whatever pieces of Bucky Barnes were trying to claw their way back had nothing stable to attach to yet.
Except you.
Which was… complicated.
You were standing by the kitchen counter when you finally said it.
“I’ve gotta head out tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving.” Not a question.
You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting the cap off with one hand. “Couple days,” you said casually. “Maybe three.”
His shoulders squared slightly, tension threading through the relaxed posture he’d had moments earlier. “For what?”
You took a sip before answering. “Gotta check on a couple people.” His eyes narrowed a fraction.
“Steve.” You gave a small nod.
“And Nat.” The reaction was tiny. So small most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it.
“Why?”
You shrugged one shoulder. “Because they’re probably looking for both of us.” Another pause. “And because they’re my friends.”
That word hung in the air longer than the rest.
Bucky stood in the doorway for a long time after the sound of the car disappeared, staring out at the quiet river like he was waiting for something to change.
Eventually, he turned back inside, sitting at the table, staring at the envelope like it might catch fire if he didn't.
He decided that was as good time as any.
Minutes passed, then hours. Probably more.
The files inside were organized by date, the only sort of thread he could actually follow. The beginning painted a picture he could barely remember. You even managed to find things that only someone who went digging for his little sister's diary could find, anecdotes of the type of childhood he could imagine he had, pictures of his childhood, his sisters, his parents.
Then it got… darker.
The experiment in Azzano, the rescue, his missions with Steve, all the way to his fall of the train. How he survived hypothermia, the operative report when they attached his arm. The first real wiping session.
HYDRA mission reports.
Redacted SHIELD intel that you somehow got unredacted.
Bucky read the words on the paper, old and new, until his eyes ached. The pounding headache came back, too many versions of himself stacked on top of each other, and he decided it was enough for the night.
He looked through the bookcase, finding stacks of crossword puzzles, sudoku, a deck of cards, all on the second drawer below the books and board games.
The New York Times wednesday crossword was the lucky one he picked. He laid on the couch with the newspaper in front of him, and by the end, there was only one clue that had him, well, puzzled.
Ooh, la, la!
What the fuck kind of clue was that?
Four letters.
He tilted his head one side, then the other, trying to crack his neck, and when he stretched, he buried his face in the cushion.
It was peonies, and soft musk, and vanilla. It was your sweatshirt that you left over the arm of the couch.
Before realization hit, a flash went by behind his eyelids, sending his heart straight to the pit of his stomach.
"Please, you don't have to do this, please, don't!— ah!" It was your voice, distant, far away, but there. Yours. "No! Stop! I- mmmnnghhh!"
He heard himself then. "You can tell me, it'll be our little secret." A rush of heat trickling down his stomach like lava. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
Bucky opened his eyes and sucked in a breath like he had just come out from underwater, scared of his own mind.
He had a blurred visual of what accompaied the words, was that a memory? Was it a dream? Were those his intentions with you? Were you safe with him in this remote cabin?
His thoughts raced with speed one would get a felony charge for, and he looked around to see if he was still alone. He shuffled away from the sweatshirt like it was covered in cactus spines.
His hands dragged over his face, and he decided the coldest shower the safehouse could provide would fix whatever was wrong with his mind. “You’re fine,” he muttered to himself.
He walked to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror for longer than he'd like to admit, trying to find pieces of the James Barnes he read about.
The shower didn't do much, but it did enough to soothe the tense muscles in his back and ease the throbbing ache in his skull. The instant ramen he made settled okay in his stomach. He settled on the old creaky bed and stared at the ceiling like it held all the answers to his questions until his eyes drifted closed.
The chair was cold. Metal against his spine. His wrists locked down tight enough that he can feel his pulse fighting against the restraints. The room smells like antiseptic and something burned—wires, maybe, or skin. It’s dark and smells musty. Too old.
He can't move his head.
He heard the whirring of the wiping machine, heard his own teeth grind together, and then dull footsteps walking in circles around him like a shark circling wounded prey.
He felt flashes of memory crumbling down like weak concrete.
And the voice spoke again.
"Soldat?"
He heard his voice with so little emotion it didn't even feel like him. "Ya gotov otvechat'."
And before he could remember what orders he was given, the nightmare changed.
"I'll be good! I'll comply!" Suddenly he wasn't in a HYDRA base that smelled of rust and old water, no. He was somewhere much softer, much better taken care of, much more pleasant to be in.
You.
He saw himself blurred, almost like he was watching it happen but feeling it all the same, heard himself coax agreement out of you, and heard your voice, broken and wet and needy, say the words. "Ya gotov otvechat'."
Bucky woke up in a cold sweat, breathing like he just choked while running a marathon.
The room was dark, a bedside table clock telling him it was barely past 2am, and when he looked down he groaned in shame at the sight of the tent he was pitching in his pants, aching and leaking enough to wet a spot on the front of his pants.
He decided to toss. And turn. And toss again, trying to go back to sleep.
He threw the covers off of him, walking to the kitchen and side eyeing the sweatshirt tossed on the couch like it might lunge at him. Tried to mush down the heat in the back of his throat with a glass of water, which proved unsuccessful.
He laid back in bed, covers over his legs and waist, and closed his eyes, wishing, hoping, praying he'd drift away into anywhere his shitty ability to maladaptive daydream would take him.
Which was right back to you.
The synapses in his brain just wouldn't stop.
"You didn't show up for days." Your voice was distant, like a weird doppler effect was happening. You sounded sad, like you felt forgotten about.
It kept coming to him in flashes, “You disappear,” you said, ticking it off on your fingers. “You come back. You act like nothing happened. Rinse. Repeat.” This time he could almost feel the supple skin of your cheeks under the pads of his fingers.
His hand twitched on the pillow above his head, and he sighed deeply. Each inch his hand moved lower, the clearer the picture got.
When it tickled the skin on his stomach, he got a flash of you looking up at him.
You sucked the digit into your mouth, metallic tang on your tastebuds, as you tugged fabric down just enough so his cock would spring free. Thick, hard, mouth-wateringly big. "Missed my cock that much, mmm, pretty girl?"
Bucky whined, hand going lower over the sweats and palming himself through it.
He slotted himself between your open thighs and rubbed his length up and down the wetness dripping from you, making you moan at the feeling, "Please…"
He felt dirty, and like he was doing something he shouldn't. But no one would know. He was alone for miles and miles, and you were gone checking on your precious Steve.
He palmed himself harder and sucked in a harsh breath through his nose, his hand coming up slightly to go under the sweats and grip himself, his body jolting at the feeling of skin against skin.
"Let your pretty girl see you…" Another strangled whine left his lips, like it hurt. Like it hurt to feel what he was feeling and be confused as to why, have no outlet for such emotion, not know what to do with the memories.
You lifted you hips and sank back down slowly, little gasps and moans you tried not to let out, coming out anyway.
“I don’t like it when you’re gone.” The words came out muffled against his hand, his thumb tracing your lip again.
The moan that escaped his lips when he stroked himself at first was broken, like it knocked the wind out of him. He didn't mean to let it out but the imagery got clearer with each movement.
"Mne ne khochetsya tebya pokidat'." I don't like leaving you.
He stroked again, each slick sound from him fucking his fist reminding him of how you sounded fucking yourself open onto him.
"Ya ne khochu, chtoby ty ischezla." I don't want you to disappear.
It hurt. It felt good. Tears rimmed his eyes in confusion and overstimulation of all his emotions hitting him at once. The more the knot in his core tightened at the thought of you, the less oxygen he felt existed.
He stroked, up and down, swiping his thumb across the leaking tip of him, eyes shut tightly trying to remember the feel of your spongy walls wrapping around him, then clenching.
He moaned your name and stroked faster, a flash of memory showing him how you begged him to let you be on top, metal hand glinting around your throat.
He squeezed his hand around himself, and as soon as the image of you biting your lower lip and begging him to cum through teary eyes popped in his head, he was done for.
Like releasing a spring that was coiled too tight, the relief was immediate, making a shudder run through his body as hot spurts of cum painted his stomach and some of the sheets around him.
The next time it happened, it was the wine.
You had gotten back already, and he was looking for something to drink in the fridge, though maybe a bottle of water and a flavor packet that you called Liquid I.V. would be nice, when he saw the bottle out of the corner of his eye.
The label seemed familiar, familiar enough for a flash of a syringe and a needle to pass by his mind, no other context or explanation.
When he took the half-sticking-out cork out, the smell of it flooded his nostrils, and another flash appeared.
Your kiss.
It was messy, urgent, nothing like the soft kiss he remembered before. This one he could almost taste, wine, lip balm, and, well, what he imagined you tasted like.
Your eyes squeezed shut at the eerily familiar feel of his lips on you, kissing you open as he held your thighs apart. “Oh, God—“
He licked, and sucked, and bit like the solace for his miserable existence could only be found in the oasis between your legs. Squelching was loud in the room already and it only got worse when he put two fingers inside of you.
"S'tight, baby."
He groaned in annoyance, his body responding to the memory faster than he could tell his own brain to repress it.
He took a deep breath, then two, and when it became clear his dick was winning this one, he turned on the balls of his feet and bee lined for the bedroom, hoping to be done before you got out of the shower.
He paused, however, by the couch. Looking at your sweatshirt, then the door, then the sweatshirt again, until he decided to stop fucking thinking and just grabbed it.
This time, he did it with the fabric close to his face, where he could turn around and bury his face in it, feel how soft it was and imagine it was the skin between your breasts, imagine your sweet little whimpers in his ear, your hands tangled in his hair tugging it as he grazed the skin with his teeth.
"If you keep being good maybe I'll give you my cum. Mm? You'd like that wouldn't you?"
"No, I'm not on— please—"
He built rhythm easier this time, the images weren't fractured glass as much as they were reflections off of a river stream now, flowing and fleeting.
"Feels... so- oh! Good! Good.. So full."
There wasn't a headache anymore, just a throbbing need behind his ribs and low in his spine, shame and want blended so well together he didn't know which was which.
"Please, don't stop."
His hand stroked faster, up and down his shaft, until it was weeping with need, precum coating his entire fist. Your voice in his head kept echoing, closer, and closer, bringing him to the edge of a precipice he had all intentions of falling from.
"Too much." You tried to squirm away, but his grip was too strong.
"Never too much, baby."
He bit his own fist as he spilled onto his hand, trying to muffle any sounds coming out of his mouth, but it wasn't much avail. Blood rushing in his ears, he didn't hear you turn off the shower, or open the bathroom door.
You'd recognize his moans in any environment though.
The timbre of his voice when he was close, almost choking on his own groans trying to keep quiet, not knowing you were outside the door listening to it, unaware he was thinking of you.
The cards were worn.
Soft at the edges, corners bent from too many hands, too many games that were meant to pass time instead of… whatever this was.
"Ha! That's four," You said, scooping the pair of cards from the coffee table and onto your pile. "Are you even trying? Your memory cannot be that bad."
The rain sounded heavy outside, thick drops of water crashing down on the roof, the wind making them thud against the window in harsh pitter-patter patterns that comforted the loneliest souls.
He sat across from you, elbows resting on his knees, one hand resting on his chin and the other hanging from his lap, the deep crease between his brows making an appearance. His gaze wasn’t on the cards.
You raised a brow, taking your glass of wine in your hand to take a sip. "Do I have something on my face?"
"You smelled like vanilla."
It was out of context, almost like he was just thinking out loud and not exactly planning on filling you in on what the conversation was in the first place.
You raised your forearm to your nose, smelling the skin on your wrist, and furrowed your own brows, a chuckle escaping you. "It's the moisturizer, Bucky, I can—"
"And after it was peonies."
Oh?
Oh.
He… remembers.
"I remembered those nights." Your blood ran cold, you could see his throat bob like he was swallowing words too thick for his tongue. "I remember—" He shut his eyes, both trying to recall and erase the memory of the very first night you were together.
"Bucky—" You sat up on your knees, making the motion to get a couple inches closer to him, and he moved away the same distance.
"You cried— fuck— you begged me to stop and I just—" His hands were up in the air, as if keeping space between you would make whatever he did to you less worse.
"Bucky, please—"
"Why are you kind to me?" His question was almost demanding. Scolding. "After everything I did to you?" His eyes looked into yours, searching your face for answers to a question he didn't have the words to ask. "After I r—"
"Because I liked it." You blurted out. "A deep, twisted, dark part of me wouldn't let the rest of me hate you for it." You sighed, Bucky tilting his head as if nudging you to elaborate.
You looked everywhere but him, fidgeting with your hands on your lap. "I didn't even last that first night before I… felt things I couldn't name." You picked at the fabric of your pants. "I woke up the next morning feeling hollow that you left. Every night after that I waited for you to come back."
"Why would y—"
"I don't know." You interrupted him, looking into his eyes. "I can't explain why, but every night you didn't come I felt like jumping off of the tallest building I could find." You looked away again, chuckling at how idiotic you thought you sounded.
"I sound stupid."
You pulled away to get up and walk away, getting as far as having to step over him to find somewhere to bury your shame.
Bucky wouldn't let you, though. His hand reached up as you were walking over him, pulling you down.
Your knees hit the rug on each side of him with a soft thud, his hands cradling your face and looking for any sign of protest.
He didn't find any. Would never find any. Not from you.
You looked into his eyes, watching him watch you, and leaned in, kissing his lips softly.
So softly he'd have thought it was a dream.
Your lips moved together as if it was the first kidd you'd shared. And technically, it was, no matter how much muscle memory he had of the Asset and you.
He deepened the kiss and your hips twiched as his hands fell to rest at your side, grinding yourself onto his pelvis, making him groan into your mouth.
Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling it lightly and sighing into him. "I missed you." You breathed against his mouth before he pulled away to kiss down your neck. "Missed you so much I wanted to—"
"M'here." Muffled against your collarbone, hands going under the hem of your ribbed tank top, gripping your waist with a little more want. He reached up to tug the collar of the shirt to the side, giving him more space to lap and kiss at your clevage.
Your hands found the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, his arms extending upwards to help you take it off for him.
You touched the scars on his shoulder, and he watched you carefully. The sliver of humanity you saw in the Asset the first night he left you undress him coming out now, in full unadultered awe.
Your lips kissed each old divot of skin, eyes closing at the memory as your hips ground deeper into him, until you felt his hard length straining against his jeans, the seam of it catching just right into your that you felt a zing straight to your clit.
His hands travelled up your shirt, bringing the fabric up with them, until it was your turn to let him undress you, hair falling behind your back and over one shoulder.
He looked at you like a man seeing the sun for the first time.
His pupils were blown with desire and adrenaline flowing through his veins, mouth coming to claim yours in a kiss again.
A big hand splayed against your back, his hips tilting so he could lay you down on the rug, your hair fanning out around you as he kissed down your jaw, your neck, your sternum.
His hand came to rest around your ribs, thumb dangerously close to the underside if your breast, and then daring to flick the hardened nipple there.
"Buck—"
He sighed against your skin as he kissed the skin of your torso lower and lower, kissing down the skin of your stomach, "You don't know what it does to me hearing you say my name like this."
He kissed lower and butterflies bloomed in your stomach when his lips brushed the hem of your shorts, eyes flicking up to yours as if asking for permission, or wanting you to beg, he wasn't sure.
He just wanted to hear the sound of your voice for the rest of his life.
His fingers hooked into the shorts and pulled them down your legs along with your panties, tossing them over the couch.
Calloused palms rubbed up your legs, squeezing when he got to the top of your thighs, and you sighed as you let them fall open so he could settle his broad chest between your legs.
He inhaled deeply when he got to be eye level with your core, memories floosing every groove of his brain.
His tongue licked a long, flat strip up your core and your breath caught in a moan. "Missed your scent." He kissed your clit. "Missed your taste." He groaned. "Without even knowing I was missing it."
He devoured you like a man starved.
Like he'd forget you all over again if he stopped lapping at your cunt for even a second.
And the thought of forgetting your face, your sounds, your smell, your taste, the thought of forgetting you was more painful than anything he had endured.
Bucky alternated between long, deep licks up your core, and quick flicks of his tongue around your clit before sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth, while his fingers played with your nipples.
The feel of your thighs squeezing around his head every time you did that was more comforting than any soothing mechanism he'd ever tried.
His hands pushed your legs open once again, wider, so he could lean down and thrust his tongue in and out of your drooling pussy, making you whine and buck your hips into his face.
The temperature of the cabin suddenly was a hundred degrees hotter, a sheen coat of sweat over your bare body making you glisten against the firelight.
Your hands in his hair tugged, until his glistening face was flush with yours in a hungry kiss that had you tasting yourself.
Deft, manicured fingers worked on the buttons and zipper of his jeans, shoving them down awkwardly as your legs were wrapped around his waist, his cock springing free between the two of you.
You gasped against his lips when it landed against your folds in a wet slap, leaking precum over your stomach, the patch glistening.
God, you missed him.
His right hand reached for the length of him, lazily rubbing the tip between your folds, collecting slick, and then pumping it slowly to spread it.
He did that torturously slow, almost as if he was giving you time to back out. Decide you were right in the head and wanted nothing to do with him, actually.
But instead you waited until his tip was notched by your entrance, and pulled him forward with your legs. his forarms bracing against the floow beside your head as his length impaled you on him, stretching you impossibly wide around his cock to the hilt.
The familiar sting made a loud, lewd moan escape your lips and stumble straight into his mouth, his lips open hovering over yours.
His metal hand cradled the top of your head, eyes locking with yours and noticing tears rim your waterline.
Panic set in his gut mixing with the heat licking up his ribs, and you noticed the way his body stiffened. "I'm okay." You nodded. "Just—" The words getting caught in your throat as his flesh thumb traced your bottom lip. "Missed you. Need you."
You hand gave his ass cheek a firm squeeze, his eyes narrowing at you as his flesh hand reached to hike your ankle up around his waist higher, and he gave the first tentative thrust, eyes locked with yours.
He pulled out more, and pushed his hips forward again, hitting the sweet spot inside of you that only he could reach. He leaned down, continuing his movements, and kissed down your chest, pulling a nipple into his mouth, swiling his tongue around it.
The wet noises coming from where your bodies joined were louder than the rain outside now. Your moans getting gradually more high pitched and his groans getting deeper and deeper, as if it hurt to have you like this again.
"You feel—" a particularly harsh thrust interrupted you. "oh my God! You feel so good, Bucky, please—"
"Dreamt of you—" Another groan. "Dreamt of you every day."
All of his sentences were punctuated by thrusts, the thick drag of his cock inside of you making your skin feel like it was on fire, sweat from you both dripping down onto the rug.
"Fuck, Bucky—"
"Thought you were in my head." He confessed. "Until I smelled you again— fuck— on the Causeway—" Harsher thrusts, like he was losing himself in the feel of your cunt strangling him. "Knew you had to be real then." And then a needy, higher pitched moan from him. "Knew it had to be you."
You cupped your hands one each side of his face, making him let go of whatever patch of skin he was sucking on, a purple mark being left behind, and made him look at you.
Blue eyes lost is a black pool of lust and need and want.
"Don't leave me." You pleaded, as he started thrusting hard enough to slap his pelvis against your clit with each thrust. "Please, don't ever leave me again."
He kissed your palm. "Not gonna." Muffled against your hand. "Never gonna let you go."
He strained his neck to capture your lips in a kiss again, feeling your gummy walls spasm around his length, pulsing like you wanted him to fill you up as your orgasm crashed over you and drowned you in him.
"G'nna, cu-um…" His hips stuttered. "Need t— fuck—" You nodded against him, locking your legs behind his back, making him groan at the thought that you couldn't bear him gone as much as he couldn't bear to be away.
A symphony of passionate moans from you at the overstimulation of not even being over one orgasm and already feeling the coil in your stomach tighten again threw Bucky over the edge.
Hot, thick ropes of cum filled you, your eyes rolled back at the feeling of it, so much that it dripped out of you.
He slowly stopped his movements, brushing your hair away from your face, kissing everywhere in your flushed chest and cheeks as he came down from his high.
You tilted his head towards you again. "No more running."
"No more running." He agreed, kissing your palm in earnest.
me writing that smut scene with wet eyes and a wet pussy
as always TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK PLEAK!!!!!
Current Note: They're almost all ready just a couple left. Yes I want to post them all at once…it's been nearly two weeks and still..I'm writing. BTW MY EXAM WEEK!!
pairings & cw: k. bakugou x high-maintenance reader, f!reader, prohero timeskip, reader is a liiiitle ditsy, language, established relationship, diva alert
synopsis: so what you're a little bitchy, and maybe you don't think very hard, and maybee you need him to do everything for you...oh yeah you're a princess. its his fault though, and he loves it over here
wc: 3.6k
"baby."
you yelled from the bathroom counter, legs crisscross applesauce as you touched up your mascara, your silk robe sliding off one shoulder.
no response.
"babyyy." you drawled out, a bit louder this time, still fully focused on your own reflection.
you tore your gaze away from the mirror looking to your left at the doorway, nothing. the audacity. your cheeks puffed out as you sighed and got ready to yell again.
"KATSU—"
"what the hell woman?!" his voice raised as he whips around the doorframe, brows furrowed.
you instantly smile upon seeing him, turning back towards the mirror and finishing up your makeup. "baby i think the lighting in here is ugly. we need the warm lights, these are giving hospital. and you know how i feel about white light."
he pinches the bridge of his nose and observes you through the mirror. "you called me in here, no, screamed for me to come in here about the fuckin' lights?"
you stopped applying your powder to look at him inquisitively, your brow raised as if the answer was obvious.
"uh duh. it's making me look ugly, i almost took all of my makeup off and went back to bed."
he leaned against the doorframe fascinated. not just because there was a beautiful hot mess of a woman sitting on his counter, but also by the shit that comes out of your mouth before nine in the morning.
god—he wouldn't have it any other way.
"yes princess i'll fix it for ya tomorrow." he walked behind you and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, looking down at the watch on his wrist. "you have fifteen minutes. pick it up."
you turned toward him with wide eyes, holding your arms out so he could put you back down on the ground. "but i need my coffee first!"
katsuki chuckled as he placed you on your feet, walking away without another word before coming back with a delicious looking iced coffee in his hand.
"i was midway through making the damn thing when you started screaming."
you took it and scanned it, your eyes flicking between him and the cup.
"did you put sugar in it?"
"yeah."
"enough?"
"jesus christ."
you tap your foot looking up at him. "that wasn't an answer."
he squints at you, annoyed in the way only he can be when he's secretly entertained. "yes, brat. enough."
you consider him carefully, like a queen deciding whether or not a knight is worth sparing.
then: "okay."
you happily sip the coffee as you walk past him into your “shared” (because 90% of it was your clothes, shoes, and bags) walk-in closet rummaging through clothes with one hand and drink in the other. your mouth literally never leaving the straw. he watches from the bed, the tiny domestic performance of it was so stupidly dear to him that he'd rather die than say it out loud.
thats the thing.
everyone else thinks he's patient with you. as if he's suffering nobly. as if loving you is some kind of endurance sport.
they don't get it.
they don't understand that katsuki likes this. loves it, actually.
loves the sound of your voice when it gets whiny and put-upon. loves the way you drift around his space like it was built for you. loves that you complain to him with absolute confidence that he’ll either fix it, replace it, or tell you to quit bitching and then fix it anyway.
he likes that you only act this way because you know, down to your bones, that he can hold it.
that he won't embarrass you for wanting.
that he won't make you feel stupid for liking pretty things, expensive things, soft things. that he won't call you too much when he is, in fact, the one who made you this way.
oh he spoiled you rotten. toothache rotten. that part is entirely his fault.
you used to reach for the cheaper option out of habit, used to say no too quickly, used to look at price tags before you looked at whether you even liked something.
not anymore.
now, if you pause in front of a shop window even a second too long, katsuki notices.
if you say, "its cute, but—" he's already opening the door.
if you mention it, in passing, that you've run low on the serum you like, it appears in the bathroom the next day in doubles.
he got mean about it, weirdly. not mean mean, but katsuki mean.
the first time he found out you'd been rationing the stupidly expensive perfume he bought you for your birthday because you "didn't want to use it up too fast," he stared at you so hard you nearly laughed.
then he took the bottle from your hand, put it back on the vanity, opened something on his phone right in front of you, and bought three more.
you blinked at him from your spot on the bed. "thats excessive."
he hadn't even looked up. "no its fuckin' not."
"i don't need four bottles of perfume."
"then use it more."
"katsuki."
he'd finally lifted his eyes, sharp and flat and impossible to argue with. "i bought it because i like it on you, stop acting like you're gonna get in trouble for enjoying your own shit."
and of course, because he was an insufferable asshole incapable of letting a moment sit without making it a little hostile, he added, "you're spoiled. try acting like it."
so yes—this is his fault.
every silk pillowcase, every hair appointment, every shopping bag, and "baby, can you carry this?" and "katsuki, i don't like the towels here," and also "can we leave, i hate the vibe."
his fault. not that he'd change a fucking thing.
you placed your coffee on the little island in your closet, holding up two pairs of heels and turning toward him.
"versace or dior today?" puffing up one of your cheeks as you wiggled the two options in your hands. an extremely hard decision actually.
he rolled his eyes before getting up from the bed and making his way toward you, shaking his head as he walked.
"remember the last time you wore the versace? you lasted twenty minutes and i had to carry you. the dior is more casual, good for the breakfast, which i'll remind you we need to be at soon."
you nodded in agreement as you put the other heels back, slipping off your robe and stepping into the short white dress that you had picked out all by yourself. you looked up at him as you slid into your heels.
"you're so smart baby, what would i do without you?"
he shot an amused look before kissing your forehead and walking out, "you still have those clips in your hair by the way."
he especially loves it when you text him a million updates on your day while he's working.
you: my nail appointment ran long and now im starveddddd
you: the place downstairs put pickles on my sandwich. they know i hate pickles. this feels targeted.
you: can you come home with those like little fruit tarts from that bakery i like?
you: omg not the big ones btw. the little ones. the big ones are ugly.
he likes reading them in the backseat of a car on the way to interviews, sporting a fresh bruise on his jaw, feeling the way his whole face goes weirdly soft before having to physically control it so no one notices.
suki: eat something real first
suki: i'll handle the sandwich place
suki: yeah
he loves that you call him immediately after and say, "why did you sound so mean in your texts? are you being sassy with me?"
"you text like a menace. im at work."
"you can still be sweeter."
"you're alive and fed and wearin' shit i bought ya. thats sweetness."
your cute little sigh through the phone warms his heart so much. "barely."
"you're annoyin'."
"you adore me."
a pause. a little hush. like the whole world knows better than to interrupt.
then he says, every single time, with no hesitation at all, "yeah."
he doesn't think you're a brat when you complain, he just thinks you're honest. saying the things that everyone else swallows. some call it no filter, no social cues, or even blunt.
katsuki likes the directness of it. likes that with you, there's no passive-aggressive little games, no pretending nothing's wrong until it curdles into resentment.
if you're upset, he knows.
if you want something, he knows.
if someone's pissed you off, oh he definitely fucking knows. just like tonight.
all it took was once glance at you the second he walked into the restaurant, spotting you already seated at the table with his friends. you're gorgeous, obviously. you're always gorgeous. tonight its in a slinky little dress that probably cost more than most people's rent, hair glossy, jewelry delicate, makeup perfect. oh but your expression is flat in a way that tells him you're two minor inconveniences away from homicide.
kirishima sees him first. "bro!"
"hey," kaminari says, grinning. "your girl's been bullying the waiter."
"i have not," you say, before katsuki even reaches the table. "i corrected him. there's a difference."
"you made him bring back three wine glasses," mina says, a little too delighted.
"because they were spotty," you reply. "am i supposed to drink expensive wine out of a fogged-up glass like i've lost all self respect?"
katsuki pulls out your chair a little and leans down to kiss the side of your head before he sits. "you eat yet?"
your whole face changes when you look at him, not necessarily softer. you never became some watered down version of yourself around him. more like the tension in you finds the exact place its allowed to land.
"no." you say. "i was waiting."
his hand settles over the back of your neck for a second, thumb brushing the skin there. "good."
across the table, sero makes a face. "that was weirdly hot."
"shut the hell up," katsuki barks, but his attention is already back on you. "what happened?"
you exhale dramatically. "everything."
"specifics, baby."
"the hostess tried to seat us by the kitchen. the menus were sticky. the waiter kept calling me sweetheart."
his eyes sharpened at that. "which waiter?"
you touch his wrist. "don't start."
"which one?"
"katsuki."
he looks at you, and you give him that look right back—the one that says you are perfectly capable of handling yourself and also maybe a tiny bit pleased that he's instantly ready to commit a felony on your behalf.
mina is trying not to laugh. "see, this is what i'm saying. you enable her."
katsuki reachers for the water glass in front of you, checks it like it personally offended him, then flags down another server without even raising his voice.
"this one's dirty," he says. "bring her a clean glass. and another menu."
the server blinks. "of course."
he turns back to the table. silence stretching thick.
kaminari weakly says, "you don't even look embarrassed."
katsuki frowns at him. "why the hell would i be embarrassed?"
"because—" kami vaguely gestures at you. "because she's being...y'know."
you raise your brows this time. "go on."
"specific." kirishima finished diplomatically, doing his very best to avoid conflict.
katsuki leans back in his chair, one arm draped behind yours. "and?"
"and thats hard to deal with," sero says.
"for you."
and there it was. that right there. you had to hide your smile in your hand.
he never asks you to be less.
never gives you that look, the one that says don't make this a thing, don't be difficult don't be too much right now. he meets you where you are. he'll adjust accordingly, and he'll make room.
because to him, loving you is not some great act of patience. it's not a burden he shoulders because there's a shiny award at the end.
you are the reward.
every specific little preference, every dramatic sigh, eye rolls when something is beneath your standards. every exacting opinion and offended pout and "be serious" look you send him when the world is not arranged to your liking.
its all you. and he loves all of you.
dinner goes better after that.
he doesn't even bother letting you order, or even asking what you want because he already knows. he switches your fork when it has a water spot you don't like. he pushes his drink toward you when yours is running low. when your heel suddenly catches against the chair leg and you mutter, irritated, he drops a hand to your ankle and rubs once, absent and grounding like your discomfort belongs to him too.
nobody else seems to know what to do with the way you are.
but he does.
later, in the car, you sit with one leg folded under you, your heels kicked off the moment you had entered. also something katsuki predicted would happen when you asked for outfit advice. the city outside the windows blurs in gold and white. katsuki drives one-handed, the other resting heavy on your knee.
you stare at him for a while.
he notices, obviously.
"you're doing that thing."
"what thing?"
"staring at me like you're about to either say somethin' emotional or start a fight."
"mmm maybe both."
he huffs a laugh.
streetlight spills over the hard line of his jaw, catches in the pale ash blonde of his hair. older now, broader, more settled into himself. confidence without the performance strain of it. he doest need to prove himself anymore. especially not to you.
"do i embarrass you?"
he looks over, eyes wide like you just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, which is also insane to say as ridiculous things fly out of your mouth every day. "the hell are you talkin' about?"
you look out the window.
the thing is—you know what people think of you. that you're spoiled, dramatic, materialistic, kinda mean.
and okay, maybe you are spoiled. because katsuki saw what made your life easier and prettier and softer, and instead of calling you too much for wanting it, he made it so you never even had to ask. he booked the hard to get reservations, the spontaneous flights, replaced those cheap sheets with the ones you liked. he memorized your orders, your dress size, which jewelry you liked for all day wear.
he built an entire life around your comfort like it was the most natural thing in the world. so yes, maybe now, years later, you complain a little more. maybe your standards are impossible for anyone who isn't him.
you're only like this, though, because he made the world feel safe enough to be particular in.
you didn't have to shrink with him.
you got bigger. brighter. needier in the way flowers are needy for sun.
your throat tightens a little.
"i know i'm annoying," you mutter.
his entire body language changes. "who said that?"
"no one."
"bullshit."
you sigh. "i just know."
katsuki stops at the red light and turns fully to look at you, like really look at you.
"listen to me," he says, low and flat and dripping with certainty. "you're not annoyin'."
you give him a look. your look.
"i complain all the time."
"so?"
"im kinda mean."
"you're picky."
"you can't say i'm not difficult."
he shrugs one shoulder and the light turns green, but he doesn't move for half a second because this apparently matter more than the honking car behind him.
"you are difficult," he says finally.
your chest sinks.
"—and i like that."
you blink. he drives forward, expression set, like he didn't just casually rearrange your entire internal organ system.
"you know how many people in this world are boring as fuck?" he goes on. "how many people expect you to make yourself smaller so they can feel comfortable bein' mediocre around you?"
your eyes sting a little, annoyingly so.
katsuki continues, voice rough and sure. "you got opinions, you got taste, you know what you want. you don't sit there smilin' through dumb shit just so other people can feel better about givin' you less than you deserve."
you swallow hard.
"and yeah," he says, glancing over, "you're a pain in the ass sometimes."
you laugh wetly, because of course he'd say it like that.
"but you're my pain in the ass." his thumb strokes once over your knee. "exactly where i want you."
tears slip freely now before you can stop them.
katsuki notices immediately and groans. "ah, hell, stop it woman."
"i hate you," you whisper.
"no, you don't."
"you made me cry in the car. my mascara is probably runny. and my nose is gonna be snotty."
he digs a tissue out of the console with one hand, passes it you you without looking. "you'll survive."
you dab under your eyes carefully. "i look pretty when i cry don't i?"
he snorts. "there she is."
you're mostly recovered by the time you both make it home. mostly.
enough to resume normal routine, which means standing in the entryway while Katsuki kneels to unbuckle the straps of your heels because you've declared your feet "too emotionally exhausted" to do it yourself.
he glances up at you from where he's crouched, beautiful ruby eyes meeting your own. "emotionally exhausted."
"yes."
"from sitting at dinner and being hot?"
"from enduring the public, baby."
he hums like this is a valid medical explanation.
there are men out there who would feel emasculated by this, maybe. by kneeling for a woman who complains about dirty wine glasses and insists on fresh flowers in the apartment every week and refuses to carry anything heavier than her own phone.
but he looks like a king from where he is. looks like worship doesn't diminish him whatsoever, looks like devotion—when done right—is power.
"what?" he asks.
"i love you."
his expression shifts—small, but devastating. a little surprise, even now. not because he doubts it. just simply because it still gets him, every time.
"yeah?" he says softly.
you hum in response.
you smooth a hand over the front of his shirt. "even though you're kinda bossy."
he quirks a brow. "kinda?"
"and mean."
"to everyone else."
"and occasionally to me."
"you like it."
you sigh dramatically. "unfortunately."
the corner of his mouth lifts. he slides both hands under your thighs and picks you up like you weigh nothing. you let out a small squeal and tighten your arms around him, indignant on instinct.
"your feet are emotionally exhausted," he says, deadpan, already carrying you down the hall. "wouldn't want you sufferin'."
you narrow your eyes. "you're making fun of me."
"a little."
"you're so rude to the woman you love."
he pushes the bedroom door with his shoulder. "and yet.."
and yet.
thats the whole thing, really.
and yet he knows the exact serum you're running low on without checking. and yet he moved your charger to your side of the bed because you always forget it in the living room. and yet he can identify the difference between your annoyed sigh and your actually upset one from another room. and yet he takes the pins out of your hair one by one when you're too tired.
and yet he still looks at you like none of this is charity. like loving you isn't labor. like you are not too much.
like you are, some fuckin' how, exactly enough to fill every empty place inside his fiery self.
he sets you on the bed and starts unfastening his watch, but not before unzipping the back of your dress because he knew you'd ask him to.
"you really mean it?" you say, because the feeling you have right now is too big to leave alone.
he glances over.
"when you say that," you add. "that im where you want me?"
katsuki stills.
then he steps back between your knees where you sit on the edge of the mattress, braces his big hands on either side of you, and lowers just enough that you can't look anywhere but him.
"there's nowhere else i want you," he says.
and you hate how much it affects you.
your fingers curl in the front of his shirt. "even when i'm being awful?"
his mouth twitches. "especially then."
and you both just sit there for a minute, eyes flickering between each others, back and forth.
then he kisses you. not a nasty sloppy kiss like he needs you desperately. the kind of kiss that says he knows, he understands, and he chose this. the kind of kiss that says every spoiled little thing about you fits into his scarred hands like it was made for them.
you melt into it, because of course you do.
you know he's the love of your life. your love in every life.
and you both get ready for bed in your normal routines. he hands you every serum and product you need without you having to ask. but don't be mistaken, because whether you realize it or not, you do all of these things for him too.
you do it as you put his watch back in the case since he always leaves it lying around. you do it as you mindlessly pull out the pants he likes to wear to bed every night. you do it as you grab a water from the mini fridge since he chugs one down every night before bed. you do it as you hang up his hero suit for tomorrow, already having cleaned it earlier.
you do it because you love him so damn much.
and you love the way he loves you.
and katsuki is exactly where he wants to be.
with you in his bed, in his shirt, asking for ridiculous velvet hangers after nearly crying over how loved you are.
his beautiful, impossible girl.
his favorite pain in the ass.
his princess.
i’ve been getting inspired by these like bitchy reader fics i’ve been seeing so had to do one myself (a lil different) this was the cutest thing i’ve ever written omg also reader is soooooo valid id be the exact same way if i was rich, unemployed, and obviously dating katsuki bakugou. love her.
Being reborn as the daughter of a psychotic, murderous alien from a comic book you kinda remember reading leads you to having to grit your teeth and play ‘loving daughter’ to avoid having your skull caved in. With daddy issues like that, is it really surprising that you go on to sexually torment the protagonist of said comic book? Not that he seems to mind.
(Mark Grayson x Reader)
Maybe you liked reincarnation and transmigration stories so much because it seemed so inconceivable of it being even close to plausible. Maybe if you knew the sheer fright you would feel in such a story, you wouldn’t have entertained the notion in the first place.
Well, being reborn into what you thought was a fictional world wouldn’t be too bad if you woke up in Pokemon. Now, that sounds like a good time. Getting to leave home as a minor and not having to worry about money when you can just beat the shit out of your fellow trainers seems pretty good, actually. Way better than your actual situation, cruelly so. In fact, you think God or whatever entity-concept-bitch that threw you into a new life should recompense you. Maybe if you monologued hard enough you’d be given what you’re owed—
Are you being dramatic? No. No, you’re not. And if you are, then maybe you’re allowed to be a little obnoxious when you have a bloodied behemoth of a man with a scarred face and metal arm staring down at you, expression not dissimilar to a feral animal with rabies.
Judging by how the screams and sound of buildings collapsing has long gone silent, you suspect that the alien world you were born into was now distinctly lacking its lifeforms. It’s almost a shame. Your new species looked like pretty space elves, like something out of a shut-in nerd’s erotic sci-fi fanfic.
You’re almost disappointed that you have to die as a toddler, you’re pretty sure you were going to grow up to be quite the beauty based on how your new mother looks—
Oh, she’s probably dead too.
You feel like you should be crying right now, but you remain motionless, pinned under the gaze of an apex predator that seeks to maul you, without the right to even grieve.
In the depths of your fractured mind, you realize that this doesn’t seem to be in character for the man, if you can even call him that, before you. You should already be dead, like an ant carelessly crushed by the heel of an uncaring giant. But you’re still alive.
He speaks, and your heart nearly stops.
“So, you are the one that your…mother sought to protect. Once, she was a fine warrior, ravenous and uncaring, but you made her…weak. Pathetic, even. It was almost a mercy to put her down, free her from the sad morsel of flesh she has degraded into.” He leans down now, fully looming above you, your wooden cradle acting less like protection and more like a trap, leaving you unable to escape.
“And for what? To nurture you beyond what her teat can offer—“
Does he have something against breastfeeding?
“—Viltrum had no tolerance, even when it came to weeping babes—“
Oh. You know who’s standing above you now, Negan voice be damned to the worst layer of hell.
“Yet, here you lie, a new generation of our dying empire; weak and disappointing. The only spawn I have sired, the only being in the universe that shares any blood with me—“
Anything else he says is drowned out by your own internal screaming. Your father is Conquest and he's a deadbeat. The unhinged psycho from yet another superhero comic that delights off suffering and broken bones.
But, this information, while horrifying, brings a clarity that washes over you like cold water. You’re currently a toddler, a Viltrumite one, sure, but a toddler, nonetheless, with a pathetic grip and too small limbs, reliant on your now dead mother to care for you. But you’re Conquest’s child. His family, even if the term is a foreign concept to him, and that makes you special. That gives you a chance to survive. You know his isolation, his loneliness. You know how easily Viltrumite pride crumbles when its few survivors found love on Earth, folding like a house of cards. Nolan was the outlier and then the rule.
The way of survival was clear to you, another remanent from your past life; play the fool, stupid and oblivious.
So, you embrace your new body and abandon shame, and throw your hands into the air, making grabby hands at the murderer, asking for ‘uppies’.
(You’d cry later.)
He ends his traumatizing soliloquy, going frighteningly silent.
Yeah. He looks like he’s going to kill you. So, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
“Da!” You cry out, giving him a gummy smile.
Maybe you should have just let him kill you.
His face remains as impassive as stone but after another painfully long pause, he reaches down with bloodstained hands and picks you up, holding you from under your arms, large fingers completely covering your ribs.
“You are Viltrumite in blood only, your weakness would have had you purged—“
You let out a childish laugh, innocent and pure, desperate not to get ‘purged’ as he put it, “Silly da!”
That gets him to shut up. You ignore the way he flexes his fingers, the way they dig into your skin, more than capable of crushing your bones—
Your stupid, tiny hands grip his, as if willing—pleading him to not end your second life.
“You are so new to life, so sheltered, you cannot even comprehend who holds you, what I am even capable of doing. Your own mother has been slain by my hand,” he muses. “You truly…perplex me. Do you know who I am by sheer instinct? Does our blood tie us together so intrinsically?”
You kind of want to laugh at how much his words piss you off. What an annoying way to speak. Without even realizing it, your little fingers start to squeeze and you hear his surprised intake of breath. Your hand pulls away, to reveal the beginning of a bruise on his finger.
Oh, fuck.
“So young, and your powers are already appearing? This feeling, is it…” He lets out something similar to a laugh, ugly and unnatural, “There is value to you yet, child.”
He abruptly lets you go, and you fall back into your crib, too shocked to even yelp. Who drops a child!? The only thing you do is stare up at him in shock. He smiles down at you, and you almost piss yourself.
“You…are different. I will not take you with me. Do not fret, for I will be watching.” He promises, expression odd, “The being you will become, so unlike what we should be…I look forward to it. After all, you are mine.”
And as sudden as he appears, he’s gone. And you’re left, feeling slightly bruised, alone in your crib on a now dead planet.
How were you supposed to survive, exactly!?
*
You did survive. It seems like your planet had ties to the Coalition, who only arrived after everyone died. Pretty cowardly, really. But, you can’t really complain since they did retrieve you from your broken home , taking you with them. To fight for their cause, but beggars can’t be choosers in a brutal subversion of superhero media. Why couldn’t you have ended up in Venture Bros?
The cherry on top of this train wreck of a situation is that they immediately clocked you for being a half-Viltrumite, presenting you to their leader, Thaedus. Tad, as you sometimes called him, when you wanted to annoy him.
He trained you, along with many others, who drilled it into you to survive, to be stronger than the Viltrumites that threatened the safety of all life and freedom as you know it. You were their ace in the hole, their hunting dog, the hope of the Coalition. Mongrel and messiah in one. They made sure you were educated, well versed in their code of ethics. That your loyalty would always be to them. Questionable of them to do, frankly speaking, but they kept you clothed and fed, so you had no reason to protest.
The company wasn’t so bad at least. Under the Coalition, you’ve had the opportunity to meet a lot of people, from all ends of the universe, some kind, others absolutely terrified of your mere existence.
Allen fell into the former category, always seeking you out, sharing anecdotes from his missions and asking for you to share your own. And with Allen, came Telia, a higher ranking member than you both that you trusted to not spit on you for being ‘Viltrumite scum’ or whatever it was that some practically scornful cadets called you. Little did they know who their leader truly is.
*
You’d figure you wouldn’t see your ‘father’ after he killed your mom, but fate was unkind and Conquest is bat-shit insane. But at least he didn’t rat you out. You still wonder why he annihilated your home planet when you were clearly proof of compatible breeding. Honestly, genocide was a mercy compared to what you know they wanted to do to Earth, what they would probably do to you, if they caught wind. It was for the better they died, unfortunately. Even if their only survivor carried their legacy as recessive genes.
Not that you would ever ask him, even if you did often have the opportunity. Whenever you least expected it, when you were too concentrated on your mission, whether it was peacemaking or inspecting a new planet to add to the Coalition, he would appear, killing whatever adversary you were facing gleefully, expecting your gratitude and admiration for it, so you’d grit your teeth and call him ‘father’, despite the humiliation. You were still too weak, too scared to act how you wanted to. Which was to cave his skull in.
Other times, he would just follow you. Silent, like a spectre. Or a fucked up looking dog.
It was worse when he tried to copy the acts of physical affection you shared with others. His hugs usually broke one or two ribs and his head pats left you with a bump. You’re not even sure how he learned about them in the first place. Other times, they weren’t…too painful, at least.
*
“Child,” he calls after slaughtering the fleet you were leading on a recon mission. “You grow stronger, yet you still lack the true strength of an Viltrumite.”
“Is that so?” You laugh, good natured, noting Shez’s head by your feet. He was your pilot. A good man and father from what little you knew about him.
“Sometimes I wonder if I should have taken you with me, if I still should,” Conquest admits.
“That’s an interesting thought,” you smile stupidly, trying to keep the murder off your face.
“But you are…more interesting like this.” He concludes. And you wonder why someone like him was committing probably the highest level of treason. For some daddy-daughter time? The Empire obviously didn’t do family, bonds were meaningless to them, but apparently not to Conquest anymore. Did the isolation from his race finally get to him? Was he really that simple? That…lonely?
Another long moment of silence passes before he leaves you with your broken ship and dead crew.
“Okay?” You whisper, making eye contact with Shez.
*
You were on your way back to base after surveying a planet of bug people, they had no warriors or weaponry to speak of and their technology was nothing to write home about. Unfortunately, they had nothing to offer to the Coalition. At least that meant Viltrumites would have no interest in them either. No, that sounds wrong——
Your thoughts are cut off when you’re suddenly tackled mid-flight, and before you know it, you find yourself in a stone cube your father apparently dragged around as shelter. A house? Just without a bed. And everything else. It was sad and barren, only having some supplies and what looks like a…cake? On the ground before you, messily frosted a deep red colour. You hope that isn’t blood, actually.
“You told me once how some species choose to celebrate their day of birth. A foolish sentiment,” he rumbles, sitting before you.
You can kind of remember rambling about birthdays. You usually just say whatever pops up in your mind so his thoughts don’t swerve into killing you. The most terrifying thing about him was how we could go from looking like the psycho killer he is to giving you big, sad eyes. It almost humanized him.
“Oh, it’s not my birthday,” you start to say before noticing his expression, “It’s— it’s your birthday?”
“I do not recall when I was born.”
Neither of you say anything for a moment.
“You said there would be singing,” he scowls.
“Oh, well, only sometimes, like rarely, actually—“ you notice his glare, and duck your head. “Happy birthday to you…happy birthday to you…”
*
While you didn’t have to worry about debt or making something of yourself like in your past life, your current life was uniquely difficult.
You were growing wary (and scared) of having to placate your ‘father’. You don’t believe he would snitch to the Empire about your existence, that would be mutually assured destruction, so you were finding little reason to continue your ‘hangouts’ with him and you were beginning to worry if you were impacting the plot too much, god forbid your existence becomes the reason he survives.
So, you’re going to Earth, to hide yourself being the bigger, flashing target that was Mark Grayson. Let him deal with Conquest when the time came.
…and maybe you missed having a home. And the PlayStation, you definitely missed that.
And after years of having Conquest rough you up (break your bones and rupture your organs) to test your might, you weren’t looking forward to him trying to give you some type of sick ‘becoming an adult’ beating.
So, you told Thaedus you were going on leave, a vacation, really. You needed a break from the continued mess that was your life. What better than reliving the mess that was your past life instead? When your biggest worries were meeting the disappointment of your parents rather than having to placate your colonizer father.
“You want to go to Earth…? The planet that inhabits the only other half-Viltrumite we know of, that is currently the Empire’s main focus?” Thaedus blinks at you. "For fun?"
“What, I’m not allowed to sightsee? Take a load off? I see, so I don’t even have the right to take time off! I mean, I’m already a child soldier so I might as well be under Thragg’s rule—“
“And that’s the only reason?” Your fellow Viltrumite interrupts.
“What? Worried I’m going there to revive our dying civilization with Nolan’s son?” you tilt your head, smiling blandly.
And the conversation ended pretty quickly, after that. Not before he tried to once again ask you to bring your sperm doner over to your side. Which was another hard no. You were not going to mess with canon.
At least Allen seemed a little more thrilled.
“They really do grow up so fast,” Allen wipes a tear from his eye. “But, look at you, finally putting yourself out there, getting some work-life balance! Earth will love you! Well, some of them are pretty paranoid after the whole ‘Viltrumite killing thousands’ thing, but you’ll be fine! Just be yourself! Well, maybe not ‘yourself’—“
“Worried?” You tease.
“No, not at all!” He laughs nervously, “It’s just that sometimes you can be just a teensy bit…mean? Which I love! Great banter between us! It’s our thing! But, maybe, the Earthlings will see it as psychological warfare…?”
“Me? Mean? I wouldn’t say that, in fact, others would describe me as nothing but pleasant!” You chortle, disregarding everything he said, and Allen awkwardly joins you, muttering something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like a prayer.
*
Allen told you to just hang around the moon and someone would pop up to greet you. You hope it isn’t the Immortal.
You internally curse when the Immortal appears, rage clear on his face as he shoot’s up, ready to attack. How embarrassing of him, really.
You tackle him back into Earth’s stratosphere in a sudden burst of speed, breathing in sweet, probably polluted air.
“Take me to your leader?” You ask, arms stilled wrapped around his shoulders. “Or better yet, have him head over to me. A welcoming committee would be nice.”
He only lets out another shout, throwing a punch towards your face, so you grab his arm, throwing him over your shoulder before deigning to fly away then waste any more of your time trying to talk to a knockoff…Vandal Savage?
You instead head to New York City, normally known as a magnet for trouble, in any other reality than this one. You definitely stand out in your Coalition uniform, but people barely spare you a second glance from the park bench you’ve currently claimed as yours.
You watch a group of nearby pigeons fight over a hot dog bun before a presence blinks next to you. Honestly, Cecil’s teleportation was comparatively primitive to other civilizations you’ve come across. A lot more wasteful too.
A moment of silence passes and you can at least commend him for taking a seat next to you. You’re sure that he has a bunch of weapons and satellites honed in on you, but it’s brave of him regardless. Maybe you should thank Allen for opening a bridge in the first place. You doubt he’d be as chill if you weren’t wearing your uniform.
“So, I hear you have a Viltrumite problem,” you start, smiling.
“And I should assume you’re not here to add on to that?” He asks wryly. “Not here to spread word of the Viltrum Empire?”
You laughed as if he actually said something funny, “You know that not all of us were raised like that. No, there are outliers that weren’t indoctrinated from birth. Not of pure blood. Me…and Nolan’s kid. Is he too busy to say hi?”
“Extremely.” He narrows his eyes at you, and you can tell you’ve unsettled him. Oh, Mark wasn’t here was he? Looks like little Oliver would be arriving soon.
He meets your gaze, “I’m going to be blunt. I already figured you weren’t a hostile force because of your ‘friend’ already popping by, but I thought your little group was too busy to grant us any aid. So tell me this. What the hell are you doing here? You’ve already gave everyone a heart attack, to do what? Watch birds fight?”
“I’m on vacation,” you reply brightly.
He stares at you. “You’re here…on vacation.”
“Yeah, Allen mentioned Earth was an interesting place, if not a bit…behind. My old planet wasn’t too different actually! I mean before we started stripping it for resources. Don’t worry, everyone was already dead,” you continue. “Honestly, it feels nostalgic being here. In more ways than one.”
“For some reason, I don’t believe you and believe you at the same.” The man rubs his face tiredly, but you don’t take it as him letting his guard down. It’s probably a signal for something, you’re guessing.
“I’m being pretty polite, you know. I could have just came here undetected. I’m fast enough and I have the tech for it, but I wanted to meet you,” you admit, still smiling, though you doubted it was comforting. “You’re in a pretty tough position here, friend. Viltrum believes you can help replenish what they lost and the only reason they haven’t is because Earth is continuously racked with…internal issues. And they trusted Nolan, too much, a mistake you guys made too. Your strongest fighter would die to any Viltrumite, including me. Honestly, feels like you guys just have horrible luck. And it’s not going to get any better.”
“So what? The Coalition is going to back us up now? From what I’ve heard you guys haven’t had much luck against the Viltrumites either,” he retorts and you laugh again, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him against your side. You can feel his tension despite his expression not changing. You doubt he’s ever been manhandled like this. “…awfully friendly, aren’t you?”
You’re being mean. But you have a lot of frustration that you aren’t able to take out against the one that wronged you. So, yes, you’re being a bully right now, making his weak, little heart almost go out, but you’ll make up for it. Someday.
You wonder if Donald is shitting himself right now. “I’ve killed two of them before. Viltrumites, that is.”
“Two?” He sounds unimpressed, but you can tell you only raised your danger level.
“Believe it or not, it was a major loss for them. Painted a target on my head the first time, the second time, they started getting a bit nervous,” you share, “The only way to kill one of us is to be stronger. Plain and simple.”
You’re lying a bit there, but you’re not about to share your weaknesses with him of all people.
“Roundabout way to sell yourself, I thought you were here to…relax,” he says, shifting in your grasp.
“I am, but even off duty, I took an oath to protect, especially when Viltrumites are involved. Don’t think of me as an enemy or something you need to worry about. If they come, I’ll help. And if I’m not fighting whoever they send, and they will send someone, I’ll just be enjoying the sights.” You pat his shoulder before pulling away. “I think we’ll become great friends…sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Cecil.” He’s playing nice, at least. “You can stay, we’ll even fund your…activities. But, the only way you involve yourself in any altercation, you wait for my call. Trust that you’ll be met with immediate consequences if you act out.”
With those final words, he’s gone. You’re amused that he only threatened you after you let go of him. He was definitely placating you the same way you did for your father.
“Some clothes and currency would be nice?” You call out to the sky, aware you’d be monitored during your stay. Voyeurs.
You were definitely going to take advantage of the taxpayers. Sorry, Americans.
*
You let out a sigh of contentment as you emerged from the ocean, heading back to where you left your towel. You’ve seen a lot of beaches over the years, but you never had the chance to actually enjoy any of them. So you figured you’d make sure of a private beach in Australia, uncaring of the actual owners.
Right as you bent down to pick up your towel, you had to dodge an incoming punch from the protagonist himself. Wow, he just got back on Earth and he came to visit you. You’re honoured.
“This isn’t your planet—“ you know he was about to make a speech about how colonization is bad, but he pauses, mouth agape as he takes in your form.
You meet his gaze, tilting your head. Ah, you understand now. In your last life, you weren’t a big fan of revealing outfits, but after interacting with a variety of cultures and species, you were comfortable in your skin, meaning sometimes you liked to wear sexy bikinis that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Yes?” You smile.
“Uh, you, uh, I’m not—you’re a Viltrumite!” He barely gets out, obviously going red under his mask.
“You definitely didn’t let Cecil finish before hunting me down, did you? And did he really give you my location before at least saying I’m a friendly Viltrumite like you?” You pout, crossing your arms, already sure Cecil is shouting into his earpiece.
“You—yeah, he’s bringing me up to speed now,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “You’re friends with Allen? He didn’t mention you…like at all.”
“Viltrumites aren’t something you can freely talk about,” you reply, “I’m sure you can guess why.”
“Heh, yeah, for sure,” he says awkwardly.
When you don’t say anything, he speaks up again, “You, uh, don’t seem that different from a human. My mom said even my dad took a while to get used to Earth. But you look great— like you’re doing great!”
“Well, compared to the Empire, the Coalition is all about diversity. They made sure I wasn’t an emotionally constipated killer.” You take pity on him and ignore his slip up. A part of you wants to mess with him a bit more, mostly out of envy for him having a human mom and an actual childhood, but that’s twisted even for you. “Did you want to join me?”
Okay, maybe you did have it in you.
“Oh, me? Wow, that’s, wait, no, I have a girlfriend! Oh my god, Amber,” he starts to mumble to himself guiltily. Did he come see you before his girlfriend? You’re flattered, even thought those two are on the brink of a breakup.
“You should get comfortable having me around, Mark.” You mention casually, “Cecil wants me to help whip you into shape. Allen mentioned you were a late bloomer.”
His cheeks flush again much to your glee. “You? But you’re—“
“Doubting me, are you?” In an instant, you’re behind him, kicking his knee in, so he stumbles before whipping around to face you.
Oddly enough rather than offence, he’s giving you the same stupid look as earlier. You look done and let out an ‘ah’. You turn around, arm covering your now bare chest. You weren’t that secure.
“Can you pass me my top?”
In a flash, he’s holding up the piece of fabric, his other hand covering his goggles. For that act of kindness, you pretend not to notice how affected he is by the sight of your tits. Honestly, he’s acting like he’s a virgin, which you know he is not!
*
You’re having the most fun you’ve had in a while, or maybe even the most fun you’ve had in this life.
You get to laze around, eat good food, beat the shit out of Mark for ‘training purposes’. Going on vacation really was the best, especially since you were basically waiting to get drafted to fight in a war. Right now, the best thing to do is nothing.
“You don’t pull punches, do you?” Mark hovers above where you’re perched on a cliffside, watching the sunset after hours of tossing him around.
“That’s what makes me so good at my job,” you grin up at him. Surprisingly, he smiles back at you. You guess being associated with Allen is like a ‘get-out-of-jail’ card here. Well, for now.
“You sure about that? You just smack me around and yell ‘dodge this’,” he teases. “By the way, you’re supposed to warn me before you hit me, not after!”
“I’m Pavlov-ing you. In a good way,” you clarify.
“I don’t thinking saying it’s the ‘good way’ actually makes it good.”
“Hmm, yeah, I guess you’re—dodge this!”
*
“He smells like grape juice,” you breathe, hugging the purple toddler to your chest.
“He doesn’t smell like grape juice just because he’s purple,” Mark retorts, crossing his arms as he watches you nuzzle your face into Oliver’s hair. “I don’t get why you wanted to see him.”
“He’s another halfie, we’re like a super minority right now,” you explain, “And I didn’t really see too many kids growing up.”
“How old are you?” Mark asks suddenly before backtracking, “Oh, wait is that rude to ask? I don’t mean it in a bad way, just curious if, uh, I’ll shut up now.”
“Worried I’m as old as your mom?” You ask. “No, I only recently entered adulthood like you.”
“Cool, cool, cool.” Mark nods, attempting to appear casual. “So, uh, me and Amber broke up.”
That’s earlier than you thought it would happen.
“Why?”
“I’m going to drop out of Upstate, I barely have enough time with the super hero gig and training, as is, forget about actually being able to be there for her. It wasn’t fair to her,” Mark admits. “It felt like we were holding onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.”
“You did sound like a bad partner,” you hum and he shoots you a betrayed look. “But, life isn’t so simple for you. You’ll find your peace eventually, Mark.”
You’ve seen it, after all.
“Oh, uh, thanks.” He rubs his neck sheepishly. It’s a cute habit, you hope it’s one he keeps even if it seems unlikely.
*
“—are you okay?” Mark appears in your vision, bloodied and bruised. “You…scared her off? Uh, asserted your dominance?”
“I’m not a dog,” you grumble, lifting yourself from the sand, as he collapses to sit beside you. “But, yeah, Anissa, was it? Older than us, way older. Any further confrontation between us would have led to more serious injury, so she cut her losses and left. Wish I could have bashed her head in permanently, but there’s always next time. If she was just a little slower…”
“You guys were faster than I thought was possible,” he shakes his head ruefully.
“Experience does count for something. At least, you’re good at taking a beating,” you console.
“Yeah, that definitely makes me feel better.”
“That’s what I’m here for; pina coladas and emotional support,” you grin mockingly before your face falls back into neutral dissatisfaction.
Mark pats your arm, “You’ll get her next time.”
*
“Wow, you really suck at this,” Oliver remarks, watching your character die for the nth time, the two of you sitting on the floor, engaged in the most broken game of all time. You'd rather play a RPG.
“Why do you even like playing shooters? Bullets are literally the most useless thing in space,” you mumble, tossing your controller away.
“Why do you keep playing with my brother when I’m the one that invited you over?” Mark wonders, slumped on the couch behind you.
“She just likes me better,” Oliver brags. “How long are you here for anyway? You said you were just on leave.”
“I’ve literally never taken any day offs, so like ten years, I guess. Or whenever they’re planning to take out the remaining Viltrumites,” you shrug, prompting Oliver to starting ranting about how he’s going to get the most takedowns.
“What are you going to do when it’s over? When there’s no threat?” Mark asks suddenly.
“What? Like, universal peace? I guess the same thing I’m doing right now,” you answer, unsure why he looks so pleased. Dork.
“Then I guess I’ll have to get to work,” he says as if he could just achieve it like that. Well, he would, but doesn’t know that.
“Maybe win a fight first.”
“Ohhhh!”
“Shut up, Oliver.”
*
Shit was going down. It was the average Ao3 user’s wet dream. Dozens of morally dubious Marks fucking everything up.
And, you were having your (Y/N) moment. And letting out some steam through violence. You can only blame your genetics.
“I’m gonna be real with you, babe, this is the most fun I’ve ever had,” a variant wearing a mask without lenses, revealing stupid Bambi eyes, admits, nose bleeding, staining his teeth red when he smiles.
“Aw, you’re going to make me blush,” you giggle after bringing a knee to his face.
“No, really! I thought the only kinda cool thing I could do was kill the Guardians again, but that was a bust! When you tackled me into a mountain, I think I got, like, a gratitude boner or something!” He exclaims, what a manic sweetheart he is. And he should be grateful, you saved him from having to survive the horrors alongside Darkwing Jr.
“Wow, you’re actually being serious about the boner thing,” you comment, doing your best to look into his eyes, and not at his—
“What can I say? You just do it for me, baby, maybe it’s your penchant for punching the shit out of me. Or maybe it’s those pretty legs of yours,” he admits shamelessly, “Actually, do you own any fishnet—“
You punch him into the ground and watch him bounce, but he only lifts his head to look at you like a lovesick puppy. “Marry me?
Okay, that’s enough. The sadomasochism thing was mostly a joke. He can get cannibalized. You’re pretty sure Rex is about to sacrifice himself and take that as an excuse to dip.
*
The day you’ve been dreading. Conquest’s arrival, and you do not want to stand ready for it.
People (and dogs) are going to die. Mark and Eve are going to get mutilated. And you don’t think you can live with that happening on your watch.
So when Cecil calls you for backup, you don’t ignore him. You cry a little, but you go.
When you see him about to tear Oliver in half, you dive down from the sky, landing a kick against his back, forcing him to drop Oliver, you’re barely able to catch him, watching Conquest land a couple feet away.
“That’s enough,” you declare, gently setting the boy down for retrieval, trusting Cecil to take care of him, and approach your father.
“It looks like you’ve improved at hide and seek, it’s been months since I’ve seen you, and you’re here? Your softness…I can only take responsibility for it,” he tells you, quiet compared to the devastation around you. His hand cradles your cheek when you’re close enough, gentler than he’s ever been with you. You raise an eyebrow at the absurdity. Did he miss you that much?
“That’s right, it’s your fault. You could have taken me in at any time, let me be molded into a ‘true Viltrumite’, but you didn’t. Why? All that loyalty to them but you falter now? I don’t understand,” you admit. “Families don’t exist for our people. You want me to be strong, but not enough that I be trained like the rest of you.”
“You were the only one to ever smile at me,” he states simply.
You really hated when you felt bad for him.
Your little moment is interrupted when you hear Mark shout.
“Get away from her!” You raise a hand, stopping his charge as he stares at you in confusion.
“Father, what are you doing? I thought maybe you wanted me to be the one to kill you, but it’s that not that,” you exhale steadily before continuing, “The day you didn’t kill me or take me, you became a traitor. You don’t care about the Empire, clearly, and based on the way you keep following me around like a sad, old dog, there’s more to you than just wanting to fight. What do you want?”
“I want you to live as you always have, without the influence of anyone but myself,” he says. “That way, you can still bear to look at me. That matters more than anything else. Treachery or even destroying this planet, it doesn't matter what I do, so you must remain as yourself.”
That’s almost sweet.
“I came here to drench myself in blood, but now, I will crush this planet against my heel, even if it’s against the Empire’s wishes, for attaching itself to you like a parasite, wasting away your potential and time,” he vows. “I will liberate you from this weakness.”
What?
“What!?” Mark, who was previously stuck in a shellshocked state, shouts.
Your father turns back to Mark, glee gone from his face, replaced with a look of loathing. Before he can move, you wrap your arms around him, feeling him stiffen in shock, as he stares down at you.
“Father! Dad! Dad, you’re right, I’ve gotten attached to this place, for better or worse. Maybe that makes me weak. But, I’m okay with that,” you nervously ramble, clutching onto the man like a lifeline, even thought you have to resist the urge to start shaking. You need to come up with something quick. “The truth is…that I want to start a life here. On a planet where blood and bonds ties us together, where families are forged. Because I’m…”
You silently apologize to Mark.
“I’m with child. Nolan’s son is the father,” you lie, looking your father in the eye. “Here, parents raise their child. They spend every day with them. And…and grandparents are very involved! They just pop up and spoil their grandkids…and that’s totally something I want.”
“A child?” Your father brokenly gasps, looking back at Oliver’s battered form.
“No, that’s not—obviously not! I meant, in my womb, dad!” You yell, pulling away.
He stares at your stomach like you have a bomb strapped to you. He stumbles back before flying away, concrete breaking under the impact. You wonder if canon even matters anymore.
You’ve saved thousands, but at what cost?
Mark finally regains the ability to speak, “We’re pregnant!?”
“I lie when I'm scared, Mark! You should know that!”
*
When you exit the washroom after a very long shower, you’re not surprised to find Mark in your hotel suite, awkward lounging on your bed, staring a bit too long at your fluffy bathrobe for it to be an admiring gaze.
“How was Rex’s going away party?” You ask, sitting next to him, crossing your bare legs.
“Great, I’m happy for him. They missed you, actually. Rex wanted to thank you for taking down that variant,” he smiles, and you take note that most of his injuries have already healed. You stopped the worst of it. “Rae too, looks like they’re a thing now. Didn’t see that coming.”
You hum, an urge to bully him hitting you. You turn to face him, “Do you want to have sex?”
“S-shouldn’t I buy you dinner or take you to a movie first?” He blurts out.
“You wanna take me out?” You ask.
“Yes, of course, I think we’re doing things a little…out of order?” He says. “I mean, sex is also, hmn, good. Really good.
“I was just thinking you should put a baby in me before Conquest comes back,” you explain casually. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. I figured we might as well go along with it.”
He chokes, and you bite back a smile.
He’s too easy.
“You don’t have to. It’s a better alternative than fighting him, but we can figure it out,” you continue, “Maybe we could—“
You’re cut off when he presses his lips against yours, hands cradling the back of your head. Any noise you make is swallowed by him. He pulls away, nose brushing against yours.
“Let’s do it,” he declares.
“Uh, I think your line is supposed to be ‘that’s crazy’ or ‘how can we have a baby’,” you reply, face feeling hot at his sudden boldness.
“I mean, it’s like you said, it’s the best alternative. I’d rather have Grandpa Conquest showing up than the bloodthirsty version,” he says, hand already moving to untie your robe.
“Dude, no way do you want a baby,” you blanch. Is this a game of chicken? Are you losing said game of chicken?
“We can at least try,” he says dragging you further up the bed. “And we can figure out the money thing. I wouldn't let the mother of my child go hungry."
“Well, uh, I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to try,” you bite your lip before he pushes you down by the shoulders, climbing atop you, pressing his mouth against your neck.
“We’re doing this for Earth,” he mumbles in between his sucking and biting.
“For peace,” you agree, a little breathless.
This was either going to cause Cecil a stroke or be some good wank material.
*
“I think I might be a little obsessed with you,” he admits from in between your thighs, face drenched.
Join the club, you think delirious.
Mc’s mom looking up from hell to see Conquest doing the same thing he shamed her for; loving their daughter: I’m going to rip his dick off
*
Mc:
Thaedus: what have you done
*
Cecil, after meeting mc: mass suicide?
*
Mc, bullying Cecil because she can’t kill her dad: damn I need therapy
Mc: I’m going to physically intimidate that old man again.
*
Mc, sobbing after hearing someone sing ‘happy birthday’:
Mark, the ‘someone’: I’m…sorry??
*
Mark: so you’re not pregnant 😔
Oliver, lying a couple feet away, bleeding out: can you do this shit somewhere else
*
Mark: why is that variant still here…and why is he holding roses
Mc: should we keep him as a dog or something
Mark: no??
*
GDA admins, after basically creating a sex tape: delete…or save🤭
*
Conquest: where is the womb??? Where is my grandchild being held!?
I feel like whenever I come up with a title before I actually write a fic, I end up changing everything and doing a rewrite, which is what happened here…I decided to make mc apart of the coalition rather than the empire, creating a more estranged relationship, the only way love could form since it would impossible if mc was raised the Viltrumite way…anyone still around from when I made the original poll? I prefer this version more since there’s more freedom to write the mcs personality when they’re not part of a regime
Anyway even the style of the fic changed from being manwha adjacent to becoming a mix of Gintama/adult swin humour lol
But yay over 6.6k words ughh lemme know about any errors, I’m so bad at editing
Pairings: Spidersona x the Waynes x spider society
Summary: Lilith is Bruce Wayne’s child, being the product of a one night stand he had with her mother multiple years ago. After her mothers death at the hands of the joker, she was taken in to be raised by Bruce. Through unknowing neglect, the family pushed her away.
Warnings: none
Authors note: Spider-Man Brand New Day gave me the inspiration to start this story and add onto my ongoing pile of fics I’ve yet to update.
— Chapters
- I
- II
- III
- IV
(Note: yes I changed it to the Wayne’s instead of the Kent’s. I genuinely can’t see Clark unknowingly ignoring one child or something like that when his child is powerless. I’m working on another story anyways that I can actually see happening 😭)
warnings:reader is mentioned to wear makeup briefly. tw for the american healthcare system ig!! this one is fluffy and a little angsty. themes of chronic illness abound in this piece.
word count: 1.5k
summary: In another timeline where you’re psychologically connected to the physical pain your soulmate receives- you start to question just who your soulmate could possibly be, and how they’re even alive.
a/n: the people were begging for a part two and who am i to deny you?! this part is short because i wrote it before work (im late now lol oops) this was based on my own headcanoned version of Andrew Garfield’s peter, post TASM2 before NWH please enjoy! ~ Verdi🌻💜
A couple of weeks had passed before you felt good enough to get out of bed again. You felt bad for making him wait so long, but he seemed to be understanding at least.
[ i feel okay today :) ]
No other context to your text, just the soft reassurance, or rather, the final confirmation. You're actually doing this. You feel so silly about it, but it's not like you're going to find out who your real soulmate is while lying in bed all day. Besides that, if it was actually Spider-Man...you're not even sure you want that. You've spent so long curled up in your bed, unmoving, barely awake, you aren't even sure what you want anymore. Or what you like.
You try to push the thoughts down, try to think of anything else as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. Jesus Christ. That dull pain in your ribs that's always throbbing, never ceases, makes itself abundantly obvious when you move. To be fair, you did say you felt okay. Not that you felt good.
By the time you glance back at your phone again, he's already responded.
[ I'll swing by in an hour. :) ]
Biting at your lip a little, you try to hide your smile. You're downright giddy. You've never been on a date before. You've almost been on plenty...but never actually made it to one.
It hurts just a little too much to put any real effort in, but you felt guilty about making him wait. So you were gonna push through it today. Eyeliner, mascara, a cute dress, a cardigan, and your favourite red Converse. That would have to suffice. You thought you looked pretty cute at least.
When he knocks at the door, you jump a little. The way your heart beat thuds against your ribcage just reminds you how sore you are, but you put on your best smile and go to open the door. The boy before you looks disheveled, out of breath, and is holding a small bouquet of flowers. Your cheeks light up as he hands them to you.
"You said this is your first date...I wanted to make a good impression." He grins. Your smile softens, becomes just a little more real. "Well...It's working, Pete. Thank you."
He peeks into your apartment when you turn to go set the flowers down on the kitchen counter. It's small, it's a little dirty, and it's dark. All the blinds are closed with curtains further blocking out any light that could be left. You like to keep it as dark as possible to keep the pounding headaches at bay. It's definitely not a top-of-the-line apartment, and, upon further inspection, he sees your messy bed in the corner of the room. A studio, that's tough. It's all you can afford on the salary of a journalist, though.
You put the flowers into a large cup, then walked over towards the window to set them on the windowsill. Just because you can't have light doesn't mean they should suffer with you.
The date goes well, really well. Like, maybe your fleeting crush and wired nerves meant something.
"You've never felt your soulmark?" You ask, tilting your head as your coffee cup hovers near your lips.
His cheeks flush a little as his brown eyes meet yours, sparkling a little as his croissant hangs out of his mouth. "Uhm..." He sets it down on the table, covering his mouth with his fist as he clears his throat. "Y-yeah...I don't..." His cheeks are only getting redder as he mumbles his way through an answer. "I think I felt a pin prick or maybe a needle once or twice, but...it's been a while. I'm not sure if they're even like...still...around." He admitted, the air stilling as he all but admitted defeat in his words.
"Oh."
It was a selfish thought to have, but...how nice was that? To not constantly be in pain all the time? To not be tethered to someone you don't even know?
There was a quiet in the space between you two now. Peter hadn't brought up his proposition the entire date; had he given up on that idea? Or was he just trying not to pressure you? Either way, you'd made up your mind.
"I'll marry you."
He choked a little on his pastry. He should really not be so focused on eating it right now.
"R-really?" His voice cracked a little as he leaned forward on the table. "You're not just-"
"Really." You bit at your lip, your eyes flicking down to your fidgeting hands before looking back up to him again. "I...don't want to meet my soulmate." You shook your head as you spoke.
The two of you sat in a thick, heavy silence for what felt like an eternity. The way your heart pounded beneath your breast, you could hear it against your eardrum. Part of you couldn't believe you were agreeing to this...the other part of you knew you had nothing to lose.
"You're sure...?" He finally broke the silence, voice quiet and almost hoarse.
"I'm sure."
Another week passed, and it was day after day of feeling too ill to make it to the courthouse. This was just a marriage of convenience; you didn't need an actual wedding. You probably wouldn't even tell people you were married. There was no reason not to rush it; Peter needed the health care. Well, Aunt May did. And she seemed like a perfectly nice lady. Why wouldn't you help her out if you could?
You two texted. A lot.
Monday:
[ How are you feeling today? ]
[ :( ]
Tuesday:
[ Do you want me to bring you anything today while I'm out? ]
[ no, i'm ok ]
Wednesday:
[ Can I come see you today? ]
Your chest tightened a little. You rolled over a little, glancing towards the now long-dead flowers on the windowsill, and sighed. But...that did sound...nice.
[ only if you don't judge me. ]
His text came back impossibly fast.
[ I wouldn't dream of it. Be there in 5. :) ]
Five?! That wasn't long enough to do anything- not that you'd felt like it. You'd only dragged yourself out of bed long enough to pee a couple of times. You hadn't eaten much, didn't have the stomach for it. One of those days where you waited so long to eat that you weren't even hungry anymore. You hadn't showered or brushed your hair in days, but even still, even with his presence looming, you couldn't make yourself even sit up.
[ key's under the mat ]
It was more like six and a half minutes, but you heard the doorknob jiggle and looked over towards it as he walked in.
"Hey." You smiled, still curled up under your blankets, still in your jammies.
His expression showed concern, maybe worry. But he didn't say anything, just walked over to your bed. "This...doesn't look okay." His voice was soft as he took a seat beside your knees.
You scoffed. "You said you wouldn't judge, Pete."
His cheeks flushed at your remark. You were right, he supposed. "Sorry..." He mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck with his palm.
Your hand came out from under the covers, reaching for him instinctively. He wasted no time taking your hand in his. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as his warm palm encapsulated your fingers.
"It was nice of you...to want to come see me." Your smile was persistent.
"Well..." The red of his cheeks grew, spreading to the tips of his ears. "If you're gonna...y'know...be my wife...in sickness and health, or whatever they say."
You bit at your bottom lip, trying to stop your smile from growing wider. He was really taking this whole thing seriously, wasn't he?
"Well, unluckily for you, it's always sickness. There's no health over here." You laugh. He doesn't.
"You should move in with me and May." He almost looked surprised at his own words, as if his mouth had moved before his thoughts did. Your eyes widened just a little bit. It's not like you guys were in a real relationship; he didn't need to do that.
"I don't-"
"I don't...like you being alone like this, while you're feeling like this." He spoke softly, his thumb rubbing against the back of your hand now.
"I'm always alone...and I'm always feeling like this." You laugh a little. "It's okay, Pete, really. I'm used to it."
He shook his head. "You don't need to be used to it. If you're helping me out, then let me help you out too." His eyes met yours, wide and shining and glossy with a real and palpable concern.
Your breath hitched in your throat, your chest getting impossibly tight. "I...I uhm.."
Peter brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. "Let me take care of you." His voice was broken, almost pleading with you.
How could you argue with that? You nodded, without even thinking about it.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, okay." Your voice was trembling, but a smile crept back onto his lips anyway.
"I'll do all the heavy lifting. I don't want you to move a finger." He threatened.
Synopsis. To Geto Suguru it’s the Creature, The Strongest being in existence, his masterpiece of science. To you he’s Gojo Satoru, the poor experiment you found chained up in the scientist’s dungeon, the creation that taught himself how to love. To him he doesn’t know who he is, but he knows where he belongs - with you.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, Creature!Gojo, Frankenstein!Geto, based on Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein, PLOT, 1800’s, worldbuilding, love triangles (Gojo x reader x Geto), angst, vioIence, bIood, backstories, accidentally falling in Iove, oraI (fem rec.), PÚSSYDRÚNK Gojo, spítting, face-ríding, fíngering, teaching him, first times (Gojo), he’s BIG, tummy buIges, cervíx kíssin’, making it fit, BRÉEDING, matíng presses, raw, FÉRAL GOJO, manhandIing, dúmbifícation, rough s, creampíes, cúmpIay, overstím, implied marathon, time skips, Nanami cameo, HAPPY ENDING, pet name, swéaring.
Word count. 16.8k
A/N. I’ve been wanting to do this AU for SOOOO LONG-
1857.
Reds of the Royal Danish Navy shed against bone-white ice; the Horisont has found itself trapped in ice amidst the expedition to the North Pole.
It was a coldness beyond cold, a glaucoma of the world. Only in such a place does the belligerence of humanity dim before a ceaseless peripheral of something much greater. Something much older. Something soul-cold.
Here, one cannot see.
One cannot swallow. One cannot hear.
And it is why Captain Nanami Kento pauses between scratching at his parchment. He works stiffly and slowly beneath the damp glow of the lantern, with an ear craned in the direction of the deck outside: the heaving of ropes being put to work, the chants between cold coughs, the sudden slamming of produce.
“Captain!” One of the newer crew members, still sun-tanned and youth-freckled, barges in through the door. From the doorway he pants out urgently, “Captain, an explosion- oh, you simply must see this.”
Nanami rises cautiously, “See what, boy?”
“A- a monster.”
A coldness creeps into his heart. “Get the men.”
In almost no time, there’s a group of about ten crew members racing down the frost-bitten landscape. They held their lit torches high, trembling flames that were snapped and slobbered in all directions by the wind, as if lambs being hauled to slaughter.
A few of the lookouts had already set a bonfire in the distance to mark their finding, and as Nanami leads the group closer, he can feel his pulse jump to his throat. He can taste the blood. He can smell it.
He brings a gloved hand up to cover his nostrils as he looks on at the reddened snow, “This…this blood- where does it hail from? Has one of ours been injured?”
“Not ours, Captain!” One of the seamen hasten to explain, he jogs past the bonfire. “A wounded man, he has suffered a great loss of blood!” And where the man motions them, Nanami could see two writhing lumps in the darkness - about as large as a young Grey Seal, though perhaps not made of as much pure muscle.
They follow the man—a corpse.
At least, well on his way to become one.
Dressed much like them in protective coats, there was no telling just how long the man had been laying there in the snow. In a slowly-growing pool of his wine-blood. His fingers were blue, mouth trembling, eyes frosted shut. Though, perhaps out of some sick sense of mercy. Because even from here Nanami could see the garish slashes on the man’s neck and shoulders.
His pale face grimaces at the torrent of light that signals the crew’s entrance, muttering something that they could not discern.
Nanami’s the first to crouch beside him and take the man into his arms, “Bear attack?”
“I do not believe so, Captain.” The same young crew member from before urgently speaks, “Our early lookouts- they claim they saw something in the shadows…something otherworldly!” Nanami looks into the boy’s ghost-white face, “Something demonic!”
The blond man nods, “Itadori, help me with his boot.”
Together, they manage to knife between the coagulation of frost and blood that composed of the man’s boot. Like much of his body. It was a tough leather fighting against a dull blade, enough to make one sweat even in the bitter landscape. And Nanami almost thinks better of his decision before-
“A prosthetic leg.” Itadori breathes. He holds up the metal limb for the rest of the crew to peer at, fashioned from some sort of metal, it was attached to the man with a series of buckles and belts. So intricate, in fact, that had it not been for the discoloration then one might have thought that it was his natural outgrowing limb.
Nanami’s brows furrow at the device, “This must be…and what about the other one?”
“The what?” Itadori asks.
“The other one.” Nanami’s the one to make his way onto the other ‘lump’ he’d made out, much more frozen stiff than the other one. He kneels down to gently wipe off the clumps of snow on the grooves of your face, your beautiful, beautiful face. You didn’t seem to be at all hurt, unlike the man. “A woman…”
“Found with the older man, Captain.” One of the crew answers, “Both frozen, almost to death.”
“Almost to death…”
And that’s when they hear it.
It.
That ghastly, guttural roar that came from no place but hell.
If the darkness could speak, this could be its voice. Hear its nightmare, its pain, its humanity. It makes the crew members break out in a cold sweat.
In the three seconds that it rips through the wind, Nanami’s running his mind through every page of every zoological textbook he’s ever read - and coming up blank after each one. Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank—no living creature should ever be able to make a sound like this.
Just what in hell was that?
“C-Captain!”
It’s Itadori’s trembling tone that snaps Nanami out of his frozen state. He looks to the boy—fuck, he looks down and realizes that his hands were shaking.
“Put- put him…” Lips parched, he clears his throat and doesn’t care if it’s unsteady. “Put him onboard! Now!” Nanami yells at the crew, who instantly move to action as he keeps an eye in the dark direction of where the noise had originated from.
Beyond their circle of torches, something shifts in the shadows.
Something tall.
Tall.
Tall.
Another roar—“Hurry!” The Captain cries, helping his crew lift the injured man. “To the ship! Now—”
Perhaps because of the blood loss, their straggler is nothing more than a slight burden in their trembling arms, though with that- that thing in the darkness beyond them, he just might as well have weighed a hundred tonnes.
It’s with such dreadful relief that they manage to reach the Horisont and lever the body up the port side of the ship. As it’s carted off like a still-trembling corpse, Nanami calls out to the seamen that work the base. “Itadori, that thing is coming.”
“C-Captain?” The boy asks, nervously.
And the older man only silently hands him a gun, “We have to be ready.” Holding one himself, he raises the nozzle of the pistol in the air and fires, man-made thunder in response to the voice of something beyond. “Ready the rifles!”
Rows upon rows, guns upon guns, human beside human.
Lining the berth of the ship with their weapons raised, they clutched those polished wooden handles. Death at their fingertips. A third roar punctuates the night, and had it not been for their Captain’s presence right beside them, those men might just have been running for their life.
“On my command…” Nanami calls out.
Something bludgeons through the wintry landscape. As tall as even the tallest hanging icicles, with a coat that flaps around it like bat wings.
“Aim…”
Inhuman.
“Fire!”
Gunshots ring out like applause, ah, the only invention of humanity that may cut through the cold. That may slice it. Two of the bullets hit the creature in what looked to be its shoulders, and it collapses to the ground with a pained cry. Pained? Could it really feel such a thing?
Most monsters didn’t. And this one raises its hooded head and roars.
Oh—Nanami’s stepping backwards before he can stop himself.
“Next group, next group!” Itadori’s juvenile voice takes command in place of his Captain, though he was shaking even more so. Crew members with their guns cocked kneel down in the exact positions of the previous line.
Their nozzles smoke, hungry for blood.
With an arm stretched outwards, Nanami’s directing them. “On my command…aim…fire-”
Gunshot after gunshot after gunshot.
A second round of applause. A standing ovation. Almost with more fervour than before, those bullets reach towards the limelight where their lanterns were fixated on this hulking, inhuman figure. A hard target to miss.
Hit after hit after hit.
And yet…it does not stop. It does not slow down. It does not even shed blood - this thing takes their most fierce protection, lets it sink into its body as if not the worst thing it’s ever experienced. The bullets embed deep into its clamoring limbs, only increasing the fury in its pace.
Step after step after step.
Until finally- they’re catching a glimpse of blood-shot eyes.
“Re-retreat! To the ship.” Nanami yells, grabbing some of his crew members and pulling them to stand. He’s shoving them in the direction of the ramp that led up the side of the ship, not looking backwards until Itadori was already aboard. “To the ship! Retreat to the ship! Ret- no.”
He’s whipping his head behind as one of the foolhardy men rush in the direction of the monster with his gun. Raised as if to bash it with it—
“Retreat!”
In just one sweeping motion the creature throws the crew member aside. Hard enough that he bangs against the side of the ship, hard enough to break bone.
Nanami pales as he hears the crunching of ligaments and skeleton, screaming out at his crew to board the ship once more. “Retreat- retreat, I say! This is an order from your Captain!” He’s stomping through the bustling deck, weaving through the men that feared for their life as much as they feared the life now rattling the ladder of the ship. “Where is that man we brought aboard? Where?”
“St-starboard, Captain.” Itadori replies.
And Nanami wastes no time before going up to the man - laid out amongst some blankets on the side of the ship - and grabbing him by the lapels of his frost-crusted coat, “What does that thing want?” He barks out at the groaning man, he assumes that you’d been taken inside. “Tell me! What does it want-”
Another young member, Ino, quivers out. “Captain, he’s almost—”
Roaring.
Gone and guttural.
It had reached the deck by now, standing tall amidst the crew that raced like ants. That looked just as helpless. In one hand it crushes a human skull as if nothing, and with the other he points straight at the shivering corpse.
“Bring- her- to me-”
A voice that sends their hearts beating out of their chests, so that they felt less-than human. Just as it sounded.
Her…?
From behind, one of the crew members stabs at the creature with the edge of his gun. Nanami doesn’t wait to watch him get flung off the edge of the ship- “The Blunderbuss.” He’s turning to the crew with widened eyes, breathless. “Ino, get the Blunderbuss!”
“Y-yes, Captain!”
In no time, a heavy metal firearm is being pressed into Nanami’s hands. He doesn’t wait to take aim and—shoot!
It strikes the monster right in the middle of his chest, and it stumbles. Hands but a blur on the greed-cold nozzle, sweat sticking his skin to metal, one eye closing in concentration- the Captain shoots again.
And again.
And again.
Each one finds its target with deathly precision. But a monster never truly dies, does it? Not until they can spike fear into the hearts of those mortal? It turns out, they merely fell.
As if a great oak befalling, it almost hurt to watch it descend. They all rush over to the other side of the deck as the monster plummets; the ice below craters once it rests, erupting a halo of dark blue lightning bolts brought out of the frozen water. Nanami wastes no time lugging the prolonged length of the Blunderbuss over the deck and shooting it a few more times - this time, however, not quite at their untimely visitor.
He aims for the thinning ice that cracks off with the blows, segregating the creature from the rest of them. And not one member of the crew releases a relieved breath until after the chunk of ice breaks off. Floats off.
It opens its eyes.
Snaking his body upright, “Give her…” Charging back towards the ship. A voice that thunders up to where they are, and makes everyone take a step back. “Give her to me-” All but Nanami, of course, who aims a single shot at the monster—and lets his hand fly off the trigger.
BANG—!
CRASH.
Thrown off his feet, it seems that the taller they are the harder they fall indeed. That…thing ends up with its back against the slab of ice once more, which gives way beneath its weight as if made out of nothing but paper. Opening up a gaping mouth. Ice-water sloshing at its feet. Crumbling into the tiniest pieces, the monster sinks…
The Captain doesn’t lower his gun or his caution until he can’t see its flailing arms any longer. Until the sea swallows up their woes with a gurgle, and with it, a creature more monster than man. Nanami peers down as its blood-black cloak dissipates into nothingness.
Then - and only then - does he turn to face the rest of the stunned crew.
“Take me to her.”
Less than an hour later, the man was up and talking—you, however, weren’t quite as lucky. According to the ship’s doctor you were alive, it seems, but just barely.
Itadori frowns at your shiver and rubs on your hands even harder. Entire body tinged ever-so-slightly with a pallor of blue - it didn’t matter what your original shade was, you looked plain sickly. And so tiny in Nanami’s bed, his heart aches as he lifts his bedcovers up to your chin, wishing that he had more than some ol’ Captain’s drudgery. You looked like a lady.
“Where am I…?” The black-haired man’s voice creaks out, his long locks sweeping the ship’s floor. He seemed to be the Captain’s own age. Despite being in the warmth now, he still quivered - whether out of the frigid outside, or the memory, Nanami wasn’t quite sure. “Who-”
“You’re aboard the Royal Danish ship, Horisont.” Nanami answers, watching as the doctor hands him a vial of something that the man downs with a wince. “I’m Captain Nanami, this is Dr. Shoko.”
“How many of your men did it kill?”
The blond man shivers, momentarily speechless.
He looks at the man intensely, his teeth were drenched in red. “…Six.”
“It will come back and kill many more.” He begs, tone trembling until it was almost indiscernible. He sweeps a hand around the room, flickering in and out of existence in the dim lantern. “All of you, if necessary, unless you deliver me to it.”
Nanami bends down until he’s eye-level with the other man, almost condescending. “It’s gone. It sank in the freezing waters, it’s dead-”
“No, it is not!”
There’s a bang and a clutter- suddenly the long-haired man is upon him, grabbing Nanami by the coat and shaking him. His eyes held a madness to them that shook the taller man to his very core, and he found his own scared face staring back at him through those irises. “It cannot be killed! It- it…” As if the weight of his own words were hitting him, he’s sinking back onto the couch that made his impromptu clinical bed. “It c-cannot die…I’ve tried.”
“You’ve tried?” Itadori pipes up.
Nanami looks at the madman wearily, “And you have most certainly been…unsuccessful.”
“Whether you believe me or not…” Sinking his head into his hands, throat shattering in tears. “-it will come back…for me.” He breathes heavily, “And when it does, you must promise that you will put me out on the ice and let it take me.” Looking up into Nanami’s molten eyes, “Please.”
“What sort of creature is that?” Shoko asks, taking off her medical gloves. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Or more pertinent a question—” Nanami looks behind at your shivering figure, still, and then at the man before him. “What manner of devil made him?”
The man gulps, “I did.” As if the weight of a thousand years was rushing out of him at once, “I, Geto Suguru, made him.”
.
.
.
PART I: Geto’s Story.
His name was Geto. Geto Suguru.
It was his father that gave him that name, Suguru (杉る) meaning excellent, superior, surpass. One could claim that it all started with him, his father. And his mother.
For there are some parents that bear no merit to become parents in anything other than name.
The world changes once you bear life, you know, in the way that they look at you, in the way that they speak to you, in the way that they know you. They don’t know you as anything otherwise. And unless you can change with the world, then the world will change you. For love is a melding of souls that leaves one’s tempered.
And one has to be strong to accept change, to be changed. Both physically and mentally. Fear it, of course - the presence of strength does not equate to an absence of fear - but be strong. Change.
The strength of one’s love is equivalent to the strength of one’s self. Why shouldn’t you change?
And so—to recap, the world shall change, you shall change - so who does that leave amongst the conflict?
Why, the child, of course.
To his mother, he was strong: her first-born. And this woman amongst women, this flurry of passion and decadence, the only person to ever beat him in cards, the sole empress of their mansion to brave his father for all those years; to him, she was far stronger than he.
Far stronger.
And yet, his mother died at the hands of the nation’s best doctor.
His father.
Geto Suguru’s mother died giving birth to his younger brother. Though she didn’t die with regrets- at least, their father didn’t believe so.
The youngest child was the apple of their father’s eye, the one that couldn’t grow up, the one that was worth a life. He was the breeze, Geto was the storm cloud.
Where he was locked in the library and taught the ways of the human tissue, it was his brother that was boasted at every social function. What had taken him years of reciting the complexities of anatomy to learn from his father, his brother could earn a smile with but a single look. When he had never heard a syllable of love from his father, he could hear through his bedroom—a wall shared with his younger brother’s, sweet goodnights.
There was something more- or rather, there was something missing.
“Father?” He remembers asking one morning after their early anatomy lesson. Geto must have been barely fourteen by this point, though his father acted around him like nothing more than if he were dealing with a poisonous viper.
The elderly man pauses, and turns stiffly towards his first-born. “Yes?”
“You let her die, did you not?”
“I did everything in my power to save her. You must know that.” His father answered, grimly. He clutched his textbooks tighter as his son got up and rounded the table slowly.
Geto looks at him, “So you failed.”
The patriarch looks at him dismissively, “No one can conquer death.” And it has the tone of the final say, to which the man turns his back and leaves.
“I will.” Geto calls out after him. And there was no way that the baron didn’t hear him, no way that he didn’t know the boy had just picked up his own cane. A thin bristling woodwork singed with years of hitting onto the very flesh that held it now.
Geto whips it through the air, “I will conquer it.” He wasn’t speaking at a particularly high volume, and yet it cracks through the halls of the library- making his father stop in his tracks and turn. “Everything you know, I will know too.”
The man looks at him with intense eyes, so similar to his younger brother’s. “I think we’ve done quite enough for today.”
Ultimately, he was not strong enough.
The Geto fortune’s downfall was swift; two revolts and a fire across their fields left them bereft. They kept the estate, but lost everything else.
Including his father.
Geto was accepted into the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh, where he attempted to…widen the narrow vision of academia. It is here that he held his own at a tribunal hearing, before an audience of a hundred he demonstrated his earliest experiment mending the arm of a dead man, and the head of another. By running an electric current through this specimen, he made it move—life!
“This is a hearing, Doctor, not a carnival act!” Another powder-wigged, bespectacled, puff-pastried member of the board cried out from his raised podium.
It was exactly because of bigwigs like him that Geto had to attend such a hearing in the first place. Some of the higher-ups had caught a whiff of his experiments on corpses, and thus they’d demanded a proper investigation before the entire association, to determine whether such acts were in line with the ‘morals and scientific integrity of’ the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh.
The other surgeons around him leaned in on the edge of their seats as the elderly board member stabbed a finger in the direction of the moving corpse. He seethes, as if he found the mere display of it offensive to his eyes. “You’re not helping your cause, this galvanic trickery will simply not do!”
“Trickery.” Geto repeats, reaching deep into his pockets. “Trickery?”
Before everyone, he pulls out a red apple, ripe to the touch. Throwing it in the air a few times—before throwing it to the corpse.
Who reaches out and catches it.
“That is not trickery- that is a decision!” He cries out at the display. The single arm twists and turns, letting the deceased head inspect the apple. And above the applause, Geto yells in elation. “Motor coordination between the eye of one dead man, and the arm of another! Infused with new will and the rudiments of understanding-”
A board member cuts him off, “Understanding in a brain that has already died-”
“This is the future! It is strength-”
“It is an abomination!”
It is only after Geto was formally expelled for his ‘blasphemous’ research by the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh did he meet Kenjaku. It was with a tip of his hat and a bow so low that the tips of his nose nearly touched the blood-stained pavement, and then Kenjaku was led inside his laboratory.
He had strange stitches on his forehead, and Geto thought of him as almost a kindred spirit. A face to which he couldn’t put an age. He claimed to be an acquaintance of his brother’s and inquired into the other man’s work.
It was also the first time that Geto Suguru heard your name, his brother’s fiancée.
It was also the first time that his heart had undergone the strangest palpitations that were not in line with any medical textbook he’d devoured before.
“So you claim you can do it-” Kenjaku had peered down at the man, dark eyes twinkling in interest. “-bring a man to life from the dead? Create a man that is so strong that he may not die?”
“I know I can.”
And it seemed to have been exactly the answer that he’d been looking for.
Kenjaku reached into his long coat, and pulled out a flat white card with swooping cursive. “I have a proposal for you, Doctor.” At the surgeon’s raising eyebrows, his feline grin only grows. “I will endow your pursuit with unlimited resources. In exchange, I may in time ask you for a favor in return- but mostly, it would be my utmost honor to record your process for posterity.”
Geto looks at his outstretched hand. He hesitates. “I will…consider-”
“Don’t pretend to be reasonable now, Doctor.” Forcefully, the card with details is being pushed into his hand. “It would be such a shame.”
Geto never did find out his first name.
In the coming weeks Geto also grew to meet you, and he grew to be hated by you.
Or so you claimed. It was the interference of the natural cycle between life and death that made you instantly dislike him, you’d heard enough about his work from Kenjaku, a close family acquaintance. So to see this pompous, stubborn, (beautiful) scientist in the flesh was not too different from meeting the devil himself.
And the devil always was quite tempting.
“You laugh at my ideas?” He’d asked on your first meeting with him. It had been a lunch with none other than Kenjaku, his younger brother, and you.
And while the former two had disappeared for ‘brandy and cigars’ at a moment’s notice of one of your brewing debates, Geto had been the only one to stay. To sit opposite you on the long table. To look you straight in the eyes as you scoffed at his claims to bring a dead man back to life. “Idea are not worthwhile by themselves now, are they?”
He crosses his arms, “Explain.”
“Think of the war, for example.” Your steely gaze watches as Geto’s dark brows raise, “Honor. Country. Valor. These surely are worthwhile elevated ideas by themselves, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Mhm.”
“And nevertheless, men are dying for them, in a decidedly less elevated way.” You continue, “Face down in the mud, choking on blood, screaming in pain. Fathers, brothers, sons. Men that were nursed into this world by their mothers, only to fall on a battlefield far from those that provoke these tragedies.” You’re looking straight at him, “Those men remain at home, untouched by blood or bayonet.”
Geto tugs on his coats, skin hot for the first time in…ever. “I-I see-”
“That is what happens when ideas are pursued by fools.”
His head snaps up, “And you think me a fool? Hm?”
To which you lean close enough that your breath wafts his face, warm and only warmer. Just the slightest smile on your face, “Run to your brandy and cigars~”
He’d never been harder.
A few weeks after that meeting, Geto rode down in a carriage with Kenjaku to a lake near Vaduz across the channel. A tower built as a water filtration plant and abandoned at the start of the war; the moment he laid eyes on it, the tower, he could feel destiny calling.
He could feel it.
The months slurred into one, and so did his experiments.
He stitched together the corpses of prisoners and men recently hanged, until he’d grown quite expert in making seamless threads on skin, until even various shades of skins could be melded into one. Trial after trial after trial.
The floor of his once-new laboratory ran red.
And with every step closer he got to creating life, it felt like Geto lost a bit of his own.
The first time that Geto bedded you, that was the night that he finalized the creation that would come to be his greatest downfall. He’d finally found the pressure points he needed to intrude in order to keep the lymphatic system intact.
And he worked like a dog.
Night after night after nightmarish night. Those bad dreams melded into reality, and Geto could differentiate which was which.
Until one night, a strom was a-brewing above his spiral tower, and Geto stepped back to admire his creation. Upon a cross-like platform hoisted a pale body much larger than the largest man, much less human. He’d chosen each body part himself, of course: that toned torso, that handsome face, that small waist, those sea-blue eyes, hair of holy white.
The perfect creation.
As flares of lightning outreached across the sky, Geto connected the body to various cables and bolts aiming to extract the energy of the storm. Climbing to the top of the tallest tower, he’d enabled a massive ray that acted as a lightning catcher aimed straight at the lifeless body upon the cross. Like the hand of the heavens above, it was to give life.
“By God, it’s perfect.” Kenjaku whispers, coming up to the surgeon’s side in the laboratory. Kenjaku had taken residence in this very tower until Geto was to complete his experiment, and he frantically stopped Geto in his ministrations- “Quick! Quick, you have to do it now-”
“Pardon-” Geto’s brows furrowed, “Do what?”
“My brain.”
He pales, “P-pard-”
“My brain- inside that body.” He shakes the younger man, “Did I not say that the time would come when I ask you for a favor, boy? Well this is that time- quick, before the storm reaches its peak! Extract my brain and place it into the perfect body of our new Adam-”
Geto smacks his hand away, voice heightening. “That’s madness! I work with corpses, I will not kill just to put your-”
“Is it the money?”
He rounds the scientist now, hands throwing up in the air. And Geto can only step backwards—
“Because I can give you all the money you want- ohoho! You only need to say yes-”
“But-”
He swipes a hand out once more to grab the other man, though Geto dodges it this time. “-no more, and no less!” Closing in on the man, “Just think about it, my boy, for me- youth! And for you, eternal wealth! No money in the world would be enough for this, and I can give it all to you if you just say the-”
“No.”
Kenjaku charges.
And at that exact moment, lightning clashes.
CLAP—!
It erupts from the needle-like end of the ray, making every piece of metal in the laboratory glow molten red with heatwaves. The diagonal and vertical lines of lightning crackling through the air, powerful enough that one could almost feel the atoms around it sizzling. Making the energy spark against metal as it conducts, making a stray beam hit Kenjaku and make him drop to the floor with a cold shiver. Dead.
Geto himself can just barely manage to throw himself underneath one of his desks and take cover. His head in his hands, his heart in his throat.
And in the distance, something seems to ba-dump—!
When Geto Suguru opens his eyes again, he isn’t the only thing alive in that laboratory.
.
.
.
“And it was a monster.” In the present day, a Geto Suguru that was not much older - though he felt as such, he sighed as such - finishes off his story by spitting. It was as if speaking the very tale into memory left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, “With the average body and mind of a twenty-eight-year-old, and yet I discovered soon that it had super strength, healing like never seen in a natural organism before- and as his strength increased, mine waned. I did not sleep, I did not eat, I did not live- and more than that, I could not make it speak. I created The Strongest, and in doing so I created a monster.”
Nanami Kento runs a hand down his face silently, “You played God and now…”
“And now you reap the consequences.” Itadori is the one to finish off.
And the tired surgeon can only nod, placing his aching head in his hands once more. “I am its creator, and I have created a monster. It is something that should never have been done- never! I should have listened to her-”
“I did tell you so.”
A soft voice speaks up, and the fatigued crew almost believes it to be nothing but a hallucination- till they’re hearing the rustle of coarse bedsheets, and they instantly snap their heads towards the Captain’s bed.
It was you.
At some point during Geto’s story, you’d managed to seat yourself up on the bed without any of them knowing. Keeping a keen ear on what was being said. Like Geto, you had that same air of faint fatigue about you- but you still held your head high, your poise that of high aristocracy.
Tired, but still as beautiful as ever. And Nanami swears he catches the surgeon’s gaze glimmer ever-so-slightly as they drift over to you.
By the determined glint in your pupils, he guessed you were none other than Geto’s brother’s (former, likely) fiancée.
Itadori jumps away from his seat on the bed with a squawk, blushing to the roots of his rosy hair. With a slightly stifled giggle, you’re patting the mattress beside you and getting him to sit once more. Once that was over, you cross your palms atop one another and introduce yourself.
“Captain Nanami Kento.” Nanami’s respectfully removing the cap of his uniform and bowing, hoping that you didn’t catch the exact shade of rouge that his ears were.
“Dr. Ieri Shoko.”
“Itadori Yuji.”
You’re nodding as they introduce each other, the rest of the crew, one after the other. Before ultimately settling on Geto, “And I know you too well.”
“Too well.” He chuckles.
“You have all heard my acquaintance’s story here.” You do not wait for the next invitation, gesturing at the man that was still sitting upon the couch. The rest of the room leans in with a nod, “So I believe it should only be fair that I share mine, too.”
.
.
.
PART II: Your Story.
You knew that Geto Suguru was trouble - you knew it.
In addition to unapologetically luring you away from your fiancé (his very brother, at that! That most certainly should’ve been enough to tell you all needed to know about the man), he was steeped in work of such nature that it should never even be spoken into existence. Such blasphemous ideologies, you had never heard of in your entire life.
And you didn’t want to.
At least, that’s what you had assumed. But Geto just had a way about him that was so…irresistable.
And even these past few weeks where he’d been holed up within his laboratory had a part of you missing him. Not necessarily out of any romantic obligation- though, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him in your bed. But mostly, you simply wanted to know whether he’d finally completed his life-death mission and left the rest of humanity to bear its consequences.
Unholy, unholy consequences.
“Oh, Suguru…” Your voice comes out breathless, murky in the stagnated air of the dungeon. It had been weeks since either Geto nor Kenjaku had responded to a letter from you, and without further ado - what next was there to do but barge into the very laboratory?
It wasn’t a difficult task you had to admit. The massive mill had been deemed empty after a few of your knocks went unanswered, and the door was unlocked - what have you told Geto about prioritizing his safety!
Nonetheless, it had worked in your favor this time. And while your fiancé had gone in search of his brother, you’d wandered throughout the entire barren, dilapidated mansion until you’d heard a few rustles from…the floor below the ground.
The dungeons.
Wondering that perhaps something unseemly had happened to one of the residents here, you’d quickly made your way down. And the sight that met you—oh, it had your vision blurring with- tears? You weren’t quite sure what was even real by this point.
It was a massive underground cavern, tiled clinically with white stone on every wall. Great pillars. Glistening streams of water. It wafted out slightly damp particles into the air, and made your breath take formulation in front of you. Tall concave arches curved their backs like portals into other worlds, and beyond the largest one- you could see a figure.
So pale that it almost melded into the walls it was chained to, almost wanted to.
But nothing could hinder the sight of the long-limbed, otherwordly…human before you. Less than human, more than not. He had the brightest blue eyes. Pale hair. Wearing nothing but a robe- more like a blanket, around his lower half. Stepping closer, you could see scar-like stitches around most of his joints: his neck, his legs, the most prominent one in the middle of his toned torso. You bring your hand up to your mouth and whisper, “Oh, Suguru, what have you done?”
The figure stirs at your voice, and stands.
“I…” You don’t know what to say, instinctually taking a step back behind a pillar as he stands to his full, towering height. Nearly eight feet tall, perhaps more. The strands of his ivory hair brushed the very ceiling, and you had to crane your head up to take a look at his handsome face.
The way he moves- jerky, to try and crane his head to see you. As if eager.
You notice that he couldn’t move much with the multiple chains around his wrists, and so you step into the light. Breathing out, “H-Hello.”
And then he smiles.
The most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen.
As you get closer, he silently cocks his head to look down at you.
“Hello.” You say, with more conviction this time. You’re raising your head up fully into the white overhead light, looking right into those beautiful blue eyes—and you think you hear him take in a slight hitched breath. You introduce yourself. “Have you been here long?”
As expected, he doesn’t answer once more. Simply blinking down dreamily at you, slow and steady like he was memorizing your face.
And yet you continue anyways- “It must be cold in here- here.” You’re shrugging off your coat immediately, and though it might be quite small for the giant, you stand on your tip-toes to help him wrap it over his naked shoulders. “I’m sorry, it’s not much- oh.” Mouth slightly dropping as he cups his hand over yours, just as you were straightening out the fabric over his pale skin. You feel the coldness of his body and gasp.
His large body somewhat startles at the noise, and you’re immediately feeling empathetic.
“Oh! Oh, I do apologize for scaring you.” In a slightly more hushed tone, you’re smiling up at him - hoping that perhaps it would disarm him, make him take a step closer. “That was not very lady-like of me, was it? Do forgive me.”
And you didn’t quite give a damn about customs, if you do say so yourself. But before this man you’re placing your hands upon either side of your skirt and curtseying- distinctly sure that you were making a fool of yourself before—
Rattle—!
You’re whipping your head up to realize that this giant was mimicking you - with his head bowed, and his lithe hands pinching the air of an invisible skirt.
You can’t help but giggle, and that draws a soft grunt from the creation, as if imitating that, too.
Or at least wishing to.
After a few seconds of drinking him in, you notice that he was looking rather intently at your hands. The very same part of you that he’d touched earlier.
His touch had been gentle, parched.
And in almost slow-motion, you’re tugging off the silken gloves that encased your hands. The expensive fabric was stuck to your fingertips like a second skin, and the giant’s eyes widen as if he was looking at you peeling a layer of your own. Reaching your exposed palm out—he grips your hand in his cold, cold ones and drags you closer.
He exhales as he brings it up to his face, as he feels you- as he presses your fingertips to his mouth and kisses. The man (or perhaps something else entirely?) lets out a soft chuckle as he feels you.
“Mm-” He grunts out, pressing a tender kiss on your hand before letting it free. Those overlarge palms of his move onto your other, and you’re almost about to repeat the movements of removing your glove on that one - before he tugs on the material at your ring finger. Pinching it delicately between his own digits, and tugging it down off.
Undressing you.
He grunts once more, “Mngh-” Something indiscernible, but to him it makes perfect sense.
In motions that feel like eons, he guides your hands - as light as feathers - to place them upon his own chest. Where you could feel a beating heart.
Ba-dump—!
Ba-dump—!
Ba-dump—!
Racing.
Heaving chest. Bleeding stitches.
And you didn’t realize until then that you’d been shaking.
Eyes widened, you whisper. “Who hurt you?”
A few minutes later and you were barging into Geto Suguru’s decadent bedroom, where you found him deep in conversation with his brother - something or the other about the Royal Medical Society, not that you could give a damn right about now.
“The man!” You’re calling out, uncaring whether you interrupt. You feel so faint that you have to lean against the doorway to fully speak, “The man-”
Geto’s mouth parts, “You saw him…”
And that’s what keeps you walking forwards, until you’re almost nose-to-nose with Geto- and his brother is the one that has to tug you back by your elbows. “The man- is he patient? A victim?” Tone reaching something shrill that neither man has ever heard from you before, “His wounds- you wounded him like that-”
“No, no, no—” Geto’s clapping both hands on your shoulders and attempting to get you to look at him straight. But you almost couldn’t - his amethyst eyes weren’t how you remembered them, and his hair was askew. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have almost said that he looked crazed- “It was the world that hurt him, my dear, not I- I—” Pointing at himself now, “-merely gave him life.”
As you take a few steps backwards in shock, he’s looking at you fully.
“I gave him life.”
Later, Geto gave you a showcase of the ‘creature’ as he’d called it. He’d explained to you his rapid healing, the immense strength that seemed to have been an aftereffect of the storm. And when you’d pointedly asked him why he was chained was here-
“It doesn’t know any better-” Geto had off-handedly replied.
“But, Suguru…” You bore no mind to the hardening expression on his face, crouching down to clasp the giant’s hand. Your heart flutters as he presses your silken gloves back into your hands from where he’d removed them earlier. Caressing you, “-you know better.”
“Suguru, is he intelligent?” His brother asks, warily watching the interaction between you and…this beast. His brother had mentioned it had the mind of a twenty-eight-year-old, so did that mean he could also feel…
To which the surgeon doesn’t reply.
“Suguru, is he intelligent?”
That very night, you snuck out to meet him.
You found the giant glumly hunched over the streams that ran through the dungeon, his long fingers toying with the crisp autumn leaves that had fluttered from the surface above. You watch as he plucks them delicately by the step, chains rattling as he kisses them down onto the water below. Like a little boat that tips and rows right up to you.
He’d flinched as he saw you, you remember now.
Before you’d cast him a gentle smile, and the creation had nervously returned it.
Once you got closer, he’d reached his hand up to - trembling. Shaking at the very thought of human contact, and yet, he’d handed you—
“A leaf?” You’re breathing out in excitement, and the man looks down when you take it. “For me?”
He’d grunted in affirmation.
“Thank you.”
After a few seconds of admiring the leaf by your lantern, you’d taken it up and pressed it to your lips. Humming ever-so-slightly.
“And what can I give back to you, hm?” You’d wondered out loud, “Oh! I know—”
That night, you’d introduced yourself.
Ultimately, Geto’s brother had decided to stay and monitor the situation - and with it, you did, too. Not quite to ‘monitor the situation’ as he had put it, but rather to keep an eye on…him.
You didn’t know when ‘him’ had turned from Geto to the monster within Geto’s basement.
And yet, here you were.
It was you who visited the creation every night, sneaking out when all the lanterns had been dimmed and sleep had befallen the mansion as your only cover. You’d grip a torch of your own in one hand, and in the other would be a cup of ointment.
“Why hello—” You’d croon out, as soon as you caught sight of his hunched figure on the ground. Still chained - you were working on finding the key to it one of these days. And if worse comes to worse, you’d gnaw through those damned shackles if you had to.
You were on the verge to-
“And how have you been today?” You’d beam up at the pale figure, and he’d beam right back - all thirty-two pearly white teeth on full display. With your hands gentle on his limbs, you’re soothing your fingers underneath the unyielding gaps in the circular restraints around his wrist. Dabbing a bit of ointment on so that it would get all the purpleish skin, “Oh, that awful awful man!”
“Awful-” He’d nod, voice scratchy as it pronounced this new word. “Awful awful.”
It would make you chuckle, “And I’m just as awful, aren’t I? Only teaching you awful words?”
The creation’s eyebrows were pale, but you could still make out the way they knit together underneath the medical light. Fervently shaking his head from side to side, “Awful-” He shakes his head even harder, “Awful- not.”
“You say that I’m not awful, hm?” You bring a hand up to your mouth and titter, “Oh my, you’re quite the flatterer, aren’t you?”
And you’re not quite sure whether the giant understood what exactly that word meant, but he blushes all the way down the back of his neck like he does. Such a pretty pink. Rose pink.
Seeing it, you raise an amused brow. “Oh? Quite shy for a flatterer, hm?” Without thinking much of it - and oh, you really should think more when it comes to him - you reach out and glide the softness of your fingertips down his smooth neck. “No, it’s more like you’re just…sweet?”
With a shiver, he’s leaning up to your touch. “Sweet- sweet. My love- sweet.”
And there was that.
You’re not quite sure where he’d learned that particular pet name - my love - or whether it was a creation of his own beautiful mind. But he’d started to refer to you by it a few days ago, and had preferred it to your name ever since.
You’re reaching your hand back- only for him to clasp your fingers once more with his. Only to put them on his body once more.
With a kindly smile, you repeat your name.
“My love.” His gruff voice answers.
And you repeat it.
“My love.”
And you repeat it.
“My love.”
With such a fond sigh, you try to take a different route. “Geto Suguru.”
“Awful, awful man.”
“Hah! Well, at least you have the merit to get that one correct, hm?” You’re humming at him, and removing your hands from his neck to play with his massive fingers instead. The both of you were sitting facing each other, upon the cold marble ledge that Geto had intended to serve as his creation’s bed, you suppose. A sudden idea pops into your mind, “And what about your name?”
He cocks his head, “My love?”
“That’s my name, isn’t it?” You shake your head, tracing out the letters of both your actual name and his lil’ nickname on the surface of his palm. Once you’re done, you close his palm. “What about your name?”
“My…” He starts, and something seems to strangle at the back of his throat. It must be difficult, you guess, to speak out of a voicebox that was not your own. “Sa—weet.”
“Sweet?” You ask.
The giant lightly grunts, “Sa…sweet- Sat—weet.” He shakes his head, and you could practically feel the frustration that radiated off of him.
“Hey hey—” You thumb down his palm once more, and he’s looking up at you with such depth. Such raw emotion in those summer-blue eyes; still unprotected from the roughness of a world that has been nothing but cruel to him. Cooing, “It’s alright—you can take your time.”
“Sa-weet.” He’s croaking out once more, one hand coming up to his throat- and the other hand pressing into your open palm. He draws out the letters that he was aiming to speak into existence. “Sa…to—ru.”
Your eyes widen in shock at his decision, and he looks at you intently.
“Sa—to—ru.” Patterning out two more syllables, “Go—jo.”
“Gojo Satoru?” You ask the man who has picked his own name.
“Gojo Satoru.” He repeats, still slightly rough around the edges. And the giant- Gojo, breaks out into a smile that feels like sunlight against your skin. And his hand- it ends up cupping your cheek, he presses his cold forehead to yours. Breathing you in. “Gojo Satoru, my love.”
You swear you’ve never felt your heart race faster.
After that particular night, you’d taken it upon yourself to teach Gojo as much of the language as you could.
Night after night, you lugged down - not just ointment and your lamp now - books as well. If there was one blessing in this entire laboratory, then it was the fact that its libraries were generous with their bounty for you to raid. And for Gojo, as well.
Gojo—you supposed there were two blessings in this laboratory, after all.
It was tragedy after romance novel after historical novel that the two of you swept through.
You’d read in your lilting voice, and Gojo would listen - sometimes with his eyes peacefully shut, and his breath evening out so that you weren’t sure whether he was asleep or not. And whenever you stopped to check- he never was.
He’d peer at you with wide blue eyes and query, “My love?” And that was all it took to get you reading again, no matter how scratchy your voicebox felt.
You’d found that Gojo was partial to romance novels the most (yes, even the somewhat…steamier ones), and he vengefully loved a good tragedy, too (though you’d have to let him hold you afterwards, face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his large tears wetting your thin night gown). “You would never-” He’d gasp out through powerful sobs, always feeling pain so deep. “You will always stay by my side, my love?”
“Always.”
He’d lace his dominant hand with yours, “Always- always.” Pressing his forehead to yours once more, lips mere centimeters away. You could taste his icy breath, “I belong with you.”
Times like this you almost remembered why Geto kept calling Gojo ‘The Strongest’, because even his slightest hold would be enough to make your joints pop!
But then his teary eyes would take in the split-second wince on your face, and he’d immediately be loosening his grip once more.
He was never just The Strongest to you.
He picked up on language quickly, given that he had the mind of a twenty-eight-year-old. It was as if he’d just been borne into existence as such, merely manifested.
A man in every way except how his creator treated him.
You admit that you didn’t get much sleep during those golden weeks- hell, your fiancé had started questioning whether you were ill after overseeing your bouts of sleepiness during the morning. And you had an inkling that Geto had already guessed, by the way that he’d been staring at you from afar…but he hadn’t caused trouble for you.
Just yet.
You remember that night as if it was just yesterday - it was your last night with Gojo Satoru, of course.
You’d spent particularly long in the dungeon with him that night, even after reading your book you’d stayed behind to simply converse with the gentle giant, all the while tugging and fidgeting with his shackles in an attempt to somehow break them free.
Break him free.
“My love?” Gojo’s asking in his husky voice, ragged. He peers down through his long lashes at what exactly you were doing with his hands - and he lets you do whatever you want. It was you, you could do anything to him. Anything.
You’re looking up at his coos, “Oh- my apologies, Gojo-”
“Satoru.”
“Satoru.” You manage a smile at his tenacity, “Was I hurting you?”
“No.”
“And you’re not lying.”
“No.”
“And you would tell me if I was the one hurting you?”
“…No.”
He grins at your exasperation - it’s true, the way you rolled your eyes with a groan was highly unlady-like, but you didn’t quite care when you were with him. When you were with him, you didn’t quite care about anything else, to be honest. “Oh, Satoru—” You’re cupping his gorgeous face, finally letting go of those restraints that bothered you so much. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Mn.” He grunts, leaning his head in real close so that he could sniff at the flowery scent of your hair. “My love—” Hushly whispering out, “My love, my love, my love.”
“Satoru.” You’re breathing out, equally as quiet.
And then he’s tugging on his restraints, letting some of the screws fall off - easily, considering your tampering all these past few weeks - only to loop his strong arms as much as he could around you. You’re being pulled to his firm chest, feeling each rippling muscle through your thin nightgown. “My love—my love.” It’s like gospel to him.
Your mouth parts ever-so-slightly, something heating up within you. And looking deep into his dilated eyes, you attempt to say something. “Satoru, I…”
He presses his lips to yours in an instant.
In that gaze of his, you saw a need that matched yours.
In that distance of his, you heard the tearing of restraints.
.
.
.
“O-oh—” You’re cupping a hand over your gaping mouth, voice heightening the very second that Gojo’s able to get his ravenous hands on you.
The very second that he’s shoving your nightgown further up your body, bearing your body exposed.
For him…he’s running his jittering palms down both of your breasts. For him for—where your stomach was, down both sides of your hips. For him for him for him. Down to your legs where he’d missed a key part of you.
But before you can huff out in need, Gojo’s scooping you up in his arms and gently splaying you out on his marble bed. The surface is quite frigid against your back, and it makes you inadvertently smear your legs all open.
Oh-so-lecherously open.
All Gojo needs it so take a mere whiff before he’s salivating down his chin at the smell of your sweet, sweet pussy. You’re watching him wipe away the burnished lacquer of spittle with the back of his hand-
“I never…” He’s gasping out, each word guttural and chopped as if being wrenched from the very back of his throat. Gojo hoists himself onto the bed, and towers above you casually. “In all my time here, I’ve yet to feel real h-hunger, my love.”
You supposed that was because of his superhuman body, and you’re wondering why he’s telling you this right now. “I’m…glad, Satoru. Would you like me to perhaps bring you something different next ti-”
“But now, I’ve never felt more starved in my life.”
Oh—
And before you know it, he’s moving. He’s moving his head down until it was nothing but a blur of white and pure carnal need.
Darting straight towards the target of your pretty pussy-
You were just drippin’ wet by this point, and Gojo doesn’t even warn you before he’s surging his nose deep between your pussy and aiming to lick away every single sopping ounce.
“O-oh—fuck!” You’re squealing out, the moment you feel his wet tastebuds sizzle against your core. Gojo was just swiping the pinkish tip of his crown between your pussylips and lavishing it all over in precisely the way he’d eat his favorite dessert. His favorite strawberry. His favorite cream pie. “I s-swear I got you enough of those sweets you love tonight-”
“But not this one.”
And you don’t know exactly what parts Geto had fitted onto his body- but Gojo’s savoring tongue just felt so looooong. Famished. Ramming it into every tiny nook n’ cranny of your outer pussy, forcing his face even deeper between your pretty legs. “Oh, I’ve yet to taste something so sweet.”
Those wads of your slick clung onto the lower half of Gojo’s handsome face, making it look as though he’d just dunked his head into a pool. And the more you’re attempting to push away his sweaty bangs and take a good look at him, the further he’s rovering. “Fuh-fuck, Satoru- oh my god, Satoru, slow down.” You’re panting, “You need to breathe-”
“Is it entirely necessary?”
And yet, it still wasn’t enough for him.
You don’t even know how but he was so dexterous opening you up.
Swirlin’ aside your puffy folds so that he could get to your hole - start filling up your hole.
Pushing and pushing and pushing—
Gojo huffs through his nostrils - right up against your swollen clit - when your snug channel naturally resists the intrusion. He couldn’t fit in more than an inch of his prolonged tongue, and the challenge makes him furrow his snowy brows. “Why isn’t it…” Almost muttering to himself, before he’s spitting a slick wad of saliva straight down onto your core. Splat! “Is this it—? Will this work-”
And then with both knobbly edges of his thumbs pryin’ aside your pussylips, he’s attempting to shovel even more of his tongue inside. “Oh heavens- Satoru, what did I tell you about breathing-”
“But s’just not fitting, my love.” Ah- at this point, his words were just slurred. And you swear his kiss-bitten lip pops out in what looked like a pout. “I don’t care if I don’t breathe if it just- hah, doesn’t go in-”
As if to prove his point, Gojo’s staring straight into your dazed eyes whilst he fucks your pussy with his tongue. Sharp jawline hanging wide open, slithering the pinkish edge of his tongue ‘round and ‘rooooound your hole a few times.
Before he hiccups, “S-see?” Just so sloppily, the giant is attempting to flop his thick muscle inside your leaky entrance. “S’not going in s’not going in- and fuck! how badly I want it to go in…”
“Oh, fuck…” You breathe, “I really am a bad influence- now I have you cussing from that pretty mouth.”
He was also whining into your cunt from that pretty mouth, begging you to take him more seriously. With both of his overlarge palms flattened on your thighs, Gojo’s just slightly slipping on the sheen of slick plastered to your skin as he spreads you all the more open for him. Like a feast-
“Well, if you really want to- hngh!” Just as you begin to speak, he’s funneling his tongue an inch or two deeper. The most sleazy expression upon Gojo’s face as his wet muscle reels back- only to do it all over again. “How cheeky, Satoru- if you really want to fit it a-all in, then you have to stretch me, y’know?”
“Streeetch?” Gojo blubbers out between your pussylips, his maw practically glued to your core by now. It was just too cute the way you’d splash all over him whenever he sent those vibrations right up your cunt, and he looked down at your entrance in interest. “So like- thiiiiiiis?”
“Oh fuuuuuck—” With your voice crackling as you keen, you’re immediately letting your body arch into the most perfect curvature.
Because Gojo Satoru had his rough index and thumb pinched over your puffy clit and drag-drag-draaaaagging that nub. Zaps of pleasure make you see white as he rolls it between both digits, “Like this, my love?” Gojo’s whispering, “Or—more-”
“Yes- no- yes.” By now, you can’t do anything but buck- oh, how did it get to this? He’s been the one that was easily pussydrunk with only a few laps, but now you were the one reaping its consequences.
Purely speechless on the way he was teasin’ your pretty clit, you’re reaching your dominant hand down and gripping onto Gojo’s white locks. Roughly - but if the way he purely moaned when he felt the sensation was anything to go by, then he loved it. “Yes, like that- ngh. But that’s not exactly what I meant, Satoru.”
“What did you mean then, my love?” He’s asking, eagerly.
And a faint satisfaction washes over you at the fact that you’re going to be the one to teach Gojo Satoru how to play with your pussy.
You flutter your lashes down at him, “First lesson is- you have to get me wet enough.” Not that he quite needed that lesson, for you were wet enough that your sap was oozing out of you and sticking onto his face in oodles by now.
But it just feels so good having him purse his rosy lips and splattering a straight ribbon down onto your cunt, smearing it with none other than his lips. “And then?”
“S-second lesson-” Shivering, you’re tugging his face closer - and The Strongest lets you. “Take it sloooow and easy with that tongue, Satoru. Just like- mmm, fuck!” But just a singular lap at your treacly pussy, and Gojo was all but plastered to it.
Lavishing your front with licks. Swiping and snapping his tongue allllll over every crevice.
He was letting his tastebuds enter wherever you’d let him, blue peripherals rolling right to the back of his skull at the candied taste that was filling his throat. And Gojo has the audacity to fight against it and whine when you’re briefly attempting to tug him off, “Just one more-” He pants out, with a wettened plop! when he attaches his maw to your cunt once more. “One more lick-” And once more. “Just one more taste-” And once more. “One more sweet kiss-”
And once more.
Eventually you can’t do anything but throw your head back and shrill—“Not adequately following the lessons will result in- in barring you from my pussy-”
And then he’s removing himself with a gasp! “No- no no no no-” Grabbing onto either side of your waist - and you’re unsure whether that’s to keep himself at bay, or to keep you from running away. “Please don’t- I beg of you, please don’t. I need this pretty pussy, my love…”
“Then you’ll listen, hm?” You ask, to which the powerful being doggedly nods. “Alright then, commencing- he second lesson is to take it slow with your tongue. Just stretch out my entrance—oh.”
And this time his tastebuds were sizzling against yours in slow, sensual motions. In circles and cute hearts- you swear your pupils were dazedly following along with the movements within the whites of your eyes.
“Like- like this, my love?” He eagerly pants out, scorching breath hitting you from all angles. Luxuriously salivating into every tiny crevice within your channel- not just impatiently trying to fit in. Slick and satisfying with his plump tip squeezin’ inside. “Is this, mmmm, adequate enough for you?”
“Yes- yes yes yes.” You’re moaning with your head thrown back, “And now ngh, if you could just put your fingers on my clit now…”
“Is that a lesson?” Genuinely asking - he’s raising a pale brow, wafting his hand closer and closer to where you wanted him the most. Genuinely letting his mouth water at the notion - “Oh, please let that be a lesson- please. I love this cute lil’ clit.”
You’re nodding your head along with just as much desperation, “Yes- fuck yes, it’s a lesson.”
And the words have barely even left your mouth, you’ve barely even thought to close your gaping mouth - before Gojo’s cupping your cunt with highly-trained reflexes and teasin’ your clit. His lengthy fingers roll over that knobbly nub, in circular motions that make you buck atop him-
“Oh- oh look—” He’s marveling out at something, awe-struck. It takes you every shred of will in your body to actually tilt your head downwards and see what he was talking about. And Gojo? Gojo was just fixated on the sultry way that his tongue was shovelling even deeper between your pussylips, the friction letting his tastebuds massage your velvety walls. “Look it actually works- ngh, your lessons are benefiting me- ngh, quite greatly, my love.”
“Happy to help…” Blearily, you’re rutting your hips up in a sloppy staccato to chase that white-hot pleasure thrumming in your veins.
Something that Gojo happily welcomes, if the way he was roverin’ his sweaty head even closer told you anything. “And then?” He pants out, his nose rubbin’ all over the leaky slit of your cunt. “And then what- what next, my love, what next? Anything to do with this sweet pussy drives me wild.”
You take one look into his darkened eyes - blue irises damn near black by now - and shiver. “And lesson number…”
“Four.”
“Four is that you can t-try to use your fingers to help fit inside.” One more look- though, this time it’s at Gojo’s incredibly-sized fingertips. Far larger than any other human man, and the way they just curved dexterously inwards made you want to gulp. “Slowly, however.”
He purrs, “Slowly it is, my love.”
And you might have made Gojo Satoru agree to slowly—but you didn’t speak a word of him being nice, did you?
Within mere sultry seconds, he has the tip of his middle hooked ‘round the rim of your entrance. Using slight strength, Gojo’s stretching you wiiiide open- “Oh.” Gasping straight into the quivering orifice of your hole. “Oh, my love, you’re right.”
He’s then jutting his pointed chin straight between your puffy pussylips, letting his long tongue splosh! inside. “You’re right- it really does go even deeper. Oh, I wonder what it should be like if I put two fingers in-”
“T-two of your fingers?” You’re snapping your head up to gawp.
“Oh, but don’t worry.” Gojo shoots you a dazzling smile - literally, he was drenched in so many candied layers of your slick. Intently, “I’ll be reeeeeal slow.”
“O-oh, fuck.”
He’s swabbin’ away two of his doughy fingertips- right along with his tongue now. Again. And again. And again and again. Pressing into every speck and spot inside of you, Gojo’s digits manage to scissor your channel wide open, whilst the texture of his tastebuds were creating a feral sort of texture that drove you wild.
Spittle dangles down the side of your maw, “Oh- oh my god.” Babbling away almost nonsensically, just the most sinful noises leave you any time that Gojo was thrusting his thick digits in and out. In and out. In and out. “Oh heavens, I’ve never felt something so gooood, Toru.”
“Mmm, and that sounds good.” The tips of his ears blush a cute crimson shyly at the nickname - all the while he had his face nose-deep into your cunt and lapping you like a madman.
Sticking his fat tongue in every time he fingered open your cunt, hooking his muscle up to your gooey roof. Shoving. Shoving. So hard that glittery speckles of your slick escape and strike the tops of his cheekbones. And he just couldn’t get enough- with a growl he’s dragging you back mercilessly in for even more.
Adding in a third finger—
“Sh-shiiiit, Satoru-” You’re all but bawling, “I don’t think m’gonna last too long-”
“And the fifth lesson?” He’s hissing out in response, just as urgent as you. With his honed senses, he could practically smell the pure carnal need in your pheromones, “What should be the fifth lesson, my love? Please, I must hear it with my own two ears- I must-”
“The f-fifth lesson…” Head dizzy. Pupils whirling. “The fifth lesson s’to make me cum, Satoru.”
And he doesn’t think he’s heard sweeter words.
With a particularly haaaaard push of his fingers, all the way down to his bases, Gojo’s sticking his rounded fingertips straight against your throbbing g-spot. Where you’d been waiting for him for so long. Where he barely even has to graze that awaiting spot before you’re bursting into your sudden high.
“C-cumming—” Your shrill voice echoes out in the dungeon - not that you cared at this point. And your body unlatches from the now-warm bed to riiiide all of Gojo’s pretty face through your high, “M’cumming m’cumming m’cumming, Toru.”
“And s’all because of me-”
Proudly, Gojo’s letting himself be used to cover your sweet, sweet sensations of bliss. Any time he could feel your geysering orifice clench ‘round him- he’s only thrusting his fingers in harder.
Only licking over your bundle of nerves even more.
Slurp-slurp-slurp—you’re barely even midway through your wave of euphoria before Gojo finds himself already finished licking up your beaded ounces of slick. And without a second thought, he’s shoving himself back in between your legs with his tongue mazin’ inside. “Should be able to fit myself in- hah- now, huh?” He murmurs to himself, through just the slightest muffled gaps between his maw and his cunt. “Go inside- go inside go inside go inside-”
You’re strangling out a squeal as he ends up bottoming out his lengthy tongue, “So much of you…ngh, Toru, you fill me up like nothing else-” Thrust after thrust after thrust.
“And it’s the only thing I want to do.” Hammering away where you were the most sensitive. “To bring your pretty pussy so much loving.”
Before Gojo finds himself stuffing your cunt to the brim with his fingers and his tongue- and you’re barely through with your first high before already bursting into your second.
This one was unexpected, and it explodes through your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Your entire body heating up about several more degrees, just like putty ‘round his constantly hitting digits - with such precision whenever he’s striking your g-spot.
It passes through in synchronization with your initial orgasm, a brief flash behind your eyelids- before it’s petering out to nothing but a few overstimulated zings!
“P-please-” You sob out, clawing at his perspired scalp. “I don’t think I can cum again, Satoru- fuck, I don’t possess the stamina for that-”
“You do not?” Genuinely in disbelief.
“You’re just much more- ngh, enduring than me.” Blurting out, and it takes you both of your hands to even nudge Gojo away from where he was wetting your orifice with his tongue. All over again, as though he was still set on the idea of tugging out a third orgasm from you. “But if we do it now, then I’ll let you put something else in my-”
He unglues from your pussy with a loud, lecherous mwah!
“As you wish, my love.”
Oh—and then you’re being manhandled. You thought that Gojo Satoru was being feral with you before?
Not at all, you’re actually realizing that he’d been going easy on you. He’d been holding himself back. So fast that you barely even register what’s happening, Gojo’s rip-rip-riiiiipping your poor nightgown straight down the middle, throwing it somewhere behind him.
Raising himself up on his haunches. And then a hand falls to the robe around his pelvis-
“Oh my…” You’re squeaking out in surprise, eyes widening as the white fabric unravels for Gojo to reveal himself completely. Even when he had that on, you’d assumed that he was quite…sizeable - it was only pertinent, after all, the rest of him was quite exceptional in size as well - height, weight, power.
But this?
This just made your jaw drop, and your mind immediately goes to curse at the man that had created him. Eyes greedily following the stitches that held together his muscular torso and v-line, you can’t help but let them dip lower…and lower…and lower.
The prominent stitches between his lower and upper halves.
Those ladder-like abs that decorated his core.
The trail of his white happy trail.
The base where they ended in a thick cock.
Long.
With a handful of veins starting out from his pelvis, and snaking all the way down his nine - perhaps even ten - inches. They loop all over his shaft, so hard that you could visibly count every throb. As if all the blood had left his man-made body and ended up in his cock.
Ended up in his blushin’ red tip that glazed with a fresh lacquer of precum. Twitching at the intensity of your stare-
“I-is something the matter, my love?” Gojo interrupts your ogling, “Is something not to your liking- oh, is it because eating you out made me cum just a lil’ bit?”
Your mouth opens, but you don’t know what to say.
And Gojo’s swipin’ his thumb down his mushroomy tip, smearing away a few remnant beads of white. “Because I apologize that I’m so weak for-”
“No!” You’re interrupting his apology instantly - he had absolutely nothing to apologize for. In fact…you rather found it pleasurable that making out with your pussy made him cream right in his pants. Clearing your throat, “No- you don’t have to apologize for anything, Satoru. It’s just…”
“Yes?”
“You’re so big.”
“Oh.” He looks down at himself as if he never realized- and when he looks up, you’re jolted to your very core to realize that Gojo Satoru was smiling. “As long as we have the five rules, right?”
“R-right- oh.”
The confirmation is barely letting off from your lips before Gojo’s hulking figure grabs at your squirmy body and slap-slap-slaps! his creamy tip between your folds. Just nudgin’ away the curvature of his tip between them, he gets a taste of your heated cunt and all but breaks.
Shivers. Shatters.
He unfastens his mouth as if he was about to say something- before immediately gnawing down on his lower lip and rutting. Like an animal.
Like he was in fucking heat—Gojo’s attempting to swirl his strawberry divot inside. “Oh—oh…” He grunts out something primal from the back of his throat, every slight buck between your legs making Gojo let off a pained noise - he needed to be inside you right now. “Oh- so this is what a pretty pussy feels like. This is what your pretty pussy feels like-”
“Aaaand?” You’re cooing out, wrangling onto his sculptured deltoids. “How does it f-”
“Like heaven.”
He’s managing to bully in a single inch inside your tight cunt- completely forgetting whatever sinful ‘lessons’ you’d just taught him moments prior. Just that pussydrunk.
And just the first measurement of his swollen, fattened cock inside your pussy - just the first sensation of your walls all wrapped around his cock…
And you think you might just have broken The Strongest.
Because Gojo’s then throwing his head back and cumming- dolloping out a thick layer of his sap deeeep inside where you could feel it move about. His honed tip enters your hole perfectly, layering out his slick.
“C-cum—ngh.” Just the cutest noises leave him, and you swear you’re catching his face stain with a single tear or two just at the sensation of putting it inside. “M’cumming.”
“I- hah- know, Toru.” Fuck…you shouldn’t have said that. Because that only makes his twitchy tip flinch just a bit more inside your walls before beading out his hot pearly cum, the slickness of it already overspilling from your entrance.
That cascade of liquid echoes out just the slightest sultry noise - the slightest.
And yet Gojo’s snapping a single look down your glistening cunt and giggling—“S-so that’s what it is.” He’s rasping out- goosebumps skitter all across your body as you register the way his tone sounded…octaves higher. Sounded as if he was almost crazed.
Without any warning, he’s then lightly easing his shivering hips back and shoving- “So tha’s what it is. So tha’s what it is. Why h-has it never occurred to me prior?” Fucking his gooey wads back in. You weren’t sure whether he was talking to you or himself, before he’s plunging out a few more vulgar strikes with just his dribblin’ rose-colored tip. “That’s what it is, my love.”
“What is- hngh, what-” That final sentence of his was punctuated by the sloppiest stripes of pre, taken inside your channel with slurping noises.
He’s boring straight into your eyes with his dilated pupils. Almost glowing. Almost animalistic. Before you’re able to repeat your question once more- Gojo’s clogging up your throat with his hammerin’ away. Nothing more than three inches inside of you (for now) and still rendering you stupid. “It’s that… One of his hands claws down your front, feeling for himself as he sinks in. “I don’t know if I believe in any h-higher power, but if I did—then it’d be you, my love.”
“Oh my- fuck!” Both that hand on your stomach and his free one then grope onto your hips and slam you down to meet his greedy hips.
“It would be you-” He’s panting out, his own personal chant. Through half-lidded eyes, Gojo watches the way his thickened cock slips n’ slides into your tight orifice. Cum and slick pouring out like madness, “It would be this pretty pussy- oh, the way she’s taking me- I could worship your cunt every single day of my life and die with no regrets.”
Panting out, “D-don’t say that-”
You could feel him enveloping every single hidden sweet spot inside of your walls, Gojo didn’t even have to try to get his flared ridge to open you up juuust right. “I will.” He seethes, something absolutely ruined in his tone- you might just be right in thinking that you’ve broken him. “I will- unless you command it, my goddess.”
“O-oh my—fuck.” With your back arching into Gojo’s sculpted front - all toned abs and rippling obliques - you felt as though you were at his complete mercy. “Do you- do you even remember the lessons, Satoru-”
“Of course, I remember the lessons.”
His tone was one that was offended you should even ask.
And with his nose crinkled handsomely in slight concentration, Gojo’s then rattling off those very lessons - while doing his very best to disregard them. “First- hah, first lesson is to get your pussy wet enough.”
“And?” You’re raising a brow, just to see what he would do.
“And…” Gojo lays his eyes down on the vision of your glistening cunt and almost snickers - you were just so aroused that your pussylips were shimmering with your sweet, sweet sap. He then proceeds to crane his neck down and still spit a great glob of saliva down onto your cunt. “-completed.”
“Oh—” He was checking those lessons off like boxes. You just wondered what would be there for you by the very end.
“Second lesson-” Gojo continues, “-take it sloooooow and easy.”
You nod, “S-slow and easy.”
“Oh, but how m’I expected to when your pussy fuh-feels like ngh- this, my love?” He’s genuinely pondering, with his brows knitted and his tongue darting out in thought. “It just feels so good that- hck! slowing down should be punishable by the law. I would rather be chained and whipped than slow do-”
“Satoru!”
And you can only watch as Gojo’s eyes brighten up, “Oh! I know-”
That’s when he’s easing the sinking of his cock—eeeeeasing, ever-so-slightly. Just for a laaaaanguid stroke, two, three, four-
Before you’re once more being pounded silly by his massive intrusion, “There- there.” Gojo babbles out with a pussydrunken smile, all dopey and blushing. “I took it slow and easy- fuck, it even had me fitting in an inch more, my love, did your pussy notice?”
“Fuck yes, I did.” You’re whining, arching your hips up into his. “And now you’re going- fuck, you’re going so f-fast again-”
“Well, you never proclaimed that I must go slowly the entire time.” Basking in his own personal victory, the loophole he’d discovered, he accelerates his hips even more. The rotund crown of his tip poking into you viciously, “Rather an oversight on your hngh- part, don’t you think, my love?”
“Rather, yes.”
“But it’s alright-” He nuzzles you with his attractive nose, “-I should do well to excel in the third lesson. The ah-”
“F-fingers on my clit.”
But of course, Gojo Satoru didn’t forget. Of course he merely wanted to hear you say it in that pretty, whiny voice of yours whilst you were being fucked by him- “What was that?” Gojo cranes his head down, the tips of his bangs tickling your face. “I’m afraid I cannot hear you clearly over your cunt-”
“Fingers on my, mmm, clit!” You’re yelping out, “I want your fingers on my-”
“Oh, you never need to beg with me, my love.”
Such a tease- when did your sweet Gojo become such a tease? Become so damn mean? Snickering at the look on your face, he reaches down and gently pinches your clit.
Moaning at the lewd way you buck, “Ah- is that not adequate enough? Do you wish for mooooore?”
“Yes, more-” You’re gasping, “More more more more-”
“Oh.” And it makes a part of his over-hard cock jolt right against your walls, burying himself just a few more inches down your walls. “As you wish, my love.”
The flatness of Gojo’s thumb was now glued to your nub, and you’re seeing white at the sheer amount of pressure being put on your lower half. He runs a hand across your drivelling wet cunt, right atop your folds, in-between your slit, snaggin’ apart your cute clit and pressing down-down-down.
“Reminds me of your other lesson.” He coos out, shivering at the lecherous way your expression twists every time his bulbous tip entered you. “Reminds me to- hah, to use my—fingers.”
“Toru, for this I don’t believe you need to—mmmpf, fuck.”
You’re biting back your words- in fact, your words are being fucked right back into you. “The fourth- hah, fourth lesson.” Gojo’s whispering as his thumb darts down in rubbing motions from your clit and to your hole. “The fourth lesson the- ngh, the fourth.” Almost reminding himself, almost holding himself back whenever his fingertip was getting a taste of your sweetened cunt-
And he’s reeling that hand upwards to lick off the polished wet excess.
With those tips of his now coated in a gleaming layer of saliva, Gojo manages to curl his thumb inside and pry apart your entrance a lil’ further. Just a lil’ more.
Just enough for him to give you another hard push and finally bottom-out.
His tufts of pearly white curls scritch-scratch against your cunt, and you’re driven absolutely crazy by the carnal feeling of having all of Gojo Satoru deep and throbbing inside of you. He’s managing to fill out every single crevice like never before, a loooooong length that ends with his reddish tip kissin’ at your spongy cervix.
“O-oh my fuck-” Even as you breathe, you can feel him stuffed inside of you. You try to run your palm down your front, and you swear you can almost feel him from the outside.
The giant sploshes out a hefty wad of pre that adds to the mess already leaking out of you - and you might have thought that Gojo would feel awe-struck at the filthy sight below you, you might have thought that Gojo would babble away at it.
But instead he’s just so…quiet.
Gojo Satoru has his head hunched, his ivory bangs covering his eyes, his biceps quivering as if they were on the verge of collapsing—
You take in the sheer amount of his ragged breaths, as if he’d just run across town five hundred times. “Satoru-” You tug on his shoulders- and when that doesn’t rouse him, you’re moving onto shifting apart his bangs to take a good look at his flushed face. “Satoru, are you okay- oh, shit.”
One look into his eyes.
One look into his drunken, predatory eyes-
And that’s all it takes for Gojo Satoru’s entire body to jolt- for Gojo Satoru’s entire body to be electrified as if he’d just been brought to life a thousand times over. Startled into motion. Breaths catching.
He’s moving mechanically, robotically, to throw both your legs over his broad shoulders and suddenly bend, bend, bend, bend—
“I don’t even know what I’m doing.” He utters out into the saturated air, words nothing but a whisper. Eyes wide. Mouth gaped. A slow dribble of saliva down the side of his mouth gives you the urge to lick it off- but before you can do anything about that temptation, Gojo’s rutting—using that kinetic force to push you even deeper in half. “I don’t even know what I’m doing-”
Till your knees hit your tits, and your chin hits your collarbones.
And you can only cry out as Gojo fucks you at a constant rhythm, feral. “You- you don’t realize that you’ve just folded me into the hck! meanest mating press, Toru?”
“No.”
He’s bullying his hot girth into you- thump-thump-thumping away directly near the back of your womb. And if that wasn’t enough, his split-ended tip found itself grazing your favorite g-spot as well, again. And again. And again and again and again.
“I don’t even know why- ngh.” He’s choking up at the feeling of your walls closing in on him, your sopping pussy holding him completely hostage by this point. One hand of his was rolling his fingers over your clit, and the other glides down your core. “I don’t know why it’s just…”
You’re gulping once his hand comes to a stop right above where his bulbous tip was ending out at your cervix. Thudding away-
“-m’getting this sudden urge to breed you, my love.”
Oh.
And perhaps it was the feeling of his perfectly vein-decorated cock getting to you, perhaps it was the way his probin’ eyes felt almost hypnotic. And yet you can’t help but open your mouth with a whiny- “Yes.” Locking your ankles firmly ‘round his neck, he’s ramming and ramming his hips into yours with a groan. “Breed me then, Satoru. Give me your- hck! child.”
“Oh, my love…” Gojo’s spit-slicked maw drops. “Oh, my heaven- oh, my life—” His forehead plasters against yours, scalding breath fanning your face. “You’d be lucky if I gave you just one.”
“I p-presume I won’t be making it out of this alive-”
Gojo doesn’t confirm nor deny, only drilling into you like such a madman.
It was in his natural instinct to breed you until his silvery tip felt all red and raw. The only thing he had to do was bottom-out at the spongy layer of your womb to activate that carnal part of him that wanted to see you all round n’ glowing with his child.
With his strings of precum splashing out at the bottom of your cunt as if a premonition of something much stronger. And Gojo can only plant smack after smack of his rounded, ruby-red tip at the base of your pussy. Those goopy layers suckin’ him in- “Haaaah, m’not even completely certain that it can be done.” He admits, thoroughly pressuring his hips against yours. “And yet- I hope you know that I won’t be letting you go until we make it happen…?”
“Make it happen?” You gulp.
“Mhmmm—I’ll stay here and pound you against this marble as long as I need to. Won’t stop even when your gorgeous shape’s dug into the stone, if by then you’re still not p-pregnant.” Such filthy words, and after each syllable he places a solid sultry flick upon your clit.
It makes you dribble out your sap like a faucet, “If I can’t sense your pretty cunt taking my seed. If I can feel the space inside of you. If you aren’t all full and choking on my cum-” Free hand coming up to draw a line across your airway, “-right up to here. If you don’t have trouble speaking—then we’re repeating it all over again.”
You shiver at his words, “Oh fuh-fuck, Toru, I don’t think m’gonna last very long.”
“Oh yeah?” He’s tittering, “Tha’s not gonna make me stop, my love- I apologize- it just feels too good. Just gets me too addicted that I—ngh.” His brows furrow, head throwing back- “Don’t even think about trying to get me to pull out before I’ve done all I’ve promised-”
“Sa-toru!” You’re dragging out your words, feeling lightheaded with the constant thumping of pleasure taking over your fuzzy brain.
“Oh but- but don’t think that doesn’t mean m’that gone on this cunt…well, I do confess that I am.” He’s gently tugging on your clit, and breaking out into an accomplished smile. “But worry not, I still r-remember your lessons—”
You’re cracking your eyes open, almost delirious. “You…do?”
“Mhm—” He leans down, and plants a gentle peck on your lips. “Fifth lesson.”
And it’s exactly then that Gojo Satoru fucks you straight into your high- stark against your tizzy pleasure, scorching hot. The electricity of your orgasm rips right through your body, frying your veins with the sheer bliss-
“Fifth lesson, always make you cum.” He’s repeating as if a mantra, and you’re clutching his scarred back for dear life as Gojo’s lengthy shaft digs against your every tiny orifice inside. Somehow, he’s mapped out your g-spot perfectly - swabbin’ that exact spot in the same sloppy tandem as his fingers on your clit. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump! “Always make you cum- hah, always- always-”
“W-want you to cum, too, Satoru.” You blink up tearily at him, wriggling your hips. You moan at the feeling of his flared ridge stirrin’ your tender insides, “Inside- please?”
He breathes out, “Has…has anyone ever cum in-”
“No.” You’re tugging him into a kiss, and it somehow seems to heat your body up even further. “Just you.”
And it’s all that needs to be said for Gojo to finally finish out.
Pouring out long clingy streaks of his cum, that ivory sap sticks against your walls and sensually slides down to your womb- hot and sticky. Balls clenching. Heavy. So much of it- the sheer volume is a sensation that only adds onto the shakes of your own orgasm.
Your toes curl, and you swear you could almost taste the sticky sweetness of the puddle he was swirlin’ out at your very base. With all his throbbing inches shoved in tight—and your teeth set on edge after each ba-thump! of hot sap.
He’s riding both yours and his on your pretty lil’ cunt, “Just me-” Parched lips whispering. With brazen eyes, Gojo looks down at your core and pat-pat-pats above where he was spurting out his sap. “Just me, just me- just me—”
As Gojo’s voice breaks out, you’re peering up at him. “Satoru-”
“And is it…” He’s finishing off his train of thought from earlier, still muddled by the feeling of your sopping wet cunt- the crackles of his high. They make every hair on his body stand on end, spine arching into your body. “-is it just me that belongs to you, my love?”
You whine when his slightly-changing position makes his globular tip swab even further inwards to mess up your insides. “Oh, Toru, you don’t belong to me.” You tell him, and the corners of his lips almost downturn in sadness. “You’re mine, if you hah- want to be-”
“I do.” Gojo answers, immediately.“Oh, how I do, my life.”
Beaming.
You just didn’t know that, outside, Geto had been there to hear it all.
.
.
.
In the end, it was only with the promise of bringing him more romance novels, and perhaps a few sweet treats from the kitchen, that you’d managed to detangle yourself from Gojo Satoru’s long limbs. You crept upstairs with the morning light.
Clutching onto the staircase banister with all your might, absolutely ruined.
And you were well and fully intentioned to return with the spoils of your brief respite - to be quite honest with yourself, it ached somewhere deep inside when you weren’t near him. And you’d just been running your mind through a few potential titles that he might like when you heard his voice.
Not Gojo’s, no.
Geto’s.
“You should not go near it.”
You whirl around to find him standing at the foot of the stairway, hidden in the shadows, so that you had not even noticed him with your mind full of Gojo.
Geto takes a step closer towards you, and you could feel his eyes sweep down the tattered nightgown that you help to your body, to your glistening eyes, your kissed lips. His lip curls in distaste, “You should not go near it.”
“It?” You ask, not masking your dislike.
“It, yes.” He spits, “It is dangerous-”
“He is a human being-”
“He is a monster.” And Geto Suguru has never raised his voice with you - not with you. But he can’t help but let that scratchy pitch out now, getting closer towards you with that utterly manic look in his eyes. “The Strongest- yes. I have not completely failed, but something must have gone wrong somewhere. A suture? A valve? Because he is a monster-”
“You do not know him!” Waving your lantern in his direction, he darts backwards with his eyes narrowed.
“Good God, my dear…” He starts out, slow. “If I could force myself to believe it, it would be in my inclination to see attraction in you for that thing-”
“And if so, then what?” You’re raising your head high in challenge, meeting his steely gaze dead-on. “Understanding. Pain. Intelligence. In him, I see all of those things-” The flames lick away from him, “-and I am not quite sure I see them in you, anymore.”
Geto turns his head away from you, jaw clenched. “What about what you have denied me?” And you’re not quite sure what he means in that moment, not until he spits out the very two words that haunted you for nights. “Your heart.”
“My heart.” You can’t help but laugh to yourself, fists tightening on your lamp. “Of all human anatomy, that is the organ furthest from your understanding.”
And that is where your conversation had ended.
For the night, that is.
Turning your back to Geto, you’d made your way up that grandiose staircase- towards the library, as you were intended to. You took your time perusing the titles, both in wonderment as to what Gojo might like as a pastime to forget the conversation with Geto before you met your lover. And by the time that you’d picked up a tattered old copy of Beauty and the Beast…the tower was on fire.
What happened next you remember in snapshots and screams.
Running into Geto and your fiancé in the corridor, being bodily dragged out of the burning mansion by them both, fighting your way in an attempt to get into the dungeons- and yet, you were no match for both.
You’d flung and clawed at them both.
And yet…they still let the dungeons burn.
You knew that Geto had something to do with the fire, he seemed none too miserable about losing his greatest creation. None too sorry about hearing it scream—your name, from the depths of his wounded chest, it echoed above the flames,
That, however—that made you run to the house despite the flames- it’s only with your fiancé’s help that you narrowly missed a plume of flame and heat that had been headed straight at you. And when you opened your eyes, stuck together with tears, you’d found…
Geto attempting to go inside, as well.
Frantic.
Fervent.
Flapping his coat and attempting to wade through, a single tear racing down his cheek.
What has he done?
“It’s too late now, Suguru.” You’re throwing off the other man’s arms, your cries aimed at Geto who looked on hopelessly at the maze of fire that he simply could not penetrate. “It’s too late now!”
Inevitably, you’d broken off your engagement and wished to flee the country, perhaps flee your life entirely - only, you didn’t realize that a certain scientist had much the same idea. Geto had joined you on an expedition to the North Pole a few months later, one that you’d signed up for in the hopes that the cold would perhaps numb your mind.
But when your Navy Vessel had been attacked by a hooded, inhuman figure- it was the two of you that had been left out for dead, the harbingers of such disaster. And you could only realize that Gojo was far far from numb in your mind. He was closing in on it. Just as he was closing in on you.
He was alive.
He was alive.
And you won’t let Geto prevent you from seeing him now.
.
.
.
“So that is why the mons…Gojo calls for ‘her’.” Nanami breathes into the ringing silence after your side of the story. He looks over at Geto, who hangs his head low, and then straight into your eyes. “He was asking for you- he was calling for you-”
“Oh-” Your hands fly up to your chest, “Surely you didn’t hurt him too badly?”
“We did not, my lady.” Nanami lies - and even if it had been false, it was only true that this creation had rapid healing. The Strongest, huh? Imagine such a thing. He takes his hat off and slightly bows before you, “We apologize that we were not there to speak with him before attacking, human to human.”
You’re managing out a slight smile, before you turn your gaze towards the haggard Geto Suguru. Who mutters to himself, “Her…so- so he really doesn’t want…”
“It’s not you he wants, Suguru. He doesn’t want revenge, he doesn’t want blood, he just wants-”
“Love.” He says the word like it pains him, looking up at you with those soft amethyst eyes for the first time in what feels like…forever. “He wants love.”
And you wanted your love, too.
The crew outside had been doing a valiant job at attempting to ignore the cracking of the frozen sea beneath them, the almost turgid shape of something attempting to claw at them from beneath the icy surface. Banging at the frost. Creating currents that sway and tip the Horisont from side to side. But once the group filters out of Nanami’s bedroom, multiple officers run up to their Captain with their worries.
“Captain, that- that thing seems to be coming back up again-”
“Our onlookers have spotted it swimming back near the ship-”
“It’s almost here!”
“Calm yourselves, calm yourselves.” The blond-haired man raises his palms to signal for silence, announcing to the entire crew. They look at you curiously, so out-of-place amongst their frantic faces, in fact- you seemed ready to leap off the side of the ship for a better look. “I am aware of the problem, and I am aware that he will be returning soon.”
“He?” Repeats Ino.
“He.” Nanami affirms, a twinkle in his eye. “And we have been quite the inhospitable hosts towards each of our guests here, and as your Captain I apologize for not correcting our behavior sooner.” And above the gasps, he continues. “Gojo Satoru is not dead. Gojo Satoru will return. And when he does-” He gestures behind at you, “-we will be letting this lovely lady off the side of the ship.”
“A sacrifice, Captain?!”
“That’s murder!”
“How could we ever possibly-”
“He’s coming.” His stern voice cuts through all, and it didn’t matter what they all had to say at this very moment. It only mattered what you had to do. “He’s coming- man the ladder.”
The crew works quickly and efficiently, and as they let that water-logged wooden ladder hit the ice below- Geto claps at your elbow with one of his shaking hands. “Are you perfectly sure-”
“Suguru.” You’re interrupting him, and it makes the taller man flinch. You smile, “I’ve never had a more foolhardy idea in my entire life.”
Somehow, somewhere, he manages to crack a smile, too.
The thunder of fists against frozen water grows louder, synchronizing with the stomp of your heartbeat as you make your way down that ladder. Biting your lips against the cold, your eyes trained on the dark mass of cloth that waded beneath the snow like a blood-thirsty shark. Ready to break free.
The moment your shoes hit the crunching snow—
CRASH!
Gasping, the ship leans over on its side as they look over the edge.
The Strongest.
All eight, loving feet of him towering before you.
Shoulders stooped. Cloak drenched. Hood obscuring. His breaths come out in uncontrolled gusts after so long beneath the water, and the breeze tickles your face as he just can’t help but bow himself closer to you.
“Let me see you.” You’re humming, reaching over with absolutely no hesitation to pull the flap of his hood off. Ice-blue eyes meet yours. Rosy pink lips wobble with emotion. And suddenly you’re looking into the very face that has haunted your daydreams for so long now, your love. Your Gojo Satoru. “Satoru.” Taking one of his overlarge hands in yours, you’re placing them to your core - beyond those extra layers of coats, the swell of your belly. The life growing within. “We’re sorry we took so long.”
His scarred body embraces you then and there, “My loves.”
A/N. Think this might be the longest fic I’ve ever written? Mayhaps??
what was supposed to be a night of quick fun, a good lay with ryomen sukuna quickly snowballed into you ending up pregnant from a one night stand. it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t something planned, and your baby daddy wasn’t exactly eager, but you’d manage. right?
PAIRING: frat bro ryomen sukuna x nerdy! fem reader (with hints of nerd!jo x reader)
CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. unprotected sex. unplanned pregnancy. the topic of abortion. sukuna being a dick. maybe (probably) inaccurate depictions of frat life. more included in the individual posts.
SERIES MASTERLIST
01. DOUBLE SHOTS & DOUBLE LINES
you’re out of your element at one of the frat parties sukuna’s hosting, left to your own devices for most of the night. one thing leads to another, you’re in his bed tonight and with a positive test five weeks later?
02. THE NERD WHO STEPPED UP
without a ride and any support, you find yourself at an abortion clinic with your roommate’s best friend, satoru gojo. do you do it, do you not do it, the thoughts haunt you, gojo’s there to stick by your side through it all.
03. FRAT BRO’S DILEMMA
ryomen sukuna finally decides to man up….three months after he spoke to you last. is he too late or will you let him back in?
04. BABY SHOWER BEAT DOWN
the date of your baby shower comes up, with both gojo and sukuna in the same room together. punches land, cupcakes fly, tears fall, all in the span of three hours.
05. GATEWAY TO HEAVEN
gojo satoru manages to reach heaven only to…fumble the bag?
06. GOING THROUGH CHANGES
after distancing yourself from both satoru and sukuna, you slowly start to get your life together.
07. TBD
if you asked to be tagged before this, dw i got you :3 but if you’d like to be added (or removed) at any point, please let me know!
Looking for #JJK x Reader that has a little (or a lot) more than smut? More fun and plots? I've got something cooking for you ⬇️
Long fics
1. Your Life as a Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student (Reader Insert; 358k words; Complete)
Read on Ao3 | Quotev | Wattpad
Fix-it/Retelling of JJK (covering the light novels, JJK0, JJK), fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, found family; canon-compliant until the Shibuya Incident; everyone survives; gender-neutral & chaotic reader; reader x JJK characters relationships are fully developed - either platonic or romantic-leaning; rated mature for language & dark themes; non-smut.
Primarily Sukuna x Reader; fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, smut with plot; enemies to lovers with a dash of amnesia & Stockholm syndrome; he fell first, he fell harder; canon-divergent featuring the Culling Game & Shinjuku Showdown arcs; chaotic female antihero reader; rated explicit for very detailed smut, strong language, & dark themes.
3. Peace Was Never an Option (Reader Insert; on-going)
Read on Ao3 | Wattpad
Gojo x Reader; fix-it, domestic fluff, humor, hurt/comfort; slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, mutual pining; rom-com; Gojo is a silly goose; fem!reader is a special-grade cursed spirit (basically a local minor god); eventual smut; everyone's alive and thriving
4. Forever and Some More (Reader Insert; on-going)
Read on Ao3 | Wattpad
Gojo x Reader; fix-it, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort; slow burn, mutual pining living together, rom-com; idiots in love; Post-Shibuya; everyone's alive and thriving; reader is gender-neutral & a 25 years old psychologist.
5. The Zen'in Curse (Reader Insert; on-going)
Read on Ao3 | Wattpad
Nanami x Reader & Haibara x Reader; fluff, humor, hurt/comfort; chaotic female reader; slow burn; canon-divergent; story set before the Hidden Inventory arc; featuring bestie!Shoko, childhood-sweetheart!Gojo, & mentor!Kusakabe, rated mature for language & dark themes; non-smut.
6. For Science and Other Romantic Disasters (Reader Insert; on-going)
Read on Ao3 | Wattpad
Yuuta x Reader; basically Yuuta in his lover boy era; fluff, humor, hurt/comfort; chaotic gender-neutral reader; slow burn; rom-com; slice of life
7. The Necessity of Treachery (Reader Insert; on-going)
Read on Ao3
True Form Sukuna x Reader & Uraume x Reader; Heian Era; fluff, humor, hurt/comfort; slow burn; shameless smut with plot; enemies to lovers; reader is a princess and queer; rated explicit for very detailed smut.
One shots
1. Wherever We Go, We Go Together (Reader Insert)
Read on Ao3 | Wattpad
Gojo x Reader Christmas shenanigans; fluff, humor, romance, no plot just vibes
2. The Right to Remain Impaled (Reader Insert)
Read on Ao3
Higuruma x Reader; fluff, humor, shower smut, no plot just vibes; rated explicit for very detailed smut.
Bonus
1. A Family of Villain (Sashisu Defect AU; Ongoing)
Read on Ao3
Gojo/Shoko/Geto defecting together with the kids after Geto went bananas at that village; fluff, humor, found family; slow burn; slice of life; non-smut.
2. Born Wrong (Complete)
Read on Ao3
Sukuna's villain origin story; platonic gen fic - no romantic pairing; Heian era; humor, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst; found family
♯ Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader x Higurama Hiromi
Summary. As a last hail mary to save your crumbling marriage with Nanami Kento, he whisks you away to the most romantic city in the world– Paris. One final chance to remind you why you fell in love with the man you barely knew anymore. But that plan backfires when you meet Higuruma Hiromi, a much older and much more experienced divorce attorney who wouldn’t mind helping you out of your unhappy marriage.
♯ Tags. Angst angst angst, drama, Bisexual awakening for nanami kento, hurt/comfort(later), angst w happy ending, mean-ish reader, mutual pining, smut with plot, p in v, lots of cum, creampies, dom higuruma, switch nanami, sub reader, oral (f & m receiving), yes you ride the nose, light choking, cucking, praise & degredation, eiffel tower position DUH, more tba.
Credits. Art by ilameys on twt, dividers by @angeliicide
⬩➤ ꒰ Updates are once a week, every Sunday at 10 pm UTC +8 ⋮ ONGOING ꒱
Two years of dating, three years of marriage. You, Suguru and Satoru – a perfect marriage most friends could be jealous of. You adored each other so much, it almost hurt. Sometimes their love felt a little too tight. A little too consuming. But that's what true devotion looks like... right? You’re still wondering, quietly packing your bags in the dark, careful not to wake your husbands.
content/warnings: MDNI, marriage, husband Geto Suguru x reader, husband Gojo Satoru x readers, Satosugu, yandere, obsessive behaviours, possessive behaviour, dark romance, pregnancy, kinda babytrapping, it's a healthy relationship at the beginning?, or maybe not, smut, HEAVY breading kink, if I put this tag it'll be a spoiler, fem! reader runs away, slight dub-con, manipulation, guilt-tripping, age gap, violence
Who do you think would win in a fight, me or Gege cuz I'm still reeling over Choso
omg how did i miss this?? lmfao we can all fight him at this point babes! hes def gonna have to watch his back cause we ain't gonna have no more husbands by the time jjk over and he gonna have to answer for that.
ellievsbear
izzy806
janainaart
blakekathryn
