khayoooo

[khayooooo]

What did he call me?

Pairing: Husband! Choso x Wife! Reader

Content: Endearments that I think Choso would call you

"what's for breakfast, baby? "

" hon, are you okay? "

"I'm here, sweetheart, don't cry now."

"Can u come closer please love? "

"I miss you too, honey."

"I love you more, my dearest. "

"where are you, my wife? "

"Sweetie, please come to bed now"

"You look gorgeous, darling"

"mommy, please, it feels so good-"

Credits to the owner of this art. From Pinterest.

[chuluoyi]

to court a princess

- gwayne hightower x betrothed!reader

a princess wed to a dashing knight should be living a fairytale—but gwayne hightower is also the son of the schemer who would soon plunge the realm into civil war. how long can you resist him charms... when he proves time and again that his affection is as genuine as his honor?

genre/warnings: arranged marriage, unrequited love, hurt/comfort, yearning, jealousy, mentions of injury & blood, fluff and lots of kissing afterwards, sunshine!gwayne and grumpy!reader, political drama, targaryen!reader (reader is rhaenyra's younger sister), spoilers! takes place in season 1 of house of the dragon

notes: gif by @/bladeofdreadfort. wc. 4.5k ! hotd s3 is finally here and so does my man gwayne <3 i really loved writing this so i hope you’ll enjoy it!

For the longest time, Gwayne had known that the matter of his marriage were not his to ponder. As the son of the Hand of the King, his future was a tapestry woven by him in a series of cunning, calculated moves.

Yet, he had never truly expected to be betrothed to you—a princess of the realm.

The young princess for the queen’s brother. By every measure, it was a masterful stroke of politics and his father had once again outdone himself. After binding his sister to the king, it was now his turn to seek the heart of the realm’s most coveted maiden after the Princess Rhaenyra.

However, to Gwayne, you were more than just a political alliance. You were a paragon of beauty, the girl haunting his dreams, the princess who has stolen his heart—

But seven hells, were you also one hard lady to entice.

Every charming smile he threw your way was met with an arched, unimpressed brow. Every poetic compliment he rehearsed tasted like ash and shattered against your coldness. You didn’t swoon like the ladies at the tourney grounds, nor did you soften at his obvious attempts to woo you.

Instead, you looked at him as if you could see right through the nervous man underneath.

Your assessing gaze was currently fixed on him from the shade of the courtyard gallery. Down in the dirt, Gwayne was sweating through his padded doublet, trying his absolute best to look formidable as his sword clashed against his squire’s shield—because he knew you were watching.

He has to look good. Your wedding was in three weeks, so he was fighting to impress—determined to give you a show of how your betrothed was as dashing as the realm claimed him to be.

With theatrical flair, he executed an aggressive sequence before driving his squire back with a heavy strike, deftly sweeping the poor lad’s legs out from under him, and sending him sprawling into the dirt with a breathless thud.

Breathing heavily, Gwayne smoothly rested the point of his sword near the fallen boy’s chest in a classic pose of victory.

“You are just dead,” he declared with his signature grin, before turning to where you were.

You leaned against the stone balustrade, looking down at him with an expression of mild, patronizing amusement. He flashed you a hopeful, boyish grin that begged for even a shred of your approval.

And as if deciding to grace him with your presence, you descended down the stone stairs. Gwayne’s smile widened, and he met you halfway as you reached the bottom.

Ignoring the staring stableboys, he dipped his head and took your hand, placing a kiss on it.

“Princess,” he greeted, his dark blue eyes meeting yours with an excited crinkle.

“An impressive display, Ser Gwayne,” you replied, smoothly pulling your hand back from his grasp. He was giddy, about to thank you for the compliment, when—

“I must commend your passion. It takes a truly remarkable knight to exert such effort against a boy half his size who is actively paid to lose to him.”

Gwayne winced slightly, but the grin quickly returned to his face, refusing to let your sharp tongue deter him.

“A knight, no matter the age, must practice for all manner of foes. It shall be a good lesson for my squire to learn,” he countered softly. He had always been a naturally courteous man, but he had been practicing an extra measure of gentleness ever since the betrothal was announced, even when you remained frosty.

He hoped that you would recognize it—that you would see he was willing to bend his pride just for you.

However, you merely lifted your chin higher, your eyes flashing with a challenge.

“Is that so? My, what a chivalrous soul you are. I suppose I shall sleep soundly knowing you are defending the realm with your immense prowess and formidable army of squires.”

One thing he could never truly understand, though... he hadn’t asked for this match any more than you had, yet why did you look at him as you would a liar?

And it hurts because... he remembers how the more innocent, younger you, who had wiped blood from his face, hadn’t looked at him as you do now.

“We are to be married in no less than a moon,” he reminded you, still with a smile. “Tell me, Princess... what must a man do to earn a genuine compliment from his bride?”

You held his gaze for a beat, letting the silence stretch just long enough to watch the slight twitch in his jaw. Then, a devastatingly sweet smile graced your lips as you tilted your head.

“Compliments are but wind, my good ser. If we are to marry soon anyways, what use would flattering you with empty words do?”

Gwayne let out a defeated chuckle. “I shall just continue striving to become a man worthy of your hand, then.”

You had just insulted him and mocked his swordsmanship in the same breath, and yet, somehow, he still found himself tethered to you still.

What a fool he was.

He didn’t give up just like that, of course. Gifts was also Gwayne’s language of affection.

He had commissioned a seven-pointed star necklace for you in Oldtown, crafted from the finest silver and diamond. He had watched his late mother and sister find such profound comfort in it, and so he had believed it would make a fine gift for you.

Yet, now that he presented the gleaming jewelry to you, you were rendered silent.

“You do not like it,” he realized, a note of disappointment building through his usual confidence.

“It is exquisite. Truly,” you started, your voice gentle but lacking the reverence he had anticipated. “But... you must not expect me to wear it often.”

“Is it the design? If it offends your sensibilities, I can have it redone, or—”

“I assure you, I know your intentions are kind,” you looked at him, a certain sternness in your eyes. “It is just a matter of preference, is all. I treasure this necklace from my mother rather greatly, and wearing it is how I keep her close to me.”

The tragic death of Queen Aemma was not so easily forgotten, least of all when you resembled her so much. Gwayne’s smile faltered, the enthusiasm in his eyes dimming when his gaze found the sapphire necklace of Arryn falcon on your neck, a heirloom passed down.

He looked down at the silver star resting in the wooden box, suddenly finding it so plain, before forcing himself to meet your gaze again.

“I just want you to know that... you are in my thoughts, constantly,” he murmured, his gaze rising to meet yours again. “Whenever I see something I consider beautiful, I think of you. I want you to have it. You should know I have no underlying intentions other than that.”

You gave him an appreciative nod, pursing your lips together. “Your kind thoughts are much appreciated.”

So he had failed, again. Sigh.

What better way to impress your betrothed and prove to the entire realm that you were worthy of her hand than by claiming victory at the King’s nameday tourney?

Even you would at least bestow a real smile upon him. That was what Gwayne was after.

Or at least, it was until his gaze drifted to the edge of the battlement grounds where the knights were assembling. There, he saw you.

With Criston Cole.

The sight struck him. You, who usually looked at him with indifference, were attentive, your eyes bright in a way Gwayne had never managed to make them. Cole, in turn, had a reserved smile, his attention entirely locked onto you.

It could have been anyone but Criston—the Dornishman!—Cole. Why him?!

A sharp spike of resentment flared in his chest. He decided right then and there that this cannot stand, and marched towards you both.

“Good day, Ser Criston,” Gwayne greeted with a forced smile, his voice dripping with a courtly cheer that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Cole returned his greeting, and he turned to you then. “My betrothed, fancy to have found you here. You shouldn’t have to sully yourself with the dirt.”

“I was merely wishing Ser Criston luck in the lists.” As always, the corners of your lips curled into that faux smile whenever facing him. “The competition looks fierce today.”

What about him? You hadn’t thought of wishing him, your own groom, luck?

“Fierce for some, mayhaps,” Gwayne nodded, his smile sharpening as he took another step forward, deliberately cutting off Criston Cole’s line of sight to you. He reached out, his gauntleted hand gently but firmly taking yours.

“But I sure do not fear a crowd of knights of modest beginnings and second sons. And I have hoped that I might find you in the stands later, and you would bestow upon me your favor to assure me of my victory.”

He looked down at you, the forced arrogance in his eyes momentarily cracked. He wanted you to look at him the way you had just looked at Cole, really.

But cruel, relentless you never granted it so easily.

“Your romantic sensibilities are commendable, ser.” You let out a soft sigh, as if lamenting, “but victory is still guaranteed by skill and the favor of the Seven, and not merely from a scrap of silk.”

The rejection was subtle, but in the presence of Criston Cole, it felt like a public execution.

“It is said even a scrap of favor from one’s bride can turn the tide of many battles,” Gwayne replied, his voice dropping an octave as the last traces of courtly cheer evaporated. “Unless, of course, your favor has already been promised to someone else?”

His eyes flicked towards Cole, searching for a reason to draw steel before the tourney even began. And that Dornish wretch had the gall to look at him in the eyes and retorted:

“May the best knight win, ser.”

Your betrothed had become terribly displeased and you knew it. Your hollow smile deepened, you stepped forward and smoothly slid your hand into the crook of his arm.

“No, no. You are free to ask me for it later, of course, my dear.”

Gwayne knew better that the honeyed words held no real affection. Yet, like a moth drawn to a flame, he couldn’t help but fall for it each and every time.

You held his leash, and you knew exactly how far you could play with and stretch it. But as he looked at you, a quiet ache settled in his soul.

Is it truly so wrong of him to seek your heart? How much longer would he have to endure this torment, giving everything while his affections remained completely unreturned?

“From today to the day we breathe our last, all that I am is yours.”

That was the first thing he told you when the betrothal was announced. In a den of vipers, Gwayne Hightower was entirely his own man.

He didn’t possess the calculating ambition of his father, who viewed every living soul as a piece in his game of thrones. Nor was he prudent like his sister, Queen Alicent, whose motto in life was duty and sacrifice.

You know that. You really knew that your chosen betrothed was everything but unkind. He was everything the songs promised a knight should be— genuine, posh, with a touch of arrogance that made him charming. He held you in high regard, and his attempts to make an impression on you were sweet.

Despite how you behaved around him, the truth was... it took everything in you not to fall for Ser Gwayne Hightower.

But he is still Otto’s son. You hated the Lord Hand with every fiber of your being—the man’s thirst for power had already forced your childhood companion Alicent into your father’s bed, turned your sister Rhaenyra into a scheming cynic, and your own betrothal to Gwayne was just another piece of his grand design.

However, watching the tourney unfold from the royal box, your thoughts swirled with guilt and anxiety. In the end, he hadn’t asked for your favor at all. Ironically, his sudden silence unsettled you far more than his persistence ever had.

Looking back on your interactions, the weight of your biting marks pressed heavily against your chest. You had rejected him so many times, using your faux smiles and sharp wit as shields. Every time you remembered the look of hurt that crossed his face before he masked it with a patient smile, a fresh wave of guilt washed over you.

Did he deserve to be punished just for pursuing you? Was it fair to make him pay for his father’s sins?

Down in the dirt, Gwayne rode beautifully, unseating two seasoned knights from the Reach and splitting lances with a Lannister to thunderous applause from the crowd. For a moment, watching his silver and green armor gleam in the sunlight, a spark of pride flared in your chest.

Then, Ser Criston Cole rode onto the field.

The tension between the two men was palpable even from the high stands. They charged— one lance shattered, then a second. By the third pass, it was clear it was a matter of pride.

And on the fourth pass, the collision was catastrophic.

With a terrifying crack that echoed across the grounds, Cole’s lance struck dead center. Gwayne was violently unseated, flung from his saddle to hit the earth with a sickening crash.

A collective gasp sucked the air from the stands. Through the rising dust, you saw your betrothed lying completely still. Cole’s lance hadn’t just broken— it had compromised his armor. His steel breastplate was shattered to pieces, the shards visibly lodged into his chest, dark blood already pooling through the fractures.

Your breath hitched, your hand flying to your mouth in horror.

Six years ago, a similar scene had paralyzed your heart the very same way. Blind to the rules of propriety, you bolted from the royal box. Pushing past lords and ladies, you sprinted down into the arena—desperate to reach him.

The maesters and several squires had already swarmed him, unbuckling the undamaged pieces of his armor with hurried hands. Gwayne was propped up against a wooden barrier, half-conscious, his head lolling to the side as his eyes struggled to hold focus.

“Will he be alright?” your voice cracked, almost shrill, the composed facade of a princess shattered as you hovered over the maesters working on him. “Tell me he will be alright.”

“The steel hasn’t pierced the heart, Princess, but we must move him to immediately to extract the shards,” one of them mumbled, wrapping a temporary cloth around the wound to stem the bleeding.

Gwayne let out a low, guttural groan at the pressure, his eyelids fluttering. Through the haze of pain, he recognized your voice. He knew you were there.

Driven by a sudden, overwhelming surge to comfort him, you dropped to your knees beside him. Your hands were trembling as you reached out, using the hem of your sleeve to wipe away the grime and blood that smeared his pale cheek.

But before your fingers could trace his jawline, Gwayne’s gauntleted hand came up. With a sudden burst of remaining strength, he swatted your hand away—

“Do not touch me,” he rasped.

The words were raw and bitter, dripping with an icy venom you had never heard from him before.

. . .

Gwayne refused to meet your gaze. He pressed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone practically strained against his skin.

It wasn’t just the physical agony tearing him apart. It was the suffocating, absolute humiliation.

He had lost. He had been unseated and laid low in the dirt in front of the entire realm—and worse, in front of Criston Cole. He couldn’t bear to see the pity in your eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at the woman he loved and see confirmation that he was exactly what you always thought of him: unworthy.

“I’m— fine,” he choked out then. “So... go back to the Keep.”

It was funny how this was the same thing that had happened to him six years ago, during the Heir’s Tourney. He had been brutally unseated by Daemon Targaryen then, and just like now, you had come running to him, wiping the blood from his broken nose with your kerchief.

He fell in love with you then... and he has been in love with you ever since.

The girl holding his heart was a princess, and he had never dared to hope for more, never dreaming his conniving father would actually arrange your hand for him. He had thought it a blessing.

But his pursuit of you the past three moons had yielded nothing but a bitter truth— you despised him.

So he preferred to choke on the blinding pain, to let it consume him entirely, rather than suffer the indignity of your comfort.

You are in love with him.

You had spent weeks trying to resent the circumstances that led to your marriage with Otto Hightower’s son, reminding yourself over and over that he had fractured your family, sowing seeds of rebellion that would break once Alicent’s son came to age, and it would spell disaster upon you all—

But the wounded knight with broken nose six years ago had long since owned a part of your heart, and one week without Gwayne Hightower persistent on your heel, you had found yourself... sad.

“Mrawgh...”

“I’m not lonely,” you mumbled petulantly, brushing a hand against Grey Ghost’s silver scales as the dragon curled up, blinking his golden eyes shut to rest.

To occupy yourself, you spent the days with your dragon in the Dragonpit. Tending to Grey Ghost made the long hours pass faster— he was a recluse and not keen on flying often, but his quiet presence matched your somber mood.

Leaving him to his slumber, you walked away lost in your thoughts, entirely failing to notice how slippery the stone ledge had become.

Your foot caught on a heavy iron ring embedded in the floor. The world tilted as you stumbled backwards, losing your footing entirely. You braced for a painful impact against the stone floor, but a pair of strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, arresting your descent.

A sharp, ragged gasp left your savior’s lips. As you stabilized, you realized your hands had instinctively braced against his chest—pressing right over the bandages of the fresh wound.

“Steady there,” the redhead managed, a strained smile tight on his lips as he gently set you back on your feet. His green tunic made you realize who he was—

“Gwayne!” you breathed. Your hands hovered over him, trembling, almost terrified to touch him again. “Why are you—your wound! I didn’t mean to—”

“I am fine, truly,” he assured you, his voice softening as he offered a warm, comforting smile. “It is but a scratch, Princess. It takes more than a clumsy tumble from you to injure me.”

Just like a hundred times before, Gwayne Hightower sought you out. You could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and how he looked pale still—

From today to the day we breathe our last, all that I am is yours.

“You are supposed to be resting!” Your voice rose despite yourself. “Why are you here?!”

This wasn’t what you wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him a lot of other things! Like he was a fool, and that you would forbid him to enter the lists once you two were wed, that you couldn’t bear the thought of losing him—

His blue eyes crinkled with that familiar kindness as he reached out, softly tucking a stray strand of your loose hair behind your ear.

“If I wasn’t here, then you would take a fall.” His voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “I can’t very well let my betrothed hurt herself before our big day, can I?”

This was the first time since King Viserys announced your betrothal three moons ago that you looked genuinely worried for him. It made something inside him burst with joy, even if it was tinged with a bitter aftertaste.

Gwayne’s thumb gently brushed across the back of your hand that was still pressed against his chest.

“Tell me... Is this the only way I could truly have your attention? Must I be grievously injured, a step away from Death’s door, for you to look at me like this?”

Your eyes widened by a fraction. Precious, precious girl. He chuckled softly, a teasing glint brightened his eyes.

Just this once, could he be allowed to be just a little bit cruel?

“Even if you keep looking at me with those beautiful eyes...” he whispered, his smile turning a little wistful, “...my heart might just run out, one of these days.”

He gave you one last, kind smile—a look of affection that no longer held expectations, or reeked of the politics that bound your families. Then, he gently gripped your hand, pulling it away from him before turning on his heel to leave you to your own devices.

When your fingers fell limp into the cold air, a stinging realization pierced through you like a dagger:

Is this how he feels? Is this what he endures every time I evade him? How has he survived it over and over?

As his warmth retreated into the shadows of the Dragonpit, something sharp tore deep inside your chest.

You didn’t want him to go. The walls you had spent weeks building to protect your heart against the Hightower name crumbled into dust. Your eyes burned with tears that blurred his retreating figure.

He was nearly out of the pit when you gathered your skirts, abandoning your pride, and ran after him.

“Ser Gwayne!”

Before he could turn back, you lunged, throwing your pride and your fears to the wind. You crashed into his back, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist, burying your face against his spine. He stiffened, almost flinching—

But then he heard you sob.

“Princess...?” he asked softly. His tone shifted, turning from startled confusion to a protective concern as he carefully turned around within your embrace. He reached up, gently tilting your chin up, only to find your cheeks flushed and wet with tears.

Realizing you were truly, genuinely weeping, Gwayne’s breath hitched in his throat.

He didn’t think. He didn’t let past rejections dictate him. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his uninjured side.

“Shh, please do not weep,” he said in your ear, his own voice suddenly thick with emotion as he rocked you slightly. “Darling... please.”

Darling. Why did the word sound so devastatingly sweet in your ears? As you clung to him, you realized with absolute certainty that you wanted him to call you that for the rest of your days.

As he held you, feeling the warmth of your hands anchoring yourself to him, the pieces finally fell into place:

Has she... returned my feelings?

When your sobs finally quieted and your breathing turned calmer, you gently pulled back just enough to look up at him. Your eyes met his, and an ache settled in your chest.

He was such a beautiful man. Red hair, blue eyes, with ghost of dimples— still the very same wounded knight you had secretly harbored affections for with all those years ago.

Driven by a clear wave of clarity, you didn’t wait for him to speak. Reaching up, you stood on your toes and pulled him down by his collar—

—and pressed your lips to his.

Gwayne went rigid at your sudden boldness. But as your fingers tangled into his soft hair, any lingering shock vanished. With a low groan, he leaned into you, capturing your mouth in a kiss that felt like the bursting of a dam.

He drank in your sighs, his lips moving against yours with a desperate longing, as if he were trying to memorize the taste of you. He pulled you closer, his hands tilting your head back, anchoring you to him.

“You really are—” he growled against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged, “my utter undoing, Princess.”

Before the words could even fully register, you gasped as he gathered you up and hoisted you backwards, setting you down onto the broad stone railing.

Gwayne stepped between your thighs, pinning you to the ledge as his mouth descended on yours once more, even more ravenous than before. The kiss became a blur of lips, tongues, and breathless gasps—

His hands left your face to map the lines of your body, his palm sliding down the column of your throat to the curve of your shoulders. In his mind’s eye, he was already stripping away the heavy, suffocating layers of your gown, picturing the soft, aching swell of your breasts and the intoxicating dip of your waist.

In less than a week... as soon as you swear your oaths before the Seven, he would be graced by that sight.

Gwayne dragged his lips down from your mouth, leaving a trail of scorching kisses along your jawline before burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Ser Gwayne—” your voice came hitched, and that what brought him back to reality.

He bit softly at the sensitive skin there, swallowing the fire that was about to consume him. When he finally pulled away to breathe, his lips lingered against yours.

“Well, you did kiss me first, Princess,” Gwayne murmured, his eyes twinkling, voice delightfully raspy as his arms settled loosely around your waist. “If I had known a broken rib would finally get you to kiss me, I would have marched up to Grey Ghost and asked him to toss me by the tail weeks ago.”

“Please don’t,” you giggled, circling your arms around his neck.

“Ah, but think of the romance— a dashing knight, battered and bruised, crawling back from the Dragonpit just to collapse into his bride’s arms.”

A breathless laugh escaped your lips, giving way to a very sweet, genuine smile. To Gwayne Hightower, this was the prettiest you had ever been, and his heart throbbed.

Oh, so she does, he realized, a quiet reverence settling into his soul. She does return my affections.

Gwayne leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, finally certain that his heart was safe in your hands.

“You might not know it,” he whispered, “but I have been in love with you for a very long time.”

You looked up at him, your eyes bright with unshed tears, and he met your gaze with a look of such devotion it stole the breath from your lungs.

“So let me say this once again. From before, now and until the day we breathe our last, all that I am... is yours.”

In that moment, you couldn’t have known that the realm would soon be plunged into a senseless civil war, pitting your sister against his in a dance of dragons and blood. You couldn’t have foreseen the ashes, the betrayals, or the heavy price the Hightower green and the Targaryen black would have to pay.

None of that matters right now. All you wanted was to lose yourself in his embrace and savor the fragile perfection of your wedding to the man of your dreams... for as long as it would last.

[khayooooo]

Wicked Games

Pairing: Exhusband!Kento x Exwife!reader

Content: Waking up tangled in hotel sheets with your ex-husband Nanami Kento was never part of the plan—especially not three months after finalizing the divorce papers. One disastrous high school reunion, too many drinks, and the man you’d sworn to avoid—the same blond you fell for back then, married after college, and left three years later—is suddenly back in your bed, and in your life, whether you like it or not.

Warning/s: MDNI, implications of sex (not explicit

Wc: 2571

Dust motes float in the morning light slanting through the half-closed curtains of the hotel room. The room is quiet, save for the occasional car honk that always manages to pull you from sleep on weekdays.

It was a Friday night when Shoko decided to drag you out of your apartment to attend your high school reunion in a hotel banquet hall, knowing that a certain someone was probably going to attend.

Alas, you reluctantly agreed, giving in to how persuasive Shoko can be as she shoved you toward your closet and pulled out one of your skimpy dresses.

“Come on, it’s not like he’ll be there. Have you ever known him to attend an actual party?” she insisted, practically pushing you into the closet to change.

She’s right, you thought, changing while trying to reassure yourself. “Let’s not be some pathetic divorcee.”

Turns out she was wrong.

Standing over in the far right corner was the blond you’d been desperately avoiding, casually conversing with some people, like he hadn’t been living rent-free in your head.

Apparently, Gojo had forced him out of his den, too.

Now, the memory almost feels like the biggest betrayal the universe ever did to you until this day.

You’re dragged from dreamland by an annoyingly loud snore. You wince as consciousness claws its way back in.

Blinking your eyes open, you’re met with the sight of an incredibly large chest just centimeters away from your face—your cheek pressed against it, your arm draped loosely around a solid waist.

You realize a hand has been thrown over your shoulders in return. “What the—?” you mumble groggily, scrambling away and tipping your head up to look.

You bolt upright, almost letting out a scream as you do so, when you finally see who’s beside you: your ex-husband, Kento Nanami.

“Oh shit.”

You realized you were naked as you looked down, your tits on display. You scrambled for the sheets, pulling them up to your chest as your head and lower back began to ache.

Your head snapped toward the man beside you as he shifted in his sleep, hugging the pillow and turning enough to reveal his face and the bare planes of his back. The skin there was marked with scratches, and a couple of dark purple bruises mottled the side of his neck.

You snapped back to your nakedness and wished the floor would open and swallow you whole.

“fuuuck,” you muttered.

Oh, you are fucked, alright.

Emotionally, mentally, and physically.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that part out.

You glanced around the room you were in. Clothes were on the floor, an unfamiliar painting of flowers hung across the bed, and a white couch sat just below it, concluding you were in a hotel, not his house, judging by the way the place was designed.

You’ve known him long enough that he wouldn’t hang such a piece of crap in his place—okay, enough thinking, more escaping.

You needed to get out of there. Fast.

Slowly, careful not to make a sound, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and tried your best to tiptoe toward the bathroom, but your legs wouldn’t stop shaking.

On your way, you gathered your clothes and the pair of heels strewn across the floor, fingers fumbling more than you wanted to admit.

You paused, eyes scanning the carpet.

Right.

The stupid thong Shoko had bullied you into wearing. You crouched, looking under the edge of the bed, by the nightstand, anywhere it could have flown off to, but it was nowhere to be seen.

Of course, you thought bitterly. Trust Shoko to shove you into the tiniest scrap of fabric on a night that already went to hell. You quietly cursed her out in your head, heat creeping up your neck the longer you searched.

After another fruitless glance around the room, you gave up with a frustrated sigh and clutched your clothes tighter to your chest, heading straight for the bathroom instead, your heart thudding harder in your throat as the moment sank in.

You closed the bathroom door with as little noise as you could. Your reflection caught you first.

From your neck down to the curves of your breasts, your skin was covered in dark purple love marks, and a raging red bite mark sat right there on the right side of your collarbone. Your head pounded as fragments of last night skittered back into focus.

You were with Shoko and a few close high-school friends. Bottles and gossip were passed around as glasses were emptied, a blur that ended when you blacked out.

Still, none of it explained why you’d woken up naked under the sheets beside your ex-husband in a hotel room, no less.

For fuck’s sake, it hadn’t even been a year since the divorce papers were filed.

You let out a long sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple in a vain attempt to quiet the hangover. “I look like shit,” you whispered to your reflection. Dark mascara ran down your cheek, and lipstick was smudged along the edges of your lips, while your hair looked like a freaking bird’s nest.

After a few minutes, you slipped out of the bathroom after you’d washed the worst of your makeup away; fingers poorly combed your hair down. Heels were held in one hand, while your skirt was clenched in the other. You froze, staring at the bed, which wasn’t supposed to be empty.

Your stomach dropped. “shit!” grumbling to yourself. Your eyes dropped to the button up shirt, neatly folded on the edge of the bed. He’s still here.

Running a hand down your face, you scanned the room for another exit or a room to hide in until his surely gone.

Up until the smell of coffee reached you, and the faint clinking of cups, punctuated by a low string of curses. Before you knew it, your feet moved you down the hallway toward the sound.

In the kitchen stood Nanami Kento—bane of your existence—wearing a rumpled white shirt and his usual work pants. He froze when he saw you, hand mid-sip of his coffee, shock written across his face as clearly as the morning light cutting across the counter.

You stopped dead at the end of the hall, mirroring him, stomach twisting as you stared back with the same wide-eyed, stunned expression.

 A strange heaviness settles in your stomach when you remember.

The first night you shared in each other's embrace, the morning after, he looked at you just like this. Although his surprise softened into what looks like love, and he was smiling.

“Afterglow suits you, my love,” you remember him saying as he handed you a cup of coffee, made just the way you liked it.

You snapped back into reality, “I-,” you managed to voice out, the words dying out as you crumbled internally under his gaze.

The room settled into an awkward silence, making you more aware of your disheveled appearance. Clutching your skirt tighter in your hands as you took a step back.

He averted his gaze away from you, face relaxing into one of his colder expressions, and he cleared his throat.

You kept your eyes on him, watching him pour coffee into one of the cups, mixing in a spoon of sugar and a good amount of milk.

“I thought you left already. Coffee?” he held his cup out to you.

Is this what they call Déjà vu?

He must’ve hit his head too last night, you thought.

No, you know better than that. You know him well enough to know he can stay calm even in the midst of the craziest moments. Hell, a man could point a gun at him, and he wouldn’t even bat an eye. So him offering coffee right now wouldn’t surprise you.

Looking back, that trait of his also pissed you off a lot of times when you were together. Dismissing arguments as something pitiful and not worth his attention.

“I was in the bathroom,” you mumbled, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I- I should g-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, placing the coffee on the countertop.

Now that shook you. The word hangs in the air, heavier than the smell of brewed coffee.

“What?” you mumbled, eyes widening as you looked at him.

“I was drunk last night.” He exhaled, fingers curling harder on the mug. “I should have known my limits. I only wanted to take you to a room after you got drunk, seeing as your friends were too passed out to do so, and everybody else was going home already. I guess one thing led to another after I carried you here. I apologize for that.”

You looked at him, catching the way his gaze didn’t waver, sincerity clear in his eyes.

You let out a shaky sigh, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady yourself.

“You shouldn’t take all the blame.” You stared down at the floor for a second, then forced yourself to meet his eyes again. “As you said, I was wasted, so I guess I was also to blame for… whatever happened last night.” Heat crept up your neck and cheeks as blurry flashes from last night began to push their way back into your mind.

Silence enveloped the room once again, settling between you like a thick curtain. The faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant sounds from the hallway suddenly felt too loud.

“You should take a seat,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat. “I called for room service just a while ago. Breakfast should be coming up soon.”

“Oh no, I should go Nanami—” you started, taking a step back.

“Sit down, Y/N. and I’d prefer it if you call me Kento. We’re divorced, not strangers,” he cut in, his voice stern but not quite harsh.

You paused, lips pressing into a line. You remembered how he could be so annoying at times, always pushing, always stubborn—but hell, you loved that about him, when you were married, of course.

“Fine, Kento.” You moved toward the chair, shoulders dropping in reluctant surrender.

“I also asked for some bandages and some headache medicine you could use,” he said, lifting his cup and taking a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flicking away from you.

“Thanks...wait-bandages?” you asked, still frozen where you were standing instead of actually sitting down.

“...y-your neck,” he mumbled, gaze darting briefly to your skin before he looked away again, his face turning red.

It takes you a moment to realize what he means. The bite mark and the dark purple spots blooming along your neck are definitely on display, and your plunging neckline isn’t exactly helping to hide them.

“Oh. Okay, now I need the coffee.” You stepped forward quickly, using the movement as an excuse to escape the growing embarrassment, and took the cup from the countertop.

“Sorry,” he said again, voice smaller this time, embarrassment still coloring his cheeks.

“It’s fine, we were both drunk after all. Well, you should see your back tho,” you replied, gulping down the coffee.

He choked on his drink, coughing as he thumped a fist lightly against his chest. “My—”

A sharp knock cut him off.

He blinked, clearing his throat, eyes snapping toward the door. “I should get that,” he muttered, setting his cup down a little too quickly.

You only hummed in response, the sound low and noncommittal as you stared into your mug.

He walked over and opened the door, fully expecting to see a cart of food.

Instead, it was Shoko.

“Hm? Nanami?” she asked, brows lifting. “I was sure this was where they told me y/n were in.”

Kento’s face went pale. For a split second, he remembered handing over his card at the reception last night, asking the clerk to put the room under your name—just in case Shoko came looking for you. Now, that backfired quickly.

From inside, you heard the murmur of voices at the doorway. You couldn’t make out the words at first, but the casual chitchat was enough to jolt you.

What am I doing? you thought, stomach twisting.

Sitting here, calmly drinking coffee and waiting for breakfast with your ex-husband of three months. That alone didn’t sit right with you—and the fact that you had sex with him last night made your chest feel even tighter.

None of this was supposed to happen, not after everything.

From where you sat, you pushed yourself to your feet, legs still feeling a little unsteady.

You hate go admit but it’s not like it's your first time feeling like this, though.

Back when you were still together, every morning after making love with him, you’d wake up sore from head to toe. That alone said enough about how good he was in bed—no cause that would be an understatement, he was a god in bed.

Hell, did he know how to make a woman walk side to side.

You walked toward the door where Nanami still stood, the voices getting clearer with every step, but you barely processed them—you were too busy cursing yourself out in your head for even thinking such thoughts.

“Hey Kento, I should go—” you started, lifting a hand to cup the back of your neck as you approached.

“I was sure 120 was the room the receptionist told me where Y/N’s is —” Shoko was saying, and then her gaze slid past Nanami. “Y/N?”

You froze mid-step.

The brown-haired woman stared right at you from the doorway, eyes quickly sweeping over your appearance, like a doctor assessing a patient—hair a mess, last night’s clothes still clinging to your frame, and the marks scattered along your neck down to your chest.

The saxophones are getting louder in her head by the second as she looks you up and down.

“Ohhhh I see,” she drawled, a slow grin spreading across her face as her eyes flicked back to Nanami. She took in his appearance too, her gaze lingering on the bright marks crawling up his neck from beneath his collar, as far as she could see.

You and Nanami stayed rooted to the spot, both of you caught like deer in headlights.

“I’ll come back later then. You guys continue whatever you were doing,” Shoko said lightly, grin widening as she reached for the door, clearly amused.

“wait, Shoko—” Nanami started, finally snapping out of it, reaching out a hand.

But the door clicked shut before he could finish.

The room fell silent once again.

You stared at the closed door, your grip tightening on the hem of your skirt. This was exactly why you should've left the moment you woke up.

Better yet, this is exactly why you should’ve never attended the fucking party.

Now Shoko knew. And if she runs her fucking mouth to Gojo— which she definitely would, everyone else eventually would too.

Worse, standing here with Kento felt far too familiar. The awkward apologies, the shared coffee, the quiet domesticity that used to be second nature. For a fleeting second, it almost felt like you were living the merry days of your marriage again.

That realization hit harder than the hangover.

You glanced at him, only to find him already looking your way. The moment your eyes met, both of you looked away just as quickly.

This can't be happening, you both thought.

[khayooooo]

Wicked Games

Pairing: Exhusband!Kento x Exwife!reader

Content: Waking up tangled in hotel sheets with your ex-husband Nanami Kento was never part of the plan—especially not three months after finalizing the divorce papers. One disastrous high school reunion, too many drinks, and the man you’d sworn to avoid—the same blond you fell for back then, married after college, and left three years later—is suddenly back in your bed, and in your life, whether you like it or not.

Warning/s: MDNI, implications of sex (not explicit

Wc: 2571

Dust motes float in the morning light slanting through the half-closed curtains of the hotel room. The room is quiet, save for the occasional car honk that always manages to pull you from sleep on weekdays.

It was a Friday night when Shoko decided to drag you out of your apartment to attend your high school reunion in a hotel banquet hall, knowing that a certain someone was probably going to attend.

Alas, you reluctantly agreed, giving in to how persuasive Shoko can be as she shoved you toward your closet and pulled out one of your skimpy dresses.

“Come on, it’s not like he’ll be there. Have you ever known him to attend an actual party?” she insisted, practically pushing you into the closet to change.

She’s right, you thought, changing while trying to reassure yourself. “Let’s not be some pathetic divorcee.”

Turns out she was wrong.

Standing over in the far right corner was the blond you’d been desperately avoiding, casually conversing with some people, like he hadn’t been living rent-free in your head.

Apparently, Gojo had forced him out of his den, too.

Now, the memory almost feels like the biggest betrayal the universe ever did to you until this day.

You’re dragged from dreamland by an annoyingly loud snore. You wince as consciousness claws its way back in.

Blinking your eyes open, you’re met with the sight of an incredibly large chest just centimeters away from your face—your cheek pressed against it, your arm draped loosely around a solid waist.

You realize a hand has been thrown over your shoulders in return. “What the—?” you mumble groggily, scrambling away and tipping your head up to look.

You bolt upright, almost letting out a scream as you do so, when you finally see who’s beside you: your ex-husband, Kento Nanami.

“Oh shit.”

You realized you were naked as you looked down, your tits on display. You scrambled for the sheets, pulling them up to your chest as your head and lower back began to ache.

Your head snapped toward the man beside you as he shifted in his sleep, hugging the pillow and turning enough to reveal his face and the bare planes of his back. The skin there was marked with scratches, and a couple of dark purple bruises mottled the side of his neck.

You snapped back to your nakedness and wished the floor would open and swallow you whole.

“fuuuck,” you muttered.

Oh, you are fucked, alright.

Emotionally, mentally, and physically.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that part out.

You glanced around the room you were in. Clothes were on the floor, an unfamiliar painting of flowers hung across the bed, and a white couch sat just below it, concluding you were in a hotel, not his house, judging by the way the place was designed.

You’ve known him long enough that he wouldn’t hang such a piece of crap in his place—okay, enough thinking, more escaping.

You needed to get out of there. Fast.

Slowly, careful not to make a sound, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and tried your best to tiptoe toward the bathroom, but your legs wouldn’t stop shaking.

On your way, you gathered your clothes and the pair of heels strewn across the floor, fingers fumbling more than you wanted to admit.

You paused, eyes scanning the carpet.

Right.

The stupid thong Shoko had bullied you into wearing. You crouched, looking under the edge of the bed, by the nightstand, anywhere it could have flown off to, but it was nowhere to be seen.

Of course, you thought bitterly. Trust Shoko to shove you into the tiniest scrap of fabric on a night that already went to hell. You quietly cursed her out in your head, heat creeping up your neck the longer you searched.

After another fruitless glance around the room, you gave up with a frustrated sigh and clutched your clothes tighter to your chest, heading straight for the bathroom instead, your heart thudding harder in your throat as the moment sank in.

You closed the bathroom door with as little noise as you could. Your reflection caught you first.

From your neck down to the curves of your breasts, your skin was covered in dark purple love marks, and a raging red bite mark sat right there on the right side of your collarbone. Your head pounded as fragments of last night skittered back into focus.

You were with Shoko and a few close high-school friends. Bottles and gossip were passed around as glasses were emptied, a blur that ended when you blacked out.

Still, none of it explained why you’d woken up naked under the sheets beside your ex-husband in a hotel room, no less.

For fuck’s sake, it hadn’t even been a year since the divorce papers were filed.

You let out a long sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple in a vain attempt to quiet the hangover. “I look like shit,” you whispered to your reflection. Dark mascara ran down your cheek, and lipstick was smudged along the edges of your lips, while your hair looked like a freaking bird’s nest.

After a few minutes, you slipped out of the bathroom after you’d washed the worst of your makeup away; fingers poorly combed your hair down. Heels were held in one hand, while your skirt was clenched in the other. You froze, staring at the bed, which wasn’t supposed to be empty.

Your stomach dropped. “shit!” grumbling to yourself. Your eyes dropped to the button up shirt, neatly folded on the edge of the bed. He’s still here.

Running a hand down your face, you scanned the room for another exit or a room to hide in until his surely gone.

Up until the smell of coffee reached you, and the faint clinking of cups, punctuated by a low string of curses. Before you knew it, your feet moved you down the hallway toward the sound.

In the kitchen stood Nanami Kento—bane of your existence—wearing a rumpled white shirt and his usual work pants. He froze when he saw you, hand mid-sip of his coffee, shock written across his face as clearly as the morning light cutting across the counter.

You stopped dead at the end of the hall, mirroring him, stomach twisting as you stared back with the same wide-eyed, stunned expression.

 A strange heaviness settles in your stomach when you remember.

The first night you shared in each other's embrace, the morning after, he looked at you just like this. Although his surprise softened into what looks like love, and he was smiling.

“Afterglow suits you, my love,” you remember him saying as he handed you a cup of coffee, made just the way you liked it.

You snapped back into reality, “I-,” you managed to voice out, the words dying out as you crumbled internally under his gaze.

The room settled into an awkward silence, making you more aware of your disheveled appearance. Clutching your skirt tighter in your hands as you took a step back.

He averted his gaze away from you, face relaxing into one of his colder expressions, and he cleared his throat.

You kept your eyes on him, watching him pour coffee into one of the cups, mixing in a spoon of sugar and a good amount of milk.

“I thought you left already. Coffee?” he held his cup out to you.

Is this what they call Déjà vu?

He must’ve hit his head too last night, you thought.

No, you know better than that. You know him well enough to know he can stay calm even in the midst of the craziest moments. Hell, a man could point a gun at him, and he wouldn’t even bat an eye. So him offering coffee right now wouldn’t surprise you.

Looking back, that trait of his also pissed you off a lot of times when you were together. Dismissing arguments as something pitiful and not worth his attention.

“I was in the bathroom,” you mumbled, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I- I should g-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, placing the coffee on the countertop.

Now that shook you. The word hangs in the air, heavier than the smell of brewed coffee.

“What?” you mumbled, eyes widening as you looked at him.

“I was drunk last night.” He exhaled, fingers curling harder on the mug. “I should have known my limits. I only wanted to take you to a room after you got drunk, seeing as your friends were too passed out to do so, and everybody else was going home already. I guess one thing led to another after I carried you here. I apologize for that.”

You looked at him, catching the way his gaze didn’t waver, sincerity clear in his eyes.

You let out a shaky sigh, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady yourself.

“You shouldn’t take all the blame.” You stared down at the floor for a second, then forced yourself to meet his eyes again. “As you said, I was wasted, so I guess I was also to blame for… whatever happened last night.” Heat crept up your neck and cheeks as blurry flashes from last night began to push their way back into your mind.

Silence enveloped the room once again, settling between you like a thick curtain. The faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant sounds from the hallway suddenly felt too loud.

“You should take a seat,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat. “I called for room service just a while ago. Breakfast should be coming up soon.”

“Oh no, I should go Nanami—” you started, taking a step back.

“Sit down, Y/N. and I’d prefer it if you call me Kento. We’re divorced, not strangers,” he cut in, his voice stern but not quite harsh.

You paused, lips pressing into a line. You remembered how he could be so annoying at times, always pushing, always stubborn—but hell, you loved that about him, when you were married, of course.

“Fine, Kento.” You moved toward the chair, shoulders dropping in reluctant surrender.

“I also asked for some bandages and some headache medicine you could use,” he said, lifting his cup and taking a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flicking away from you.

“Thanks...wait-bandages?” you asked, still frozen where you were standing instead of actually sitting down.

“...y-your neck,” he mumbled, gaze darting briefly to your skin before he looked away again, his face turning red.

It takes you a moment to realize what he means. The bite mark and the dark purple spots blooming along your neck are definitely on display, and your plunging neckline isn’t exactly helping to hide them.

“Oh. Okay, now I need the coffee.” You stepped forward quickly, using the movement as an excuse to escape the growing embarrassment, and took the cup from the countertop.

“Sorry,” he said again, voice smaller this time, embarrassment still coloring his cheeks.

“It’s fine, we were both drunk after all. Well, you should see your back tho,” you replied, gulping down the coffee.

He choked on his drink, coughing as he thumped a fist lightly against his chest. “My—”

A sharp knock cut him off.

He blinked, clearing his throat, eyes snapping toward the door. “I should get that,” he muttered, setting his cup down a little too quickly.

You only hummed in response, the sound low and noncommittal as you stared into your mug.

He walked over and opened the door, fully expecting to see a cart of food.

Instead, it was Shoko.

“Hm? Nanami?” she asked, brows lifting. “I was sure this was where they told me y/n were in.”

Kento’s face went pale. For a split second, he remembered handing over his card at the reception last night, asking the clerk to put the room under your name—just in case Shoko came looking for you. Now, that backfired quickly.

From inside, you heard the murmur of voices at the doorway. You couldn’t make out the words at first, but the casual chitchat was enough to jolt you.

What am I doing? you thought, stomach twisting.

Sitting here, calmly drinking coffee and waiting for breakfast with your ex-husband of three months. That alone didn’t sit right with you—and the fact that you had sex with him last night made your chest feel even tighter.

None of this was supposed to happen, not after everything.

From where you sat, you pushed yourself to your feet, legs still feeling a little unsteady.

You hate go admit but it’s not like it's your first time feeling like this, though.

Back when you were still together, every morning after making love with him, you’d wake up sore from head to toe. That alone said enough about how good he was in bed—no cause that would be an understatement, he was a god in bed.

Hell, did he know how to make a woman walk side to side.

You walked toward the door where Nanami still stood, the voices getting clearer with every step, but you barely processed them—you were too busy cursing yourself out in your head for even thinking such thoughts.

“Hey Kento, I should go—” you started, lifting a hand to cup the back of your neck as you approached.

“I was sure 120 was the room the receptionist told me where Y/N’s is —” Shoko was saying, and then her gaze slid past Nanami. “Y/N?”

You froze mid-step.

The brown-haired woman stared right at you from the doorway, eyes quickly sweeping over your appearance, like a doctor assessing a patient—hair a mess, last night’s clothes still clinging to your frame, and the marks scattered along your neck down to your chest.

The saxophones are getting louder in her head by the second as she looks you up and down.

“Ohhhh I see,” she drawled, a slow grin spreading across her face as her eyes flicked back to Nanami. She took in his appearance too, her gaze lingering on the bright marks crawling up his neck from beneath his collar, as far as she could see.

You and Nanami stayed rooted to the spot, both of you caught like deer in headlights.

“I’ll come back later then. You guys continue whatever you were doing,” Shoko said lightly, grin widening as she reached for the door, clearly amused.

“wait, Shoko—” Nanami started, finally snapping out of it, reaching out a hand.

But the door clicked shut before he could finish.

The room fell silent once again.

You stared at the closed door, your grip tightening on the hem of your skirt. This was exactly why you should've left the moment you woke up.

Better yet, this is exactly why you should’ve never attended the fucking party.

Now Shoko knew. And if she runs her fucking mouth to Gojo— which she definitely would, everyone else eventually would too.

Worse, standing here with Kento felt far too familiar. The awkward apologies, the shared coffee, the quiet domesticity that used to be second nature. For a fleeting second, it almost felt like you were living the merry days of your marriage again.

That realization hit harder than the hangover.

You glanced at him, only to find him already looking your way. The moment your eyes met, both of you looked away just as quickly.

This can't be happening, you both thought.

[khayooooo]

Sneak peek on Wicked Games (ex-husband! Kento)

MDNI

You bolt upright when you see who's beside you: your ex-husband, Kento Nanami.

"Oh shit."

You realize you're naked as you look down, your tits on display. Scrambling for the sheets, you pull them to your chest as your head starts to ache.

Your gaze snaps back to the man beside you as he shifts in his sleep.

The skin of his back is covered in scratch marks, and a couple of dark purple bruises mottle the side of his neck.

"Oh fuck," you mutter.

Oh, you are fucked, alright.

Emotionally, mentally, and physically.

[khayooooo]

Night routine

Pairing:Husband!Toji x Wife!reader

a/n: thought about this while reading the new chapter of Jinx lol

Warning/s: a bit suggestive in the end (non explicit) , fluff

There really is nothing better than reading your favorite fanfic (or manhwa) in bed after a long day.

You’re tucked under the covers, phone in hand, fresh from an everything shower. Your skin smells like your favorite lotion, your teacup is empty on the nightstand, and your body has that soft yet sore ache from the gym. The lights are dim, the room quiet except for the soft taps of your thumb on the screen.

Behind you, Toji is sitting up against the headboard, shirtless, the blanket pulled up to his waist. His hands are folded behind his head as he watches your back shake with quiet laughter at whatever you’re reading.

“Hey, honey, wanna go to bed now?” he asks.

You ignore him, eyes glued to your screen. If you pretend you didn’t hear, maybe he’ll stop bothering you. Well, that's what you initially thought.

He frowns a little, then reaches out and rests a hand on your shoulder, trying to gently turn you toward him.

“Hey, ma, I’m serious. Let’s go to bed now,” he says, his voice flat.

You still don’t move, and worse? You still didn’t say anything.

He leans back, staring at the ceiling for a second. Maybe you’re mad at him. Maybe he forgot to do something you asked. Maybe you found out he spent another hundred dollars in a horse race.

“Or maybe this is my karma for all the shit I did,” he mutters under his breath.

He shifts towards you again, trying to peek over your shoulder.

“What are you so into that you’re actually ignoring me?” he asks.

Then he catches sight of your screen—the title and art of the fanfic/manhwa you’re reading. He exhales, long and slow.

“Oh,” he says.

He flops back onto his side and turns his back to you, dragging the blanket up to his ears like a sulking kid. With one sharp click, he switches off the night lamp.

“Fine then,” he says, voice muffled by the pillow.

It takes you a moment to notice how quiet he’s gotten. The room feels heavier, and you finally lock your phone and turn around.

All you see is his back, big shoulders turned away from you, blanket pulled up to his ear.

“You big baby,” you mutter under your breath.

You turn off your phone screen for good, making a mental note of where you stopped in the story, and set it on the nightstand. You scoot closer, slipping an arm around his waist. Your chest pressed against his naked back as you nestle your face between his shoulder blades.

“night, honey,” you mumble into his skin.

He lets out another sigh, then shifts, rolling over to face you. His hand slides to the back of your neck, warm and steady, pulling you closer so he can press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight, doll. Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you too,” you say, meeting his eyes in the dark.

He’s just about to close them when you add, “Wow, so you do know how to sulk. You big baby.”

You bite back a laugh.

He smirks. “Believe me, doll, that’s not the only thing I can do right now. Would you like to know what I do as my night routine, you brat?”

“I’m gonna pass on that it’s been a looong day, y’know,” you mumble, nuzzling your face closer to his neck to avoid that piercing gaze of his paired with that annoying smirk.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he closes his eyes.

The room goes quiet again, and this time you both drift off, your arm wrapped around his waist. Right before sleep finally pulls you under, one last thought slips through your mind:

“… this is better than reading any fiction or manhwa.”

All rights reserved © 2026 khayooooo. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[khayooooo]

Imagine waking up under the sheets of your supposedly Ex-husband Nanami Kento, 3 months after the divorce paper have been settled, after getting drunk from a high school reunion you refused to attend solely because you knew he would be there, given that, the both of you met during those years and decided to get hitched years after graduating college, just to get divorced 3 years later.

should I continue?

HELL YES

No..

Voting ended onMay 29

[khayooooo]

Imagine waking up under the sheets of your supposedly Ex-husband Nanami Kento, 3 months after the divorce paper have been settled, after getting drunk from a high school reunion you refused to attend solely because you knew he would be there, given that, the both of you met during those years and decided to get hitched years after graduating college, just to get divorced 3 years later.

should I continue?

HELL YES

No..

Voting ended onMay 29

[khayoooo]

Inspired by Everlong by @yenayaps

pairing: vampire!Sukuna x vampire!reader

!enemies to readers!

You’d think centuries would dull your hunger, yet you still paint death into every stroke. The Cursed Portrait — your masterpiece, your trap. Every fool who buys it ends up your next meal, their blood sealing the colors deeper into the canvas.

It was supposed to be your little secret.

More like your little tradition.

But now, mortals are starting to notice. Vampires, too. And of course, one of the most ancient immortals, Sukuna had to get involved—because if humans find out what you've done, it won’t just be your neck on the line.

Should I write this?

should I write?

yes

no

hmmmm

see results

Voting ended onOct 11, 2025

[khayooooo]

I forgot about this now LOL I'mma just post the first chapter I wrote tomorrow from this then yall let me if it's worth continuing

[khayooooo]

Night routine

Pairing:Husband!Toji x Wife!reader

a/n: thought about this while reading the new chapter of Jinx lol

Warning/s: a bit suggestive in the end (non explicit) , fluff

There really is nothing better than reading your favorite fanfic (or manhwa) in bed after a long day.

You’re tucked under the covers, phone in hand, fresh from an everything shower. Your skin smells like your favorite lotion, your teacup is empty on the nightstand, and your body has that soft yet sore ache from the gym. The lights are dim, the room quiet except for the soft taps of your thumb on the screen.

Behind you, Toji is sitting up against the headboard, shirtless, the blanket pulled up to his waist. His hands are folded behind his head as he watches your back shake with quiet laughter at whatever you’re reading.

“Hey, honey, wanna go to bed now?” he asks.

You ignore him, eyes glued to your screen. If you pretend you didn’t hear, maybe he’ll stop bothering you. Well, that's what you initially thought.

He frowns a little, then reaches out and rests a hand on your shoulder, trying to gently turn you toward him.

“Hey, ma, I’m serious. Let’s go to bed now,” he says, his voice flat.

You still don’t move, and worse? You still didn’t say anything.

He leans back, staring at the ceiling for a second. Maybe you’re mad at him. Maybe he forgot to do something you asked. Maybe you found out he spent another hundred dollars in a horse race.

“Or maybe this is my karma for all the shit I did,” he mutters under his breath.

He shifts towards you again, trying to peek over your shoulder.

“What are you so into that you’re actually ignoring me?” he asks.

Then he catches sight of your screen—the title and art of the fanfic/manhwa you’re reading. He exhales, long and slow.

“Oh,” he says.

He flops back onto his side and turns his back to you, dragging the blanket up to his ears like a sulking kid. With one sharp click, he switches off the night lamp.

“Fine then,” he says, voice muffled by the pillow.

It takes you a moment to notice how quiet he’s gotten. The room feels heavier, and you finally lock your phone and turn around.

All you see is his back, big shoulders turned away from you, blanket pulled up to his ear.

“You big baby,” you mutter under your breath.

You turn off your phone screen for good, making a mental note of where you stopped in the story, and set it on the nightstand. You scoot closer, slipping an arm around his waist. Your chest pressed against his naked back as you nestle your face between his shoulder blades.

“night, honey,” you mumble into his skin.

He lets out another sigh, then shifts, rolling over to face you. His hand slides to the back of your neck, warm and steady, pulling you closer so he can press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight, doll. Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you too,” you say, meeting his eyes in the dark.

He’s just about to close them when you add, “Wow, so you do know how to sulk. You big baby.”

You bite back a laugh.

He smirks. “Believe me, doll, that’s not the only thing I can do right now. Would you like to know what I do as my night routine, you brat?”

“I’m gonna pass on that it’s been a looong day, y’know,” you mumble, nuzzling your face closer to his neck to avoid that piercing gaze of his paired with that annoying smirk.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he closes his eyes.

The room goes quiet again, and this time you both drift off, your arm wrapped around his waist. Right before sleep finally pulls you under, one last thought slips through your mind:

“… this is better than reading any fiction or manhwa.”

All rights reserved © 2026 khayooooo. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[khayooooo]

Slow days with you

Pairing: Sorcerer! Gojo x Sorcerer! reader

Content: A mini series about the rare, quiet moments shared between Satoru Gojo and his wife, where love lingers in soft glances, gentle touches, and the ordinary days that become unforgettable.

Warning/s: Suggestive themes at the end (non explicit)

Part 5

“Do you regret it?” he blurted out, breaking the silence that had settled over the apartment.

Both of you sat on the couch in the living room as the TV hummed silently in the background, forgotten.

“What? marrying you?” you grumbled. A fresh sting of hurt laced your voice as you reached for a tissue and wiped at the tears forming in your eyes.

He swallowed, the disappointment visible in his cerulean eyes as he looked at you.

You could feel his glare burning the side of your head as you dabbed at your watering nose. Your lips quivering.

“I meant ordering the spiciest flavor from Wingstop—  wait, WHY WOULD EVEN SAY THAT?!” He threw his hands up, exasperation cutting through the room.

“Calm down, I was joking. I wasn’t even planning to say it; it just slipped.” You huffed, sniffling.

“Well, thank you, that’s really reassuring,” he scoffed, sarcasm thick.

“You're welcome, honey.” you replied.

“Don’t. “You’re welcome, honey.” Me.” He complained, voice tight and incredulous. He crossed his arms, leaning away as if trying to put distance between you.

“Well, do you??” he continued to ask.

“Do I what?” you asked, innocent eyes lifting to meet his. You could hear the faint tremor in his voice,there was something like panic beneath the anger. You swear you can see steam coming out of him since he was so worked up.

“Regret marrying me? I mean, I know we’ve been busy with work that we haven’t been able to spend time with each other and all that, but-” he murmured, quieter now, vulnerability slipping through.

You sighed, already knowing where this was going to end up. The silence stretched. You let it hang a beat.

“Honey, let me ask you this.” You cleared your throat, forcing a lightness into your tone. “Do you love me?”

“Why are you changing the subject?” he scoffed as if the question were absurd. “Answer me.” You deadpanned.

“Of course, I love you,” he answered, with the blunt confidence of someone who had said it a thousand times.

“Are the bills paid?” you continued, folding the tissue between your fingers. “I just paid yesterday. Okay, why are you—”

“Are you cheating on me?”

“Why would you even- I’d never even dream of doing that to you!” He snapped, heat rising to his cheeks.

“Good. Next question. Do you satisfy me in bed?"

His face flamed crimson; he looked away, a hand running through his hair. “I- well, I hope so,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on the take-out boxes in front of him.

“And lastly, would you die for me, honey?”

He looked at you, something fierce and soft in his gaze now. “You already know that I would, baby.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about, Satoru.” You reached for his collar and pulled him close enough to feel the heat emanating from his body. You planted a quick, decisive kiss on his lips.

You pulled back, grinning, “Besides, men like you are hard to find, sweetheart.” You nudged his shoulder playfully.

“Now that’s reassuring.” He smirked, the tension finally melting as he hooked his hands around your waistband and pulled you toward him, eager to continue where you left off.

All rights reserved © 2026 khayooooo. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[khayooooo]

What did he call me?

Pairing: Husband!Kento x Wife!Reader

Content: Endearments Nanami Kneto would call you as his lover.

"Hey sweetheart, good morning"

" Love, I'm at the store you want anything? "

" I love you too, Darling"

"It's time for breakfast, Honey"

"Babe, Where are you? "

"Goodnight to you too, Angel"

"Goodmorning ,my beloved Sunshine"

"I'm sorry, My love"

"Hey there, Gorgeous"

"You awake, Sweets? "

Artist on Twitter (X) @/ _3aem

All rights reserved © 2026 khayooooo. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[khayooooo]

What did he call me?

Pairing: Husband! Toji x Wife!reader

Content: Endearments Toji Fushiguro would call you as his lover

“Mornin’ brat”

“Hey, Baby, what do ya want for breakfast?”

“Honey, I’ll be late tonight, don’t wait up, ‘kay?’’

“You look sexy tonight, Ma. ”

“Woman, where’s your sexy ass at?” or

“Don’t tempt me, woman.”

“Come here, love.”

“Hey there, Gorgeous~"

“I'll be there in 10, boss,” or “Yes ma'am.”

“I’m sorry, hon.”

“Love you so much, doll.”

Credits to the owner of the art from X @IMMAKENTOJ

All rights reserved © 2026 khayooooo. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[khayooooo]

popcorns and rootbeers

Pairing: Husband!Toji x Wife!Reader

You and Toji are cuddled up on your shared bed, your head on his chest, his arms around your shoulder, feet entangled with each other.

A bowl of popcorn balanced carefully on his lower stomach and two cans of rootbear on your bedside, while the both of you paid attention on the movie The Notebook playing on the TV screen in front.

Just the perfect moment for the both of you to relax,

in each other's company without any worry about the world. Watching quietly when a question popped in your mind, breaking the silence between the two of you.

"Hey Hon?" You mumbled, still focused on the movie.

"Hmm?" Your husband hummed in response, he's eyes still glued at the tv screen.

" Would you still love me if I'm old? " you asked, chewing at a popcorn, adjusting your head as you glanced at him.

" 'course, sweetheart " he glanced down at you, placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Even though if I have white hair, missing teeth, wrinkly face, and a saggy ass? " you asked, a grin forming on your face.

He let out a chuckle before answering-

"Yes. I will still love you even tho you have white hair, missing teeth, wrinkly face and a perfectly saggy ass, woman."

"Really? even if my body would change like that? " you continued teasing.

"Look, I may complimented your body a lot more than a normal smitten guy would but that's not the only reason I fucking love you. I love you because you're you ,and your smokin' hot body is only an additional to the package. So stop fuckin' makin' it sound like I only love you because of your body, woman"

"I was just teasing you, dummy. No need to get all sappy and defensive. " you chuckled, kissing his cheek.

He rolled his eyes in response.

You turned your attention back to the movie, snuggling closer to his chest. When he spoke again.

"Hey, you do know that I truly fucking love you, right? That I'm not just lying about it? "

"I know, honey, and I love you too."

All rights reserved © 2026 khayooooo. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[khayooooo]

A Golden Crown

Pairing: Crown!prince x Royal!guard

The ballroom was glistening, as if covered in golden gems and diamonds. Every corner was luminous, lit by a huge golden light, as if the sun were hung on the ceiling as a mere decoration.

The people in the room were dressed in lavish gowns and suits made of the most expensive silk, adorned with pearls and rubies, making them appear like dancing stars. I, myself, am adorned with the same clothing. An extravagant silk. Gold jewelry.

A Golden Crown.

Amidst the crowd, her presence remained unwavering. Tucked away on the edge of this so-called throne of mine. Still, yet alert. Clad in dark armor, deeply contrasting with the shimmering crowd.

At her side, a razor-sharp blade hung, polished to shine, sharpened to defend. The hilt bore intricate carvings, worn smooth by years of striving to prove every soul that within her physique she can do what a thousand men can’t - sealed with a promise to defend the crown until her last breath.

A soldier, a steadfast guardian cloaked in shadows and duty. Whose silent presence was both my shield and secret.

The crown atop my head dug deeper beneath my scalp. The extravagant silk and cloak I wore clung tighter to my skin. It's agonizing pain and weight reminding me of my duties, duties that I will never be able to cease.

Though bound by a crown and gold, but within this soldiers’ unwavering presence, I found warmth and a rare but real devotion.

Yet she was also a reminder of all I could never claim for myself, which will truly never put me at ease.

She will always be the one to wield the sword, and I, the command.

Kento Nanami, Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo, Toji Fushiguro, Kakashi Hatake, Sesshomaru, Choso, Sae Itoshi, Dazai Osamu, Kisuke Urahara, Byakuya Kuchiki, Levi Ackerman, Armin Arlert, Aizawa Shouta, Shinya Kogami,

All rights reserved © 2026 khayooooo. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[khayooooo]

Meet Me in the Pale Moonlight

Pairing: Soldier!LeviAckerman x Soldier!reader

As you lifted the cigarette to your lips, the wisps of smoke dancing in the frosty air, a voice broke through the quiet of the night.

"I thought you said you quit?" The voice, unmistakably Captain Levi's, cut through the stillness, drawing your attention.

You turned slightly, catching his approach from the corner of your eye. "Hey, I tried, okay? Besides, might as well enjoy this life while it lasts."

Silence enveloped the space between you, punctuated only by the chilly breeze that swept through. The moon cast a soft glow, illuminating the scene before you.

"You thought it was me... didn't you?" Your question hung in the air, the weight of it palpable as you met Levi's gaze for a fleeting moment before taking another drag of your cigar.

Levi's response was measured, his words carefully chosen. "I suspected everyone."

Your lips formed a tight line, disappointment mingling with resignation. "Well, that wasn't actually my question, Captain Levi. I asked if you thought that the Female Titan was me."

There was a pause, mind filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

"Forget I asked. Have a good night, Levi," you muttered, discarding the cigar and crushing it beneath your boot. You turned to leave, but Levi's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"I did suspect it was you at first, Y/n. I had my reasons. But now that we know who it is... I'm sor—"

"Don't apologize," you interjected, your tone firm yet tinged with a hint of sadness.

Levi's gaze faltered, unable to meet yours as you turned away. Tilting your head back, you found solace in the glow of the moon above, its luminescence a stark contrast to the turmoil within.

"... Don't worry, Captain. I assure you I won't ever be a threat to your beloved humanity," you murmured, a flicker of defiance in your voice.

"I was scared, L/n," Levi confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

You spun around, eyes widening in disbelief at his admission. "Scared? You? Of What?"

"That I was right, that it would be you," Levi continued, the weight of his guilt evident in his words. "That of all people, it would be you.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion and disbelief warring within you. "And why is that? "

"Because I've grown fond of you, more than I thought I would."

His stoic demeanor softened slightly as he confessed, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes. His usually impassive face betrayed a hint of uncertainty, his gaze seeking reassurance from her as he laid bare his feelings.

She felt her composed facade falter for a moment, a subtle blush gracing her cheeks as Levi's confession caught her off guard. Despite her disciplined exterior, her eyes betrayed a hint of flattered surprise, mirroring Levi's vulnerability with a flicker of understanding.

Huh.

All rights reserved © 2026 khayooooo. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[khayooooo]

Imagine

MMAToji! x HyperSupporterWife, which is you

Where he will be like in the ring while you're outside shouting and supporting him, cursing at his opponent, shouting words like "Kick his ass, babe!", " Kick his balls!" Something like that, and the opponent will be like "crazy bitch you have," and Toji will be like "I know" while having his shit-eating grin on his face.