summary: in which you’re injured and the lads boys find out about it (kinda).
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb & valko
notes: suggestive content so MDNI / NSFW, xavier’s a little evil, zayne’s a little silly, rafayel is losing it, sylus is #upset, caleb is caleb, valko is a little dumb but he has the spirit! fem reader (!!!), minor suggestive comments and allusions to violence (is anyone surprised) that’s it (i think).
p.s. first time doing valko i like him as a loser do we also like him or should i delete my account just lmk!
a/n: GULP i rlly hope you guys like this it was fun to make so I Enjoy it but it’d also be lovely if you did too okok…valko my silly nerd…ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
Husband!Nanami who wakes you up by peppering your face, neck, and shoulder with kisses until your eyes open.
Husband!Nanami who always makes you breakfast because he knows you're not a morning person and you absolutely dread making a full meal when your body feels so heavy with sleep.
Husband!Nanami who never leaves without kissing you goodbye, even when you're arguing.
Husband!Nanami who never raises his voice at you, always keeping his voice steady. When you're arguing, his voice never goes an octave above even if you're yelling at him (he secretly loves it when you yell at him, but that's neither here nor there teehee)
Husband!Nanami who helps you bathe or shower when you're tired because he loves taking care of you.
Husband!Nanami who loves to kiss your ring, especially in bed. Something about seeing a symbol of your devotion to each other really gets him going.
Husband!Nanami who carries you to bed whenever you fall asleep on the couch and tucks you in.
Husband!Nanami who always offers a bite of his food before you can ask.
Husband!Nanami who always orders the other option whenever you're indecisive and can't choose what to order so that you can get the best of both worlds. He always switches if you like his better.
Husband!Nanami who loves it when you refer to him as your husband. He can't help but sense a bit of pride at the fact that he gets to be your husband.
Husband!Nanami who can read your emotions just by your body language and habits. Even if you tell him you're fine, he can tell when you're not.
Husband!Nanami who memorizes your schedule and routines and helps make things efficient. Your work clothes? consider them cleaned and ironed the day before. Your lunch? packed with a note. Your makeup? organized. Your bed? made.
Husband!Nanami who loves to do anything and everything for you not because you can't, but because he wants show his love for you by doting on you.
A/N: this is getting way too long, part 2 may be coming soon bc i love this man.
content: fluff, meet cute, love, family, marriage, mentions of pregnancy, the happily ever after he deserves
happy birthday to the loml <333
art by @/riritzuu - divider by @/pixopix
Yuji was practically bouncing off the walls in excitement as Nanami slipped his shoes on, “Hurry papa! We have to hurry!”
Nanami purposefully slowed his movements, internally smiling as his son started tugging on him with all his might.
“The park will be there regardless of what time we arrive,” he ruffled Yuji’s hair before slipping a small beanie over his head.
“Can I wear my spider-man coat today?” Yuji looked up at his dad, his brown eyes big as he waited for an answer.
“Of course,” Nanami grabbed it off the hook, slipping it around his shoulders before donning his own jacket. He barely had time to grab his favorite scarf before Yuji was pulling him through the door.
As they walked down the busy streets, hand in hand, Nanami relished in the pure joy that radiated from his son. He was so unlike his father, so expressive in every range of emotion, Nanami loved every new thing he learned about him as time went on.
Yuji was orphaned at a young age. And when Nanami heard from a good friend of his about little Yuji, he decided to set up a meeting. He hadn’t settled down in life yet, stuck in his simple ways that worked for him, even if he constantly told himself he didn’t want more from life.
Everything changed the day he met Yuji, it was like the sun began shining down on him again, the feeling so astounding as he realized how accustomed to the dark that he had become.
His son was his pride and joy, the most well mannered kid, who brought a smile to anyone’s face, always the most eager to listen and learn. Nanami relished in spoiling him, but what he loved most of all was just spending time with him after a week in the office.
Nanami sat on a bench, watching as his son ran around the park with other children, laughing like he never knew anything different. It was a different kind of peace, something he never knew could be his.
Nanami watched as the young girl with brown hair began playing with Yuji, something forming between her and his son. Then the boy with spiky black hair showed up, the two kids spotting him and dragging him into whatever game they were already playing.
When Yuji came running up to him, Nanami smiled down at him, “Where’s your friends?”
“I have to show you something, papa!” Yuji’s little hand grabbed Nanami’s, pulling on him to get him to stand. “Come on!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Nanami stood, letting his son guide him across the playground only to see the little girl with brown hair doing the same to someone else.
“Nobara, I brought him!” Yuji shouted to his friend, a smile overtaking his face as he waved wildly.
“Mommy, meet Yuji’s papa! Now you can get married and I can play with Yuji everyday,” the little girl stood proudly, a haughty look on her face as Nanami stared at you.
Your eyes were wide as you listened to your daughter, a nervous laugh leaving you, “Well, isn’t that quite an idea.”
“The best idea!” Nobara answered, sharing a smug look with Yuji as his eyes bounced between the two adults.
When you looked at Nanami, giving him a shy smile as you held out your hand, he knew he was done for. The moment your hand was clasped in his, all he could think about was how to make you his.
“It’s nice to meet you,” you offered him your name with a gentle smile as the two children ran off, calling for Megumi, the child with black hair, he assumed.
“I’m Kento Nanami, Yuji’s father,” Nanami was still holding onto your hand, the moment turning awkward as you looked down between you. He dropped your hand quickly, muttering an apology.
“Nobara look, my papa’s blushing! He never does that!” Yuji was currently perched high on the jungle gym, the other two kids standing next to him and watching the entire interaction.
“My mommy can’t keep eye contact,” Nobara noted, “usually she’s mean to boys.”
A laugh spilled from your lips, the sound just as beautiful to Nanami as Yuji’s, “Do you want to step away from the nosy children?”
“Please,” Nanami waved to a nearby bench, sneaking looks back at his son as the three children watched with rapt attention.
For once in Nanami’s life he saw a clear future, a future made possible by the two kids who brought you both together. Their little minds had already dreamed up the life you two started making together from that day on.
Nanami himself had never dreamed, never asked for the beauty of coming home to his children laughing in the backyard while you waddled around with a swollen belly.
And the day you brought your third child into the world, Nanami felt the feeling of tears falling down his cheeks at such a beautiful sight. While praising how good of a job you did, he looked upon his newest daughter and knew that everything in his life was made whole by being a father to his three children, and a husband to you.
clan leader!Gojo Satoru x reader
the 'elders' lay their hands on you.
...
everytime you look at his footwear, you remember the first time you ever tried cleaning them.
“Sweetheart” Gojo Satoru’s voice rolled like summer thunder, low and indulgent. “What did I say about touching those?”
You looked up, after two months of marriage, the sight of him stole your breath. his eyes, glowing softly in the daylight. The haori of the clan head rested over his broad shoulders, the fabric whispering as he crouched before you.
“I was only going to wipe the dust” you murmured, cheeks warming. “You have the elders’ meeting after breakfast, and—”
“And nothing.” His large hands, hands that had ended curses with casual flicks, gently took the cloth from you. He lifted your chin with two fingers, thumb brushing your lower lip.
“The only thing these hands should be doing is resting on my chest while I kiss you senseless.”
Before you could protest, he rose, pulling you up with him as if you weighed nothing. In one smooth motion he swept you into his arms, carrying you back inside the main house. The servants bowed and vanished around corners. they had long grown used to their lord’s open affection.
...
the elders were already gathered. You moved to serve tea, old habit, but Satoru’s hand caught yours.
“Sit” he said simply, guiding you to the cushion beside his own.
The elders’ eyes widened when he asked them to pour thier own tea. One elder, an old man with a face like weathered stone, cleared his throat.
“You should not be idle, daughter” Elder Haruto intoned, sipping his tea while his gaze flicked disapprovingly to the way Satoru lounged nearby, one hand resting possessively on your knee. “The floors must be polished. The lord’s footwear cleaned and set properly. A wife’s hands are never still, child or no.”
“Her hands will rest when I say they rest.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If the floors need polishing, the servants will handle it. As for my geta—” He glanced at the wooden sandals by the door, the ones you had never been allowed to touch, even before you were pregnant, “—I never let her near them. Why would I start now?”
“My lord… the lady is perfectly capable of light duties, tradi—”
“Tradition? now observing education for higher students is enough work for her.” Satoru cut in, voice pleasant yet edged with Infinity’s chill, “She worked herself to exhaustion at home before I wed her. I will not allow it now.” He glanced at you, eyes warm. “Besides… I like doing things for her.”
You stared at him again, long, unblinking.
The elder looked displeased, but said nothing more.
...
It happened on the third afternoon of his absence. The sky hung heavy with late spring clouds, and the air inside the main hall smelled of aged wood and incense. You were kneeling by the low table, arranging fresh white camellias and pine branches, when elder Haruto and two others entered without announcement.
“Daughter in law of the Gojo house” Haruto began, his voice like dry leaves scraping stone. His gaze flicked to your middle with clear disdain.
“Carrying the heir does not exempt you from your duties. It is a wife’s role to maintain the household’s dignity. Do not think your condition makes you special.”
Tradition bound you, as a non sorcerer brought into the clan through marriage, your place was one of service and quiet strength. Defiance against the elders could ripple through the entire household.
“But… my husband said—”
“His indulgence is temporary,” another elder cut in sharply. “The child is not yet born. Clean them, thoroughly.”
A servant boy hovered anxiously nearby, eyes wide with worry, but he dared not intervene.
...
The sliding shoji screens of the estate did not merely open, they rattled on their wooden tracks, vibrating with the sheer force of the cursed energy bleeding off Satoru as he stepped into the main pavilion.
The air in the compound always grew heavier when the clan head returned, but tonight, it felt suffocating. It tasted of ozone and impending lightning.
You were already asleep in the main room, exhausted from a day that had fractured your spirit far more than your body. Beneath the heavy, silk futon, your hand rested protectively over the slight swell of your belly, a few months along, still delicate, a fragile miracle you and Satoru had wept over in the privacy of your quarters.
Satoru shed his haori, his six eyes instantly cataloging the state of the house. He had been gone for three days on an emergency deployment in the north. Three days too long.
"Gojo sama."
A small, breathless voice broke the silence of the corridor. It was a servant boy whose family had served Satoru’s personal branch for generations. The boy was with some information.
Satoru paused.
"Tatsuya" he murmured, his voice deceptively low. "Why are you still up? And why does the courtyard smell like damp earth?"
Tatsuya swallowed hard, looking toward the closed doors of your bedroom before continuing. "While you were away... the council of elders called upon the lady."
Satoru’s posture didn't change, but the ambient temperature seemed to drop. "Did they?"
"They... they claimed she was becoming arrogant. They said a housewife of the Gojo clan must know her place, less she 'grow into her mind' and believe herself above the bloodline." Tatsuya’s voice hitched. "They dragged her to the northern wash-basin. They forced her to clean the clan’s formal geta and zori. With the well water."
The silence that followed was absolute. Not even the crickets in the garden dared to make a sound.
"They forced her?" Satoru repeated. The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a collapsing star.
"She refused at first, reminding them of her condition," Tatsuya whispered, tears leaking onto the floorboards. "But Elder Ogi... he grabbed her arm. He forced her down to her knees on the stone path. She tripped. Her knee... her knee was scraped. She spent three hours in the cold, scrubbing their filth. She asked them to let her rest, but they told her she needed to be 'disciplined'."
Satoru didn't say another word, nor did he storm off. He simply vanished from the hallway, leaving behind a draft of freezing air.
In the dimly lit inner sanctuary of the estate, three of the clan’s oldest elders sat around a low table, sipping roasted green tea. They were discussing the upcoming seasonal rituals, completely self assured in their ancient, stagnant authority.
The heavy oak doors of the sanctuary didn't just open, they shattered inward, exploding into wooden splinters that embedded themselves into the priceless hanging scrolls on the walls.
The elders scrambled backward, but before they could even draw a breath to protest, Satoru was there.
He didn't use Limitless to crush them from afar. This required the brutal, visceral reality of his bare hands.
"What" he begins, voice deceptively soft, "in the name of all the ancestors, possessed you to order my pregnant wife to wash filth?"
"Satoru! What is the meaning of—"
Ogi, the eldest among them, didn't get to finish his sentence. Satoru lunged forward, his movement a blur of lethal grace. He grabbed Ogi’s right wrist and twisted.
A sickening, wet pop echoed through the room as the bones in Ogi's wrist shattered under Satoru's grip. The old man screamed, a high, reedy sound of pure agony, as Satoru slammed him face first onto the tatami mats.
"You touched her" Satoru whispered. The sound of his voice was worse than any shout. It was dead. Completely devoid of the playful sorcerer they thought they could manage.
Satoru brought his heavy, geta down directly onto Ogi’s outstretched hand, grinding his heel into the old man's knuckles. The sound of fracturing finger bones filled the room. Ogi choked on his own vomit, pinning himself to the floor under the immense, crushing weight of Satoru’s physical strength.
"Satoru! Step back! This is a violation of clan law! She is a woman! She must be disciplined to understand the weight of the Gojo name!" another elder shrieked, his hands shaking as he tried to form a cursed technique sign.
Satoru turned his head, his brilliant blue eyes glowing with a terrifying, unhinged light in the shadows. He had never been this angry in his entire life.
"Disciplined?" Satoru's voice rose, vibrating with a rage that made the very foundations of the estate groan. "You dynamic pieces of garbage. You dare talk about discipline to me? About my wife?"
He stepped off Ogi, leaving the old man weeping into the ruined tatami, and advanced on the second elder.
"I don't let her touch a single piece of anything when she is perfectly healthy" Satoru snarled, the raw emotion finally breaking through his terrifying calm.
"the servants wash my damn boots. I carry her across the courtyard when the gravel is too sharp. And you... you useless, disgusting, vile, rotting fossils... you dragged my pregnant woman out into the cold? To scrub your filth? Her knee bleeds because of your exclusive skill of not using a brain"
He grabbed the second elder by the front of his expensive silk kimono, lifting the grown man entirely off the ground with one hand.
"She is the future of this entire fucking world, and you risked her safety—you risked my child—because your fragile, pathetic egos were threatened by her existence?!" Satoru roared, his voice shaking the roof tiles.
"She will think she's the best of all? She is the best of all! She is mine! Which makes her untouchable to the likes of you!"
He threw the elder across the room, smashing him into a heavy wooden cabinet that collapsed under the impact.
"Satoru... the--the hierarchy... her place-" the third elder stammered, backing into the corner, clutching his prayer beads as if they could save him from a god.
“Her place?” The air crackled. “Her place is to be cherished. To be protected. I have torn apart special grade curses with less effort than it takes me to tolerate your outdated nonsense. You dare speak to my wife as if she is a common servant? As if the life she nurtures is insignificant?”
Satoru stood in the center of the ruined room, his breathing heavy, his chest heaving under his clothes. The sheer pressure of his cursed energy was cracking the plaster on the walls. He looked down at them with a disgust so profound it was sickening.
"Listen to me very carefully" Satoru said, his voice dropping back to a lethal, quiet hiss. "Tradition dies when it threatens what is mine."
"I have never asked her to perform such tasks. Not once. Not before she carried my child, and certainly not now. Do you have any idea what pregnancy entails? The strain? The risk? My wife is not a servant. She is the heart of this clan. She carries the future."
His voice rises, never before this uncontrolled. "You forced her to kneel by a basin while I was away securing this clan's power? While she should be resting, being cared for? If any of you so much as suggest she lift a finger for menial labor again, I will personally ensure your retirement is... permanent. and I will remind you exactly why I am the clan head. Not because of bloodlines or dusty customs. Because I am the strongest. And I will not hesitate to make examples.”
He stepped closer, his shadow engulfing the final elder, deciding it was enough.
"Get out. All of you. Pack your robes, your tea sets, and your useless books, and fuck yourselves out of my estate before the sun rises. If I see a single one of your faces within the clan boundaries tomorrow morning, I won't just break your hands. I will erase your entire branches from the registry. Try me. See if the jujutsu authorities can stop me."
None of them doubted him. The strongest sorcerer in the world was standing before them, completely unhinged. They nodded frantically, Ogi clutching his ruined arm as they dragged themselves out of the room, terrified for their very lives, knowing the strongest's word was law, and his wrath absolute.
The slide of the shoji screen was a mere sigh in the quiet night, a soft friction of wood on wood. The moment Satoru crossed the threshold into the master bedroom, the terrifying, static heavy aura of his rage dissolved entirely, locked away behind the absolute precision of his control. He didn't want even a stray spark of his cursed energy to disrupt your sleep.
The room smelled of sweet tatami, dried lavender, and the faint, bitter tang of the medicinal salve Tatsuya had helped you apply.
Satoru shed his socks, his bare feet sinking into the woven mats as he approached the futon with agonizing care. He knelt beside you, the sheer size of his frame casting a protective shadow over your sleeping form. Without his blindfold, his six eyes tracked every rhythm of your breathing, noting the slight, tense line between your brows even in slumber.
You stirred, your senses waking up before your eyes did. The air in the room suddenly grew warmer, sweeter, thick with the distinct, dizzying scent of him.
"Satoru...?" you mumbled, your voice heavy and thick with sleep. You began to shift, your palms pressing into the futon to push yourself up, but a large, impossibly warm hand slid over your shoulder, gently anchoring you down.
"Shh... stay down, hime" he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against the quiet of the room. "Don't get up for me. Never get up for me."
He slid under the heavy silk duvet, but he didn't pull you into his arms just yet. Instead, he worked his way down to the foot of the futon. His touch was feather light as he peeled back the edge of the blanket, exposing your bare legs to the cool night air.
Your heart pinched, a sudden flush of anxiety warming your cheeks. You remembered the heavy, frozen stone of the northern wash basin, the harsh, disapproving glares of the elders, the way the coarse bristles of the brush had scraped against your skin. You had desperately wanted to hide it from him, to spare him the headache of clan politics when he already carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.
But Satoru was already staring at your right knee. The neat, white bandage Tatsuya had carefully wrapped was stark against your skin.
A tiny, involuntary tremor ran through Satoru’s hands. The very fingers that had just shattered bones and ground old men's knuckles into dust were now trembling with a terrifying fragility as he slid his palms beneath your calf, lifting your leg just an inch to cradle it against his chest.
He leaned down, his silver hair spilling over your skin like silk. He didn't just look, he pressed his lips gently against the side of your knee, just beside the gauze, kissing the uninjured skin with a soft, lingering reverence. Then, his lips tracked a slow, agonizingly tender path up your thigh, his breath hot against your skin.
"I'm sorry" he murmured, his forehead resting against your thigh as his voice cracked, raw and bleeding with a guilt he couldn't hide. "I'm so sorry I left you alone. I'm so sorry I wasn't here, sweetness."
The sheer vulnerability in his tone made your throat tight. You reached down, your fingers weaving into the thick, ridiculously soft tufts of his white hair, gently tugging until he shifted upward. He crawled back up the length of your body, sliding his frame beneath the covers until he was flush against you.
"It's okay" you whispered, your thumb catching a stray tear that threatened to spill from the corner of his brilliant, crystalline eyes. "It's just a little scrape, Satoru. Truly. They... they just wanted me to learn the household duties. They said it was tradition for the women of the house. I just didn't want to cause trouble for you."
Satoru let out a ragged, shaky breath that stuttered against your collarbone. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his nose scenting your skin, inhaling you as if he were a starving man. His lips pressed a frantic, hot sequence of kisses along your jaw, up to your cheek, and finally against your lips, a soft, bruising, desperate kiss that tasted of a possessiveness so deep it bordered on worship.
His large hands slid down your back, molding your spine to his chest, before one palm found its permanent home, flat and warm against the slight, delicate swell of your belly. His fingers splayed wide over your abdomen, a protective shield of flesh and boundless power.
"You don't have duties to anyone but yourself" Satoru swore against your lips, his chest heaving as his heart thudded rapidly, a frantic, wild rhythm against your own ribs. He pulled you so close you could barely tell where your body ended and his began. "You are the lady of this house. My lady. You don't bow to anyone, you don't clean for anyone, and you don't break yourself for their rotting ideas of tradition."
He kissed the crown of your head, his hand on your stomach gently rubbing in tiny, soothing circles, his thumb caressing the soft fabric of your sleepwear.
"Let them talk. Let them rot" he whispered, his voice turning dark for a fraction of a second before softening as he pressed another kiss to your eyelid. "You just stay safe. Stay soft and warm right here. Let me handle the rest. Please, hime... just stay safe for me."
You smiled softly in the dark, your senses clouded by his immense, radiating warmth and the intoxicating rhythm of his breathing. You let your eyes close, completely melting into him, entirely unaware of the bloodied, broken elders currently packing their things in the dead of night, fleeing the estate in absolute terror.
You didn't need to know. As Satoru tightened his arms around you, pulling the duvet up to your chins and burying his face back into your hair, he held you like you were the only piece of reality that mattered in the universe.
And as his thumb continued to trace slow, adoring lines over your belly, you knew that to him, you absolutely were.
dick grayson x reader fluff, non sexual showering, language, suggestive
The steam from the shower wafted around you, creating a fog that you couldn’t see through. With closed eyes and your head tipped back, you let the hot water cascade down your tired body, making you let out a soothing sigh.
“Hi,” you heard Dick say. He peeked his head through the shower curtain next and looked at your blurred figure.
“Hi?” You replied, opening one eye to look at the shit eating grin on his face.
“Can I join you?” He asked with a smile he reserved for when he was trying to seduce you.
“Sure,” you replied and backed away a bit, making room for him.
He pulled the shower curtain back, revealing his already naked body like he wouldn’t have cared if you said no or maybe he just knew you too well and had known you wouldn’t turn him down.
His sweet grin turned into a full blown yelp the second he stepped under the shower. He jumped back and almost hit his head on the wall, making you let out a laugh.
“What the fuck!” He bellowed.
“What?”
“You practicing for going to hell or something?” He questioned. “The water is fucking boiling.”
“Don’t be dramatic its fine,” you rolled your eyes.
“Turn it down,” he said, firmly.
“No, you can leave,” you offered.
“I’m already wet I don’t want to leave please turn it down just a bit angel, you’re literally red right now,” he coaxed.
“Fine,” you huffed and turned the shower knob to the right to make the water a bit cooler.
“Thank you,” Dick said and stepped under the spray of the water –still wincing, and put his hands on your waist.
“Good?” You checked.
“Manageable,” he grumbled, grabbing your shampoo from the shelf. “This isn’t healthy.”
“Your face isn’t healthy,” you replied, sticking your tongue out at him.
“Is that why you keep sitting on it?” he smirked, earning a smack to his chest in response.
He squeezed some of the shampoo on your palm and leaned his head down, gesturing for you to rub it in his hair.
“Your hair is getting long,” you murmured, rubbing your fingers through his scalp.
“Do you want me to cut it?” he said softly, too busy moaning at the way your hands moved through his hair.
“No I like it like this,” you replied, gripping the inky black hair in your palms.
“Freak,” he chuckled standing to his full height.
“I didn’t even say anything!” You protested, closing your eyes shut when Dick began rubbing the shampoo in your hair.
You felt him kiss your forehead, each of your closed eyelids, your nose then finally your lips before he rested his head on your shoulder, letting out a soft hum.
You grabbed your lavender scented body wash –that he loved an unhealthy amount, and began rubbing it on his back while he hummed in response and planted kisses on your shoulder and collarbone and wherever his lips could reach.
“I love when you don’t have work,” he mumbled. “Quit your job.”
“So you can be stuck to me like a koala all the time?”
“Mhmm,” he let out, planting one last kiss on your jaw before straightening.
“Tempting,” you smiled.
“I can offer you many services,” he almost whispered, planting kiss after kiss on the side of your throat, your collarbones and your jaw.
“Is this why you crashed my shower,” you mused, gripping his hair.
“Maybe,” he smirked, tracing his fingers down your spine.
“Dick,” you whispered, your hand finding the tap behind him in an attempt to turn the water a bit warmer without him noticing.
“Tell me what you want,” he said in a husky voice laced with need, continuing his attack on your neck.
“FUCK!” he screamed and jumped back again, glaring at you.
“Get back here!” You protested when you saw him get out of the shower and grab his towel to wrap around his waist.
“You’re a demon!” He yelled.
“Dick come on! I’m sorry,” you giggled turning the shower off and wrapped a towel around your torso, following him towards the sink.
“Just for that, you’re not getting anything for a week,” he huffed.
“Like you can go that long without touching me,” you challenged.
“Don’t test me,” he narrowed his eyes and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” You asked.
“To get dressed?” He offered like it was the most natural thing.
“Do you not moisturise after you shower?”
“Uh no?”
“You heathen! Come back here,” you ordered and like the obedient boyfriend he was, he made his way back to you.
“Is this necessary,” he asked when he saw you pump some pink body lotion on your palm.
“Yes! Hot water dries your skin,” you replied, rubbing it over his hard chest and abs.
“You just wanna feel me up,” he smirked and looked down at you.
“I wouldn’t need an excuse for that,” you replied, rubbing the lotion on his biceps. “You’re so large, I use all that for both of my legs.”
“Are you complaining?”
“No but-”
“That’s what I thought,” he smiled again and took the body lotion from you, grabbing the edge of the towel to unwrap it from your body.
“My turn.”
HES SO!!! hes so!!! SO!!!!
likes comments and reblogs are appreciated, hope you enjoy <3
it’s late when sukuna returns, shards of moonlight peeking through the blinds of your shared home like pieces of glass. you’d been up late waiting for him, same as every night.
you lift your head up from your palm when you hear the sound of shoes scuffling, tired expression letting up into a soft smile at the sight of your boyfriend. you get up immediately to make your way over.
you don’t notice it: the tension in his features or the almost-scowl on his face, the aura of irritation he’s carrying like a weight. you’re blinded by affection.
“hi, kuna,” you smile sweetly, tiptoeing to wrap your arms around his neck as you lean into him. he tenses up under your touch and you coo sympathetically, rubbing his back. “long day?”
“um, yeah,” sukuna grunts, not moving to reciprocate the embrace. he shifts slightly, irritation radiating off him in waves. “could you let go? ‘m gonna go take a shower.”
he sounds annoyed, you realise, but he’s probably just exhausted. of course you’re gonna try your best to help, and cuddles always helped, at least for you. you could do that.
“nuh-uh,” you reply instantly, smiling as you cling to sukuna tighter. your face drops onto his shoulder, nuzzling as you inhale his heady scent. “you can shower later, let’s cuddle first. i miss you.”
“later.” his voice rises.
you pout childishly. “no, now, you’re tired and i can hug you and —“
“i said, later.” sukuna finally snaps, tone poisonous and voice tight like coiled wire. he crosses his arms, his way of pushing you off without actually doing it. “you just never fuckin’ know when to quit, do you?”
you freeze.
he doesn’t yell, never does, but this is worse somehow. harder to swallow because you can feel the pure anger in it.
you don’t trust your voice enough to respond. slowly dropping your hands off him, you take a quiet, shaky step back. sukuna grunts in approval, rubbing his temples. “i’ve had a long day. can’t deal with you right now.”
that pierces through your heart like a bullet. suddenly, all you’re filled with is hurt and guilt and the slightest twinge of anger. you fight to keep a straight face as your eyes sting.
can’t deal with you right now.
what the hell was that supposed to mean?
sukuna had never once made you feel like a burden, ever. you knew what he was like before you started dating, you’d heard everything about how he fucked people over.
but he always treated you like you were the most precious thing on earth, like you were something to be handled with gentleness. you almost believed it, stupid girl.
now you got it. you understood exactly what everyone had been telling you. he finally got sick of you, eventually realised that you were too annoying. too bright, too nice, too much for him.
but maybe he didn’t have to be such an asshole about it, you think as you bite down on your lip to hold back tears.
“okay,” you exhale, struggling to keep your voice even. “i’m sorry. i, um- i ran you a bath.”
the tense silence is deafening. you swallow, voice growing quieter. “i’ll just go to bed then.”
sukuna doesn’t respond, glaring at something on the floor. you quickly turn around and make your way to the bedroom, the dam quietly breaking as soon as the door’s closed and you're out of his view.
you settle into bed, tucking in with your hands wrapped tightly around your body like a shield. the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut makes you flinch.
the clink of the shower turning on follows right after; he didn’t even use the bath you set up for him.
you hate feeling this way. like you did something wrong and you don’t know what, like he did something wrong and you don’t want to admit it.
quiet sniffles escape you as you close your eyes, feeling the cold tears drip down the bridge of your nose, down your temples. you will yourself to sleep, despite knowing it won’t come.
it’s a long time before you feel a dip in the bed, sukuna’s weight climbing in next to you. you’re in that weird headspace between wakefulness and sleep, but immediately tense awake at the jostling.
it takes a moment before he says anything. almost like he’s hesitating. you hear his heavy breaths.
“hey, baby,” he finally murmurs from behind you, hand reaching out, hovering before he gently puts it on your waist. checking if it’s okay.
you turn rigid, and sukuna retracts his hand like he’s been burned, frowning slightly.
“you’re upset,” he mutters. not a question.
he’s unsurprised when you don’t reply, but he hopes you’ll give him a sliver of a chance anyway. “could you at least turn around?” he grunts. “look at me?”
silence.
he sighs, softer now. he grumbles something under his breath before speaking up again. “please?”
it takes a minute before you begrudgingly shift, rolling over so you’re facing him instead of the wall. you glare up at him, sitting on the covers and looking down at you.
sukuna looks you over.
he thinks he feels something in him crack at the sight of your dried tear tracks, puffy red eyes.
he made you, his sweet, angelic girl, cry. you were just trying to take care of him. only trying to make him feel better, and he snapped at you, and now he feels like the biggest loser on earth. all because of what? a fucking bad day?
idiot, he thinks to himself as he reaches out, both hands cupping your cheeks. he wipes your tears away firmly, so gentle despite it all.
you huff, trying to pull back, but sukuna doesn’t budge. his hands stay on your jaw, soft as his thumbs brush your cheeks.
“let go,” you muster angrily, but it’s a weak attempt.
“no.”
“sukuna, let me go. you’re such an —“
“asshole, i know,” he exhales roughly. his thumbs pause in their ministrations, pressing down on your skin softly. “bitch, jerk, fucking dick. i know. and i’m sorry.”
one hand moves to card gently through your hair, and he feels you grow more pliant under his touch. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you,” sukuna continues. “i had a bad fucking day, people saying the stupidest shit and pissing me off in every way possible. but that wasn’t… i shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
you swallow.
“no, you shouldn’t have,” you mumble, all your anger dissipating into something akin to hurt. you tilt your head down to look at your fiddling fingers. “i thought i did something wrong. or maybe you just finally realised you were sick of me, and you hated me.”
“no, baby —“ sukuna responds, almost desperate as he tilts your chin up to look back up at him. he presses a rough kiss to the side of your mouth, hating to see his bright girl looking so dim. “— fuck, no. you did nothing wrong, yeah? i was an absolute idiot, taking out my anger on you, when you were just trying to be nice.”
you bite your tongue. “you really are,” you say quietly, gaze locked on him. “an absolute idiot.”
“i am, baby,” sukuna agrees, brushing a curl back from your face. “you didn’t deserve that.”
he’s looking at you with not just guilt, but that quiet affection now, the one reserved just for you.
slowly, he bends down but doesn’t yet close the gap. he’s waiting for you to do it, or maybe to pull away if you want to. you give in.
you wrap your arms around his neck, using it as leverage to pull yourself up to meet his lips. he holds you up easily.
the kiss is soft, reverent, sorry, like sukuna’s never kissed before. his passion is still obvious, but it’s gentler now. moulding into something sweeter just for you.
it’s a while before you pull away, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he rests his forehead against yours.
his hands are warm where they’ve slipped under your top, drawing quiet patterns on your hip. you melt into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder with your fingers tangling in the hair at his nape.
“so,” he murmurs, and you feel the vibrations of his voice. “does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”
“maybe,” you mumble, lips twitching. “if you buy me a slice of that strawberry shortcake tomorrow, i’ll consider it.”
“how many ever you want, baby,” sukuna presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “i’ll get you the whole damn bakery.”
instead, you stopped in the doorway and forgot how to move.
the room was quiet almost fragile. pale afternoon light leaked through the curtains in soft stripes, painting the sheets gold.
and there they were.
baby!yuji was sprawled across sukuna’s chest like a starfish, one chubby cheek smushed against bare skin and tiny fist tangled in the collar of your husband’s shirt.
and sukuna..looked devastatingly human half-asleep.
his face was softened with exhaustion, eyes still closed, long lashes resting against his cheeks.
both their heads were a soft messy tuft of pink.
you felt your heart physically hurt.
and for a moment, neither of them noticed you.
until the floor creaked.
yuji stirs first with a tiny whine, blinking blearily. his little eyes are unfocused, heavy with sleep, and the second he spots you standing there his entire face lights up.
“mama…” it comes out all raspy and small his little hands reaching for you immediately without even sitting up properly.
and your husband, still barely conscious, tightens his arm around his son on instinct, protective even in slumber. his eyes crack open slowly.
“what..” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.
he sounds offended by consciousness itself it could not get more ridiculous and adorable than that.
you simultaneously want to laugh and pounce at him because he just looks so soft!
yuji continues make grabby hands at you and unable to resist you walk over, perching on the edge of the bed making the mattress slightly dip.
bad decision.
because suddenly both of them gravitate toward you like magnets.
yuji crawls directly onto your lap with all the coordination of a sleepy toddler, burying his face into your stomach while sukuna exhales deeply beside you, eyes already falling shut again as he tucks you close to his side almost pulling you on top of him.
someone is being clingy..
his cheek is warm against your neck, hair tickling your skin. he smells like sleep and something comforting you can never name properly.
“you’ve both been napping for so long” you whisper, “it’s time to wake up” while both of them grunt a daft refusal and curl into you tighter.
yuji is already dozing off again, tiny fingers curled into your shirt.
sukuna shifts quietly before mumbling, barely coherent, “cold without you”
you blink at him.
then at the child asleep in your lap.
then back at sukuna, who seems to realize what he admitted a full three seconds too late because one eye opens again, glaring weakly.
“don’t”
“i didn’t say anything”
“don’t let it get to your head”
“oh it’s getting to my head alright”
he groans.
“too late” you grin.
despite the threat in his voice, he presses closer anyway, half asleep again before the conversation even finishes.
and somehow you too fall asleep surrounded by tangled blankets and warm bodies and terrible bedheads.
firefly; i just LOVE soft sleepy nap time fics it’s the most domestic thing ever RAHHH (do u guys want me to write longer fics? i kinda like the bite-sized format but lmk!)
Summary: As you are sleeping, your boyfriend, Nightwing, breaks in to your apartment.
It was a quiet night, you were sleeping soundly in your bed. That is, until you heard the rummaging. It sounded as if someone was trying to get in through your window. Quickly, you jumped up and grabbed your phone. The enormous figure entered the apartment, and you realized you definetly couldn’t take him. Quickly you switched on your lamp and began to dial your boyfriend’s number.
As the light illuminated the room, you recognized the high quality of the costume and the bright blue symbol on his muscular chest. It was Nightwing. Sighing, you put your phone down and sat back on the bed. “Dick, I told you please go through the living room window.”
“I needed to see you,” he responded quietly, without his usual quippy response. He sat on your bed and laid back.
“Are you ok?” You asked him, scooting closer to him, brushing a strand of his hair from his eyes. Dick was strong, usually he kept it together, but he had his days where it became too much. You’d seen a few before.
He threw his hands behind his head and took a few deep breaths, his chest heaving as he did so. You took that as your response. He’d never admit he wasn’t ok, but he wouldn’t lie. “Do you want to talk about it.” Silently, he shook his head.
Nodding, you took the hint. You ran your fingers through his raven hair gently and he let you. You slowly pulled his mask off and laid it on the nightstand. No more Nightwing tonight. Just you and Dick.
The two of you continued like this for a bit until a cool breeze came through the window. He hopped up quickly and shut it. “Sorry, for barging in and-“
You followed him to the window and kissed him softly to interrupt him. “That’s what boyfriends are for.”
“Yeah but,” he sighed, instinctively wrapping an arm around your waste. “A normal boyfriend wouldn’t climb into your 16th story window.”
“What kind of idiot would want a normal boyfriend?” You asked back, kissing him softly again. “Get undressed.”
His cheeks flushed. “Babe, you know I love you, but I’m not sure I’m in the mood for-“
“Not for that,” you assured him, “Just do it.” You pulled away and walked into the bathroom. You ran some water in the tub, and added a few fragrances. A few moments, he followed you in there, completely naked.
He was, as always gorgeous with his muscular acrobatic body. He was sexy too, of course, but no one appreciated the beauty like you did. “Get in,” you instructed, “Let me take care of you.” You sat on the edge of the tub, waving him in.
He paused, as if he was going to protest, but then he got in, sitting in the tub. You then grabbed the soap and wash cloth and slowly began to scrub his body. Soaking in the water was good for his bruises and muscle usage, as was the massaging of your touch.
Leaning his head back and slowing his eyes, you could visibly see his muscle relax as you gently washed him. Dick spent so much time taking care of others, that oftentimes there was not enough time for someone to take care of him. That’s where you wanted to fill the gap.
You started with his pecs, gently washing the water and soap trail down them back into the tube. Lifting the cloth you paid attention to his shoulders then sunk your hands into the water to wash his abs.
It was, admittedly, a tad difficult not to get turned on by him and this moment. However, you remained focused. Your boyfriend didn’t need sex, he needed you.
You continued this and your eyes began to get droopy from the peace and quiet. “We can stop,” he whispered, but you shook your head in protest. “Let’s go to bed babe, I am tired.”
His admission of his own tiredness, whether true or not, was enough to convince you. He stepped out of the tub and dried off with a free towel. He then scooped you up, so he was carrying you bridal style.
“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you told him groggily.
“Taking care of you is taking care of me,” he whispered back, carrying you back into the bedroom. Laying down in the bed, he held you close to him. “Just do me a favor,” he said softly before kissing your forehead, “Just let me hold you.”
coming home late as usual because of his tiring missions. but instead of getting greeted warmly, the house feels strangely cold !
featuring. nagumo yoichi !
content. 0.7k wc , angsty dangsty , a teeny tiny bit comfort , minor injuries , nagumo probably being out of character , crappy writing , safe for minors , spoiler free , this was a request.
author’s note. I honestly suck at writing angst because I hate it so much, this explains why this is a “yes queen, give us nothing” post and also! the request said they wanted to see nagumo lose his cool for a bit but I cannot imagine him losing his calm and collected mind entirely, only being strangely quiet. that’s all….
"PUH, today was so tiring! I can't wait to get home and see my pretty wifey!"
Nagumo stretched his arms in the car as they arrived at the destination — since Shishiba felt generous enough to drive Nagumo home. But the generosity didn't hold for long until Shishiba urged him to go.
"Get out now." he grumbled under his breath, eyes wandering to the passenger seat.
"Yes. Get out." Osaragi added from behind, arms folded tightly to refrain herself from attacking the black-haired guy.
The black-haired guy who was eerily silent. Something very unusual for a cheery and happy-go-around someone. "What's wrong?" Shishiba questioned and followed the direction Nagumo was looking at.
"I just had an odd feeling." Nagumo turned back to the driver, suddenly plastering the everlasting smile on his lips again. "Thanks again!"
And with that, he stepped out of the car, making his way to the entrance of his own home. His hand slowly wrapped itself around the handle and then noticed — it was open.
"I'm home, [name]!" he called out, voice unwavering and strong.
Like the usual you would hear from him. Finally daring to enter the cold house, his smile didn't last very long as his gaze flickered around the messy entrance.
Oh he doesn't have to think long to figure out what happened, it was clear as day. One person broke in. Not one, multiple people even. He studied the dirty floor for a second and decided — the count reached to four people.
But that was his second priority, hand extending behind him to slam the door shut before slowly walking into the chaotic hallway, steps steady and loudly echoing within the walls.
Calm. And collected. Like always. What you usually expect from Nagumo.
Until he reached the very door that lead to your shared bedroom. Onyx eyes lingering on the handle for far too long.
As if he was afraid — afraid to see what happens next. Afraid what will happen after the mess. Afraid what he will do later on.
Afraid to lose you.
How ironic. As an assassin especially for this fear to happen. As if he did not take countless lives — people who had their family, friends and loved ones. As if they don't miss the person Nagumo has taken from them.
Now? He wonders. How fucking hypocritical for him, an assassin, to show signs of vulnerability after seeing his loved one is hurt.
He dares to push the door open, own heart pounding hardly against his chest. It feels so suffocating. So hard to breathe. He cannot hold himself back anymore.
Black eyes landing on your figure, lips sealed shut. He rushes towards you, quick and briefly, takes your hand into his and searches quietly for wounds. But he knows you're hurt, the blood on the floor tells him that much.
"Yoichi...." he hears you whisper, voice barely reaching his ears.
"[name]." he replied after a second, "w-where are you hurt?"
For the first time in over a decade, he found himself trembling, stuttering, afraid.
"It's... cold." you made out, eyes slowly blinking — hesitating to close your eyes.
What if he disappears?
"Don't worry. I'm holding you... close." he didn't waste time to grab the blanket on the bed, wrapping your upper body with the material.
To keep you warm.
To keep you alive.
Somehow. Desperate.
"Does... it hurt? Where does it hurt?" he swallowed hardly, eyes flickering around.
"No..." what a lie. "It doesn't hurt... Hold me close."
You find yourself, using your last strength to lean against him.
"Where does it hurt?" he questioned again.
"...Just my thigh."
As soon as he saw the wound, he feels his shoulders slumping down, body relaxing a bit.
It's nothing fatal. Nothing dangerous enough to end your life.
He lets out a shaky sigh and wraps his arms around you before lifting you up in his arms. It's not safe here anymore. He will get you into the hospital first and make sure you're okay again.
Nagumo doesn't play if you're involved into this.
And definitely no one leaves unscathed after hurting you.
That's right. He will find them. Cut their legs off. And end them.
How Sakamoto Days characters handle you being scared of them because of their job
Characters: Shin Asakura, Yoichi Nagumo, Seba Brothers, Gaku, Heisuke Mashimo
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A/N: Hope you like this one OwO
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~~Shin Asakura~~
When you pull away from him with that wide-eyed fear, it hits him like a ton of bricks. He hears it in your thoughts before you even speak it. “He's dangerous... what if he snaps?"
Shin freezes. His heart pounds, not because you’re wrong—he has killed people—but because you’re terrified of him, not what he’s done. That distinction shatters something inside.
“You think I’d ever hurt you?” he asks softly, voice cracking a little as he gently lowers his hand, like even touching you would confirm your fears.
He gives you space. Too much space. For days, he barely meets your gaze, too afraid of what he’ll hear in your mind again.
Eventually, he breaks, sitting outside your room like some kicked puppy. “I’ve done terrible things,” he admits. “But if I could hear just one thought from you where you trusted me again… I’d do anything for that.”
When you finally reach out, saying, “I just needed time to process,” he leans into your touch like a dying man given water. He whispers, “Then take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
He’ll never stop being protective—but he’s more careful now, more open. And when you finally kiss him, hands trembling, he doesn’t read your mind. He wants to feel your trust the human way.
---
~~Yoichi Nagumo~~
He laughs it off at first. “You scared of me? Babe, I’m the guy who brings you takeout and clips your cat’s nails.”
But when you flinch at the sound of his knife clicking open, everything stops. His expression drops like a mask falling away.
“You know, I pretend a lot,” he says, almost too casually. “Happy-go-lucky, pretty-boy hitman. But pretending you’re not afraid of me? That one really hurt.”
He disappears for a day or two. Not because he’s angry, but because he needs to figure out if being in your life is actually hurting you more than helping.
When he comes back, it’s late. Rain clings to him. He crawls into your bed fully clothed, laying next to you with his back to yours. “I never wanted you to see that part of me,” he murmurs. “But if you’d rather see the truth than love a lie, I’ll show you everything.”
He opens up like never before. About his past, about how much of it he regrets, about how every time he holds a blade. He thinks of what he could lose.
And when you finally touch his face and say, “I trust you,” his smirk returns, slower this time. “Then I’ll treasure that trust because you have no idea how much it matters to me."
---
~~Natsuki Seba~~
He gets quiet—scary quiet—when you recoil from his smile after hearing a story about one of his past missions.
“So it’s finally come to this, huh?” he says, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them slowly. “The moment when you realize I’m a monster.”
But there’s no bite in his voice—just exhaustion. He’s used to being seen as a weapon, a tool, a successful test subject. But he thought you saw him as human.
He doesn’t beg. Doesn’t plead. Just... slowly starts building walls. Talking to you only when necessary, pulling all-nighters again, isolating himself in data and chemicals.
When you confront him, saying, “I was scared, not disgusted,” he doesn’t believe you. Not at first. “You wouldn’t be the first to lie to me,” he mutters.
You finally break through when you patch up a wound he didn’t even ask you to touch. “You’re still you,” you whisper. And he grabs your wrist—hard—not to stop you, but because he’s shaking.
That night, he kisses you like a dying man. Desperate, soft, and scared. “If I scare you again,” he says, forehead pressed to yours, “tell me. I’d rather break myself apart than lose you.”
---
~~Mafuyu Seba~~
It’s a knife to the chest when you say, “I don’t know who you are anymore.” And Mafuyu just… smiles. Like he was expecting this.
“You were the one good thing I didn’t have to earn,” he says coldly. “Guess I got that wrong too.”
He shuts down completely. Barely sleep. Doesn’t text. You find his coat on your couch like he meant to come home but couldn’t.
The worst part? He wants to fix it. But he doesn’t know how. He was raised on logic and rules—emotions are messy, unpredictable. Dangerous. For the longest time, he never even had the guts for skin-to-skin contact. You were the first person to jump over the high walls.
So you break the silence first. You find him slumped over a desk, staring at a photo of you two. “Were you ever going to come back?”
“I was scared I’d break something that mattered,” he admits, looking up with raw eyes. “I don’t know how to be loved and feared at the same time.”
You hold him close and say, “Then let’s figure it out together.” His kiss is shaky, tender, and terrified. “I’ll make myself better,” he promises.
---
~~Gaku~~
He’s not surprised when you back away. He saw the fear in your eyes the moment he told you the truth.
“You thought I was just some weird, messy guy with a sharp tongue,” he mutters. “Turns out I’m also a trained killer. Surprise.”
He doesn’t beg or apologize. He just leaves. Ghosts you. The type of silence that tastes like blood and old memories.
You find him again by accident, nursing a busted lip in an alley. “Why didn’t you say goodbye?” you ask.
“Because I knew you’d try to stop me,” he replies, not meeting your eyes. “And I couldn’t watch you look at me like that again.”
You walk up and cup his jaw, thumb brushing his bruise. “You scare me,” you admit. “But I still love you.” That’s when he breaks, he hides his face in your shoulder and just breathes, like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in days.
Later that night, his touch is rough but reverent. He kisses your scars and his own. “If you ever want out,” he says, “I’ll let you go. But until then—I’m yours, even if I don’t deserve it.”
---
~~Heisuke Mashimo~~
He tries to joke it off. “I mean, who hasn’t accidentally blown something up, right?” But when you don’t laugh, he realizes this is serious.
His heart drops. “You think I’d hurt you?” he says, so softly it breaks your heart. “I’ve never even raised my voice at you.”
He spirals hard. Convinces himself you’re better off without him, that he’s too reckless, too unstable. He starts sleeping in his van again.
The guilt eats at him. You hear him muttering in his sleep—begging for forgiveness, apologizing to you, to the people he's failed.
You sat down next to him one night and said, “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here.” He just stares at you like you’re some miracle he doesn’t deserve.
He hugs you too tightly. Buries his face in your neck like you’re his only anchor. “Please don’t be scared of me,” he whispers. “I’d rather blow myself up than hurt you.”
That night, he’s surprisingly tender. Fumbling, awkward, but passionate. “I’m yours,” he says between kisses. “Just tell me what to fix and I’ll do it.”
Since you said its okay for sakamoto days, i wanna req nagumo x gf!reader when nagumo just got back from a gruesome mission and have a lot of wounds, he was met with an angry yet worried reader because he lied about the mission being 'easy'. He gulps and try to joke around even tho deep down he's hella scared. Then reader tends his wounds while yap her heart out
So its like playful dangerous bf is scared when his gf mad type of troops. Thankies author🤭
The door clicked open with a softness that didn't match the man stumbling through it. You looked up from the couch, the words on your tongue dying the second you saw him.
Nagumo’s hoodie was shredded. Deep slashes had carved through the fabric, and the dark stains seeping into the grey cotton weren't from rain. A gash above his eyebrow dripped a slow line of red down his temple, and his usual lazy smirk was nowhere to be found. His knuckles were split and raw, one hand pressed tight against his ribs.
You were on your feet before the door finished swinging shut. The book in your lap hit the floor with a thud.
He saw your face, saw the way your eyes widened and your jaw locked, and he immediately tried to summon that infuriating, carefree grin. It came out more like a pained wince.
“Honey, I’m home,” he rasped, voice thin. “You should see the other guys. There were… a lot of them. A real party.”
Your blood ran cold, then hot. “An easy job, you said. A walk in the park. That's what you told me.”
He had the audacity to shrug, then instantly regretted it as a spasm crossed his face. “It was a park. A pretty big one. With some… aggressive squirrels.”
You didn't laugh. Your eyes burned, and your hands were already shaking as you closed the distance. Nagumo’s fake smile faltered. He saw the storm brewing in your expression, the way your breath came in short, sharp bursts. For a man who laughed in the face of death, who turned assassins into punchlines, he found himself taking an actual, physical gulp. His Adam's apple bobbed. He was, in that moment, truly, deeply scared. Not of an enemy, but of the terrifying depth of your worry.
“It's really not as bad as it looks,” he tried, lifting his free hand in a weak placating gesture. “Just a few scratches. You know me, I heal fast. Like a lizard. A very handsome lizard.”
“Sit. Down.” Your voice was a blade.
He sat. Immediately. On the edge of the coffee table because the couch was too far and his legs felt suspiciously unreliable. You vanished into the bathroom and returned with the heavy first-aid kit, the one he’d teased you for buying, the one now full of supplies that saw far too much use. You dragged a chair in front of him and sat, your knees almost touching his.
You ripped open an antiseptic wipe and the sharp smell filled the silence. You didn't say a word as you took his chin, not gently, and tilted his head to catch the light on the gash over his eye. Your touch on his jaw was ice cold, but your fingers trembled.
“A few scratches,” you repeated, your voice dangerously low as you began to clean the dried blood from his eyebrow. “You come home looking like you lost a fight with a woodchipper, and that’s what you go with. A walk in the park. Aggressive squirrels.”
He tried to hold onto his easy demeanor. “They were very territorial-”
“Don't.” The single word cracked like a whip. You pulled the wipe away, now stained crimson, and your eyes finally met his. They were glassy with unshed tears. “Do not do that. Do not joke. Not right now.”
He closed his mouth. The playful light in his eyes guttered out, replaced by a quiet, watchful stillness.
You moved to his hand, taking his battered knuckles in your palm. Your thumb traced the edge of a split without pressing, just hovering. “You told me it was a simple extraction. In and out. I made your favourite dinner because you said you’d be home by eight, not bleeding all over my floor at two in the morning.”
He opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, but you weren't finished. You pulled out a roll of bandages, your movements quick and practised, and you started wrapping his hand while your voice poured out in a torrent.
“I wait, Nagumo. I wait and I trust you, and I listen when you say it’s easy because the alternative is going insane every single time you walk out that door. I force myself to believe your stupid, easy smile because it’s the only thing that keeps me from breaking down. And then you come back like this.” You pulled the bandage taut, perhaps a little harder than necessary, and he flinched. You didn't apologize. “You come back with your ribs probably cracked and blood all over you and you still try to crack a joke. As if I can’t see. As if I can’t feel how your hand is shaking.”
He looked down. His hand was, in fact, trembling slightly in your grasp. From pain, from exhaustion, from the comedown of adrenaline. He hadn’t noticed. You had.
You reached for the hem of his ruined hoodie. “Off. Let me see your ribs.” He hesitated, and you gave him a look so fiercely tender it could have stopped a bullet. He carefully, silently, pulled the tattered fabric over his head. A patchwork of dark, angry bruises bloomed across his side. Your breath hitched, a small, wounded sound that felt worse than any broken bone.
Your fingers, now warm, began to gently probe the edges of the bruising. You yanked a bandage wrap free from the kit, but your voice was the real thing holding him still.
“You're so good at lying,” you said, your anger softening into a ragged, desperate ache. “You do it with a smile and it’s so easy for you. But you have to stop lying to me about this. I’m not asking you to stop being who you are. I’m just asking you to stop treating my love like it’s a thing that needs to be managed. Like I’m another mission you have to handle. I can handle the truth. I can't handle the silence before a joke.” You started winding the bandage around his chest, your arms reaching around him, embracing him in the act of fixing him. Your face was right next to his. “I can’t handle finding out you were scared and hurt and alone somewhere because you didn't want to worry me. You think this doesn’t worry me? You think a lie is more kind than letting me carry it with you?”
You tied off the bandage with a sharp, final tug and sat back. A single tear finally escaped, tracing a path down your cheek. You didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I love you, you absolute disaster of a man. But if you ever tell me a job is easy and then come home looking like a ghost, I will make your next mission look like a vacation. Do you understand?”
Nagumo was very still. The mask was gone. His dark eyes held a sincerity so raw it was almost painful to witness. He reached up, slowly, giving you time to pull away, and caught that tear with the pad of his unbandaged thumb. His touch was feather-light.
“Okay,” he said. It was just one word, but his voice was stripped of all artifice. No jokes. No deflection. Just a quiet, solemn promise. “Okay."
I hope I delivered this in the best way possible maoo
There is a very specific, highly entertaining phenomenon that occurs whenever you take your husband out in public. You like to call it the “Terror and Thirst” effect.
Today, at the crowded public beach, it is in full swing.
You are currently lounging under the massive shade of a navy blue beach umbrella, a trashy romance novel resting on your lap, watching the spectacle unfold at the shoreline.
Ryomen Sukuna is, objectively, a masterpiece of a man. Standing at a towering 6’4”, he is built like a heavyweight champion—broad shoulders, a thick chest, and a torso carved out of solid granite. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung, black board shorts that sit dangerously low on his hips, putting the intricate, sprawling black tattoos that cover his chest, arms, and stomach on full, glorious display.
He is hot as fuck. It’s a fact that is currently not lost on the group of college girls sitting on a blanket about twenty yards away. They haven’t stopped staring, whispering behind their hands, and aggressively adjusting their bikini tops for the last half hour.
But here is the catch: Sukuna is also terrifying.
He has this natural, resting aura of absolute disdain for anyone who isn’t you or your son. He’s a snob, plain and simple. He doesn’t smile at strangers, he doesn’t make polite small talk, and if someone stares at him for too long, he gives them a dead-eyed, chilling glare that practically drops the surrounding temperature by ten degrees.
Case in point: one of the girls giggles a little too loudly, pointing in his direction. Sukuna, who is currently standing ankle-deep in the surf, slowly turns his head. He doesn’t say a word. He just narrows his crimson eyes, his face completely blank, and stares her down.
The girl visibly pales, her hand dropping instantly. She quickly turns around, suddenly very interested in the contents of her cooler.
Sukuna lets out a quiet, dismissive scoff, turning his attention back to the water.
“You’re going to give those poor girls a complex, babe,” you call out, unable to hide your amusement.
Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, and the transformation is instantaneous. The cold, intimidating mask melts away, replaced by an expression so incredibly soft and devoted it makes your chest ache. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a small, fond smile.
“Not my problem that they are annoying,” he says, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the crashing waves. “Besides, I only want one woman looking at me.”
You roll your eyes, though your cheeks heat up. “Smooth, Ryomen. Very smooth.”
“Dada! Splash!”
A tiny, high-pitched voice interrupts the moment. Yuji, currently sporting a pair of tiny black swim trunks that perfectly match his dad’s, is waddling furiously through the shallow water. He’s got a pair of bright orange floaties strapped to his chubby arms, his pink hair plastered to his forehead from the ocean spray.
Sukuna’s attention snaps to his son. He doesn’t say anything, just calmly wades deeper into the water, his massive hands reaching down to scoop the toddler up under the armpits.
“You want to splash, little man?” Sukuna asks quietly, his tone a low, soothing rumble.
“Yeah! Big splash!” Yuji cheers, kicking his little legs.
You watch, completely mesmerized, as your terrifying, snobbish husband hoists your two-year-old high into the air. Sukuna tosses him up—just high enough to make Yuji squeal with delight—and catches him effortlessly, dipping him down so his little toes drag through the water.
It’s a beautiful, chaotic contrast. The giant, tattooed wall of muscle, gently playing in the waves with a giggling, chubby-cheeked toddler.
They play in the water for another twenty minutes. Sukuna is quiet, mostly just listening to Yuji babble about the “big fishes” and the “salty water,” occasionally offering a calm nod or a soft chuckle. He is completely in his element, entirely unbothered by the rest of the world.
Eventually, Sukuna wades out of the water, carrying Yuji on his hip. Water is dripping from Sukuna’s pink hair, running down the hard planes of his chest and tracing the lines of his tattoos. It is a sight that should be illegal.
He walks over to the umbrella, grabbing a towel with his free hand and tossing it over his shoulder. He sets Yuji down on the sand.
“Go to mama, buddy. Let her dry you off,” Sukuna murmurs, running a hand through his wet hair.
But Yuji has other plans.
He shakes himself off like a wet puppy, sending droplets of water flying everywhere. He takes two steps toward you, stops, and then his head snaps to the left.
You follow his gaze. A new group of girls—three of them, looking like they just stepped out of a swimsuit catalog—have set up their chairs near the shoreline.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, dropping your book. “Not again.”
Yuji’s eyes go wide. He completely ignores you, turning on his heel and marching straight toward the girls. His little chest is puffed out, his arms swinging with an unearned amount of swagger for a kid who still wears pull-ups at night.
“Sukuna,” you warn, pointing at your son. “Stop him.”
Sukuna doesn’t move. He just stands there, drying his chest with the towel, watching Yuji with a quiet, amused smirk. “Why? He’s on a mission.”
“He is two! He is literally a baby!” you hiss, standing up. “Why does he act like a frat boy on spring break?”
“Son't ask me,” Sukuna replies, clearly avoiding your eyes, he took a sip from the bottle of water. He doesn't say it, but you can hear the lingering amusement in his voicd. “Let the boy have fun, babe.”
You groan, watching helplessly as Yuji reaches the girls.
He stops right in front of their beach chairs. He puts his chubby little hands on his hips, tilts his head, and unleashes the weapon: your bright, disarming smile.
“Hi!” Yuji chirps loudly. “I Yuji!”
The girls immediately stop talking. They look down at the tiny, pink-haired toddler, and the collective swoon is almost audible.
“Oh my god, hi!” one of them coos, leaning forward. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing ever?”
“Pweety,” Yuji says, pointing a tiny finger at the girl’s sparkly bikini top. He then flexes his little arm, showing off a completely non-existent bicep. “Look! Strong like dada!”
“I can’t believe this,” you whisper, burying your face in your hands. Sukuna lets out a low, quiet chuckle next to you.
“You are a terrible influence,” you glare at him.
“Babe, I didn’t do anything,” Sukuna says, his voice completely deadpan, though his eyes are dancing with mirth. “I’m just standing here.”
Down by the water, the girls are eating it up. They are giggling, offering Yuji a plastic beach toy, which he graciously accepts. But then, one of the girls looks up. Her eyes scan the beach, looking for the parents, and she spots Sukuna.
You can practically see the cartoon hearts pop out of her eyes.
She stands up, brushing sand off her legs, and walks over to Yuji, taking his little hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go find your dad.”
She leads Yuji back toward your umbrella, her eyes locked entirely on Sukuna. She has that look—the look of a woman who thinks she’s about to shoot her shot with a single dad.
“Excuse me,” the girl says, her voice dropping into a sultry purr as she approaches. She completely ignores you, standing right in front of Sukuna. “Is this little guy yours? He wandered over to us.”
Sukuna stops drying his hair. His smilr vanishes, instantly replaced by that cold snobbery. He looks down at the girl, his expression completely blank, his eyes devoid of any warmth.
He doesn’t say a word to her.
Instead, he steps forward, completely invading her personal space with his massive frame, forcing her to take a nervous step back. He reaches down and scoops Yuji up into his arms.
“Dada! Pweety girl!” Yuji babbles, pointing at the woman.
Sukuna looks at the girl for one more second. It’s a look that clearly says, You are entirely beneath my notice.
“Thanks,” Sukuna says. His voice is quiet, but it carries a heavy, chilling finality that makes the girl flinch. “Come here buddy lets go to mama”
He turns his back on her without another word, walking the two steps over to you. The girl stands there for a second, her face flushed bright red with embarrassment, before she quickly turns and scurries back to her friends.
You are trying very hard not to laugh. “You didn’t have to be so mean to her.”
“I wasn’t,” Sukuna scoffs, setting Yuji down on your beach chair. “I just didn’t care to speak to her.”
“She was totally hitting on you.”
Sukuna finally looks at you, and the ice in his eyes melts completely. He steps into your space, his large hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs gently stroke your cheekbones.
“Whatever,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate register. “I'm married”
Your breath hitches, your heart doing a familiar, stupid little flip in your chest. Even after all these years, he still knows exactly how to render you speechless.
“You’re such a sap,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.
“Only for my wife,” he replies, leaning down to press a slow, deep kiss to your lips. It’s a possessive kiss, one that clearly communicates to anyone watching exactly who he belongs to.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Mama!”
You both look down. Yuji is standing on the beach chair, holding up a slightly crushed, sandy seashell. He shoves it toward you, his big golden eyes shining.
You melt. You absolutely melt. You take the sandy shell, pulling Yuji into a tight hug and kissing his salty, sun-warmed cheek. “Thank you, baby. It’s beautiful.”
Sukuna watches the two of you, his hands resting casually on his hips. “See?” Sukuna says quietly, reaching out to ruffle Yuji’s pink hair. “The kid might have my charm, but he knows the truth.”
At the end of the day, despite the playboy genes and the endless chaos, they were yours. And you were theirs.
And mom was, undeniably, still the best.
an: we're close to 1k what the hekk!!! what one shots do you wanna see next? i can't write smut for the life of me, english is saurrrr hard!! divider by: @pxrce-lain | the art and gif i got from pinterest! feel free to comment who is the orig art creator pls 🙏
Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader
Summary: How he acts as a bf! Ideas both big and small.
CW: mentions of nightmares, maybe ooc, not proofread
WC: 538 words
Leche's Note: haii guys!!! I made this after my burst of angst yesterday...idk what this is lowkey. some ideas were kinda inspired by other posts/kinda similar so!!! credits to the mooties for that :3 idk I just love the idea of Jason settling in to becoming peak bf material,,, like just letting himself feel. anyways!! this was requested by my bby @sozzoe, tysm for the req and I hope you all enjoy!!
Bf!Jason who…buys himself the chunkiest pair of reading glasses once you start wearing glasses with the excuse of you both matching, just to make sure you aren’t insecure of your new look.
Bf!Jason who…finds himself buying/borrowing books he’d think you’d enjoy, and then reading it to you late at night either after his patrols or earlier on his nights off.
Bf!Jason who…when the nightmares of his past finally strike, finds himself trying to hide them from you. To show you he’s strong, brave, and definitely not haunted by his past. He fails miserably, and he’d never been so grateful for failure until you’d pulled him into your arms, whispering about how you’d never leave him, no matter what.
Bf!Jason who…is so chronically offline it’s hilarious. You could pull any prank in the world on him, and he’s especially gullible towards those “fit check with my current boyfriend” trends, often leading to silly squabbles and laughter afterwards.
Bf!Jason who…loves the newspaper’s crossword. He does it every morning without fail, asking you for possible words while he makes your morning coffee, finishing the crossword and giving the coffee to you like a treat for helping him (and sometimes including some cookies he’d made the night before)
Bf!Jason who…once truly comfortable, starts ranting about all his thoughts about classics he’d read, and how he relates to them. Once, he talked your ear off for an hour about the parallels he’d found between himself and the creature from Frankenstein, though, for obvious reasons, dislikes Victor Frankenstein and refuses to bring him up entirely (or mention how his relationship with Bruce is eerily akin to the Creature’s relationship with Victor).
Bf!Jason who…takes comfort in domesticity. In knowing that, at the end of the day, he has someone to rely on, someone to come back to, someone to love. More than he’d had for most of his life, really, and he deeply roots himself in this new identity, in knowing he was no longer alone and running on fight-or-flight mode.
Bf!Jason who…met you in a book club. Encouraged by one of the librarians, he’d joined the club, and nervously sat next to you during the first meeting. You’d shyly offered your number to him at the end, and he still uses it as a bookmark to this day, as a reminder of the start of your shared life.
Bf!Jason who…loves watching you get ready for bed. Your bedtime often coincides with the time he gets ready for patrol, so while you’re winding down, he’s getting ready to leave, and the both of you have made it a ritual to get ready (and unready) together.
Bf!Jason who…is a major cuddler. He claimed not to be when you both first moved in together, but is a big fan of physical touch. He can’t sleep unless he’s got his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your neck, his hands at your sides and your back against his chest, breathing in sync with yours and inhaling your perfume with every breath. It’s a reassurance, mostly, that you’re still there, but it is especially useful during the cold Gotham winters.
Dividers by @/cursed-carmine
Please do not copy, steal, or put my works into AI.
Leche's Mailbox. Masterlist.
Taglist: @smllvlle, @cinnamon-girl-writes, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @sowhatifimslow, @stilestotherescue, @milkybbun
✎⠀⠀pairing ⦂ jason todd x fem!reader I soft!jason, dangerous surroundings.
࿐ synopsis ⦂ jason todd can outrun anything gotham throws at him, but sitting still in a safehouse at two in the morning, blanket-warm and dangerously honest, turns out to be the thing that undoes you both.
masterlist . . . . . ↷
his call rang at eleven, the exact time nothing good ever happens. you answered on the second ring. it was always like this when his name lit up your screen past ten... you answered immediately and you didn't ask questions until jason todd told you it was safe to ask them.
"pack a bag," he solely said, "...clothes for two days, devices if you need them, anything you can't replace. don't turn on the lights!"
your stomach dropped to a soft floor that was once hard under your feet. you were no stranger to this feeling.
"alright," you respond. "how long?"
"until I say otherwise." you could hear him breathing, which meant he was somewhere quiet, trying to be careful. "are you already awake?"
"I was reading what you left at my place."
"good. don't put the book down until I'm at your door... I'm seven minutes out."
he hung up... you were left in the dark with your phone glowing and your book still open. you breathed carefully, the way he taught you, and then you got up to pack your belongings. all lights out.
his safehouse was in a part of gotham that doesn't have a recognisable name to many. jason unlocked it with a key from a ring weighted by at least eleven more keys, probably for his other scattered safehouses. he went in first, and he checked it before he even let you pass. you stood in the doorway, a bag on your shoulder waiting for him to be done with all this moving through the dark rooms.
"clear," he announced, and only then could you move in.
It smelt like dust and old radiator heat. jason drew the curtains together the second you were both inside. he flipped a switch to a single lamp in the far corner, and the room brightened a sweet softness that surprised you every time, 'cause deep down the unwanted bias of expecting these places of his to feel brutal and caging in was always proven wrong.
"you want tea," he asked.
"Is there tea?"
"I stock them." he strolled to the small kitchen.
you sat on the couch and pulled your knees to your chest, listening to him work around the kitchen. at some point, your eyes fell shut. you allowed yourself to be comforted by the domestic sounds.
jason returned with two mugs and set yours in front of you on the table. he flung his body onto the couch's free space without bothering to take his jacket off. his eyes were scanning the space... alertness second in command to his being... constantly tracking sound...
"...jay," you were tired of waiting, "are you gonna tell me why I'm here?"
"someone I put away three years ago got out on a technicality." his voice was even. "he knows my face. he doesn't know yours, but..."
"but I know yours."
"...yeah." he snatched up his mug. "so you're bound to me."
you nod slowly. this was practising what it meant to live a life by his side. the way that loving jason todd meant you had to disappear from your own home at midnight with no light and your heart in your throat, 'cause someone somewhere had decided to make you an answer to an equation that was only ever meant to involve him.
you used to resent this. there were early months where the line blurred and you threw the resentment in his direction simply 'cause he was there... but now you don't resent it anymore. you're not entirely sure when that changed.
"how long do you think?"
"a night. maybe two." he shifted, getting himself comfortable on the couch whilst angling slightly toward the door. "depends on whether he makes a move or just goes to ground."
"and if he goes to ground?"
"then we wait until I find him... I'll find him faster than he expects."
oh, he was serious, and no doubt did you believe him.
by one in the morning it became clear that both of you weren't going to surrender to sleep any time soon. jason fetched blankets from the closet and pulled one over your shoulders; the other over his lap as you caved into his firm side. your feet tucked under the edge of his thigh. his arm along the back of the couch behind you.
"you can sleep," he said. "I'm not going to."
"I know you're not." you cranked your neck from his shoulder to meet his eyes. "that's why I'm not."
he opened his mouth, only to shut it at the lost argument. little seconds crossed, he whispered, "...I mean it, you don't have to stay up with me."
"I know." you shoved deeper into him.
jason and you spoke for a while about nothing. something the two of you were always good at. he listened to you with beautiful attention, the kind that made you feel like what was coming out you mouth was the most interesting thing he's heard in his life.
you knew that could never be true given the life he led, and yet... around two he went quiet, and you sat in that same silence for a while with him, before talking...
"am i allow to say something?"
"you're gonna ask it either way..."
"when you're in situations like this. being hunted, or ... whatever the right word is." you keep your tone considerate. "does it feel like it used to?"
his mouth pressed closed long enough that you wondered if you overstepped a boundary...
"...no," he finally gave you an answer. "It used to feel like I was part of the thing. like the danger and me were the same substance."
you waited.
"It doesn't feel like that now," he continued. "now there's a line between me and it. I can see both sides of it." he cast a look to the curtained window. "most of the time."
"...most of the time," you echoed, curious.
"most is better than none."
"yeah," you agreed. "It really is."
he glanced at you. you looked back at him steadily, knowing that with jason you weren't supposed to look away from times like these. he needs to be met.
"you're not scared," he questioned.
"of this? the situation?"
"of me." he paused. "the situation is me."
now, you were feeling it within. he wasn't asking for reassurance or a pretty answer. he was demanding honesty with no way to say it aloud.
"I thought about it," you began. "early on, I thought about it a lot."
"and?"
"and I think I would be scared of a version of you that didn't worry about it." you turned your mug in your hands. "the worrying is the point. that's you on the right side of the line."
"that's..." jason cut off, thinking.
"you don't have to say anything."
"I know, I..." he paused like he was trying to come up with a deep explanation, before simply settling with..." I know I don't."
by three, thirty you had pushed barriers until his arm was actually around you and your head is on his shoulder and the blankets were pooled across both of you.
he was still very much alert... in the slight tension in the arm around you, the way he went rigid at a sound from outside (a car, passing, nothing) before easing again. his alertness wasn't frightening from your angle. in fact, it was the thing that let you close your eyes.
"I've been thinking," he said quietly, into the top of your head, "about getting a new place."
"a safehouse?"
"an actual place. with a kitchen and..." he hopelessly started again. "with enough space for two people."
you open your eyes. didn't lift your head.
"two people," you repeated.
"I'm not asking tonight," he clarified. "I'm not... this isn't me asking. I just wanted to say it out loud. once. to see what it sounded like."
"what does it sound like?"
a pause. outside, the rain. the radiator's tick...
"less terrifying than I thought!"
you melted your face into his shoulder. "yeah," you muffled into his jacket. "same."
jason's arm tightened around you.
you didn't really get any sleep. you drifted in and out of your awake consciousness. around four he called your name, testing whether you were asleep or not.
"hmm..."
"there's a diner two blocks east that opens at five." jason informed. "they do good eggs."
you pondered it, "are we safe to go at five?"
"should be. checked in with my contact twenty minutes ago." his hand moved, once, across your hair to stroke it, soft. "I'll know more by then."
"alright." you leaned back. "wake me at four, forty five."
"yeah," he obeyed.
you closed your eyes again. the lamp made the inside of your eyelids warm and orange. the rain was easing.
white feather hawk tail deer hunter by lana del rey.
baratheonpilled
gracieabrams
kianamaiart
amandla
germansingergirl
yousharknotpass
origamiaround
titsay
