HIII! sorry i haven't been posting i've been working on personal projects but i am working on my alien stage part series as well but if anyone would like to join me and my friends discord server pls message me on here and i will give you my user ID for discord! i would link the server itself but we are being extra cautious. It is 13+ that's why we're being cautious of who we invive. It is columbina(genshin) themed and we have plenty of emoji's and stickers you can use!
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call the doctor?”
Oh, how you thought you could keep this a secret just a little longer. “No, I swear m’fine.” You grimace as you wipe your mouth, sitting back on your knees as you close the toilet lid and flush away all the things you’d like to forget.
“Baby, you’ve thrown up every morning since I’ve gotten back.” Caleb, oddly oblivious for once in his life, squats down beside you in your apartment bathroom. His hand is cool as it presses to your forehead, you’re unable to help yourself as you press into it. “S’just a little bug.”
One that will only continue to grow…
“Are you sure? You’re not burning up…” you manage to look up at him, unable to stop the small huff of laughter that escapes you. “Could you get me something to drink? My mouth tastes awful.” Redirection was the best distraction.
You weren’t quite ready to tell him yet. Not out of fear, you just needed a little more time to process it yourself. “Apple juice okay? It won’t upset your stomach?” You take his hand, letting him pull you up from your spot on the floor.
“Apple juice would be perfect.” He seems hesitant to leave you, as if you’ll disappear in the time he’s gone. But, he scurries off anyways. The after taste is probably foul, the quicker he can help you rid of it the better, right?
You busy yourself with washing your hands, cupping some water and bringing it to your mouth to swish around.
He’ll start to piece it together eventually, the stomach bug excuse can only work for another day or two before he’s dragging you to the ER himself.
Plus, you still have a few weeks left in your first trimester… who would have thought it would be this difficult to tell Caleb you were pregnant with his baby?
I will use anything as inspiration if you couldn’t tell… also happy Father’s Day to Caleb I guess? Lmfao - Soul
Sorry I haven’t posted but I’m working on my masterlist and an alnst Part series and I have more that I have to post but just haven’t gotten to it yet!!
Ronin x reader who easily gets emotional and cries (ex: movies, books, songs, etc.)
STOP IM PROBABLY SENDING U TOO MUCH REQUESTS BCS UR MY FAVORITE IM SORRY
YOU FEEL EVERYTHING
pairing: Ronin × Reader
genre: comfort, emotional intimacy, soft domestic fluff
summary: The reader cries easily over movies, music, and small moments, and Ronin learns - slowly and protectively - how to comfort her and cherish the depth of her emotions.
word count: 571
c/w: crying, emotional vulnerability, mentions of violence off-screen, comfort caretaking
a/n: HEY- no apologizing allowed 🖤 you’re not annoying me at all. I’m genuinely glad you like my writing that much.
➤ killer chat masterlist
𑣲 taglist
Ronin learns pretty quickly that you cry at everything.
The first time, he thinks something’s wrong.
You’re sitting beside him on the couch, watching a movie you insisted was “really good.” It’s quiet, warm, comfortable. Too comfortable. Ronin’s half-paying attention, eyes flicking between the screen and you.
Then he hears it.
A sniffle.
He looks over just in time to see your lips wobble, eyes glossy.
“…What happened?” he asks, already tense.
You shake your head quickly. “Nothing—nothing bad.”
A tear slips down your cheek.
Ronin pauses the movie instantly. “Darlin’. That’s not ‘nothing.’”
“It’s just—” You gesture helplessly at the screen. “They finally found each other again.”
He stares. “They… hugged.”
“I know,” you whisper, voice breaking again. “It was emotional.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second. Just watches you swipe at your face, embarrassed.
Then he reaches over, wordlessly pulling you into his chest.
“There,” he mutters. “Get it out.”
You let out a soft, broken laugh and cry harder, face buried against him.
Ronin stiffens at first—feelings have never been his terrain—but he adjusts, one hand settling between your shoulder blades, rubbing slow, steady circles.
“Y’feel everything real deep, huh?” he murmurs.
You nod. “I can’t help it.”
“Didn’t say it was bad,” he replies.
It happens again with music.
You’re in the kitchen, a song playing quietly from your phone. Ronin’s cleaning his knife at the table when he notices you’ve gone still, staring at nothing.
“Hey,” he says. “You alright?”
You shake your head, tears already spilling. “This song just—hurts.”
He sighs softly, stands, and pulls you into his arms again without hesitation this time.
“You’re cryin’ over a song now?” he asks, but there’s no bite to it.
“It reminds me of things,” you mumble.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s usually how it works.”
You sniff. “I’m sorry. I know it’s annoying.”
That gets his attention.
He tilts your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Don’t say that.”
“But I’m always crying—”
“So?” His brow furrows. “Means you care. Means you’re alive.”
You blink at him.
“You ever notice how dead most people sound when they talk?” he continues quietly. “No spark. No weight.” His thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. “You got too much heart, not too little.”
You lean into his touch, chest aching in a good way.
From then on, Ronin adjusts.
He keeps tissues nearby without comment. Lowers the volume when scenes get heavy. Lets you cling to him when books make your throat tight or when lyrics hit too close.
Satoru Gojo knows how to make love loud and fun. He flirts with everybody. Cashiers, strangers, your friends. But when he talks to you, something changes. Not louder – softer; You're lounging on the couch with your phone when he sits next to you, as flamboyant as ever. "Wow," he breathes, watching you. "You're still my favorite person. That's crazy. "You keep your eyes down. "Still? "He chuckles, leaning into you. "I check daily, in case anything's changed. "That is what makes it true. Gojo loves reaction. Especially from you. Calm? He pokes you. Busy? He interrupts you. Angry? He loves it. You're studying. He hangs on your bed upside-down. "Satoru. "No answer. "Satoru.""… Yes, love of my life?" "Stop kicking the wall. "I'm not kicking the wall," he replies, kicking the wall again. You throw a pen at him, and he catches it effortlessly. Chuckling. "Wow. Violent. I love it." You wish it were as easy to keep a straight face despite it. Despite everything, Gojo understands you better than anyone. Your silent signals, what makes you anxious, what you need. Your day was hard, you didn't mention it. To your surprise, he didn't ask about it. He showed up with your favorite drink, put it in your hands, and simply said: "Don't talk. Sit with me. "And you do, with confusion in your eyes. He waves off your questioning look. "When you have a bad day, you have that look. Figured it'd be easier if I did that for you. "He puts on some pointless TV show, keeps it light. Keeps his hand firmly on yours. Gojo seems to take anything seriously, as long as it doesn't involve him. Something happened in public before you realized it. He laughs – loudly. "Wow," he sighs, cocking his head to the side. "Are you serious? That's quite an embarrassment for you. "And the room falls silent. He neither raises his voice nor moves but something in the atmosphere shifted. Afterward, he returns to his usual self, cracking jokes like nothing happened. His fingers hook around yours a little tighter on the way home. Gojo constantly touches you – without clinging to you, of course. But there are many moments when his hand rests on your shoulder. Or when he braids your hair. Or when he leans against you. And you feel comfortable letting him because he is your default setting. Suddenly you realize that while you're talking to somebody else, he is standing behind you with his chin rested on your head. "You're done?" he whispers. "I've been here all this time." "Yeah, but I missed you. "You're literally touching me." "Not enough," he pulls you closer. Gojo isn't accustomed to people who understand him. When they appear, they stun him. You caught him quiet one night, unusual. "Joking time over?" you ask. His hesitation makes you worried."…Do I bother you?" he asked all of a sudden. You blink. "Why?" "Everything about me," he waved his hand helplessly. "I… I don't understand what you mean. "You make it all lighter for me," he clarified quickly, shocked by what he just realized. You shook your head immediately. "No way. You're the only one who makes it lighter. "And he became quiet again for a moment. Then he chuckled quietly. "Right? "And he leaned into you without making any jokes at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I hope you all enjoyed and yes i will be writing a whole drabble about Gojo in a couple of days.
something from me and my wife @collin-thegreat came up with together thank her for helping me write/ rewrite my stuff!
Hunter X Hunter: Feitan, Chrollo, Hisoka (please don't get on to me for adding him)
Killing stalking: Sangwoo Oh
and your favs
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This was something I had brought up with my bestie/wife @theweebkate how we used to be able to recite this announcement from the movies but now we can only mouth it and it came to my attention that I should make this a incorrect quote 🤭
synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.
cw: MDNI, time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)
notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumber i hope u like!!!!
song rec: drag path — twenty one pilots
Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer.
His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult.
He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.
Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him.
And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs.
He’s exhausted.
The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak.
Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him.
He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things?
One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark.
That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way.
“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery.
He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this.
“Oh hey, you’re home.”
Home?
He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.
You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago.
You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”
First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?
Second, who even are you?
Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger.
Fuck.
“Honey–”
Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again.
“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”
Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth.
There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru.
Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.
“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”
He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”
“You also liked to argue, too.”
“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?”
“No.”
“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“
You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?”
“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you.
“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.”
–
“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere.
“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”
Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”
“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”
“31.”
Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.”
Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.
“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”
“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody.
Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude.
“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion.
He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”
Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?”
“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”
“I tried my best! I swear!”
“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”
“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”
The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.
“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.
The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed.
—
You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand.
“Is the food good?”
“Sure.”
“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement.
“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.”
Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”
“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?”
Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.
“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being.
A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.
“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”
It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital.
“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.
“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake.
“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”
Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.
“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”
Sai wasn’t having that.
Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite.
But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.
“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”
“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself.
You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous.
“What?”
There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”
“She’s weird.”
“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”
“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid.
He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind.
“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious.
He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad.
For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear.
—
It’s been over a month.
Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.
But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort.
Over his dead body.
Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.
So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.
Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising.
Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married.
Satoru looks over your body once.
Twice.
He totally understands his future self.
He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks.
It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you.
You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure.
“Hey… any good news?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“
“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”
You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.
After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”
“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”
The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine.
But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him.
You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.”
It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here.
“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered.
He’s always had a thing for milfs.
Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now.
“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”
You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you.
“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you.
And you fucking miss that.
He opens his mouth to respond.
Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you.
Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid.
His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”
Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”
It’s starting to sound more natural.
“Y-yeah,” she sniffles.
Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried.
His little girl was a dream.
—
Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.
It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world.
He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does.
It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.
With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table.
The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions.
You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off.
“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”
He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?”
“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.”
You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact.
Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.
It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake.
Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”
Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now.
“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone.
Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”
“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“
“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”
“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“
“Kay’ good night.”
Click.
Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head.
He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?”
“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.”
“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him.
“So is waking me up.”
“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”
“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?”
“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.”
Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.”
“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden.
And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.
You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.
“I can take care of that, you know.”
“What?”
“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.
“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?”
“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.”
“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock.
“Feel good?”
His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”
You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.
“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask.
“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient.
His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”
You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are.
His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all.
"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.”
“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.
It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that— lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him.
"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."
You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out.
You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort.
"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."
You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder.
He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”
“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”
“You want me to fuck you harder?”
“Yeah.”
Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper.
“Better?”
He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”
“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.”
He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life.
Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”
“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”
He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch.
Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you.
“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself.
When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him.
You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.
And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.
—
It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back.
What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?
He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.
Acceptance.
He likes his life here.
You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.
No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second.
With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life.
You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache.
He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start.
You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.
“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.
There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”
He’s back.
“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”
—
Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.
Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers.
Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly.
Satoru was fucking devastated.
Nobody knew what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo.
God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point.
One Year Later
“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone.
It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job.
“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”
“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.”
The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable.
He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit.
It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him.
The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time.
“And what can I get started for you today?”
His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.
“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”
“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie.
“Name for the order?”
“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”
He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind:
He has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.
-Toby isn’t good at direct tenderness. He shows care in strange, practical ways—fixing something without being asked, standing a little too close without touching, lingering after a conversation is clearly over. If he likes you, he’ll pace near you like a nervous animal, hands twitching, stealing glances and then looking away like he got caught doing something illegal.
-As a lover, he’s intensely loyal once he lets himself attach, but the attachment scares him. He’s been abandoned and misunderstood enough that part of him expects you to disappear too. So when you stay—when you don’t flinch at his tics or snap at his volume spikes—it hits him hard. He won’t say “thank you.” He’ll just quietly make sure nothing ever hurts you if he can help it.
-Toby is hypersensitive to touch. Unexpected contact can set his nerves off instantly, especially when he’s overstimulated. But with someone he trusts, that flips into something almost grounding. He likes pressure—your shoulder against his, your hand wrapped firmly around his wrist, fingers laced tight enough that he knows you’re really there.
-As a partner, physical intimacy isn’t constant, but when it happens it’s deliberate. He’s clumsy, sometimes rough without meaning to be, but there’s a strange gentleness underneath it. He memorizes how you react—what makes you tense, what makes you relax—and adjusts, even if it takes him time. If he lets you rest your head on him, that’s huge. That’s him choosing vulnerability.
-Around most people, Toby is loud, erratic, defensive—always half-ready for a fight or a joke that goes too far. But late at night, when it’s just you, he’s different. Quieter. More observant. He talks in fragments about things that don’t quite make sense unless you know him well—memories, frustrations, guilt he doesn’t know what to do with.
-As a lover, he doesn’t romanticize himself or his past. He’s painfully aware that he’s “difficult.” If you choose him anyway, it both comforts and terrifies him. He’ll ask, sometimes bluntly, sometimes half-joking, why you’re still there. And if you answer honestly—if you don’t try to fix him or soften him—he settles. Not completely. But enough to stay.
-Toby doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He watches. He notices patterns—how you walk when you’re tired, how quiet you get when something’s wrong. If you’re off, he’ll hover nearby under some other excuse. Sharpening an axe. Pacing. Pretending he’s busy.
-As a lover, this turns into silent guardianship. He positions himself between you and danger without making it obvious. Not heroic. Just instinct
~~You’re sitting on the floor, back against the wall, staring at nothing. You don’t hear him come in. You just notice the room feels… fuller.
Toby drops down a few feet away, cross-legged, not looking at you. He fiddles with the edge of his gloves, tics sharp but controlled.
“…You haven’t eaten,” he mutters, like it’s an accusation aimed at the universe. You shrug.
A minute later, he nudges a protein bar across the floor with his boot. Doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t leave. Just stays there until you open it.~~
-Toby isn’t possessive in a loud way. He doesn’t bark or threaten right away—he stiffens, tics spike, jaw clenches. He’s painfully aware that his jealousy feels ugly, and that makes him spiral harder.As a partner, he struggles with the fear that someone “easier” will replace him. Someone quieter. More stable. He won’t stop you from talking to others—but he’ll go very still afterward, like he’s bracing for impact.
~~You’re laughing with someone else. Nothing flirty. Just laughing.Toby’s across the room, pretending not to watch. His shoulder jerks. Once. Twice. He digs his nails into his palm. Later, when it’s just the two of you, he finally blurts, “You gonna—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head hard.“…Never mind.” You take his hand anyway. He freezes, then grips back too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on.~~
-Toby is terrible at verbal apologies. Saying “I’m sorry” makes his chest feel like it’s collapsing. He associates it with weakness, punishment, or being ignored.As a lover, when he messes up—and he knows he does—he overcorrects. Fixes things. Stays close. Puts himself in discomfort to make things right.
~~He snapped at you earlier. Not yelling—but sharp enough to hurt. Now it’s late. You’re lying down when you feel the blanket tugged over your shoulders. He sits on the edge of the bed, stiff and quiet. After a long pause, he says, barely audible, “Didn’t mean that.” That’s it. But he stays there all night, back against the bedframe, making sure you sleep before he lets himself breathe.~~
-Toby’s body is always buzzing—nerves misfiring, tics snapping through him without warning. When he’s overwhelmed, words make it worse. Touch, when it’s expected and chosen, helps more than anything else.As a partner, he trusts you enough to let you be the anchor. That trust is rare. Earned slowly.
~~His tics are bad tonight. Shoulder jerking, breath uneven. He paces, muttering to himself, frustration bleeding through every movement. You step into his path and hold out your hand. Not grabbing. Just there. He hesitates. Then places his hand in yours. You squeeze—firm, steady. His breathing evens out little by little. He leans forward until his forehead rests against your shoulder. Doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t need to.~~
I will post a masterlist soon for all of my writing hope you enjoyed pls give me feedback bc it’s been so long since I’ve posted something this probably sucked but I hope you enjoyed!!
He just loves you and the feeling of you against him. Toby sleeps shirtless anyway, but the first time you two fell asleep like that after sex was just so pure, so calming and tranquil. For once he was free of all the plaguing thoughts in his head, because of you (Or maybe because he was able to enjoy some proximity).
He realized after having to camp out somwhere else for a mission with a bunch of guys, not having you there to hold and ground himself with, that he never wants to be apart from you ever again. Genuinely, the poor boy went through torture — Worst sleep of his life and it wasn't even because he had to sleep on the ground.
First night he was back in your room, he opened the conversation with a distinguished "Take your shirt off". You blinked at Toby for a second, sitting down on your bed: "What? Toby, not now, I told you I'm tired and you probably are too..!"
"Wait, nononono, n—not like t—that.."
It's your warmth, the softness of the skin, the lingering scent of your cashmere vanilla body lotion you'd put on after the shower, your hair in his face, your hands resting on his own while they were wrapped around your waist... It soothes him. Toby was and is prone to night terrors, nightmares and sometimes even sleep paralysis — The only thing that ever helped was you.
You thought it was sweet. It made him more human, honestly, because who doesn't crave the raw closeness of a loved one. Yeah, it makes him human in this environment and it makes you human, too, when you enjoy it as much as he does.
Toby's head would rest in the crook of your neck, his fingers sliding down your bare back, tracing your spine. It was way past midnight and you knew you had to get up rather early, but you just couldn't sleep. Your boyfriend also wasn't, you could tell by the way he kissed your shoulder from time to time.
In those moments you didn't even want to sleep. It was so peaceful, feeling Toby's warm (actually, super warm) skin against yours in a non-lustful way made you feel all fuzzy inside. This dude is like a furnace, which is like a gift send from above in the winter.. maybe that's also why you felt fuzzy inside. Not only because you felt loved, but also comfortable and taken care of.
Toby's usually not good at keeping his mouth shut, so you're extra thanful for moments like these — He gets all groggy, snuggled up right next to you with your head against his chest. He'll kiss the crown of your head, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, while you listen to his heartbeat.
That's also one of his favorite parts about being so close to you: He always knows you're still there, alive, by feeling or listening to your heartbeat.
He doesn't like to admit it, but he's actually quite the romantic as you can see. He'd trade the world so he'd be able to lie next to you, all vulnerable, skin to skin.
could I please request an human alastor x chubby reader were the reader is insecure about her body but then alastor confesses what he loves her just the way she is and that he loves big women better then there is a time skip were the reunite in the hotel and everyone including luci is shocked that alastor has a wife
A/n: I prey this is good because it has been so long since I've written for HH.
New Orleans had a way of humming — a lazy, golden tune that drifted through the heat and the jazz, wrapping itself around every cobblestone and corner. You’d grown used to the hum, to the feeling of being almost invisible in a city that never slept. But somehow, it never quite dulled the way your insecurities whispered back at you when the night grew quiet.
You were sitting on Alastor’s porch that evening, a mug of chicory coffee in your hands, legs tucked under you as the air thickened with the scent of magnolia and smoke. The radio in the parlor murmured an old tune, something slow and sentimental — not the sort of thing you expected from a man like him.
He stepped out of the doorway a few moments later, suspenders neat, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that ever-present grin softening into something more human than you were used to seeing. His voice was velvet — dipped in charm and honey.
“Well now, my dear,” he drawled, leaning on the doorframe, “you’ve been awfully quiet tonight. That’s terribly unlike you. Has the heat gone and stolen your tongue?”
You gave a small laugh, trying to shrug it off. “Just… thinking, I guess.”
“About?”
You hesitated. The words were heavy, stuck in your throat like stones. “About… me. About why someone like you wants to spend time with someone like me.”
His grin flickered, not fading — just softening, like a flame lowering to a steady glow. He tilted his head, the faintest hint of static in the air as if even the world paused to listen.
“Someone like you?” he echoed, voice warm but edged with disbelief. “My dear, you’ll have to be more specific before I take offense.”
You looked down, fingers curling around your mug. “You know. I’m not like the women you see around here — not slim, not glamorous. Just… me. Too big, too soft, too—”
Before you could finish, Alastor was kneeling beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee. His eyes — a beautiful shade of hazel that glimmered with mischief and something deeper — caught yours and held them.
“My darling,” he murmured, accent melting like honey over every syllable, “if you think your softness is a flaw, you’ve been listening to the wrong station entirely.”
Your breath caught. “What?”
He chuckled lowly, a sound like velvet static, leaning closer. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
You shook your head, silent.
“I see warmth. I see a woman who makes this dreary world feel alive. I see curves I could trace like a melody and a smile that outshines the moonlight itself. You call yourself soft — and yes, you are, delightfully so — but that’s not a sin, my dear. That’s a blessing.”
Your eyes burned, and you blinked fast. “You’re just saying that.”
Alastor’s grin widened, but there was no mockery in it — only sincerity and that unshakable charm that always seemed to pull you in. He took your hand gently, bringing it to his lips in a gesture that felt almost old-fashioned.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he said softly, voice a low hum. “I’ve seen all manner of beauty in this world, chérie — but give me a woman with warmth in her soul and weight in her laughter, and I’ll take her over all the painted ghosts of New Orleans any day.”
You let out a shaky laugh, tears threatening now. “You… really mean that?”
He smiled — not the performative, showman’s grin the city knew, but a quiet, tender one reserved for you alone.
“Of course I do,” he whispered. “I love you just the way you are. Every inch. Every curve. Every bit of you that the world told you to hide, I adore. Big women have more to hold, more to love, and more to live. And you, my darling—” his voice softened to a hush— “you make me feel alive.”
The night air seemed to hush around you. Jazz drifted faintly from the parlor — slow, romantic, an old melody finding new meaning now.
You leaned in without thinking, and for once, Alastor didn’t hide behind laughter or static. His lips brushed yours, soft and warm, and the taste of coffee and something sweet lingered between you.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Now,” he murmured, teasing but gentle, “no more doubting yourself, sweetheart. You’re the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.”
And for the first time in a long time, you believed him and his love for you would continue after death
The Hazbin Hotel was never quiet. Between Angel Dust’s swearing, Husk’s grumbling, and Charlie’s eternal optimism, there was always noise.
Then the door creaked open.
It was almost silent, save for the faint hum of static that seemed to shiver through the air as Alastor’s radio flickered to life for the first time that day.
And then every head turned.
The woman standing in the doorway was not a sinner they’d ever seen before—soft-curved, warm-eyed, and dressed in a simple 1920s-style dress that had somehow survived damnation’s fashion standards. The air seemed to still around her. Her presence didn’t scream chaos or sin… it sang something gentler. Familiar.
Alastor froze mid-sentence, his grin faltering for just an instant until it bloomed into something wide.
“Darlin’…” he breathed, static crackling faintly at the corners of his smile. His cane clattered against the marble as his fingers went slack.
Your own smile bloomed on your face as your hands clasped in front of you, “Alastor?”
The others exchanged bewildered looks. Angel Dust squinted. “Uh, wait. What? Did she just call him—”
Before Angel Dust could finish, Alastor crossed the lobby in two long strides and scooped you into his arms with a spin that made your feet lift off the ground.
“That’s where my darling wife has been hiding!” he announced, voice bright as a brass band.
The room exploded.
“WIFE?!” Angel Dust shrieked, nearly knocking over a glass near him.
Charlie’s jaw hit the floor. “Alastor, you— you got married?!”
Husk muttered into his drink. “Oh, this I gotta see…”
Even Lucifer Morningstar, who’d chosen that exact moment to materialize in a show of light and feathers, blinked in utter disbelief. “Wife? As in—legally, emotionally, romantically attached? To you? WHO?!"
Alastor chuckled, setting you back down but not letting go of your waist. His smile was the same charming, impossible curve it had always been—but there was a softness behind it, the kind no one in Hell had ever seen.
“But of course,” he said smoothly. “Did you all think I spent my mortal years merely talking to the radio? No, no— I was quite the domestic man once upon a time. My beloved was the finest part of me, weren’t you, sweetheart?”
A small squeak left your lips, half-hiding your face against his chest. “You still talk too much,” you murmured fondly.
Lucifer rubbed his temples. “You’re telling me this woman married you—and somehow ended up down here?”
“She’s my better half!” Alastor chirped cheerfully, ignoring the Devil’s incredulity. “Though I must admit, it seems the celestial paperwork lost her in transit. Tut-tut. How careless of the afterlife!”
Angel snorted. “And she chose you? Damn, lady, blink twice if you need help.”
You looked up at the spider demon, deadpan. “He cooks, cleans, and serenades me with jazz. I’m good, thanks.”
Alastor’s laugh filled the room—rich, smooth, electric. “You see? She appreciates quality!”
Lucifer leaned against the wall, still processing. “Well. This is a development I didn’t have on my divine bingo card. The Radio Demon… married. And—what’s the word—in love.”
Alastor tilted his head, smile never fading. “Oh, I do adore my dear wife. Even in Hell, one must keep their promises. And besides…”—his voice dipped lower, his eyes gleaming with that old mischief—“…love makes such delightful noise on the airwaves.”
You elbowed him lightly. “Still the same sweet-talking fool I married.”
He beamed, wrapping an arm around you. “And you, my darling, are still the melody that keeps me tuned.”
Charlie wiped her eyes, grinning wide. “Oh my gosh, this is actually… cute!”
Vaggie deadpanned, “We live in a nightmare.”
But for once, Alastor didn’t mind the chaos around him. He had you back—his warmth, his humanity, his reason for every smile that ever meant something real.
