yeli31

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Teahouse Jealousy

"He was honest about his desires. That is a swordsman who knows the shape of his soul."

~

Things have been building for a while. Mizu is happy to avoid the topic, in favor of focusing on her mission. Finding yourself exasperated, you accept some help from an unexpected source.

~~

A/N: ITS DONE, FINALLY. Fucking 7600 WORDS of slow-burn mutual pining, bad communication, and jealousy. But hey, I did manage to fit in some spice at the end, hey?

Anyway, this is my first actual fic on here, so lmk what you guys think? Should I stick to lists? :,)

WARNING: this is REALLY LONG. I'm very sorry.

TW: jealousy, mentions of murder, mentions of sex work, SPICE

For this outing, Mizu insists on the boy disguise, your least favorite. You greatly prefer it when you can pretend to be her wife (of course), or even possible meat for the flesh market–because then she plays it up, a hand on your lower back, her voice dropped to an extra raspy register. But that last one is rare; you know the cost that playing that role seems to take on her, and you don't encourage it, despite the tingles it sends up your spine.

And you certainly don't complain about the freedom the boy disguise gives you for movement. But it does limit your ability to speak, as well as blocking your ability to get close to her side…you would never admit the reason you don't like it, but your reproachful expression says enough. She huffs out a sigh.

“Nobody brings a maiden to a brothel. You'll make us look odd,” she tells you, in the tone of voice that brooks no argument.

You wilt further the second she mentions a brothel, zoning out Ringo’s anxious questions; it was bad enough clenching your fists and staying silent while those two women ran their hands over her in Kyoto; now she's actually seeking such a place out? Your stomach squirms. Kyoto, and every moment of that visit, are burned into your brain. You share a trepidatious look with Ringo. You vow not to leave her side for even a second.

~~

Your explicit instructions were to “just look flustered and don't say anything”. That's not hard. You avoid eye contact with the working girls, and stare down at the table while you all wait for Kaji. The atmosphere of sexuality is stifling; it mingles strangely in your stomach with your feelings for Mizu, leaving you feeling on-edge, paranoid about being caught out. You could almost believe that these women, of anyone, will be able to smell the desire on you at a single glance. You've got Mizu’s fingerprints denting the very clay of your soul.

Madam Kaji, when she appears, does nothing to set those fears at rest. Her voice may be melodic, but you can feel her eyes scrape over you like a razor, as if they could peel back your skin and see underneath. You do your best to mimic Mizu's flat stare; after this long traveling together, you usually manage rather well. You've even managed to shoo off a few bothersome pests of your own in the past. This time, though, there's a hard edge to her smile that makes you wonder how much slipped through.

~

For all Ringo says about an apprentice should stay with his master, you somehow seem to lose sight of him in the walk from the corner where you were sitting to the hallway Madam Kaji pauses in. You remain by Mizu’s side. You don't feel any scorn towards Ringo for this. Nobody could say he isn't as loyal as they come, but desire is a powerful force.

Desire. Need. It's why Ringo disappears, and why you don't. He has his own desires to attend to, and you can respect that. But there's nothing in this brothel that you desire more than what you're already standing next to.

Madam Kaji motions to a small pocket of light at the base of one of the hallway panels. There’s a pause. When Mizu doesn't move to look through the peephole, Madam Kaji motions in your direction. “Perhaps the gentleman's apprentice would like to show him that desire is nothing to shy away from?”

You freeze like a cornered deer, meeting her taunting gaze with wide eyes. Her expression says it all; there's a test in this somewhere, a challenge.

Where the hell is Ringo. Trust him to be gone when there's something he would actually want to do. Nevermind on that whole no-scorn thing! You're going to kick him next time you see him.

Your pleading glance at Mizu produces no reaction; she doesn't even look your way. She's simply glaring at Madam Kaji. Challenges have never bothered her; if she doesn't want to do something, she just doesn't. Ugh. Someone needs to do something.

You look through the hole.

…Hm.

Honestly…it's not that bad.

Strange, certainly. The men in ropes, the writing, but you find yourself privately siding with Madam Kaji; it's nothing shameful. Just more of what you had observed while waiting in the main teahouse room. They're not bothering anybody. You consider that there have been worse atrocities you've seen in your travels with Mizu, all the way back to your first meeting.

You shrug up at Mizu. It’s nothing she'll be interested in, nor that she needs to see. She just looks even more impatient at the delay, fingers tapping on her crossed arms. The expression she shoots at Kaji is her classic get on with it glare.

Smirking, Madam Kaji motions to the final peephole. By now, you've lost your hesitation. If you feel anything, you're relieved that this is the last one. This shuffling around on your knees is not only making them sore, it's embarrassing to do with two people standing silently over you, eyeing each other warily.

You peer in.

At first glance, it seems to be just a man and a woman–nothing so strange as the other ones. The man is dressed in dark blue, his hair tied up in a knot like Mizu’s. But then the girl turns to the man, pushing his yukata off his shoulders; it's not a man, but another girl, bared to the touch of the first woman. They kiss, bodies molding together with no hesitation.

You tumble back abruptly, eyes wide, feeling your face flush so fast that the skin on your neck is prickling.

“What? What?” Momentarily distracted from glaring, Mizu looks startled by your reaction. When you shake your head in silence, worried that explaining would give your secret away, she glares suspiciously at Madam Kaji. She's clearly bristling at your apparent distress, assuming you've had a trick played on you. She reaches down to haul you to your feet with a rough tug to your arm, shoving herself half in front of you. “What did you show-...him?”

Kaji’s eyes narrow a fraction at Mizu’s brief stumble on your pronouns, and she smiles, sharp as a knife. With a little click, she slides the peephole shut. “Desire. A complicated thing,” she murmurs in that teasing, seductive tone. “We are not always ready to face it when it first finds us.”

She slides open another full panel, revealing a pleasantly decorated little room. A couple of the girls are in there, already, setting up a table with ink and paper. They look up and giggle when they see you both, their eyes lingering on your flushed cheeks. You can feel them darken again under the scrutiny, and drop your eyes to the mat until the girls leave. When you hear the panel slide shut, you look up to see Madam Kaji’s eyes on you. As soon as you make eye contact, her gaze slide away, to Mizu.

She doesn't look at you again until the moment of Mizu’s proposal.

You both can see the moment that the refusal in Kaji’s eyes wavers, but something else flickers in their depths when she glances between you, and you know what's coming. She wants to talk to Mizu alone.

With Mizu's husky name your desire still bouncing around in your head, obliterating your every other thought but how much you want her, Kaji's desire to exclude you makes you want to bite the woman like a territorial dog. You take a half-step closer to Mizu as Kaji suggests that she take a walk with the gentleman “one-on-one”.

“Perhaps the gentleman’s apprentice would like to enjoy some of the pleasures of my teahouse while…he waits?” She asks sweetly, her smile warm and her eyes hard as gemstones.

Mizu looks at you expectantly, seemingly unbothered by this; she'd probably agree to making you wait on the roof if it got her the information she wanted. You shake your head instead, giving her a look of incredulity in return. Obviously no. When is she going to start trusting you to stay at her side? What do you have to do to prove yourself?

“I haven't got any money,” you reply cleverly, keeping your voice as hushed as you can to disguise it, your eyes flicking up to meet blue orbs like a challenge. You can't really refuse, given that you're playing at master-and-apprentice, but you can make it hard. She can't keep shutting you out. Not this time; now you have an excuse. What prostitute will keep you busy for no money?

A brief light of pure, gremlin devilment comes into her eyes–it doesn't happen often that her rare sense of play is roused, but from what you've seen, that never means good things for the recipient. You should have known better; Mizu never tolerates being maneuvered into allowing something she doesn't want.

She holds the money bag out to you with a little shake to jangle it, and you deflate visibly.

For a moment, there's an unspoken moment of confusion and communication both ways; at first, Mizu holds the money bag out with an almost teasing smirk, clearly indicating let’s see how you manage this one. She doesn't see any danger in it. You can always just sit in the room alone. She's only interested in making a point; this is about negating your excuse.

But when you slump with such an obvious air of rejection, the playfulness drops from her gaze, replaced with a bemused concern. She'll be back in a handful of minutes, why is it such a big deal? This isn’t your fight, you don't need to be here to begin with, much less be stuck with her every moment of the day. So… why does she feel such a pang at your hurt face? You in turn see the momentary flash of confused guilt in her eyes, before she drops the money bag in your hands.

It startles you. You didn't expect that she would care.

Madam Kaji, watching all this and not missing a single beat, says nothing. She claps sharply. Two girls pop out of what seems to be nowhere, taking your hand with an air of false promise in their eyes.

“Ooh. you’re a pretty one,” one purrs, tilting her head with carefully practiced flirtation.

“We almost never see any young and pretty boys,” the other concurs. It’s like being slowly engulfed by the coils of a very nicely perfumed snake. At Madam Kaji’s nod, you’re tugged away, looking over your shoulder at Mizu with a distinct air of betrayal. You fully expect her to turn away, but she keeps staring as the girls lead you back into the room, her expression unreadable.

Even after the door slides shut, she doesn’t move, listening to the giggling emanating from inside, her hand clenching unconsciously on the hilt of her sword. It takes a prompt from Madam Kaji to get her moving again. Face snapping into its usual scowl, she turns and stalks away, leaving Kaji to try and match Mizu’s longer stride in the confines of her kimono.

~

“So, pretty apprentice, what can we do?” Asks the one in green, her dark eyes sparkling as they flick to the money bag still clutched in your hand. “How can we serve your pleasure?”

As attached to Mizu as you are, you’ve never been flirted with by a woman before, and you can’t help the blush. But even that isn’t enough to distract you from the melancholy of being left behind like a pet yet again. Waiting in the cold for hours on the bridge to Shindo Dojo, left in town with Ringo in Mihonoseki, watching her leave with Taigen down that narrow chasm… You shake your head, mouth twisting in tandem with your guts. What if Mizu never comes back? You know the trick she played on Ringo; you giggled about it at the time, you recall guiltily. But you can’t track like he can, even if you’re faster than him. And if she leaves you alone for something like this, what is she planning for the actual attack on Fowler? Maybe you really are just a burden she can't figure out how to shake…

“Why so sad?” The one in gold asks, her sympathy syrupy-sweet. She puts a hand on your arm, but you shift away.

“I'm sorry,” You say, distractedly. You aren't watching your tone as well as you should be. “I would rather be alone. Thank you.”

Silence. They don't move to leave, nor do they try to further convince you. You look up from your despair after a moment, becoming aware of their lack of response.

They're both staring. Studying you. Then they look at each other.

Before you can parse why, the gold-clad girl suddenly lunges forward, catching you by the chin and jerking your chin up, staring at your neck. Your smooth, Adam's-apple-less throat.

“Hey!” You yelp, knocking her hand away; she lets you go readily, already smiling with a distinctly cat-got-the-cream air.

“So that's it,” she says, smugly. “I suspected as much.”

“Is it…?” The other asks fascinatedly. Your eyes dart between them, confused, forboding building in your gut.

“Definitely,” says the first. They both turn to you, looking amused and intrigued.

“Playing dress-up, girl?” Asks Green, smiling archly.

Oh….oh no.

You go cold. “I…I don't know what you…”

“Re-lax. You think you're the first to put on men’s clothing in here? Didn't you see the little show we put on for you?” Gold waves a hand dismissively, talking out over top of you.

“It happens all the time. So, what does your man want? To pretend you're a boy? A new flavor to try? Or some training for you?” Green cuts in, raking her eyes over you. “Is he selling you?”

“He’s–…not–...my man,” you stumble. How to even explain that tangle? Clearly they believe Mizu's disguise, if not yours. You're not about to spill any of those beans, more than you need to. “And I would never stay here.” You pause, suddenly hearing yourself, and bow apologetically. An aching heart is no reason to be rude. “Not that I mean to degrade your work. I'm sorry.”

Both women look at each other, then start to laugh. Clearly they've heard worse.

“Then why do you look so sad?” Asks Gold once her laughter has passed, and this time she sounds almost genuinely interested. She pets your hair, gentle, like an older sibling. “Come on, girl, you can tell us.”

You should just tell them to go. But the room is quiet, and warm, and clean, after months of shacks and forest camping and inns full of leering men. And gods… you're so tired. To unburden yourself to someone would be such a relief. You haven't ever been able to talk about these confusing feelings; the only confidant that you have is Ringo, and you do not trust him with that kind of conversational grenade.

Discretion is the whole point of this place right? There are far worse secrets that they must keep.

Green leans against your shoulder, and this time it feels less sensual, and more like a friendly touch. You're surprised by how it loosens a knot in your chest that you hadn't recognized until now. When was the last time you were hugged?

You sigh. “It’s a long story…”

~

As it turns out, it's a long enough story to require two pots of tea–and then a relocation, as the girls drag you back to the dressing room to re-tell all the juicy details to the rest of the girls.

It's…therapeutic, to bare your heart to a group of open-minded, half-drunk women. They’re clearly connoisseurs of gossip, and they make extremely good listeners; gasping in all the right parts. You can't help but enjoy it a little, finally just venting it all out, lounging with the ever-shifting number of girls as sake replaces the tea. Girls come and go from the room as they head to various clients, but except for one they call “new girl”, who keeps her face turned away from you, they all come over to listen for a while.

(As you're surrounded by girls, slowly explaining the tangled story of your time with Mizu, Mizu returns from her walk with Kaji to find the room empty of you.

She pauses, surprised by her own disappointment. She can't admit it to herself, but she had expected you to have shaken off the girls and be waiting for her. You're always there when she comes back. Something burns in the pit of her stomach to find you gone; after the heavy deal she just made, she has need of the comfort you bring her–not that she'd admit that to herself, either. The images of you, somewhere in the brothel at this moment, half-dressed and flustered, makes her stomach flip. But then she imagines you under some faceless nude woman and her throat tightens. She sits down with a thump in front of the mirror and removes her glasses, studying her own face critically. It must be nice for you to be seeing pretty women for once, instead of her…)

“But why him?” One finally asks, wrinkling her nose, as you pause for breath. She's in a pink kimono–you think the others might have called her Ise. “You're a pretty girl, even in disguise. You could do better. He's hardly a looker.”

Your head snaps up, frowning in offense. The girls giggle at your suddenly icy glare, all warning Ise to duck, and Ise dramatically throws her hands up in front of her defensively. “Alright, alright, don't get your sword in a knot. I'm just saying…”

A couple girls nod in agreement. “Those eyes…” one murmurs. The white-haired girl in the corner turns to glare at her as a few others titter.

“Like a demon,” another says with a shudder.

Your fingers clench against your thighs, brow darkening. “I think they're beautiful.” Your voice is quiet, but hard as stone; the girls all fall silent, looking at each other uncertainly. There's a world of emotion in your heavy tone; a sincerity that they know, better than most, is rare and precious.

It’s Ise that smiles, slowly, with a dark, wicked gleam in her eye. “Do you want an answer?” She asks you bluntly, making you forget your anger in confusion.

“To whether he wants you,” she clarifies with a sigh.

You hesitate. Do you? If the answer is no… gods, that will hurt. And you know in your heart that you won't stop holding out hope, even then. You'll stay. You'll keep loving her. So does it matter?

But what if the answer is yes?

Slowly, wordlessly, you nod, stomach clenching. Ise smiles wider, and reaches for your topknot. “I know a method that never fails.”

~

Mizu looks up when you slide the panel open a crack, brow plunged in a deep scowl.

“I said I didn't–...Oh.”

You duck your head, wordlessly apologizing, even though you’re not even sure why. She only looks marginally less annoyed, watching you come in and sit down against the wall. Ringo is there, too, and he greets you brightly, looking rather pleased with himself. His kimono is slightly askew.

“Where have you been?” Her tone is sharp, her eyes sharper, as she takes in the tousled hair and haphazardly tied clothing on you. The girls had agonized over exactly how much to tousle you. That had honestly taken up the most time.

You shrug a little sulkily, keeping your eyes down. Part of you wants to abandon the idea, now that you've gotten snapped at–is it worth the risk of antagonizing her?--while part of you is still upset at getting left behind again. But the thought of Mizu picturing you doing… that…is making you blush yet again. Ise had explained what they were going to imply you did, which gave you a mind full of images that you know will probably haunt you worse than they haunt their intended target. What if Ise was messing with you? This is never going to work, you're already botching it by getting flustered.

In your mind, your avoidance is a dead giveaway that you're being shady…but to Mizu, the tousled appearance and shamefaced blush give exactly the impression Ise planned, and her fingers clench again, until the knuckles crack. Her lips tighten and thin, but she says nothing further, turning back to the mirror with a faint huff. Silence descends, but there’s a strange tension to the air that even Ringo notices. He glances between you two, gaining the worried expression that always makes you want to immediately reassure him.

“So, how much of my money did you spend?” Mizu abruptly spits at you, as though she's finally thought of an excuse to be angry. There's an unusual amount of venom behind her tone, harsh enough that Ringo’s eyes widen and he sits up a bit straighter, while you shrink in on yourself a bit. Wordlessly, still avoiding eye contact, you reach into your haori and pull out of the money pouch, tossing it to her.

She can tell as soon as she catches it that you haven't spent a single coin. “...Hm,” she says again, heat immediately bleeding out of her voice as her expression lightens. She surveys your disheveled appearance again, quirking an eyebrow.

“So why are you–” she starts, before there's another knock at the door. The panel slides open a crack as Mizu heaves a loud sigh of exasperation, her eyes rolling.

But before she can reiterate yet again to leave her alone, two girls’ heads poke in, and they aren't looking in her direction. They're whispering and giggling, completely unprofessionally, nudging each other, and staring at you.

“That's him,” one points.

“No! Is it really…?” The other gasps.

Both Mizu and Ringo turn to look at you, mirrored looks of confusion on their faces. Your expression is that of a dog facing down a speeding horse cart, unable to move, wide eyed. You regret agreeing to this; you want to sink into the tatami.

Their next whispers turn all three of you into statues.

“Ise says she finished three times…”

“Didn't even charge him…”

“He never even undressed–”

Ringo’s eyes and mouth all drop wide open, looking avidly between you and the door. Mizu is… frozen. Her face has taken on that blank expression that you've learned has all the safety of a rumbling mountainside. You don't dare shift an inch, but you can't help but stare at her. Your eyes slide from her stricken face to her hands; they're slowly curling into fists. Is it… working?

More giggling from the hallway, and something thumps the panel. It sounds like there are more girls gathering in the hallway. Another head pokes in, gets pushed back, and more sounds of muffled tussling leaks into the room. It sounds like most of the girls in the teahouse are having a little too much fun with this; they're probably thrilled to get to act out a little.

“Don’t shove–”

“Let me see! I want a turn–”

“... haven't had an orgasm like that in forever–”

“I can't wait to have a good scream–”

Oh gods above. Your face is crimson. You should have expected that they would go straight to vulgarity. Ringo chuckles with surprised and impressed delight, thumping you on the shoulder with one wrist like a comrade. This is so embarrassing.

One of the girls, braver than the rest, managing to wrestle the others back, calls out, “Mr. Samurai, can we borrow your apprentice?” This produces an absolute cascade of giggles and more heads poke into the door again.

“Yeah, me next!”

“Only after me!”

“You don't need him tonight, right, Mr. Samurai?”

“We promise not to break him–”

Mizu finally moves, moving towards the door with a speed that actually makes your heart clench with fear for the prostitutes. They all fall back, a chorus of shrieks and yelps echoing in the hallway as she almost seems to abruptly materialize in front of them.

“We're busy.”

Oh.

Her voice is so frozen with fury that it's a miracle she doesn't breathe out icy smoke. It’s a tone you've only heard a handful of times, always followed by blood spattering across snow. You can feel that familiar twisting ache of mingled fear and arousal in your core that you've grown to associate with Mizu at her most deadly. But this time it's complicated by a second layer of blending; uncertainty–is she just irritated by these twittering women?--and hope, delicate, frail, slowly blossoming.

Is she…jealous?

She slams the panel closed hard enough that there's an ominous wood crunching noise.

Silence falls. You watch Mizu, warily, as she stands at the door, her fingers still white-knuckling the edge of the panel.

“Wow, what did you do?” Ringo demands. You turn to look at him, startled. You were so focused on Mizu's reactions that you almost forgot he was a second witness. “How does that even work?”

“U-uh…I…” Oh gods, what do you say? You didn't actually do anything! Your idea of arousing is Mizu standing over you after a spar, the tip of her sheathed sword digging into your throat, an icy, smug satisfaction in her eyes. What do normal women find titillating?

“Come on, you gotta tell me. I wanna get with prostitutes for free, too!” Ringo gives you puppy eyes. “How'd you do it without them finding out… you know.” He gestures at your clothing. “Was it your hands? Is that the secret?” He asks, holding up his wrists and looking at them worriedly, as though hoping that that isn't the answer. “Wait–” he squints at you. “Where did you even learn to do anything like that anyway–”

“No more questions.” Comes the snarl from the door.

You glance away from Ringo to Mizu.

She's still got her back to the room. Her shoulders are drawing up in a hard hunch, free hand clenching tight again. The rumbling from the mountain is getting louder. You're not sure whether you should be exulting that she actually seems bothered, or be worried about the upcoming danger if she pops. She's not usually the type to explode, but when she does…

You both fall silent, watching as her shoulders heave in one deep, steadying sigh, before she finally turns around. Her face is composed, back to its usual resting glare, and you feel a bit let down. Maybe she just found it all annoying. All that, for no real answers…

Ringo stays quiet long enough for Mizu to return to her seated position by the mirror, but you can see him fidgeting. Before long, he leans over closer to you. His voice is hushed, trying to be discreet. For Ringo.

“So was it a tongue thing, or–”

THUNK. Mizu’s fist strikes the lap table hard, hard enough to upset the elegant centerpiece. You both jump and turn to look at her, freezing in place.

“If you want to know so badly, go ask them yourself.” Every syllable burns, blue eyes blazing.

Ringo, undeterred as ever, leaps to his feet. “I will!” He chirps, padding quickly over to the door. There, he pauses, bowing to Mizu. “Thank you for the permission, Master.”

Mizu watches him leave, her glare never wavering. After the door shuts, she snaps her gaze back to you. Your heart beats a little faster, as ever, feeling that little tingle that comes with getting her focused attention.

“You.” She jabs a finger at you; you flinch. “You. Don't. Leave this room again tonight. And nobody but Ringo comes in. Got it?”

Oh gods, she's jealous, she has to be, she's actually–

Now probably isn't the time to be cheeky and point out that she didn't put herself on that list. You nod. You've never been so happy to be glared at before. She wants me here. With her.

“Of course,” you say. “That's fine.”

Her glare softens at your voice.

You can see the way her eyes flick to your mouth as you form the words, and your heart flutters again. It's real, it must be, oh gods above– no way that this is happening, no way– You open your mouth again, unsure what else to say, but wanting to reassure her, to tell her that here is the only place you want to be. But before you can do that, there's a knock at the door again.

Mizu’s eyes blaze. She actually growls this time, turning towards the door with the feral speed of the truly enraged.

“I said we're busy,” she snarls, whipping the door panel open hard enough that it rattles the entire wall.

You see her freeze, as a soft, delicate voice rings through the room. “May I serve you?”

A pit suddenly opens in your stomach at the absolute stillness in Mizu’s posture. Even from behind you can tell she's staring at the girl’s face. The voice is so pure, so sweetly feminine that you can picture the kind of face it must belong to; a perfect doll, sparkling eyes, symmetrical features, neat teeth behind full, petal-soft lips. No blemishes, no scars, no days of sweat and greasy hair after too long on the road. Your heart twists; finally, finally Kaji has found someone perfect enough to take even Mizu’s breath away, and your chance with her is gone.

Is this how your little trick made her feel? This pain in your chest must be karma come knocking. The second you're away from this brothel, you’re coming clean; you can always say they just wanted to prank her. But you won't leave her believing it truly happened. No more of this back-and-forth of jealousy–if it ever was that on her end.

But then maybe she won't care by then. And I would deserve that. This pain is wrong, it was wrong to bait her because you were too cowardly to be honest about your feelings. She may have given you moments of jealousy before but they were never intentional. And now–

Mizu takes a step away, turning away from the girl towards you as she walks back to her previous seat. Her expression makes you pause on your internal journey of self-pity. It isn't lovestruck, or lustful. Not a flicker of a blush; she's all business. Her eyes seek yours out, a split-second look that you know all too well. The look that comes with a new, unexpected layer of trouble.

Your eyes flick towards the girl, now revealed as she steps into the room. She's as lovely as her voice would have suggested, tiny, exquisitely made up. But it's not your accurate prediction of her perfection that makes you freeze just as Mizu had. It's that you know her, from that bridge in Kyoto. As before, your every memory of that trip is seared in.

You don't dare try to catch Mizu’s eye again; this might be a problem, but for the moment, the girl clearly doesn't realize her hand has been revealed.

Just like that, the jealousy and pining take a backseat, as they so often have on this shared journey. Once again, you and Mizu are a united front, dealing with a new threat.

And through the chaos that quickly devolves around you, clarity comes to you. You didn't need to play this charade. All this time, all the worrying about who feels what, when that look Mizu shot you a moment ago says it all. In the moment where things got serious, upset with you or not, she trusted you to understand immediately. In the moment of trouble, she looked towards you.

–

When she comes back from her mysterious task, you're waiting in the hallway, too restless to stand Ringo’s chatter and Akemi’s sniping. Akemi had heard it all, of course, in the women’s dressing room, and she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to needle you, since she couldn't seem to needle Mizu effectively. You don't doubt she'll blurt the whole sorry tale out to Mizu at her first opportunity, and standing in the dark in the hall leaves you with little to do but fret about that.

It hasn't been as long as you would have expected, when she comes back.

You look up at the quiet footfall, and pause, heart clenching at the sight of her face in the shadowy hall. Mizu pauses, too, stopping a little distance away from you, as if afraid to get too close. She's carrying her hat under her arm, and her face looks…gods. You've seen her furious, cold, exhausted, conflicted, even amused.

This is something else, something worse than anything you've ever seen. She looks bereft, hollowed out, her eyes staring ahead as though looking at some horror no one else can see.

In that moment, you move without thought of rejection. Something in her face just calls to you, more deeply than words, drawing you together like magnets.

You push off the wall and step up to meet her.

“Mizu…?” You keep your voice as soft as you can. She doesn't raise her eyes. Instead, you can see the lids lower until they fall shut.

Slowly, you reach up to cup her face; you expect her to push your hand away, but you would have tried anyway. It’s your heart reaching out to touch hers in the only way you can, and it cannot be suppressed. In this moment, even though it's the closest you've ever been, you're not thinking about wanting her, only wanting to soothe her. Strange that your first moment of deeper intimacy should come from this clear pain, surrounded by the trappings of lust itself.

She doesn't fight you. When you bring your hands to the sides of her head, slowly pulling the glasses away, she lets you guide her face down to you, until her head is resting heavily against your shoulder. Her arms remain at her sides, hanging limp. When your hands cradle her head, her hair, she shudders violently for a second with a little choke, remembering the way she cradled another head, and then subsides.

You stand that way for a long time, in utter silence, utter stillness. The only movement is a very faint shivering that suffuses her frame. She's breathing slowly, with an exaggerated evenness as though deliberately forcing herself to do so. Your mind is racing; what on earth could have produced such a response?

Mizu… what did you do.

You already know you aren't going to ask, and make her relive it. Maybe someday, if she wants to unburden herself… but it doesn't matter now. It doesn't really matter at all; you know there's very little you wouldn't forgive her for. And you could see the regret in her eyes, that no matter what heinousness produced this, she feels no peace in the aftermath.

“It was a girl.” You can barely hear her.

“What?”

“I killed a girl tonight.”

Your heart constricts at her quiet voice. She says it tonelessly, unemotional, but you can feel her shoulders tensing under your hands. To her, this is the moment; you, seeing the monster that she is, pulling away, refusing further comfort.

“A girl?”

A faint shift of her head against your shoulder that might be a nod. A chill runs through you; she feels your shudder and braces for the shove, the exclamation of horror.

“Was it…necessary?” You ask slowly, instead, trying to understand. You've never known Mizu to kill an innocent before. There must have been a reason.

You can feel the way the question strikes her, unexpected. When was the last time anyone asked her about why she does what she does?

“...I don't know,” she says bleakly, her voice cracking.

Another long silence; the shoulders grow even more tense. She almost seems to stop breathing. You turn your face to her hair, silently, and feel her body go loose again. There's nothing you can say to fix this; only offer your steady presence.

“... Thank you.” This time the voice has a hoarse, shaky edge. You make a questioning noise, your fingers stilling. You hadn’t realized you'd been stroking her hair.

“For not…pulling away.” Her voice is growing quieter and quieter with each word; she turns her face harder into your shoulder, as though she can hide her vulnerability along with her face. “For not… thinking ill of me.”

“Never.” Your whisper is vehement, your fingers tightening against the back of her head.

“You should.”

You pause; the contrast of her gratitude and disapproval flummoxes you for a moment. You have no recourse but to be honest.

“I knew what this path would be when I chose to follow. I will not reject you for following your ember.”

You're shocked to hear a faint sniffle before she straightens, and even more shocked to feel wetness cooling on your shoulder. She hadn’t made a single sound of weeping; not a sob, not a hitch of breath. You saw no tear slide down her face.

Her expression is a different story; as stoic as ever but for those red-rimmed, haunted eyes. She’s still staring into the middle distance, unfocused. At the sight of her, your resolve snaps; you blurt it out. You can't fix this pain killing her inside now; you can only right the wrong you had done earlier.

“It didn't happen.”

“Mm…?” she looks at you, finally, but it's as if she is seeing someone else.

“The… the girls,” you stumble on your words for a moment. You want to be honest about what happened, but now doesn’t feel like the time to confess love, not when she's so wreathed in this empty sadness. You settle on, “I didn't do anything with them.”

She blinks, starts to focus a tiny bit. “Then they-…and you never…”

You shake your head.

She blinks, then blinks again. She doesn't look immediately relieved, at least not straightforwardly, but she looks strangely more alert. It's as if the weight on her shoulders was heavier, but it was a weight she was more willing to tolerate. Her brow pinches as she seems to think of something.

“I'm…sorry you had to look through those holes,” she says finally, staring down at your feet. Her voice is soft, barely above a breath. “You're… not meant to see all of this.”

“It wasn't so bad,” you reassure her. “I can handle it.”

She shakes her head impatiently.

“This isn't how you should be seeing…I'm…supposed to–…” She stops, looking confused by her own words. You stare at her in surprise. Supposed to what? Protect me? That would be a departure indeed from her constant insistence that you are here of your own free will, that she isn't responsible for you, that she isn't your protector… and so on.

You laugh a little, warmly. It's not funny, any of this, but there's a tiny bubble of something warm glowing in your chest, something that feels as though it's solidified between you, and the icy wall of uncertainty that plagues your every step has begun to trickle away.

“I can protect myself now, thanks to you,” you murmur, ducking your head a little to try to meet her gaze as she hangs her head. The next words are hard to say, but you want her to hear them. “And, truly…I don't think there's a better place in all of Japan than next to you.”

She looks up at you, eyebrows quirking up in surprise; it's the last sentiment she would expect to hear from anyone right now. The eye contact in this moment is lightning-sharp; a myriad of emotions run through her gaze, her face twitching through what looks like guilt, shame… and then a deeper, aching longing. The potency is as intense as every other emotion in her, and it arrests your very breathing.

You know. In that moment, you know; the trickle becomes a meltwater flood, soaking warmth through your ribcage. You’re pulled into the undertow of ocean eyes that glow in the cocooning darkness.

Her lips press together tightly as her eyes flick to your mouth as they did once, hours so. She looks suddenly lost; too emotionally overwhelmed by the events of the night to keep her walls up any longer. Distraction, validation, reassurance… human weaknesses she normally scoffs at. Tonight, her last rest before Fowler, before possible death, she'll let herself be human. She will seek comfort from someone that will touch her like she isn't a monster, confirm to herself that she can be capable of love, softness. That after her revenge, a happy life could be possible for her.

“I'm glad–...” her voice hitches as she leans closer to you, then sways back again, uncertainly. In the dark, her blush doesn't show, but the flustered expression is enough to make your heart suddenly race. “I'm glad that… you didn't. With them.”

You can't breathe. Your heart is in your throat; its rabbiting beat is making you shake so strongly with adrenaline that you have to force your teeth not to chatter. You've been waiting for so long, with never the slightest inkling of hope…

“...I am, too.” In the intimate darkness surrounding you, your whisper feels loud. Her gaze focuses in like a beam of burning light; your own expression says everything.

This time she steps closer again without flinching, and you feel like you might pass out. The hesitant look flickers across her again for a moment, before her brow suddenly furrows. You have a half second to recognize the familiar look of determination that precedes every risky move before there's a long fingered hand curling around your nape, and a pair of thin, sculpted lips on yours.

Oh.

It's as though every muscle in your body melts away in an instant. The second you lean into it with enthusiasm, you’re enveloped; her arms are like iron, clutching you tight. It's every bit as mind-numbing as you had fantasized; the taste of her lips is tea and copper, blood-hot as her tongue slips against yours. Mizu does nothing halfway. She kisses like she fights; overpowering, ruthless, clever and swift. Every twitch of reaction is caught and dragged free of you again and again as that famous adaptability is turned on you and achieving your pleasure. Her hands roam restlessly, mapping over the lines of your body, prompting a squeak when they suddenly squeeze tight, nails dimpling your flesh, before sliding on. You hope that every time her fingers sink in, there's a mark you'll see tomorrow, until she's littered every inch of your skin.

Your mingled breaths are loud in the silence of the hall. Your own hands are in her hair, slipping down her neck, reveling in the shift of the muscles in her shoulders; you can touch her now, you can touch her, she's kissing you, she wants you, gods above–

“Mizu…” You can't stop the soft whine, muffled by her lips; it thrills you to feel her shudder in response to it, her arms tightening around you with a hushed groan. The hand at the back of your neck grasps a hank of your hair like a handle, tugging your head to the side with accidental roughness. The pain sparks like flint against the heat building between your thighs, flaring it to a roar. Your little hiss is choked off by a gasp as she buries her face in your neck and inhales you, deep and greedy, indulging herself, before biting down hard on the soft skin below your ear.

Your grip on her shoulders tightens with a bitten-back cry, lust shooting through you like a grassfire. It runs molten between your thighs, softening your legs until your knees buckle–swift as an arrow, your world spins.

Your spine thumps into the support beam, her front molded to yours as she pins you against it; you can feel her heartbeat pattering against her bindings, the sharpness of her hipbones against your belly. Everything in your body pulses with one hard beat of desire; it thuds from your throat to your fingertips every time you hear that harsh inhale of her panting through her nose between kisses, the soft grunts of response to each slide of tongue and teeth. You don't notice your haori part until cool fingers slip along your ribcage. You flinch with a gasp, your back arching wanton and shameless into the touch. The husky chuckle at your ear makes your core throb so hard it hurts.

Your thighs tangle together without a care to your surroundings. “Ngh–” Another desperate, muffled groan vibrates against the side of your throat when you press your leg up between hers. Her hips spasm and buck, her groan fracturing into something soft and needy–“ah-...ahh”--breath puffing faster over your skin; there's a searing softness pressing against your thigh, already damp through the thick fabric of her pants. In response, the lean muscle of her own leg presses up between yours, hiking you higher against the wall until you’re spread across it, your own weight bearing you down against it with a cruel pressure to the very source of your ache. As you’re yanking her hair free with a high-pitched moan of her name–

The soft sssh-thnk of a door panel makes you both freeze.

“Master? Are you out here? I heard–...oh.”

Mizu slowly raises her head from your neck as you turn your head. Is this how you die? Of embarrassment?

Ringo’s eyes are like saucers; behind him, the faint sound of Akemi protesting spills out into the hallway as the three of you stare at each other in silence. “What? What is it? Ringo? Hey! Untie me! Let me see!”

Ringo opens his mouth, then closes it again. A wide, delighted grin slowly spreads over his face. Without another word, he slowly leans back into the room, shutting the panel behind him.

You both stare at the door for a minute. Akemi's complaints can still be heard from inside. Then you look at each other.

You giggle first, trying to stifle it, horrified at yourself as it bubbles free. “Sorry, s-sorry–” you hiss, more giggles escaping you, edged almost hysterical. It's not funny, at all, but you can't seem to stop.

Mizu watches you, perplexed at first, her mouth twitching as though she's not sure whether she should be laughing with you, or not. Finally she just sighs, too exhausted to give a damn, leaning her head on your shoulder again. This time you don't hesitate to wrap your arms around her, nuzzling into her hair as her own arms curl around you tightly.

It's not okay, nothing is okay, but, this… this is good.

Into the silence, a woman screams.

more fanart for @lespepsippr because ALLLL marks are yearners deep down and i love coming up with different hairstyles and hcs for their personalities with each of the readers.

i like to think mohawk mc learned which variant she was dealing with and said fuck that and dedicated her time in the invincible universe becoming an academic weapon instead (he noticed her anyway rest in peace)

Hellooo!! I saw ur reqs open and I've been a big fan of ur invincible x reader works so I was wondering if you can write about how the different mark variants react to the reader having twins; 1 boy and 1 girl? Or how they inter with the babies?

Regardless if u wanna write about it or not, thank you!

HEADCANON | the variants reacting to you having twins

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: pregnancy, childbirth,

MAIN MARK

Mark was stunned when the doctor first told him it was twins. He blinked at the ultrasound screen, eyes wide, hand clutched tightly in yours. “Two?” he whispered, voice cracking just slightly.

He cried when they were born.

He held your daughter first, cradling her so gently, like she was made of glass. Then came your son, who instantly grabbed Mark’s pinky finger in his tiny hand—and that was it. Mark was a goner.

He’s the kind of dad who doesn’t care how exhausted he is after hero work—he comes home and immediately scoops one of them up. He does the midnight feedings when he can, always humming softly to them, even when his eyes are barely open.

Mark makes it a point to split his attention. He reads storybooks with one on each leg, plays peekaboo until he’s sweating, and narrates entire fights from the day like bedtime stories—censored and dramatic just to make them giggle.

He’s a sucker for when they both reach for him at once. He’ll hold them at the same time, bouncing slightly while pressing kisses to their heads.

“They’re gonna be so strong,” he whispers to you one night, both twins sleeping between you two on the bed. “But we’re gonna make sure they’re kind too.”

SINISTER MARK

Mark never planned on having kids.

He didn’t think he could even want them—not with the life he lived, not with the way he was. But when you told him you were pregnant, he didn’t run. He stared at you in silence, the only sign of emotion a twitch in his jaw. And when you said it was twins, he laughed dryly under his breath and muttered, “Of course.”

He was rough around the edges during the pregnancy—aloof, distant, always out handling things—but when you went into labor, he didn’t leave your side once. Pacing, snapping at the doctors, his hands bloody from someone stupid enough to slow him down on the way in. But when the cries of your son and daughter filled the room?

Everything changed.

He held them awkwardly at first, not used to anything so fragile. But when your daughter blinked up at him with your eyes, and your son grunted softly in his arms?

Sinister Mark melted.

He didn’t show it, of course. He still had that cold, unreadable expression. But he never let them out of his sight. He rocked them gently with one arm while handling intergalactic calls with the other. He never yelled around them. Never used the same tone he used with the rest of the world.

He called them “his little monsters” in a low, amused voice.

And they adored him.

He trained them early—light strength drills, balance, focus. But never pushed too hard. Your daughter was fiery; your son was quiet. He loved them both in his own silent, possessive way. “I don’t care if they burn planets down one day,” he muttered one night, holding them both in the crook of his arms as they dozed. “As long as they come home to you.”

MOHAWK MARK

Mark wasn’t just a ruler—he was the damn Emperor.

People bowed when he walked in. Worlds knelt before his power. He’d fought armies, led conquests, spilled blood on every corner of the galaxy.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the moment he held his newborn son and daughter.

He stared down at them like they were made of starlight and gold. Your daughter’s tiny fists curled in his cape. Your son sneezed and made a little sound that had him laughing, almost breathless. The grin that spread across his face was so wide, so genuine, it made even the Viltrumite guards in the room look away.

“This—this is my legacy,” he murmured. “You made something stronger than a throne.”

At home, he was still intense. Still commanding. But softer in subtle ways.

He’d sit on his throne with one twin on each leg, daughter tugging at his hair and son sleeping against his chest while he held council. He’d feed them himself, not trusting anyone else to get it right.

“Only the best,” he’d say, wiping his daughter’s mouth gently with a silk cloth. “They came from you.”

He was so smug about them too. Would not shut up. Would show hologram pics of them mid-battle. “See that? That’s my kid. She threw up on me this morning. Isn’t she perfect?”

You caught him once, dead of night, sneaking into the nursery. His expression completely softened, one massive hand stroking your son’s hair while he whispered Viltrumite lullabies you didn’t even know he remembered.

He never let you carry them up the palace stairs.

You’d try—and he’d just scoop you and both babies up without blinking. “My queen,” he said, kissing your temple, “you gave me the empire I never knew I wanted.”

OMNI MARK

Omni Mark had stared down monsters. He’d broken planets with his bare hands, shattered civilizations, and rewritten the course of history in blood and fire.

But now, in the quiet of your home, he stood before two tiny cradles—his children—and he felt something he hadn’t in centuries:

Uncertainty. A boy and a girl. Twins. Perfectly healthy. Human… and yet, undeniably his.

He didn’t speak when the doctor placed them in his arms. He didn’t blink. He simply looked down at them like he was studying some foreign object. Something he didn’t quite understand.

“Mark,” you whispered from the bed, exhausted but smiling, “they’re waiting to meet their dad.”

He looked up. Then slowly, with the same care he used to disassemble machinery with lethal precision, he cradled them closer to his chest.

“They’re… small,” he said, quietly.

You smiled. “They’re babies.”

He was quiet again. His expression unreadable. You could tell he was thinking—calculating, as if trying to understand how two fragile lives could belong to him. “I don’t know if I’m… built for this,” he admitted after a long silence.

You reached over and touched his hand. “You’re learning. That’s all that matters.” And he did try. His version of love was quiet. Stiff. Awkward. He didn’t baby-talk them or cradle them for fun. He didn’t dote or coo. But he was there. He stood like a sentry when they slept.

He ensured every bottle was measured, every schedule followed. If they cried, he picked them up efficiently, holding them with a stillness that somehow made them calm. He didn’t rock or hum—but his presence was a constant reassurance. Sometimes, you caught him watching them. His eyes weren’t soft. But they were intensely focused.

One night, you walked in to find him holding your daughter, her tiny hand clinging to his cape. He wasn’t saying anything—just standing there in the moonlight, watching her sleep against his chest.

“She doesn’t understand what I am,” he murmured. “She doesn’t need to,” you whispered, walking over to lay your head against his arm. “She only needs to know you’re here.” He didn’t answer. But he stayed there. All night.

With time, he learned their patterns. Knew when they were hungry, tired, scared. He wasn’t affectionate in a traditional sense, but his version of fatherhood was methodical, devoted. Every decision, every gesture, was meant to ensure their survival.

And eventually, something in him shifted.

The first time his daughter reached up to touch his face—he froze. Then, slowly, he leaned into her palm. You watched from the doorway. Tears in your eyes. He still didn’t smile. But when she gurgled, he whispered: “Strong. You’ll be strong.”

He would never be the kind of father to kiss scraped knees or coddle fears. But he would shield them from every threat. He would teach them. Shape them. And if anything ever tried to take them from you—anything—he would make sure it never had the chance to try again.

VILTRUMITE MARK

When Mark brought you back with him, it was a choice—his choice. No council. No advisors. Just him claiming what was his. Pregnancy had come quickly.

But when the medical team delivered the results… and he saw two strong heartbeats on the screen? His expression didn’t change. But his posture did. Straightened spine. Chin slightly raised. A rare, breathless pause.

“Twins?” he repeated, voice low. Controlled. But there was something sharp beneath it—pride. “Two healthy Viltrumite hybrids,” the medic confirmed.

You looked at him, unsure if the news would please him or concern him. He was silent for a long time, arms folded, watching the scan like it was the universe itself unfolding.

Then he said, simply: “Excellent.”

That night, he was rougher in the way he pulled you close—but gentler in the way he touched your stomach. A large hand splayed against the small bump beginning to show, and for the first time in days, he kissed you without dominance—just presence.

He started planning.

Not for one child—but two. Double the training, double the strength, double the legacy. He cleared a sector for their future. Reshaped his schedule. Altered guard patterns around your quarters.

They weren’t even born yet, and he was already reshaping empires.

When your stomach grew round and heavy, he lifted you like it was nothing. When cravings hit, he summoned whatever chefs he trusted. He didn’t understand human symptoms—nausea, mood swings—but he endured them. Listened. Adjusted.

And when you winced in pain one night, he was there. Instantly. Hand on your belly, eyes sharp.

“Is it time?”

“No,” you whispered. “They just kicked.”

He dropped to one knee, resting his forehead against your bump.

“Good,” he murmured. “Fight. Even in the womb.”

By the time the twins arrived—one boy, one girl—he held them like future generals, analyzing every sound, every twitch.

But when your daughter grabbed his finger for the first time, he stilled. Truly stilled. Then, with quiet authority, he looked to you and said: “She will lead.”

“And our son?” you asked, smiling through exhaustion. He looked at the boy in his arms. “He will protect her.”

And you knew in that moment—beneath all the violence, beneath the cold rule—there was something real. His love didn’t need to be spoken. It would be carved into the future.

SHIESTY MARK

Mark was not built to be a dad. Or, that’s what everyone would’ve assumed. But then the twins came—one boy, one girl—and everything went sideways in a way he actually liked.

They screamed. A lot. Shitted on him. A lot. One threw up on his chest. He didn’t even flinch. “You little fucker,” he coughed, bouncing the tiny boy in one hand, wiping his face with a towel like this wasn’t the third shirt he’d gone through today.

And he meant that with love. Mark adored those babies like they were his entire world—but holy shit, he had no filter around them. None.

When you got home from grabbing groceries, you found him in the living room with both of them propped in a giant pillow nest like royalty, Mark crouched in front of them pointing at toys.

“Okay, this one’s a fuckin’ dragon,” he told them, holding it up dramatically. “He bites the fuckin’ shit outta anyone who tries you, alright?” You stared at him, jaw dropped. “Mark!”

“What?” He blinked innocently, like he hadn’t just made ‘fuckin’ shit’ the babies’ first lullaby. “I’m bonding with my son and daughter. You don’t want ‘em growin’ up soft, do you?”

…You ignored him.

Until two weeks later. Your daughter dropped her sippy cup. Looked you dead in the eye. And said, clear as day: “Shit.” You dropped the baby spoon in your hand. Slowly turned toward him. “Mark.” He was howling. “That’s my girl,” he said proudly, arms crossed.

You dragged him by the shirt collar into the other room. “You taught our children swear words?!”

“They gotta learn someday!”

“Not before they can say mama.”

“But they can say ‘fuck’ now.” You stared at him, seething. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He grabbed your wrist, pulled you close, grinning. “You just hate that they love me more than you already.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You married a menace.”

Later that night, he was lying in bed with both babies asleep on his chest. Your son was drooling. Your daughter had her tiny fist balled in his shirt.

And Shiesty Mark, the reckless, trash-mouthed bastard you fell in love with, was whispering: “I’ll kill anyone who fucks with you two. Y’hear me? Anyone. You’re mine now.” You watched him from the doorway, leaning against the frame. Still disappointed? Sure. But also… a little in love with him all over again.

PRISONER MARK

Mark never thought he’d see freedom again—let alone fall in love, let alone have a family.

When you told him you were pregnant, he’d stared at you in disbelief. Like you were a hallucination. A dream conjured up by a man who’d been through too much, lost too much. Twins? That was the part that made him sit down.

“…You serious?” he asked softly, as if saying it too loud might shatter the moment. But he stepped up.

He didn’t care that he had to wear disguises, that he had to duck and hide every time he left the house. If it meant keeping you and the babies safe, he’d burn himself out to do it. He’d bring home groceries with shaky hands, bruises from a fight he never told you about, smiling just because you greeted him at the door in one of his hoodies, the twins’ names already written on little post-its over the fridge.

He nearly cried during the birth. Tried to hide it—failed miserably.

He whispered to both of them that night, laying beside your hospital bed, holding one in each arm. “You’re safe now,” he promised. “No one’s ever taking you from me.”

He was so attentive. You’d wake up at 2am and he’d already be feeding one of them, quietly humming some old Earth song he barely remembered the lyrics to. He was protective in a lowkey, constant way—checking the locks three times, always standing between you and a window, never letting his kids out of his sight. His daughter liked to pull his hoodie strings while he was holding her. His son liked to curl up on his chest and nap.

Prisoner Mark was softer than the others in those moments. He smiled more. He relaxed—only around you and them. He’d lie in bed with you at night, watching them sleep in the bassinet beside you. “…Do you think they’ll ever have to see the kind of world I did?” he asked once.

You answered, “Not if we can help it.” He nodded. “Good. ‘Cause I’ll kill the world before I let it touch them.”

Hi! New anon here (🦠). Won’t ask how you’re feeling because we’re all in mourning and in shambles, but what do you think Lottie would be like with a reader who’s an Antler Queen? Lowkey LottieNat-leaning, but reader was the one who got chosen, and now they’re in the spring, and Lottie is THE prophet while reader is THE queen.

Thank you!

Her queen

A/N: Hello my dears, I am back! (I think). This isn't the best of my works and my writing has some improvment to do after my hiatus, but I tried to make it make sense.

Also, let's all welcome dear🦠anon eveyone! I require a round of applause please. Enjoy!

Oh Lottie, the workshipper that you are.

That winter day, when the snow was raging outside and the cold seeped inside the wooden cabin, she consulted with It, asked It what they could do to survive the winter.

When she heard Its voice echo inside her ears, cold as the icy wind and hoarse as a murder of crows and as billions of ghosts’ whispers, she couldn't believe what It was asking, no, demanding of her. You, out of everyone?

That day, she questioned herself whether the Wilderness was real, or a figment of her own imagination. But an order it’s an order, and like the true devotee she is, she compiled. 

When she came into the room, everyone’s faces looked harsh, distant, barely holding it together. The dance of light and shadows the fire projected into the room and onto their faces only added more depth to the seriousness of the situation. Had she been good at art history, Lottie could have confidently said that she had been transported into a baroque’s painting world. Or Victorian gothic, or whatever.

She couldn’t see you at first, not behind the bloody pulp of meat that was left in place of her left eye, not with you away from the center of the room, hidden in the dark, protecting yourself from what was happening. From what was about to happen.

You always looked so precious to her.

Natalie was always It's favorite, but you were always hers.

You were too busy drawing imaginary doodles on the floor, trying to do anything to forget this place to see her walking towards you. Her and your friends’ faces morphed into confusion, anger and jealousy as she arrived at your feet. Only when the fireplace’s lights were gone from your eyes, did you look up. Standing above you, the light shone around her, creating a halo around her figure. She looked almost holy to you, had her face not been shrouded in darkness.

“It chose”.  

Adorned with an antler crown, you order, help and try your best to hold the group together.

You are a beacon of light, a hope inside the darkness. Someone she can count on, someone she knows will lead all of you to safety. 

Lottie is utterly obsessed with you, even more so after you became the Antler Queen. She treats you like a god.

She gives you her share of the food, stuff your clothes with fresh medicinal herbs, kisses you goodnight every day, when the sun goes down, right in the middle of camp, in front of everybody. She looks up at you with love in her eyes, as if you were a gift the Wilderness sent her, for how good of a devotee she was.

Speaking of kisses. Charlotte, previous to the crash, had never been too much into public displays of affection. And, more than that, she never confessed anything about her little crush for you. But after everything went to shit, it’s like a cloud obscures her judgment. She had always felt this need to tell you, to come and sit down next to you and whisper in your ear “I like you”, but never had the courage.

That’s until the Wilderness itself made you their queen, and from then on, all her fears and doubts melted away.

On one of those afternoons when the air gets warmer and the light shines longer, she comes to you. You were sitting down on a log, letting time pass while you carved a figure out of wood. It’s something that always made her smile, how you could still cling to humanity in a place like this. She couldn’t. They couldn’t.

Since the evening was nearing, everyone was finishing up their tasks, sitting by the fire or losing track of time. You looked up to see Lottie’s gaze fixated down on you. “Oh, Lottie. Wha-” you couldn’t finish your words, because the moment you stood up, she took your face in her hands and leaned down to kiss you.

The more time passed, the rougher she had become with you. Her teeth pulled at your bottom lip, her tongue exploring your mouth, her breath heavy against your skin. All of that, in front of every one of your friends. 

You couldn’t let yourself be seen by anyone for a while, especially because Lottie had followed you to your tent. 

She follows you; no matter where you go, you've always got her eyes on you.

Resting inside your tent? Lottie peeks at you.

Hunting with Natalie? She gives you a protection token and prays for you while you are away.

Eating meat by the fire? She watches as your teeth sink into it.

You think it’s a little weird sometimes, but you know she means well. 

And don’t get me started on the rituals.

They are divided into two categories: the ones that are performed in front of everyone, and the ones that only you two share. Despite the height of the experience of a group ritual, it's the private ones that are her favorite. 

She wakes you in the middle of the night, when everyone is asleep and the air is cool. You follow her into the woods, away from the camp. She tells you that the Wilderness has asked her for a sacrifice tonight, and that that sacrifice is you. She tells you that It wants to hear you scream into the night, wants to feel you writhe above the ground it rules over. 

So you sit on an old tree stump, big enough to let you sit comfy on it. Lottie slowly descends down your body, until her face is nestled right where you need her the most. Thanks to her height, she has no problems in placing your legs on her shoulders; hell, you are even slightly curved upwards because of it.

She dives right down, taking you between her lips, workships you until her name echoes between the trees. Under the spring’s moon and stars only you and her exist.

Only with you she can still be human.

You are her god, and she’ll be your servant until she dies.

When you get back to camp, you’re greeted by a tired Taissa sitting by the fire, with deep eyebags, looking at you as if she could kill you with her gaze.

“You should really keep your voice down…”. 

River Maiden

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11,

The sun hung low in the sky, its golden rays filtering through the dense canopy of the forest. Prince Telemachus moved with quiet purpose, his steps steady on the moss-carpeted ground. His body bore the aches of the day’s training, but his mind was sharp, honed by the relentless guidance of the Goddess Athena. Her voice still echoed in his thoughts: “Strength alone will not carry you, Telemachus. Learn to see the world, to listen to its whispers, and act when the moment demands it.”

The forest was alive around him—branches swayed gently in the breeze, birds called to one another, and somewhere in the distance, the soft murmur of a river beckoned. Drawn by the sound, he pressed forward, brushing aside low-hanging branches until he emerged onto a bank where the river wound lazily through the trees.

There, in the shallows, a maiden was bathing. Her long, (y/h) hair clung to her shoulders, glistening as it caught the light. She moved with unguarded grace, her humming ringing softly over the water as she splashed at the cool surface. For a moment, Telemachus simply watched, unsure whether to announce his presence or slip away unnoticed.

Then a low growl made that choice for him.

Telemachus’s head snapped toward the sound. On the far side of the river, a boar emerged from the underbrush, its tusks gleaming like daggers. It was massive, its eyes wild with rage and hunger as it locked its gaze on the unsuspecting maiden. The beast pawed the ground, muscles coiling for an attack.

There was no time to think. Telemachus’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword, his training surging to the forefront of his mind. “Act swiftly. Protect the helpless. Be the shield they do not know they need.”

As the boar charged, Telemachus sprang into action, the sun catching the glint of his blade as he rushed to intercept the beast.

The maiden snap her head to look behind her as she heard the commotion, to see a young man fight off a wild animal, before managing to scare it off.

"Are you fine, My Lady?" Telemachus snaps her out of her stuper, shaking her head as he offered her a hand.

"Y-yes, I'm fine" the maiden answers, standing up and taking his hand.

Telemachus' heart began to race as he sees she is bare before him, her body revealed as she stands up, though he averts his gaze as to not be disrespectful, helping her to her feet, he quickly picks up a cloth to offer.

"Here, cover yourself" Telemachus hands it to her with diverted eyes, blushing heavily.

"Oh, Thank you" the maiden accepts the cloth, covering herself.

Telemachus breaths out a small sigh as she covered herself, his breath getting caught in his throat as his eyes wandered all over her body.

"If you do not mind me asking, what is a beautiful maiden such as yourself doing, alone in the forest by such a small river?" Telemachus asked as soon as he found his voice.

"You know, the usual, us maidens like to keep ourselves clean, or purposely getting attacked to be rescued by a dashing savior" the maiden answers with a smile, running a finger on his clothed chest.

Telemachus blushes as he hears her compliment, smiling softly in return.

"Ha, well it was indeed my pleasure to save such a beautiful maiden, though I do apologize, it's not very proper for me to see you dressed like this, a man such as myself should not lay their eyes on such a beautiful maiden in such a way. Allow me to turn around while you get dressed" In truth, he simply can't control his wondering gaze.

"My, such a gentleman, a rarity nowadays" the maiden compliments, as she walks to her pile of clothes, beginning to wear her chiton.

"One simply must be a gentleman to a lady such as you, especially when she is such a sight to behold. Might I ask your name, My Lady?" Telemachus blushing slightly as she complimented him, waiting patiently for her to get dressed, as he heard the ruffling of fabric behind him.

"It's quite rude to ask a Lady's name without introducing yourself~" the maiden stated, saying it directly behind him, fully dressed making the boy jump, causing her to chuckle.

She stands before him wearing a simple blue chiton, her hair still down from being washed, what stands out about her is the silver arm bracelet she wears in the shape of a snake, a red gemstones on it's heads, two of each, but Telemachus pays no mind to it.

She only chuckles at his stunned state, fixing a stray hair pushing it back to her ear.

"So, may I know the name of my Saviour? Or shall I call you adorable?" The maiden asked, her hands clasped behind her.

Telemachus laughs softly, the blush still evident on his cheeks. He regains his composure before answering her question.

"Telemachus," he answers. "Son of King Odysseus, and Prince of Ithaca. And you, my lady? What name shall I call my damsel in distress?" He smiles, hoping she'll answer.

The Maiden laughs a bit at his teasing "My name's (Y/N), no title included" (Y/N) introduces herself with a smile

"(Y/N)…" Telemachus says, letting her name roll off his tongue. It was a beautiful name, he thought, to match this beautiful maiden. He studies her again, his eyes taking in her every detail.

"No title?" He responds, a smile tugging at his lips. "Then allow me to fix that. My Lady (Y/N)."

He bows at her jokingly, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

"It's a beautiful name," he says. "Quite befitting of the most beautiful maiden in Ithaca."

"Oh you make me out to be someone I'm not" (Y/N) stated with a smile, shaking her head

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Prince Telemachus~" (Y/N) added with a teasing smile

Telemachus laughs at her response, enjoying the playful banter.

"Flattery, I assure you, is only the truth" he replies, his smile growing.

"And I am far from done flattering you, my lady." He takes a step closer to her, his eyes fixed on hers.

"Tell me, (Y/N). How does a fair maiden such as yourself find themselves bathing in the forest, alone and defenseless?"

"Well, as I've said before: us Maiden love to keep ourselves clean, and the only running clean water around here in Ithaca is in the river, or you know, a chance to be saved by a dashing Prince~" (Y/N) teases, their hands still holding.

Telemachus can't help the smile that forms on his lips at her playful teases. They're standing so close to each other now, their hands intertwined, and he can see the laughter dancing in her eyes.

"How lucky it is that I was there then," he responds, his voice low and teasing.

"If it wasn't for me, you would've been that boar's dinner. Though I think I'd rather keep you all to myself."

"My, whatever can I do now that the Prince is here?" (Y/N) asked with a light quip

"I suppose you're stuck with me" Telemachus replies, his voice filled with a hint of jest. He lets his free hand run down her arm, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin.

"Unless you can think of a reason that a lady would be bathing alone in the forest...?"

"My, you wish to peek? I didn't know a Prince as dignified as yourself would take advantage of such a situation" (Y/N) pouted, turning her body away from him.

Telemachus's face blushes redder than ever, a mixture of embarrassment and shock.

"N-no! That's not what I-" Telemachus sputters. His eyes involuntarily glance at her, admiring her figure as she turns away from him. He quickly averts his gaze, his heart racing.

"I would never- I would never take advantage of you like that!" He protests, the embarrassment clear.

(Y/N) suddenly laughs, covering her mouth at Telemachus's embarrassed state.

Telemachus's embarrassment turns to one of annoyance. He frowns at her, though the effect is lessened by the redness in his cheeks.

"You tricked me," he mutters, his voice filled with mock-anger. He crosses his arms, though his grip on her hand doesn't loosen.

"Sorry, sorry. Shall I make it up to you by bathing together?~" (Y/N) teases once more, holding his hand with both of hers.

Telemachus's face flushes once more, his cheeks heating up at her suggestion. He sputters in shock, not expecting such a response from her.

"B-bathe together?" He manages to stammer out, his voice a strange mix between shock, surprise and... excitement? He was a young man, after all.

"You... you cannot be serious" he adds, his eyes trying to avoid looking at her figure.

(Y/N) simply continues to laugh at Telemachus's expense.

Telemachus pouts, still blushing at her laughter and her suggestion. It was obvious she was toying with him, and he was falling for it. He tries to maintain a stoic expression.

"You enjoy teasing me far too much," he grumbles, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly.

"I simply can't help it, you're quite adorable, Your Highness" (Y/N) points out with a smile.

The compliment and her smile is enough to make Telemachus's heart pound once more. He swallows, his eyes still fixated on her, her figure bathed in sunlight, her hair damp from the stream.

"You're truly a menace," he mutters jokingly, shaking his head. He tugs her closer to him, his hand on her hip. "And a tease."

"And you're quite handsy to a maiden you've just met, what if I'm betrothed?" (Y/N) asked, tilting her head.

Telemachus's hand immediately releases her hip, and he takes half a step back, flustered by her comment. He hadn't considered that possibility until now. Of course she could be betrothed, she was a beautiful maiden. He mentally curses himself for being so presumptuous.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" he begins to apologize, stuttering over his words, his blush once again returning to his face.

(Y/N) laughs once more, seems like another rug was pulled under Telemachus "My, you truly are adorable, Your Highness"

Telemachus groans, burying his face in his hand. She truly did love to tease him, and he couldn't even be mad about it. Telemachus tries to compose himself, looking up at her through his fingers.

"You will be the death of me, I swear," he mutters, his voice filled with mock irritation.

"Even if we've just met?" (Y/N) asked, as she approached him, playing with his hair.

Telemachus's heartbeat quickens as she plays with his hair, weaving her slender fingers through his locks. He stands there, trying not to melt at her touch. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself to respond.

"Yes. I fear you may drive me to madness within the hour."

"You underestimate me, give me a minute" (Y/N) corrects, chuckling a bit.

Telemachus raises an eyebrow questioningly, intrigued by her confidence. He looks at her, a hint of a challenge in his eyes."A minute? That's all it'll take?"

(Y/N) chuckles, backing away, admiring her work, the tousled, blushing Prince.

Telemachus stands there, his hair tousled, his face flushed, staring at (Y/N) in disbelief. For a young man who prided himself on his composure, he was an absolute mess in front of her. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to fix it to no avail.

"You're enjoying this, arent you?" He grumbles, his voice filled with a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

(Y/N) chuckles once more, her shoulders shaking "What gave it away?"

Telemachus groans at her laughter, shaking his head. He couldn't believe how far he had fallen for her charms. He tries to maintain a stern expression, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

"You're a vixen, you know that?" He says, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes take her in, his gaze lingering on her figure once more, admiring her form.

"I try to be~" (Y/N) agrees, as the sun begins to set.

"My, time does go by quickly when you're having fun" (Y/N) commented, before turning to look at Telemachus.

Telemachus follows her gaze and turns to see the setting sun, casting a golden glow over the forest. The reality of the situation sets in - the sun was setting, and he had spent the entire time with (Y/N) in complete bliss. A pang of disappointment washes over him at the thought of leaving her so soon.

He turns back to face her, a small smile on his face.

"It certainly does seem time has passed quickly. I suppose it's best if I head back. I… have princely duties that need attending to."

"I should be heading home as well now" (Y/N) agrees with a smile

Telemachus nods, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. The thought of parting ways with her felt wrong.

"Yes, I suppose you should," he replies, reluctantly. As they prepare to part ways, Telemachus hesitates for a moment. He reaches for her hand, and gently intertwines their fingers together. His eyes lock with hers.

"Will I see you again?" He asks, his voice filled with a hint of hope. Telemachus knew that he was treading a dangerous path, letting his heart be so swayed by a girl he had just met, but he couldn't help it. There was something about her that drew him in.

"Do you wish it to be?" (Y/N) asked with a slight tease on her tone, but she's secretly hoping for it.

The question hung in the air for a moment. Telemachus takes a deep breath before responding, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I do. I want to see you again. I don't know why, but... I feel drawn to you. As if the gods themselves have woven our fates together. Is that foolish of me to say?"

With every word, his grip on her hand tightens, as if to keep their connection intact. Telemachus feared that once he let go, the spell that she cast over him would be broken. He was a practical man, yet here he was, a mess, confessing his feelings to a maiden he barely knew.

(Y/N) chuckles a bit at his confession "Then we'll see each other once more" (Y/N) agrees, smiling at him, her dainty hand on his rough ones.

A mixture of relief and joy fill Telemachus. His heart pounds in his chest at her words. He brings her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of it. His eyes never leave hers as he does so.

"I look forward to it," he murmurs, his voice filled with a hint of promise. Telemachus didn't want to let go. The idea of parting ways feels like agony.

"As do I, Prince Telemachus" Egeria stated with a soft smile on her lips.

With a sigh, Telemachus reluctantly releases her hand. Every fiber of his being is telling him to keep her close, to stay by her side. But he knows that he has to let her go.

"Until next time," he whispers, managing a small smile. His heart sinks a little as he watches her begin to walk away.

He stands there for a moment, watching her go. He wants to call out to her, to ask her to stay, but he knows that it would be pointless.

Once she's out of sight, Telemachus lets out a deep sigh. He felt a strange emptiness within him, as if a piece of his heart had been taken when she left. Telemachus knew that he was in trouble. He was falling for her, and falling fast.

A/N: Gee, I wonder what my tags mean :)

if there was one thing at the tokyo jujutsu tech branch that would send the kyoto branch into a coma, it was the shameless pda. gojo satoru was a man in love — and absolutely nothing could stop him from broadcasting it, no matter how obscene it might seem.

where utahime ran her students with silent, disciplined rigor, gojo thrived in chaos. in fact, the tokyo campus always seemed to hum with the sheer force of his enthusiasm alone.

today was hand-to-hand combat training again. you stood at the sidelines, arms crossed, observing as your second years sparred with the first years — dominating them so well that you hardly needed to step in.

a familiar presence drifted up behind you. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. your husband had an uncanny talent for finding you exactly when he was supposed to be doing anything else.

“new uniform?” he whistled, low and appreciative. even with his blindfold, you could feel his gaze dragging over you. “seriously, it should be illegal for you to look this good during work hours.”

you didn’t answer, trying your best to steer him back to work by simply not engaging. after much trial and error, you’d discovered that ignoring him was the most effective method.

predictably, gojo pouted when you didn’t respond. then, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

“you know,” his voice drops lower, silkier — the kind of tone he thinks is persuasive. “the students are so busy right now. they won’t even notice if we sneak off to my office and have some fun.”

“satoru,” you warn, already bracing yourself.

he grins like a fox. “it’ll just be ten minutes.”

“you say that every time,” you mutter, shooting him a sidelong look. “it is never just ten minutes.”

“boo,” he pouts, blowing a dramatic raspberry before slinging an arm around your waist with zero hesitation. “you’re being so cruel to a man in love.”

“satoru—”

but he’s already nuzzling his face into the side of your neck, his blindfold grazing your jaw as he whines, “just one kiss, then. one kiss and i’ll go right back to doing paperwork.”

you sigh, pretending to resist — but you lean into him all the same.

of course, one kiss turns into two. then three. then gojo is spinning you around, arms wrapped around your waist as he dips you in the middle of the training field.

“don’t make me get a spray bottle,” megumi grumbles, sparking a chorus of laughter from the others.

gojo just beams as he pulls you back up, shameless and unbothered. “sorry, can’t help it! my wife’s too hot for me to act normal.”

you swat his chest, cheeks warm. “you’re the worst.”

“and yet, you still married me,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose.

“only because you tricked me into it.”

he grins, “one of my greatest accomplishments.”

and just like always, he wins.

i

So if i said..... Rejecting shaunas advances because shes in her scary cave woman era and you like natalie, what then?

(DONT MAKE HER KILL ME PRETTY PLEASE)

ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ | ɴ.ꜱ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1034

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʀᴇᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡᴇʟʟ. ɴᴀᴛ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ɴᴀᴛᴀʟɪᴇ ꜱᴄᴀᴛᴏʀᴄᴄɪᴏ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ ꜱʜɪᴘᴍᴀɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ).

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴀ ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ ɢɪʀʟ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ.

Shauna cornered you just as you stepped away from the firepit, cutting you off near the edge of the trees. Her arms crossed tight over her chest like she was trying to hold herself back, like if she didn’t, she might say or do something she couldn’t take back. Her eyes burned into yours, sharp and steady.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Natalie lately,” she said, voice low, like it was a threat.

You shifted uncomfortably, brushing a pine needle off your sleeve. “We’ve been trading cigarettes. Talking.”

Shauna scoffed. “Right. Talking.”

There was a silence that stretched too long. The kind that made your skin crawl. You tried to step around her, but she mirrored you, blocking the path again, closer this time. Her eyes flicked down your face, lingering like she was memorizing your features or cataloging everything she thought belonged to her.

“You don’t have to play games,” she said. “Not with me.”

“I’m not,” you replied carefully, not sure what she thought was happening here, but you could feel it building, that thing she did when she got too still, too serious, like a storm winding up inside her. “Shauna, I think you’re—”

“I see how you look at me,” she interrupted. “How you don’t look away when I stare at you. How you let me touch your stuff. You don’t let anyone else do that.”

You swallowed. “That doesn’t mean I want—”

Shauna stepped in, just a breath away now, her voice low and tight. “I want you.”

It stunned you, not because it was a surprise, Shauna didn’t exactly hide the way she acted around you, but because she said it so plainly, like it was a fact.

You blinked. Took a breath. Then shook your head, gentle but firm. “Shauna, I like Nat.”

Her face didn’t change at first. Not even a flicker. But then something in her eyes shifted like someone had slammed a door shut behind them.

She let out a bitter little laugh, dry and mean. “Of course you do.”

“I’m sorry—“

She didn’t answer; she just tilted her head like she was trying to see through you. “You should be sorry. You think she’s safer? You think she’s better for you?”

“Shauna, It’s not about that.”

“No,” she said, “it’s not. Because if it was, you’d want me.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t know what to say. You’d never seen her like this, vulnerable, but too angry to admit it. She stepped back finally, just enough space for you to breathe.

“Go ahead,” she said coldly. “Be with Nat, but don’t come crawling into my bed when she gets bored of you.”

“Shauna…”

She turned on her heel, walking out towards the woods, away from camp, stiff and silent. She didn’t say another word. But you could feel her fury burning behind you, even when she disappeared into the trees.

⸻

It takes a while for your hands to stop shaking.

Shauna’s words echo long after she’s gone. Her voice, sharp and bitter, sticks under your skin like a splinter. Not because she was wrong. Because she wasn’t. You had looked back at her. Let her in closer than you probably should have. But you never meant it like that.

You wrap your arms around yourself and sit on a log near the edge of camp, just out of reach of the fire. There’s a dull ache in your shoulders from being tensed up too long, and your breath still feels uneven.

That’s when you hear boots crunching under the leaves just outside of camp.

You tense, thinking maybe Shauna had come back. But your worries are eased with you look up.

It’s Natalie.

Her silhouette’s a little lazy in the dim light, relaxed, hands in her pockets like she wasn’t looking for anything, just wandering. But her eyes catch on you, and you know instantly that she was looking for you.

“You okay?” she asks, crouching beside you. Her voice is rough like always, but not unkind.

You blink quickly and look away. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Bullshit.”

You let out a weak laugh and shake your head.

She sits beside you now, resting her arms on her knees. “What happened? Talk to me.”

You glance toward the tree line, where Shauna had disappeared earlier. “It’s… nothing.”

Natalie hums low in her throat. “So ‘nothing’ has you shaking and looking over your shoulder every five minutes?”

You don’t answer right away.

She shifts closer, shoulder to shoulder now. Not in a pushy way. Just there. Solid. Warm.

You exhale slowly. “Shauna was… mad.”

“Shauna’s always mad.”

You snort. “Yeah, but this was different.”

She tilts her head slightly. “What’d she say?”

You hesitate. You could tell her. About Shauna’s crush. About the way she cornered you like you belonged to her. About how intense it was, and how you didn’t hate it but you couldn’t say yes either, not when the only person you’ve been thinking about lately is her.

You glance at Natalie, really looking at her. Her face is soft in the orange hue of the firelight. There’s a small cut healing just under her cheekbone and a bit of dirt smudged near her jaw, but she’s still the prettiest thing out here. She’s got that calm-under-pressure vibe that makes you want to lean into her, just to feel steady again.

You swallow. “She got the wrong idea about something. I told her I didn’t feel the same.”

Natalie raises a brow but doesn’t push. “And?”

“She didn’t take it well.”

“Shocker.”

There’s silence between you for a moment. Then Nat nudges your knee with hers. “You alright?”

You nod slowly and lean against her shoulder. “Yeah. Now I am.”

She doesn’t move away. Just lets you rest your head on her, breathing slow and steady.

After a few seconds of silence, she speaks.“You know, for what it’s worth… if she gives you shit again, I’ve got your back.”

You smile against her sleeve. “Thanks.”

She shrugs. “Least I can do.”

You stay there for a while, enjoying the quiet warmth. What’s going on between you and Nat doesn’t have a name yet. But you both know it’s something.

snowed in

is it a man? a beast? no! it's the abominable gojo!

synopsis: for a cash-strapped starving scientist such as yourself, finding a yeti would've made the discovery of a lifetime. there's just one tiny problem - he found you first

pairing: yeti!Gojo x researcher!Reader

content: mdni, angst and fluff and eventual smut, cryptid!Gojo, this one is probs gonna get REAL insane, reader trying her best to tame this beast, he's man-like but i mean still-, forced cohabiting, is it kidnapping if he doesn't know what kidnapping is?, soft (and fuzzy!) Gojo, somehow we've landed on monsterfucking guys this is my formal apology, EXTREMELY protective gojo, hurt/comfort, more tags to be added!

observation logs

one | two | three | four

five | six | seven | eight

nine | ten | eleven | twelve

yeti!Gojo's notes

first thoughts | log 10.5

fanart for it here !!

asks ... #re: snowed in

pls lemme know in comments if you wanna be tagged<3

Having the Number One pro hero as your boyfriend is not easy.

Especially when you're a pro hero yourself.

And especially when your relationship is supposed to be a secret.

And even more especially when your boyfriend needs to be around you every second of every day like his life depends on it.

Izuku's a sweet man, he always has been and always will be. But sweet isn't even close to the word someone could use to describe how he treated you. In fact, even infatuated wouldn't be sufficient.

But Izuku's love has a price. He knows you can damn well defend yourself (trust me, he probably knows best after you almost stabbed him by accident when he came home in the middle of the night with no warning)—but still, he worries.

Which is why, much to his chagrin more than your own, you kept your relationship hidden from the public.

But like I said, Izuku's love for you is a force stronger than One for All itself.

So you can imagine this 'secret relationship' thing didn't really work out..

It was after a mission, a big operation in the city - the heroes had won but barely.

You were all exhausted.

And your boyfriend Pro Hero Deku more than most.

You were talking with a reporter, trying to reassure the civilians that everything was now resolved, when Izuku stumbles over and just starts peppering your face with kisses tiredly, the battle taking so much out of him that he forgets where he is.

he just wants his baby :(

All you can really do is stand there and take it, face bright red as a stunned cameraman and civilians start snapping photos and taking videos of the affectionate pro hero.

...Good thing you can defend yourself.

A/N: Deku's not one of my favs heh but he's such a sweetheart we need more loverboys in the world 😔

Was rewatching a documentary on long tailed macaques (which I tend to imagine Wukong is based on), and they show how the alpha male will make this rough throaty sound that means it's time for everyone in the troop to climb up a sleeping tree and turn in for the night. Then I started thinking of Wukong (as I always do) and then…*gestures vaguely*

Can be any Wukong really, I didn’t have a specific one in mind when writing.

The fire crackles and pops in front of you, warming your feet and hands as you unwind from a long day. The trek over the mountain range is a draining one that leaves your feet sore and your lungs burning.

Bai Long Ma is settled down under the shady branches of a tree, his body curled protectively around Tang Monk even as he succumbs to sleep. The deep, even motion of his breathing doesn’t seem to bother Tang Sanzang, his eyes closed and back straight as he counts prayers on his mala. Wujing is propped up against the group's luggage, book in hand as he idly flips the pages. Bajie is curled up not far from the ogre, snoring away without a care in the world, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. You glance over your left shoulder, then your right, searching for the last member of your group. Where could he have-?

A rough chirping noise sounds from above, and you look up to see Wukong crouching in the tree above you, his tail curled around the branch he sits on.

“Oh, there you are-” You begin, only for him to interrupt you with a new sound from his throat. It’s different than the chirps he normally gives when he sees you or when going about the day. It’s a rougher sound, one that starts and ends in his throat, almost like a growl but…doesn’t sound aggressive. You raise an eyebrow, watching him carefully.

Your relationship had only recently changed, longing stares and subtle touches finally recognized and acknowledged. It was still very new territory for you both, and some hidden barriers between culture and language were being tested and explored. In the months you two have been traveling together, he’s never made this sound at you before.

“Everything okay Wukong?” You ask, slowly rising to your feet as you watch him. He mirrors your movements, hopping down from the tree and standing before you, his tail moving in a slow, lazy arc that you’ve come to recognize as relaxed but intent. When Wukong wants something done, he intends for it to be done, even if he has to step in and do it himself.

You just have no idea what he wants you to do.

He doesn’t respond with words, only making that throaty noise again, his eyes darting up and down your body as if to say ‘what are you waiting for?’. You take a guess and step closer, grabbing his hand and smiling at him. Wukong blinks, heat rising to his cheeks that you can see despite the fur. He huffs a quick sigh, rolling his shoulders and turning away from you, tugging your hand behind him. You follow dutifully, trusting him with your safety.

He leads you only a short distance away from camp, the fire still clearly visible between the trees, but with a little more privacy. He stops suddenly at the base of a large camphor tree, and at the base, nestled among the roots is a sleeping spot already prepared. Your bedroll is even here already, propped up with leaves underneath to act as a cushy place to sleep for the night. Wukong undoes his tiger sash from his waist and hangs it over a low hanging branch before settling down on his own bedroll, tucked in right next to yours.

Charmed by the sight, you settle down next to him without complaint. The spot he picked has thick roots on either side to keep any chill in the air at bay, and you know you can rest easy that your companions are safe just a few feet away from you. You give a happy wiggle into your monkey’s warm side, pleased when he wraps his arm around your shoulders. When he tugs you to lay down beside him, you do so without complaint.

You’re face to face with him now, his intense eyes studying you. One of his hands comes up and brushes against your cheek, fingers tracing the curve down to your throat and over the hill of your shoulder, down your arm until his hand reaches yours. You tangle your fingers together, enjoying the warmth of his calloused palm against yours.

“Is this all you wanted? Some alone time?” You whisper to him, smiling in amusement at his silly ways.

He blinks at you for a moment, as if confused. Then his expression changes to one of realization, and he rolls his eyes up as he gives a defeated sigh.

“I haven’t taught you what the sound means yet, have I?” The hand not tangled with yours comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and you giggle at his exasperation.

“No, no I don’t think you did~” You coo. “I was so confused, I didn’t know what you wanted!” 

He joins in on your chuckling, pressing his forehead closer to yours and sharing your breath. You move your legs closer to his, happy when he returns the motion and slots his thigh in between yours. You can feel his opposable toes flexing against your calf muscles and see his tail curl into a comfortable position behind him. He repeats the sound from earlier, the rough not-quite-a-growl noise.

“That sound means bedtime.” He starts. “Monkeys in charge of a family will give that call when it’s time for everyone to climb into the safety of a tree for sleep. When I was…” He pauses for a moment, his eyes looking distant and sad. It’s an expression you’ve seen before, one he always gets when thinking of Mount Huaguo. You press a soft kiss to his lips to bring him back to you in the present.

It works.

“...Back home, when it was time for bed I would give that call. All the monkeys on the mountain, yaoguai or not, would listen. They would climb into Water Curtain Cave and find some place to settle down with friends and family. Regular monkeys preferred the giant trees in the cave, the yaoguais would go into our giant stone palace…” A gentle smile spread across his muzzle, one of his canines peeking out from under his upper lip.

“Not that I had strict rules about sleeping places. Some regular monkeys liked sleeping on the beds and some yaoguais never grew out of the habit of sleeping in the trees. As long as everyone was inside the safety of the cave and sleeping together, that's all that mattered to me.” He gives a small shrug, wrapping his free arm tight around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer to him. His hand still holding yours moved up so he could press a gentle kiss against the back of yours, his lips soft and warm where they touched you.

“Well,” You breathed, chest feeling heavy with emotion. It always rocked you to your core when he would be vulnerable like this with you, letting you see parts of him no one else had. Some would argue such tenderness didn’t exist in the Great Sage, but you knew better. “I’ll be sure to remember it now. Bedtime and bedtime cuddles for my sweet monkey when he calls for it~”

His face immediately burned at your words, his cheeks bright pink and his eyes looking down at your pressed together bodies instead of your own smiling face.

“S-sure. Just don’t…uhg-come here-!” He pulled your face closer, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he curled his warm body around you. Your giggles were muffled against the soft fabric of his clothes, his smell surrounding you on all sides.

Within minutes you were asleep.

could I request yan (poly) shoto and izuku catching their darling in the act of hiding a body?

Secrets

Contents: Yan!Poly!Tododeku catching gn!reader hiding a body.

more content for Todoroki and Deku here

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: YANDERE, STALKING, DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DEATH, READER ACCIDENTALY MURDERED SOMEONE, IMPLIED KIDNAPPING AT THE END.

Yes, they may have installed a motion detector on your front and back door, and windows, and everywhere in your home just because they were too paranoid about you living alone. They aren't taking you home with them just yet, they need a good excuse, otherwise you'll reject the offer.

What they didn't expect was to get an alert of you leaving in the early hours of the morning.

"They... left home." Todoroki says, slamming open the door to Izuku's room, who was sleeping soundly just a few moments ago.

"It's three in the morning," Deku groans, covering his face with the covers. "Who left home?"

"___! The motion detector just alerted me!" Todoroki rips the bed sheets off Deku's body, and the green haired man immediately jolts awake. Searching for his clothes.

"Fuck... do you think something bad happened? Like a family emergency?"

"I don't know. They didn't go further than a couple meters away," Todoroki says, trying to follow the track you left, bootprints. Why bootprints? Why are there so visible? Why were you stepping on mud in the first place? They don't know, and its making them anxious as they follow you closely from behind.

You, on the other hand, have an entirely different problem on your hands aside from being stalked by Japan's first and third most important hero. You have a secret, and you need to bury it so nobody will ever find out.

A home invasion is already awful enough, but the fact that you had the balls to shoot and kill a man who was merely drunk and homeless and looking for a place to sleep in just makes it worse. You feel awful, you feel guilty, and there's nothing you can do about it now other than hide the evidence. You don't want to go to jail, not over this, not over anything. You're crying, so hard you don't even notice the trail of bloody footprints you're leaving behind. Fortunately, a storm is menacingly starting to form over you. As if the night couldn't become any more shitty.

You should've brought a shovel. Or anything to help you dig.

The abandoned lot is spacious enough for you to believe the body won't alert anyone when it starts stinking, far away from society, or at least you try and tell that to yourself. Covered in wild grass and other plants that make it hard to see where your fingers are digging into the ground. The storm, already pouring gallon after gallon of rain over your body, making you tremble and shiver as you keep digging, and digging, and digging. And then there's light, and you scream, looking behind.

"Fuck." It's the only thing that leaves your lips as you pathetically try and make yourself smaller against the light. The flashlight, held by Todoroki, and Deku, who comes closer.

"___?" They both ask. "What are you doing here?" Deku comes closer to you, trying to shield you from the rain by putting one massive arm over your face. You break down crying, clinging to him, staining his hero suit with dirty fingerprints of blood and dirt. You sob, Todoroki quickly comes to aid you, wrapping his warm arm around your shoulders. You don't even question how these two heroes know your name, or what you were doing.

"What's wrong, ___? Why are you digging a hole at this hour? Under the rain?" Todoroki asks, and you can't answer, choking on both the rain and your tears for a moment before you sniffle. You look like a mess, a beautiful one in their eyes. They give you a sympathetic look.

"I made a terrible mistake." You sob, your head darting towards the dead man. Swollen and bloody on the floor next to you. They should be horrified, but years of repressed violent urges, obsessive tendencies and the bloody perks of hero work make them only cringe slightly at the gruesome sight. Then, Deku looks at Todoroki, a look only they could understand. Their sympathetic gazes, suddenly seem wolfish and predatory. They finally have an excuse to take you with them.

"Don't worry,___." Todoroki says, rubbing your shoulders as you tremble.

"We understand, ___. It was an honest mistake..." Deku sighs, and kicks the body to the makeshift grave you just dug.

"Your secret's safe with us."

why are there no gifs of these two alone??? very weird

hope you enjoyed this!!!

have a great/day night!!!

COMISSIONS INFO

TAGGING:

For Deku: @jessicainhell @pasteldaze @duchessofhell85 @kalopsia-sonder @sunnymmoon

@repostingmyfavs @artist-in-training-wheels @goldenglow149 @hbk99450 @stranger00001

@delicatelycraftedbambi @rania200527 @kitzusune @aki-sazuki @stardustdreamersisi

@coolnekochan9961 @notreallyablogger @skeletonblush  @needylittleprince @ayn-yurbestie

@oliviathatgirl @lacey @hannas16 @xxj0rd13xx @animeprotanganist

@janeisnotonline

For Todoroki: @pasteldaze @duchessofhell85 @kalopsia-sonder @sunnymmoon  @repostingmyfavs

@artist-in-training-wheels @mod-kyoko  @rina-404 @stardustdreamersisi @goldenglow149

@hbk99450 @fierysplash213 @stranger00001 @delicatelycraftedbambi @rania200527

@kitzusune  @aki-sazuki @coolnekochan9961 @notreallyablogger @akirahyoshi 

@ayn-yurbestie @oliviathatgirl @lacey @hannas16 @xxj0rd13xx

@animeprotanganist @janeisnotonline @sukunaspillow

Want to know when I release another fic? Join the TAG LIST

I would offer my entire chocolate stash for a Viltrumite Mark ver of them bath blurb

I'll take it, chocolate and tiramisu is a diabolical pairing.

Thank you for rqing!! I added full mask mark because he's a cutie patootie♡ pt. 1 here !! Based off this

Includes: Viltrumite, Full Mask

♡ Threatening him with no more baths together if he doesn't bail out of a fight immediately pt. 2

Viltrum Invincible:

I don't need it. I don't need it... IIII NEEEEEED IIIIIIIT!!!!

At first, he's almost offended by the threat, you think he NEEDS to bathe with you every time? No, no he definitely doesn't need to feel your skin against his in the comfort of bubbles and warmth. Definitely not.

"Fine, be that way...! Bathe alone!" He grits out, but the frustration was clearly placed in the enemy he was facing. You can tell based on how he's starting to move more frantically.

Usually the silver-white uniform remains clean whenever he has to deal with unwelcome guests, but this time? He figured he could get messy at the mention of a bath.

And when he comes back, he's glaring at you like you took away his plate from him mid-meal. "I told you I could handle it." He stomps his way to you, blood squelching under pristine shoes and tugging you in a hug; he always did this after being apart for a while but this time felt... calculated.

Pulling away from you, you immediately complain about whatever grime got on your clothes, he doesn't seem annoyed

"It's just blood, it's fine." He picks you up while disregarding your complaints and tugs you closely, flying out and heading back to your place

Looking down at your filthy clothes makes him happy, you can see him try to fight off the smug grin. "We should bathe together to... 'save water', as you say." He recalled your many complaints about the water bill, he didn't understand fully but he's glad he could use it against you.

Full Mask Invincible:

One of the only variants who actually listen to you, but tries to bargain.

He almost chokes on his own spit the moment the words leave your lips, looking away from the opponent. "What?! Y-you can't just drop that on me now!! (Name)!" He's frantically trying to get you to respond. "I can do this, I swear! Just gimme 5 minutes—"

The complaints die down when you decide to double down and tell him to bail out at once. "But—" "NOW!" And he's flying back with his tail between his legs.

He's okay with putting his ego aside for you, so he didn't have a lot of trouble ditching the pest to come to you, ultimately getting swapped out.

You felt guilty, he tugs off the mask that swallowed his entire head, letting his hair breathe as he looked down shamefully. "... look- I'm really sorry, you know I'm not used to just... giving up." He looked guilty, like he's sad he upset you.

It's only when you kiss his cheek and reassure him that he finally relaxes. "I wasn't serious, I'll take as many baths with you as you want. I'm glad you backed out when you did."

He hugs you close and although his suit was clean, he'd always come home sweaty from all the physical work, and you always smelled so sweet it makes his mouth water.

"So... you don't mind if we go bathe together now?" He didn't hide how eager he was, restraining a smug smile that almost looked shy.

Hello! I would love it if you could possibly write a cute platonic story for Harwin after the birth of his only daughter (reader) and spending what time he can with her despite trying not to raise suspicion. I just see him as such a happy girl dad 😊 Thank you!

Father's Oath

- Summary: Harwin often sneaks into Rhaeyra's chambers risking everything to see you, his daughter.

- Platonic Pairing: daughter!reader/Harwin Strong (father)

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Harwin Strong makes his way through the halls of the Red Keep. He moves silently, his footfalls muffled on the cold floor, careful not to disturb any guards on their nightly patrol. The weight of his armor would be a dead giveaway, so tonight he leaves it behind, opting for something less conspicuous. He isn’t the Commander of the City Watch here; no, he’s just a man sneaking through the castle to see his daughter.

You.

He finds the chamber easily, a door he’s passed countless times now ingrained in his memory. Harwin pauses for a moment, listening for any sign of Rhaenyra stirring, but all is still inside. Slowly, he opens the door just wide enough to slip through. The room is warm, the air thick with the scent of lavender and dragonfire, but his focus is entirely on the small wooden cradle near the bed. You’re inside it, bundled in soft linens, asleep, for now.

Harwin smiles as he approaches, careful not to make any noise that could alert anyone else. He has just a few minutes, maybe an hour if he’s lucky, before he needs to return to the shadows. His hand is large, calloused, but gentle as it moves to lift you from the cradle. You stir only slightly, a tiny yawn escaping your lips before settling back into the warmth of his chest.

“Did you miss me, little one?” he whispers, his voice barely audible as he sits in the chair by the hearth, cradling you against him. “I swear, I miss you every moment I’m not here.”

You don’t answer, of course, just a baby, but he feels your small fingers wrap instinctively around his thumb. The sight of it makes his chest ache in the best way, a fierce protectiveness swelling inside him.

Harwin knows he shouldn’t be here, not at this hour and not this often. The rumors, the whispers about you and your brothers, are already too loud. If anyone sees him slipping into Rhaenyra’s chambers, it would only fuel the fire. But he can’t help it. He’s missed too much already—too many firsts stolen from him by duty and distance. So he takes these stolen moments whenever he can, fleeting as they may be.

“You’re growing fast,” he murmurs softly, rocking you gently. His heart is light despite the weight of everything outside this room. “Soon enough, I won’t be able to sneak in like this. You’ll be crawling all over the place, causing trouble, just like Jace and Luke.”

The thought brings a quiet chuckle from him, imagining the chaos you’ll bring to Dragonstone’s halls. With your father’s strength and your mother’s fire, you’ll be a force to reckon with.

He lets out a sigh, eyes tracing your delicate features. You have your mother’s nose, but there’s something of him in the way you grip his hand, a stubbornness he recognizes in himself. His thumb gently brushes over your tiny knuckles as he whispers, "If only you knew how much I love you already."

The quiet moment stretches on, Harwin savoring it as long as possible, knowing it won’t last forever. His eyes flick to the door occasionally, listening for any sign of Rhaenyra stirring or someone approaching. But the night remains still.

“You won’t remember this, but…” Harwin hesitates, feeling a little foolish talking to someone so small. But he’s always liked the sound of his own voice, especially when it’s just the two of you. “One day, when you’re older, I’ll tell you about these nights. How I used to sneak in just to hold you. I’ll tell you how you used to fall asleep on my chest like this, without a care in the world.”

Another pause. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room. Harwin leans back in the chair, closing his eyes for just a moment, breathing in the scent of you—milk, lavender, and something uniquely yours.

“I’ll also tell you about the trouble you’ll give me when you start walking,” he adds with a soft chuckle. “Your brothers are handfuls, but I have a feeling you’ll be my greatest challenge.”

As if in response, you make a small sound, a little murmur as you snuggle closer into his chest. Harwin smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. It’s moments like this that he wishes he could freeze in time, hold onto forever. But he knows better than anyone that time moves too quickly.

He glances toward the door again. He’ll have to leave soon. Too much time here raises suspicion. The thought makes his jaw tighten. He shouldn’t have to sneak around like this to see his own daughter. But the world is not kind to fathers like him—men who love children born of whispers and shadows.

But Harwin doesn’t care about any of that now. All that matters is you, here in his arms, safe and warm. He knows he’ll protect you, no matter the cost. He’ll fight for you, just as he fights for your brothers. And if anyone dares to threaten that, they’ll face the strength of a man who has everything to lose.

Leaning down, he whispers once more, his voice barely more than a breath. “I’ll always find my way back to you, little one. Always.”

And with that promise lingering in the air, Harwin reluctantly rises from the chair, carefully placing you back in your cradle. He adjusts the blankets around you, making sure you’re still warm, still safe. His hand lingers for just a moment longer before he steps away, the shadows calling him back to the world outside.

As he slips out the door, he takes one last look at you, already dreaming, unaware of the lengths he’s gone to just to hold you for a little while. Harwin smiles softly to himself before disappearing into the night, already counting the minutes until he can see you again.

I dare ask for how certain SWKs would react if they and their SO were getting hot and heavy, only to be interrupted by one of their cubs needing something. Whether its a baby needing to be fed/changed, a nightmare soothed, or a restless cub wondering why Baba and Mama are wrestling at this hour?

I feel like Netflix Monkey King would be the most pouty - since now he has to wait longer for smooches

Alright so, these are too long and detailed to be considered headcanons, but too short to be considered full drabbles so…just take em.

I did try to get BMW and NGNR Wukong in here but…I sadly just ran out of steam for it. I hope the ones I did do are satisfactory and that you enjoy!! Warning for spicy moments and some smut. I don’t know why but I was real horny when writing HiB’s…

Includes MKR, LMK, Netflix, and HiB!

MKR Wukong -

Your lips taste like peaches and coconut wine, and Wukong thinks he could become addicted very quickly, if he wasn't already.

The blanket under you feels soft, keeping the itchy spring grass from both you and the picnic spread out around you. You had both been swamped these past few days with meetings and gatherings and celebrations, the two of you had so little time to yourselves lately. The burdens of Buddhahood and being royalty, he supposed.

But that didn’t matter right now. 

You were under him, his hands trailing patterns up and down your skin, working your robes off at a slow, methodical pace. He was in no rush to unwrap you, his lips on yours as your bodies rocked together, heat building between you both. One of your legs was already hooked over his hips, his tail wrapping tight around your calf in response to keep it there. He could feel the heat of your core pressing against him, the smell of your arousal intoxicating.

Forget manfruits, forget immortal peaches and immortal elixir - you were his favorite thing to devour. 

He pulls away from your lips with a gasp, a shudder raking its way down his spine. You push your chest closer to his, your arms pulling him further down on top of you, desperate for more closeness. You can feel the length of his cock pressing against you, giving your aching cunt something to grind against despite your clothing.

“Wukong…” You whisper his name, and he responds by burying his face into your neck, the black markings of his eyes hidden against your skin. He could spend hours like this, sitting with you under him, at his mercy and whimpering his name in the sweetest way…

“Baba! Mama!” A tiny voice wails from the surrounding trees, and the two of you freeze right where you are. Wukong’s head shoots up, alert and glaring, recognizing the sound of your little one in distress.

“Baabaaaa-!” The second cry sounds even more distraught, and in an instant Wukong is lifting the two of you up, gripping your arm and dragging you to where the noise is coming from. You follow without complaint, your eyes wide and fearful at the sound of your firstborn calling all by themselves. Where is their twin!? Are they alone!? Wujing was supposed to be watching them with Bajie-!

You both burst into a clearing near the base of Water Curtain Cave, monkeys looking towards you where they form a circle. In the center of the circle Wujing kneels in the grass, trying his damn best to quiet one of your little ones. Bajie stands next to him, holding your second little one in his arms and gently shushing her.

It isn't working, your little one can see her twin bawling his tiny little eyes out, and it's stressing her in return. Tears are already gathering in the corners of her eyes as her brother bawls and bawls no matter what Wujing whispers to him. 

Fruitie is hovering over Wujing’s shoulder, looking almost as distressed as the babies themselves. 

“What happened?” Wukong demands, stalking forward, scowl on his face. Wujing gives you both a pleading look, as lost as a wandering spirit. 

“I-I said it was time for dinner-” The ogre whimpers, the fins of his ears pressing back against his skull in distress. “He-...he said he wanted to see you both, I told him you would be back for his bedtime and then-!” He shakes his head, bewildered as to why your little one would start crying over his words. 

Wukong steps forward, gesturing for Wujing to hand the screaming toddler over. Wujing does so, and Wukong pulls your son close to his chest, voice going soft. He turns away from his brothers, embarrassed that they get to see him like this, but not enough to leave your son in distress. The monkeys in the cleaning start to wander away, carrying on with their tasks as if nothing had happened. You give Wujing a reassuring smile, stepping towards Bajie and letting your daughter crawl into your arms. You can hear Wukong whispering behind you.

“Hey. Little warrior, why are you crying? What happened?” He coos, brow furrowed but no anger on his face. You step closer towards them both with your daughter, your family huddling together around your son. He chokes on his cries and blubbers, looking up at his baba with big, wet eyes. 

“B-b-babaaa…” He sniffles. Your daughter reaches for him with her tiny little hands, grabbing at the fur of his head and trying to hug him as best she can. Her little feet crawl over you so she can sit on both you and her baba’s arm and be closer to her twin. You can feel your heart shatter in your chest. 

“We're here, little ones. We're always here. Uncle Wujing was going to take you to eat your dinner…” You explain to them both, your own voice gentle. The twins sniffle and wipe at their chubby cheeks. Bajie steps up behind you, tapping your shoulder.

“What exactly happened? Why did they get so upset?” 

“They're still very new to the world. It's mostly separation anxiety at this age, babies like to be with their parents.” You say, keeping your voice low as recognition dawns on Bajie’s face.

“Ah…sorry guys…” He mumbles, ears lowering as he shares a glance with Wujing and Fruitie. The three of them had been so excited to try babysitting for the first time, getting to spend some quality time with their honorary niece and nephew. They also knew how much you both desperately craved some alone time. You wave them off, Wukong adjusting himself to better hold both your twins in his arms. Your son has calmed down significantly at this point, sucking his thumb as he watches you and his baba with intent focus. 

“It's all right boys. We can… pick up our picnic stuff later, let's get these two into a bath and some dinner.” You look to your husband, who nods and immediately starts stalking towards the waterfall, his tail gripping your waist and dragging you with him. You can hear Bajie speaking to Wujing as you walk, Fruitie also trying to reassure the ogre that he didn't do anything wrong. You smile at him as well, and he perks up by the time you get inside the cave. 

LMK Wukong -

“Hmmm…That feel good, sweet peach?” Wukong purrs above you, his hips rocking against yours in a way that has your breath shuddering and shivers racing down your spine. You clutch desperately at his shoulders, tugging the russet fur hard. He growls in response, teeth on display as he bucks harder into your welcoming heat.

“Y-yeah…s-sssoo g-good-” You slur, trying to spread your legs wider for your mate. He helps, gripping the backs of your thighs and pushing your legs up, moving from missionary to mating press in moments. His cock hits deeper, a spot that has you quivering and crying out in bliss. Your cunt spasms around him, greedily milking him.

“Fuck, that’s g-good…It’s been too long love. Waaaay too long.” He teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You want to giggle at his silly flirting, but a hard press of his thumb against your clit has you whimpering instead.

“P-pl-pleaese-” You start to beg, when the sound of a door slamming open echoes through your temple home.

“W-wait! Wait little guy, c’mon it’s time for a nap!” MK’s voice is right down the hall from your door. Wukong, ever the quick thinker, pushes himself off you and buries you under your blankets in the blink of an eye, your flushed expression hidden from view. Your pussy spasms at the sudden emptiness you feel, and you bite your bottom lip hard to keep from crying out in disappointment. Wukong has just enough time to wrap part of the blankets around his waist when your bedroom door is practically kicked down, your oldest son standing in all his toddler glory in the hallway. 

MK skids to a stop right behind him, looking panicked as he grabs the baby by the waist and lifts him high into the air.

“I am so sorry guys!” He cries, trying to avoid looking into your room. Your son giggles, his tail curling happily at the mischief he’s caused, tiny feet kicking in the air.

“It’s uh-” Wukong coughs into his fist to clear the heady rasp from his voice and you see MK wince in real time at hearing his mentor sound like that, “It’s fine bud. Is he being a handful? I can come and-”

“No! No! No coming! I don’t-! Ahhhh-!” MK cries, shaking his head vigorously. It takes a second for your husband’s word choice to sink in, but then you’re giggling loudly into your hands, still trying to stay hidden from view for MK’s sake. Wukong blushes hard next to you, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck as he gives an awkward laugh.

“Sorry, sorry, wrong thing to say. If you guys need help though-” He tries again, but MK sounds determined.

“No! I promised you guys a night to yourself and I’m not gonna back down now! No matter how destructive and clever my little bro is! Mei has been doing a good job keeping the youngest entertained thankfully. No laser eyes...yet…” He mumbles, shifting your son into a cradled position in his arms. He still refuses to look at either of you despite the blankets covering you from view.

“Th-thats good!” You squeak out, poking your head from the pile of fabric drowning you. “But if you-if you need anything we can take over-”

“Nope!” MK Interrupts you, turning on his heel. “Just close the door and go back to-uhhh, whatever you both were doing! We’re leaving cause it’s nap time, mister!” MK storms away, your son giggling in his arms. Wukong waits a full five seconds, watching the door like a hawk as if he expects the two of them to come rushing back to your room any second now. When no such thing happens, he flicks a hair towards the door to fix it, his attention turning back towards you.

“Now, where were we~?” He purrs, climbing back over you. You blush, reaching for him and pulling him closer to you. “Oh, I think I remember-”

A crash sounds outside your temple.

Wukong sighs and slumps against you, head buried in your neck.

“I think I’m gonna have to go check that one out.” He grumbles. You give him a sympathetic kiss on the crown of his head.

Netflix Wukong -

“I have missed you-” Black lips press against yours with a fever, Monkey’s breath coming hard and fast, “so much! Remind me to never agree to demon hunting trips with Nezha and Erlang again.”

You giggle, letting him move down to the column of your neck and press more kisses there, your fingers digging into the soft fur of his head. Your leg hikes up to circle around his skinny waist, the base of his tail supporting your leg so it doesn’t fall, his hands too busy mapping out the curves of your waist.

“W-will-...do-” You pant. Monkey has been gone from your home for weeks at this point, and when he came home it was to a massive feast with all the monkeys of Mount Huaguo. One celebrating his work with the Celestials he’d formed a friendship with, and a chance for your family to spend time together again. Your little ones had been ecstatic to have their baba back home, screaming and hooting as they climbed him like a jungle tree and insisted on showing him every little accomplishment they’d made while he was away.

Monkey, always happy to bask in attention - especially if it was from you or your toddlers - had spent the whole afternoon with you all. He had laughed at every joke your toddlers tried to tell, had cooed over every drawing they showed him, had even given them joy rides on Stick despite the exhaustion you could see under his smile.

After a rambunctious dinner filled with stories of your mate’s heroic exploits, the little ones had been too tired to keep up. Your youngest had even started dozing off with her spoon in her mouth, her favorite soup not enough to keep her awake any longer. You had put them to bed together, Stick vibrating a rainbow of colors at seeing their adorable sleeping faces. With a fond smile Monkey had asked if Stick wanted to sleep in their room for the night, and the green light show he gave sounded like a resounding ‘yes!’ to you. You had your suspicions it was also the rod’s way of giving you two some alone time, for which you were grateful.

The second you had closed the door to your bedroom Monkey was on you, his warm hands pulling you close as he kissed you till your lungs burned for air.

“You looked so beautiful when I got back-...Couldn’t believe you were here waiting for me-!” He whispered against your throat, his teeth grazing your skin.

“O-oh…of c-course-! Love you, m-my Monkey…” You praised, pressing kisses against every part of his head you could reach. Heat was already pooling low in your belly, your skin sensitive to every touch after weeks of sleeping alone. Monkey seemed to feel the same, his breath coming in heavy pants at just the feeling of your fingers digging into his cherry fur. He rewarded your sweet words with a firm bite to your neck, sharp canines digging into your muscle in a way that had you gasping for air and bucking against him.

“M-Monkey-!” You moaned, pressing your aching core against his hips. He gave a heady groan against your skin, the vibrations tingling through your muscle at the sound. You could see his eyes roll back in bliss as his tongue lapped at the abused flesh. You wanted him to do it again, to bite you more, everywhere, all along your body-

“M-mama-?” A tiny voice called from outside your bedroom door.

Both you and your mate freeze in place, sharing a glance before turning to look at the door.

“Mama? Wh-why is the door c-closed-?” Your daughter, sounding distraught and like she was about to cry, was speaking. Parenting instincts overriding your horny thoughts, you and your mate separate and rush towards the door. Monkey beats you to it, throwing it open and revealing the teary eyes of your tiny toddler holding her favorite toy and blankie.

Without a word more, she rushes forward and grips your leg and Monkey’s, burying her face against you and sniffling. You coo at her, kneeling down and wrapping her in your arms. The heat you felt earlier is fading away, and while you feel disappointed, your little one is more important. Monkey seems to have the same idea, pulling you both into his arms and nuzzling your little one.

“Hey, what's wrong tough girl? Why the sad eyes?” He brings a finger up to wipe her cheeks, his own green eyes bright with concern.

“...Is…Is Baba gonna leave again-?” She chokes on a sob, and your heart shatters at the noise.

“Oh, sweet one, it’s okay, shhhh, it’s okay…” You and your mate make your way to the bed, sitting on the edge together and settling your little one on your lap. 

“Baba…” You pause, sighing as you thought of the best way to explain things to her. “Baba won’t be leaving again for a while, sweet one. And when he does go, it won’t be for nearly as long.” You start. Your daughter looks lost at your words, glancing between you both with her tiny brow furrowed.

“Yeah, you don’t have to worry tough girl, I’m sticking around for a long while after this last trip. I missed all of you too much to leave for that long again!” Monkey said. Your daughter looked less distraught, but her eyes keep staring intently at you. You raised an eyebrow at her.

With wobbly legs she stood up on your lap, her tiny hands coming to your collar bones and peeling back the folds of your robes.

“Mama got ouchie?” She asked.

Your face flushed immediately, Monkey choking on a laugh and having to turn away from you both to hide it. His shoulders shook with the force of his barely repressed snickering. You tried in vain to cover your neck back up, pulling her tiny hands away from your collar bones.

“O-oh, don’t worry about that sweet one! It’s nothing!” You tried to laugh it off, your daughter still staring at you with wide, confused eyes. After a moment, she shrugged, nuzzling back into your arms with a chirp.

“I wanna sleep with Mama and Baba…” She mumbled against your tummy. Monkey, finally in control of himself, opened his mouth, looking torn. You gave him a helpless shrug.

“R-...right. No problem, little one. Mama and Baba are here.” He relented. He placed a hand on her head, carding his fingers through her soft fur.

HiB Wukong -

Wukong is laying back on your marriage bed, pillows surrounding you both as you grind your hips into his. The fur of his waist is tickling the inside of your thighs and your swollen clit with every grind. The light from a few flickering candles highlights every curve and muscle of your body, and he can't tear his eyes away.

Your head is thrown back in bliss, your tits right in front of his face, bouncing and full. His hands squeeze and play with your soft skin as they move up from your hips to your chest, his fingers immediately pinching and pulling the sensitive nubs to make you cry out his name. You look down at him, a goddess on her chosen throne, and he's never been more thankful to the universe than when he gets to watch you like this…

The door to your bedroom creaks open with a deafening squeal, and you immediately throw yourself down on top of Wukong, chest to chest with your legs still straddling his hips. He reacts by grabbing your blanket and throwing it over your back, covering your still joined bodies from view.

Liuer pokes his tiny head in through the crack, looking scared and apologetic. Wukong shares a look with you, and you call out to him over your shoulder. 

“What's wrong little one? Is everything okay?” You sound gentle, and Wukong is impressed by how normal your voice sounds, if a little breathy. He doesn't trust his own voice yet. 

“I…I had a nightmare. About…” The boy wipes at his eyes and sniffles. Even without saying it out loud, you both know what he's thinking about. Wukong feels a surge of protective anger rush through him at the memory of stones and cliff edges, and it mixes with the lingering disappointment that he knows the two of you won't be continuing your fun.

“Hey, no problem kid. Let me get my robe on and we'll get a little midnight treat, yeah?” Wukong clears his throat, hoping his rasp isn't noticeable. 

“Uhm, maybe I should do that, love?” 

“Why? I can handle it, you rest.” He tries. You've been exhausted by the newest little one in your family, the baby monkey only just recently sleeping all the way through the night instead of asking for milk every few hours. Wukong was surprised you had the energy to even try having sex tonight. He didn't want you to push yourself. 

“No, I really think it would be best for me to go.” You give a pointed look down at your hips, and he feels the gummy walls of your pussy squeeze him. He chokes on a grunt, hand fisting the blanket to keep himself from reacting.

“A-alright. Fine.” He hisses. You turn back to Liuer and smile at him in the near darkness of your room. 

“I’ll be right there sweet one, can you close the door for a moment so I can get my night robe on?” Liuer nods his head, shutting the door with a quiet ‘click’. The two of you heave relieved sighs.

“Your son has perfect timing. Just like you.” You tease him, and Wukong snaps his teeth at you in a playful bite.

“Watch your mouth, peaches. Remember you’re talking to a king.” You snort at his words, lifting yourself up from his arms. You lift your hips as well, hissing and biting your bottom lip as his cock finally slips free of your swollen cunt with a lewd ‘schlick’ that has him shuddering. You moan, your hips giving a weak thrust at the sudden, unwanted, emptiness you feel.

“Damn it all…” Wukong covers his face with his hands and rubs vigorously, trying to hold himself back from grabbing you and finishing what you had both started. You move away quickly, knowing his thought process, and for that he’s thankful. As you slip your arms into your night robe, one embroidered with emerald leaves, mountains, and clouds, you speak.

“Can you tidy up the bed while I get him a snack? He was so upset, I don’t think he’ll want to go back to his own bed tonight.” Wukong gives you a thumbs up, his other hand still covering his face as he tries to get rid of the aching in his cock through sheer force of will.

You slip through the door, and he can hear your voice echoing quietly down the hall as you walk with your son. He sits up, sighing to himself as he gets to work cleaning your shared mess as best he can.

Hear me out, Omnimark told Atom Eve “I've always hated you” and my mind keeps thinking that the reader of the Omnimark universe rejected it because she knew Eve's feelings for the Mark of that universe, if she had confessed to the reader she would probably have rejected it with “I don't want to get between you and Eve” or “I don't want to hurt Eve's feelings, she's my friend and I'm sure that if you gave her a chance you won't regret it!” And from there, Omnimark developed hatred towards Eve by ruining his girl's head and preventing them from being together 😭😭

GOOOODDDDDDD. HERES AN OVERLY EXCITED BLURB

It was like a knee jerk reaction, seeing her of all people invoked a deep-loathing he thought he satiated ages ago, but no. Breaking her leg wasn't enough, she needed to die here as well.

"I've always hated you." It felt so good to admit it out loud, to the rubble, to the crushed asphalt, to whoever was around, he remembered it like it was yesterday.

"I really like you, Mark." A spark of hope. "I really do... but... don't you think you deserve someone who can keep up with you?" Your nervous expression made him melt. Wait. What?

"... keep up with me..?" He echoed, blinking as if that would clear up the confusion. "(Name), I don't understand."

His hand held yours tightly. You squeezed it gently. "I'm no hero, I'm not even affiliated with the GDA—"

"I don't care about that!" He quickly shot back, you didn't let up. "But you should! Mark, you need someone who... won't be a burden on you, someone strong like you.. like, I dunno... Eve..?"

... Eve? What the hell did Eve have to do with this? You couldn't hold back a small smile as you came closer. "Between you and me, I really think she likes you... so you should go for it!" Your tone was so sweet, so happy to give him away to someone he didn't want.

"(Name), please-"

"I know it's weird, but please, Mark. Give her a chance. She's my friend and doing this with you..." Your hand loosened. He could feel you slipping away. "It doesn't feel right, you know how close we are! Her parents know me and everything!"

Always throwing away your happiness for others, his hand stood there in the air as you parted from him. "Trust me, it's better this way! For you two. And for me!"

'You two'. Him and Eve. Like it was pre-established in your head, like there was no chance to argue or change anything. He wasted no time after you left.

That heartbreak earned him a bloodbath, he was always calm and collected, never put his emotions before his job but he earned it, first was Eve, naturally, he was sure you'd be sad over your 'friend's passing but what kind of friend makes you give up happiness for them. Blinded rage, he didn't care if you claimed that you denied him of your own accord.

He wanted you. You. You. No one else.

Whatever members of whatever pathetic heroes team remained were next, as if first blood wasn't enough he went on a red-hazed rampage, he needed to let out the full extent of his anger before he'd come to see you.

And when he did, he looked like a nightmare, breaking into your home, blood that you knew wasn't his dripping on your floors as he approached you. "I confessed to you." He pants, fists clenched. "I laid my heart out for you." He leaned down to your trembling form, his hand outstretched. "I want your answer, not Eve's, not one else's." The blood soaked your cheek, labelling you an accomplice.

"... Eve.. where..." Oh, poor thing. You were so scared you couldn't get the words out, he shushed you and hugged you close, the metallic stench of blood filled your nostrils. "It's ok, no one will bother us, you can answer me honestly now."

"Mark would let you borrow his hoodie🥰" wrong. He'd steal yours and wear it (dgaf about the size) and sniff it and lay on his bed yearning like a whore.

DATING CHOSO ! SMAU VER.

࣪𖤐 hai im obsessed w smaus rn so this is what yall are getting alSO SORRY IF THIS IS OOC i cant tell tbh 🤒

࣪𖤐 warnings: reader wears eyeliner but it’s still gn! reader + mentions of food and umm.. jealousy (?) is that a warning idk

EVERY UNIVERSE — viltrumite! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: character death, death in childbirth, grief, delusion, kidnapping, obsession, forced role play, forced marriage, talks of having children, oral sex (fem receiving), sexual assault

MINORS DNI

Mark had fought wars. Conquered planets. Crushed civilizations beneath his fists.

But none of that had ever made his heart pound like this.

He knelt beside the bed, his fingers tightly interlocked with hers as she screamed through another contraction. His free hand pushed damp hair from her forehead, his chest aching at the sight of her tears, the strain in her face.

“You’re doing amazing,” he whispered, his voice barely steady. “Just a little more, okay?”

She didn’t answer, only squeezed his hand tighter. Hard enough that, if he were human, she might have broken something. But he wasn’t. And he wished more than anything that he could take her pain, bear it for her.

Another scream—then the sound of a baby’s first cry split the air.

Mark’s breath hitched.

The doctors moved quickly, cleaning the infant, wrapping him in soft cloth before carefully placing him in Mark’s arms. His son. His beautiful son.

His heart swelled, his chest so full he thought it might burst. He turned immediately, eager to share this moment with her. But then he saw her. Too still. Too pale. His smile faded. “Y/N?”

She blinked slowly, exhaustion weighing heavy on her. But then, she gave him the smallest, softest smile. “Remember,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, “I’ll love you in every universe.”

The monitors shrieked.

“Her heart rate’s dropping!”

“We’re losing her!”

“No—no, no, no—” Mark clutched her hand tighter, desperate, pleading. “Stay with me. Stay with me, please.”

Her fingers, so warm, so full of life just moments ago, slowly went limp. Mark watched helplessly as the light faded from her eyes. As her breath hitched, then stopped. A sound tore from his throat. A broken, wounded thing.

The doctors moved around him, shouting, working. But he already knew. She was gone. His love. His heart. His one weakness. Gone. The baby in his arms whimpered softly, unaware.

Mark barely breathed as he pressed his forehead to hers, his grip on her hand unrelenting, as if he could keep her here by sheer will alone. He had conquered galaxies. But he couldn’t save her. And something inside him shattered.

The nights were always the hardest. Mark sat in the dimly lit nursery, cradling his son against his chest. The baby had finally fallen asleep, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of Mark’s shirt, his breath warm and steady.

Mark exhaled, pressing a soft kiss to his son’s forehead. “You look like her,” he whispered.

It had been months. Months of waking up to an empty bed. Months of staring at the space beside him, hoping—praying—that maybe it had all been a nightmare. That she’d be there, smiling at him, telling him he was just being dramatic. But she wasn’t. She never would be. A knock at the window broke his thoughts.

Mark turned, already knowing who it was before he even saw him. Nolan. His father hovered just outside, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Mark sighed, carefully laying his son in his crib before stepping onto the balcony.

The cold night air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it. Nolan wasted no time. “You can’t keep doing this.” Mark stiffened. “Doing what?”

“Wasting away here,” his father said, gesturing toward the nursery. “I know you’re grieving. But you’re still Viltrumite. You have responsibilities.” Mark’s jaw clenched. “My responsibility is to my son.”

“Your responsibility is to your empire,” Nolan corrected. “Earth is filled with beautiful women, Mark. You could find someone new. Move on.”

Move on?

Mark’s hands curled into fists, his rage simmering beneath the surface. His father’s words shouldn’t have surprised him, but they did. “There is no moving on,” Mark said coldly.

Nolan shook his head, sighing like he was dealing with a stubborn child. “One of your duties is to repopulate the Viltrum Empire. You know that.” Mark’s stomach turned.

His father made it sound so… mechanical. Like love didn’t matter. Like she didn’t matter. Mark took a step forward, voice dangerously low. “Get out.” Nolan studied him for a long moment before nodding. “You can’t run from your duty forever.”

And with that, he was gone. Mark stood there for a long time, staring into the empty sky before finally going back inside.

His son stirred slightly as Mark sat beside the crib, brushing soft curls from his tiny face. Mark exhaled shakily, leaning down to press a kiss to his son’s forehead.

“I would never replace your mother,” he whispered. “She was one of a kind.” His voice broke on the last word, but he didn’t care. Because it was the truth.

The blood wouldn’t wash off. Mark stood in the ruins of another battlefield, his breathing ragged, his hands trembling at his sides. The bodies of fallen rebels littered the ground, their broken forms barely recognizable.

They had fought back. Resisted his rule. They were gone now. It was becoming easier.

The rage came quicker, burned hotter. The grief never left—it only morphed into something sharper, something ruthless. A blade he wielded without hesitation.

He used to be better than this. But she had made him better. And now she was gone.

“Sir?” A Viltrumite soldier approached cautiously, as if sensing the storm beneath his skin. “The planet is secure.”

Mark didn’t answer at first. He flexed his fingers, still slick with blood, before finally nodding. “Good.” That was it. No mercy. No remorse. Just another victory. Another hollow, meaningless victory.

⸻

He barely slept. When he did, it was worse.

The nightmares were relentless. He saw her face—smiling, laughing, whispering his name—only to watch it twist in pain, her body growing cold in his arms again and again.

Mark would wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, reaching for her—only to find the bed empty.

Always empty. His son was the only thing keeping him tethered.

The boy was growing fast, his mother’s eyes staring up at him with innocent curiosity. But Mark could see it, the way the nannies and caretakers whispered, the way the guards stiffened when he passed.

They were afraid. Of him. And maybe they should be. He wasn’t the same man anymore. He was a weapon with nothing left to lose. And without her, he was slipping. Falling. And soon, he knew, there wouldn’t be anything left to save.

Mark sat alone in his war room, staring at the holographic projections of his conquered territories. Planets bent to his will. Armies at his command. An empire expanding without resistance.

And yet, none of it mattered. It was all meaningless. His fingers tapped against the table, his mind drifting, drowning in memories he couldn’t escape—until a voice interrupted.

“Well, well. You look even worse than I expected.”

Mark’s eyes snapped up. Angstrom Levy stood before him, his usual smug expression in place. The air around him crackled with residual energy from whatever dimension he had just stepped through.

Mark’s body tensed immediately. “You have five seconds to tell me why you’re here before I rip your head off.” Angstrom merely chuckled, unbothered. “I wouldn’t be so hasty. I have something you want.”

Mark’s glare darkened. “There’s nothing you could offer me.”

Angstrom’s smile widened. “Oh, I think there is.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What if I told you… you could have her back?”

Mark’s breath caught. His heart—cold and empty for so long—lurched violently in his chest.

Angstrom’s grin grew at his reaction. “There’s a universe out there where she’s alive. Whole. Untouched by tragedy. You could see her again, hold her again.”

Mark’s jaw clenched. “…What’s the catch?”

Angstrom tilted his head, feigning innocence. “That universe—it’s a problem for me. I need it gone. And you… well, you’ve never had an issue destroying things, have you?”

Mark didn’t hesitate. “I’ll do it.” The words left him almost too fast, his desperation barely contained. Angstrom chuckled. “No second thoughts? No moral dilemma?”

Mark’s hands curled into fists. “I don’t care what happens to that universe. I don’t care about anything except her.”

Angstrom nodded approvingly. “Then we have a deal.” He reached out a hand, and without hesitation, Mark took it. A deal with the devil. A promise of salvation. And the only thing standing between him and his wife—was the destruction of an entire world.

Mark stood over his son’s crib, watching as the small child blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. For a moment, just a moment, the weight of what he was about to do pressed against his chest. He reached down, brushing soft curls from the boy’s forehead, memorizing every detail—his tiny hands, his mother’s nose, the way he reached for his father without hesitation.

Innocent. Oblivious. Mark exhaled sharply. He couldn’t waver now. “I’ll be back,” he whispered, voice firm. “And I’ll bring your mother with me.”

The child let out a small babble, reaching up. Mark allowed himself a single moment of hesitation before pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead.

Then he stepped back, handing him off to the waiting caretaker. The woman held the child close, but her eyes were nervous, wary. She should be.

Mark turned without another word, his cape billowing behind him as he left the nursery. Angstrom was waiting, a smug expression on his face. “Touching.”

Mark didn’t acknowledge the comment. He didn’t care what Angstrom thought. All that mattered was the portal crackling before him, swirling with unstable energy. A gateway to another world.

A world where she was alive. Without hesitation, without fear, Mark flew forward. And as the portal swallowed him whole, only one thought consumed him. Finding her.

Scorched Earth

The sky burned.

Buildings crumbled beneath his fists, entire cities reduced to nothing but dust and ruin. Screams echoed through the streets, but Mark barely heard them.

He moved like a force of nature—unstoppable, unrelenting. This world didn’t matter. These people didn’t matter. Only she did.

Somewhere in this universe, she was alive, breathing, unaware that he was tearing apart her world just to reach her.

Angstrom had delivered on his promise. The coordinates, the exact places where she might be. But Mark wasn’t going to waste time searching quietly.

He would burn this entire planet to the ground if it meant finding her faster.

A hero—a version of someone he might have once called an ally—flew at him, fists glowing with energy. Mark caught his arm mid-strike, crushing bone with barely any effort before throwing the man through a collapsing skyscraper.

A woman in a high-tech suit fired at him, shouting something about surrender.

Mark punched clean through her chest, barely sparing her a glance as her body hit the ground. None of it mattered. None of them mattered.

He flew through the smoke-choked air, eyes scanning the ruins below. The scent of fire and blood filled his lungs.

Then—he saw her. Or rather, a version of her. Standing in the middle of a shattered street, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. Mark’s heart pounded.

He landed hard enough to crack the pavement, stepping forward, fists still bloodied, eyes wild. Her lips parted, confusion flickering across her face. “…Mark?”

A broken breath left him. It was her. It was really her. For the first time in years, his heart felt like it was beating again.

His muscles loosened, his breath shaky as he took another step forward, reaching out— But she took a step back. And the look in her eyes wasn’t love. It was fear. Mark’s fingers twitched. His mind screamed at him that it didn’t matter, that she would understand, that she would see soon enough that he was doing this for her.

A tremor ran through the ground as another explosion shook the city. Smoke curled in the air between them. Mark clenched his jaw.

No matter what she thought now—no matter how much she resisted—he had already decided. He had come too far. She wasn’t going to slip away from him again. She took another step back.

Mark’s stomach twisted. He could hear her heartbeat, the sharp, uneven rhythm of it. Not with love, not with relief— With fear. “No,” he said, almost pleading. He took a step forward, closing the space she was so desperately trying to create between them. “It’s me.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Her eyes darted to the bodies, the fire, the shattered remains of her city.

He followed her gaze, and for the first time, he saw what she saw. Not a lover. Not a husband. A monster. Mark swallowed hard. “I did this for you.” She flinched.

His hands clenched into fists. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to run to him, throw her arms around him, tell him she’d been waiting. That she’d missed him as much as he missed her.

Instead, she was trembling.

“Stay away from me,” she whispered.

Mark froze.

She didn’t mean that. She couldn’t.

Not her.

Not after everything he had done—everything he sacrificed—just to see her again.

The ground trembled as another explosion rocked the city. Her gaze flickered to the destruction, then back to him. And she ran. Mark stood there for half a second, stunned, before instinct kicked in. It didn’t matter. She could run. He was faster.

Before she could take three steps, he was on her, an iron grip closing around her wrist. He barely registered her gasp of fear as he spun her toward him, crushing her against his chest.

“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, his entire body trembling.

“I lost you once,” he murmured. “I’m not losing you again.”

She shoved at his chest, panic lacing her every movement. “You’re not my Mark—”

His grip tightened.

“This universe tried to take you from me,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “I won’t let it.”

She whimpered, twisting in his grasp, her struggles growing weaker against his impossible strength.

He pressed his lips to her temple. “No matter what happens,” he whispered, “you’re coming home with me.”

She was so still in his arms.

Mark barely heard the others as he landed in front of the house—Debbie’s house. Or at least, the version that existed in this universe. His mother wasn’t here, not really. None of these people mattered.

But she did.

Her unconscious body was warm against his chest, her face relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen in years. He held her just a little closer.

The other Marks were already gathered, watching him with varying expressions. Some amused, some indifferent.

“Why the hell did you bring her?” One of them, sporting a yellow and black suit, frowned. Mark didn’t even look up. “She was part of my deal.”

Mohawk! Mark scoffed, smirking. “Look at this guy—so pussy whipped he traveled across dimensions!”

A few of them chuckled, but he didn’t react. Viltrumite Mark growing annoyed with the Mohawk variant, spoke. “Where is Angstrom?”

The others shrugged, murmuring amongst themselves. Then, as if on cue, a green portal cracked open before them.

Viltrumite! Mark barely paid attention to the conversation that followed. He knew the drill—Angstrom would send them all home, back to their respective worlds, back to the wars and chaos and bloodshed that defined them.

But for once, Mark wasn’t thinking about any of that. His attention remained on the woman in his arms, his fingers absently brushing against her back. He’d spent so long fighting, so long clawing his way through blood and ash, just for this moment.

For her.

The portals to their dimensions flickered to life. The others began stepping through, disappearing one by one.

Mark adjusted his grip on her, cradling her closer as he moved toward his own portal.

And then—he was home. His warships still filled the sky. His empire still stood, unshaken. The weight of responsibility loomed overhead, but none of it felt as heavy anymore. Not now. Not with her back in his arms.

He gazed down at her peaceful face, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “Welcome home, my beloved,” he whispered.

She stirred in his arms. Mark felt it instantly—the faint movement, the shift in her breathing. His grip on her tightened instinctively. She was waking up. Good. He wanted her to see.

Mark flew straight to the palace, the grand structure carved into the remains of a conquered world. It loomed over the city, a symbol of power and absolute rule. His soldiers bowed as he passed, their gazes flickering to the unconscious woman in his arms, but none dared to question him.

Inside, the halls were cold and vast, built for a king, not a man. The walls were adorned with war banners, artifacts of his victories. He had everything—an empire, an army, a legacy that stretched across the stars.

And now, he had her.

He entered his private chambers, stepping past the balcony that overlooked the city. With careful hands, he laid her down on the large, ornate bed, adjusting her so she rested comfortably against the soft fabric.

Mark sat beside her, watching, waiting. A soft sound escaped her lips. Then, slowly, her eyelashes fluttered, and her breathing hitched. She was awake.

Her eyes met his, and for a brief second, there was nothing but confusion—until it all came rushing back. The invasion. The destruction. Him. Her body tensed, her breathing sharp and uneven. Mark reached out, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She flinched. His expression darkened. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured.

She shoved at his chest, scrambling backward. “What did you do?” Her voice trembled, her gaze darting around the unfamiliar room, realization sinking in. “Where am I?” Mark caught her wrist before she could move any further. He pulled her close, forcing her to face him.

“You’re home,” he said simply.

Her breath hitched. “No—no, this isn’t—” Mark shushed her, pressing his forehead against hers. “I know it’s overwhelming,” he whispered. “But you’ll see. This is where you belong.”

She trembled in his grasp. “You killed all those people—”

“I had to.” His voice was firm, resolute. “I did it for you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but Mark only held her closer, his thumb tracing gentle circles against her wrist. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he murmured. He wouldn’t let her go. Not this time.

Mark sat on the throne, fingers drumming idly against the armrest, his gaze locked on her.

She sat on the edge of the massive bed, stiff and silent, her hands gripping the sheets as if they were the only thing grounding her. She hadn’t spoken since he’d told her she was home. She was still processing. That was fine. She had time.

The heavy doors creaked open. Mark didn’t look away from her as his father stepped into the room, his presence as commanding as ever. Nolan was one of the few people who could enter without permission, but even he hesitated at the sight before him.

Mark finally turned, watching as his father’s eyes landed on her. Nolan stilled. His brows furrowed. He took a slow step forward, then another, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t know how you managed to do that…” Nolan muttered, eyes flickering between Mark and the woman sitting frozen on the bed. Then, to Mark’s satisfaction, his father’s lips curled into something almost approving. “…But good job, son.”

Mark’s chest swelled at the praise. Nolan looked at her again, studying her face—the same face that belonged to a woman who had died years ago. He exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

“Interesting.” His gaze turned to Mark. “And she remembers you?”

“She will,” Mark said simply. She let out a shaky breath, looking between the two Viltrumites towering over her. “You—you can’t just keep me here—”

Nolan huffed a quiet laugh. “She’s feisty.” Mark smirked. “She was always like that.”

Nolan clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “She’ll learn. Just like the rest.” Mark nodded. He already knew that. She would understand. In time, she’d accept her place. She had to.

She shivered under his touch. Mark’s hands lingered, tracing the curves of her waist as he helped her adjust the fabric of the Viltrumite clothing. The white and gray fit her perfectly, the gold accents catching the dim light of the room. It was a queen’s attire—his queen. He slid his palms over her arms, up to her shoulders, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against the curve of her neck.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin.

She tensed but didn’t pull away. He took that as progress. His fingers interlaced with hers, his grip firm yet careful. “Come,” he said, leading her toward the door. “It’s time you met your son.” She halted mid-step.

Mark turned, watching the shock ripple across her face. Her son. A sharp breath left her lips. “You’re lying.” Mark’s expression softened—just slightly. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She stared at him, searching for deception, for some cruel trick. But there was none. Slowly, cautiously, she allowed him to lead her forward.

As they walked through the towering halls of the palace, her hand still in his, she realized there was no escaping this. No waking up from whatever nightmare she had been pulled into. Because this wasn’t a nightmare to him. To Mark—this was a dream fulfilled.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The nursery was warm, quiet, bathed in soft golden light. And there—nestled in the crib—was him. Her baby boy.

She froze in the doorway, unable to move, unable to breathe. He was so small, so perfect. He had her nose, her eyes, tiny fingers curling in excitement as he saw her. Then—he babbled, reaching out. Her legs felt weak.

“He recognizes you,” Mark murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand found her waist, warm and possessive, gently pushing her forward. “His mother.” Tears welled in her eyes.

She wanted to run to him, to scoop him up, to hold him close and never let go. But fear held her in place. This wasn’t her world. Wasn’t her baby. And yet—when he let out a tiny whimper, his arms still reaching—her body moved before her mind could stop it.

She stepped forward, hesitantly, and carefully lifted him into her arms. He cooed, tiny hands grabbing at her clothes, his warmth pressing against her chest.

A sob threatened to escape her lips. Mark’s arms wrapped around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder as he watched the scene unfold. “See?” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “This is where you belong.”

Days passed in a blur. She barely spoke. Barely slept.

Her son—Mark’s son—never left her arms for long. Every time she tried to distance herself, the child would fuss and cry, his tiny hands gripping onto her as if he knew, deep down, that she wasn’t supposed to leave. And Mark… Mark was always there. Watching. Guiding. Touching.

His hands were never far, resting on her back when she carried their son through the halls, brushing against her waist when he led her to meals, tilting her chin up when he demanded her attention.

He never forced her, never raised his voice. But his presence was suffocating. And yet—she couldn’t bring herself to fight him. Not when he looked at her like that. Like she was his entire world.

Not when their son—her son—clung to her, trusting, innocent, unaware of the war raging in her heart.

The palace was beautiful, grand and open, yet it felt like a cage. She could roam wherever she wanted, but there were always eyes on her. Viltrumite soldiers nodded as she passed, but there was no mistaking their purpose. They were guards. Watchers.

Mark didn’t treat her like a prisoner. But she was one. And the worst part? The longer she stayed, the more the thought of leaving terrified her.

Dinner was quiet. It always was.

Mark sat across from her at the long, polished table, their son nestled in her lap, babbling happily as he played with a small golden trinket. She barely touched her food, only picking at it while Mark ate with a steady, satisfied ease.

Then, casually—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he said it. “We should have more children.” Her hands froze. More? Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as she processed his words.

She hadn’t even had one child—not really. Not in this life. This wasn’t her son, not the way Mark believed. And yet, he spoke as if she had been his wife all along, as if nothing had changed.

Like she hadn’t changed. She swallowed hard, her fingers curling around the fabric of her dress. His wife’s dress. The realization hit her like a blow. The way he dressed her, in fine silks and intricate embroidery—his wife’s clothes. The way he touched her, lingering, reverent—as if she had always been his.

The way he guided her, suggested how she should wear her hair, what jewelry suited her best—the way his wife had worn it. He was trying to replace her. No—not replace. To bring her back. Her lips parted, her throat dry. Mark watched her expectantly, his gaze warm, unwavering.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, affectionate, like they were having an ordinary conversation between husband and wife. “What do you think?” She forced herself to breathe.

Her son—not hers, not really—giggled in her lap, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening in the air. Her pulse pounded in her ears. What did she think? She thought she was drowning. She couldn’t answer.

Her throat tightened as she stared at him, at the quiet expectation in his eyes. He meant it. Every word. More children. A future. A life she had never lived, but one he had already decided belonged to her.

Her fingers trembled against the fabric of her dress. Mark’s hand reached across the table, covering hers, grounding, steady.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Is something wrong?” Everything. Everything was wrong. But she couldn’t say that.

Not when his grip was so gentle, yet so firm. Not when his thumb traced slow circles against her skin, comforting, possessive. Not when their—his—son looked up at her with bright, adoring eyes, completely unaware of the storm raging inside her.

She swallowed hard. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

Mark chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “I know it’s a lot to consider.” His gaze softened, his fingers still trailing against hers. “But we’ve lost enough time already.”

Her stomach twisted. Lost time. To him, she had always been his wife. His love. The mother of his child.

And now, he wanted more. More memories that weren’t hers. More children she had never carried. More years stolen from a life she had never lived. Her silence stretched too long. Mark’s smile faltered, just slightly. His fingers tightened, just barely.

“…Y/N?” His voice was still soft, but there was something else now. A quiet warning. She forced herself to meet his gaze. Lying to him would be dangerous. But the truth—her truth—wasn’t an option.

So she did the only thing she could. She nodded. Mark exhaled, his smile returning in full force, his grip on her hand loosening just enough to feel like reassurance.

“I knew you’d understand,” he murmured. She forced herself to smile back. And inside, she screamed.

She lay in bed, stiff as a board, her body refusing to relax even as Mark’s arms encircled her.

The weight of his presence was suffocating, his warmth pressing against her side. She kept her breathing steady, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to will herself into some form of calm.

But Mark noticed. Of course, he did.

He shifted, rolling on top of her in one fluid motion. The air in her lungs stilled.

His bare chest pressed against her, his warmth inescapable. He was only wearing his pants, his body solid and strong, caging her in beneath him.

His fingers traced the line of her jaw, his touch feather-light, almost tender.

“I was broken without you,” he murmured.

She sucked in a breath as his lips brushed against her neck, slow and lingering, his hot breath fanning over her skin.

“I’m so glad to have you back.” His voice was full of raw emotion, of something aching.She squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t right.

She wasn’t who he thought she was. But he believed it. With every touch, every kiss, every word, he believed it. And if she told him the truth— Would he even listen?

She shouldn’t feel this way. Her body shouldn’t be trembling beneath his touch, her breath shouldn’t be coming out in soft, uneven gasps. She shouldn’t want this.

Mark’s hands roamed her skin with slow, deliberate purpose, his lips dragging over her neck, her collarbone, lower. Every touch was practiced, familiar, like he had done this a thousand times before. Because he had. Just—not with her. Not really. But her body didn’t know the difference. Her body responded to him as if it did.

His fingers found the sensitive spots she didn’t even realize she had, his touch coaxing heat from her skin, his mouth whispering promises against her throat—mine, always mine, never leaving me again.

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to hold back the traitorous sounds building in her chest. She hated him. She hated him.

He was a monster. He stole her from her life, tore her from her world, forced her into a role that was never meant to be hers. He was selfish, obsessive, violent.

But his hands were gentle. His voice was soft. His lips worshiped her as if she was something precious, something irreplaceable. And the worst part? Some part of her liked it.

Guilt twisted in her stomach, hot and suffocating, but it wasn’t enough to stop the shudder that racked her body as his fingers slid lower, as his voice murmured praises against her skin, as he played her like he had done this a thousand times before. Like he knew her.

Like she had always belonged to him. Her mind screamed at her to fight, to push him away, to remind herself who he really was. But her body betrayed her. And Mark knew it.

“Please” she begged, her hands shaking as she holds onto his shoulders. He kissed her mouth silencing her weak protests, she couldn’t even fight back. He pulled up her nightgown pulling down her panties. He tossed them aside, pulling her night gown over her head, he kisses down her chest, to her stomach, and finally to rest in between her legs. He moves her legs on his shoulders as he licks up her slit, using her fingers to open her folds, inserting two and thrusting. She quickly grew wet at his actions, her body acting on instinct, as he sucked on her clit, circling around the sensitive bud. Her legs clenched on his head but he paid no mind.

Continuing to eat her out like a starving man. She threw her head back, moaning helplessly. She wasn’t a virgin, nor was inexperienced in oral sex in any means— yet all her past relationships never made her feel this good.

Her breath hitched as his fingers worked her apart, his touch agonizingly slow, purposeful. Every stroke, every brush of his lips against her skin, was meant to unravel her. And it was. Her body responded before her mind could fight it, hips shifting, breath catching, a soft, humiliating whimper slipping past her lips.

Her nails dug into the sheets, and she pulled his face closer to her warmth, she felt him smile against her. She squirmed and panted, “wait— I’m gonna” she cut herself off with a moan, and he added another finger, her walls stretched around him. She whimpered, feeling herself get close. He didn’t stop, if anything he worked harder. And soon she came, he licked her up, slupping up her juices. As he pulled away from her pussy, thin strings of cum connected his face. He just wiped it with his hand.

Mark chuckled against her throat, low and pleased. “See?” he murmured, dragging his tongue along her pulse. “Your body remembers me.” She clenched her fists, shame burning through her even as heat pooled in her core. No. No, it doesn’t. This wasn’t hers to remember.

But the way he touched her—like he knew her inside and out—made her question everything. This was how he touched her. His wife. The woman he had lost. The woman she wasn’t. Her mind screamed at her to shove him away, to fight, to remind him—remind herself—that this wasn’t real.

But her body betrayed her. Mark lifted his head, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes, drinking in her trembling form. His fingers teased, coaxing more from her, more reactions she didn’t want to give, more proof that he had already won.

She felt her resolve slipping, her body giving in, her mind clouded by pleasure and something far, far worse—acceptance. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, claiming kiss. “You were made for me,” he whispered against her mouth. And God help her—some part of her believed it.

Mark held her close, his arms wrapped around her as if he were afraid she might vanish if he let go. His grip was firm but not suffocating, his warmth engulfing her, steady and unyielding.

Her breath was slow, steady against his chest, her body slack in sleep. He brushed a hand over her hair, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Good. She was adjusting.

It had been difficult at first. She had been quiet, withdrawn, hesitant—but now? Now she was soft in his arms, pliant beneath his touch. She was his again. Mark closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, satisfaction settling in his chest. Things were finally falling into place. She had fought it—he had expected her to—but she was coming back to him.

She was coming back to herself. He just had to be patient. She loved him once. She would love him again. He would make sure of it.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t see—was the war raging beneath the surface. Because she wasn’t asleep. Not really. She lay still, eyes shut, body curled against his, pretending, forcing herself to stay limp in his hold.

Because if she moved, she would break. She hated him. She had hated him from the moment he took her, from the moment he looked at her with that kind of love, from the moment he touched her and convinced her body to betray her.

But now—now she didn’t just hate him. She hated herself. For letting this happen. For not fighting harder.

For letting herself feel anything other than disgust when he kissed her, when he touched her, when he made her his. For that one, fleeting moment where she almost—almost—wanted it. Tears burned behind her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall.

Not here. Not where he could feel them, where he could comfort her, where he could twist her pain into something else. So she lay still. Silent. Hating him. Hating herself. And worst of all—hating the part of her that was terrified of the day she stopped hating it.

I think about this happening with Wukong's kid a lot

♡ — Gojo is drunk and he misses you. He doesn’t seem to understand that you are sitting right in front of him.

“. . . and sh-she’s so talented and pretty . . . my pretty girl . . . you gotta meet her.” SATORU GOJO cocked his head to the side, grinning; his flushed cheeks and ears were a deep shade of red.

The tall man’s legs were outstretched. He was slumped over the arm of your couch, and though he looked like he was on the brink of falling asleep, he continued to ramble on, on, and on.

“Who’s pretty?” You questioned your drunk boyfriend with worry, folding your arms across your chest.

“My girl . . . my baby . . . she’s so . . . I love her. I’m in love. I miss her. I need her.” Satoru’s grin fell into a frown.

Clumsily, he fumbled around until his hand found his phone in his pocket.

“Gonna call her,” he mumbled.

His bright phone screen illuminated his glossy eyes, and it didn’t take long for him to groan in frustration over not being sober enough to find his pretty girl’s contact.

Satoru reached across the coffee table, handing his phone to you.

“Can you call her? I love her so much,” Satoru was on the verge of tears. “I wanna marry my pretty girl.”

“Who am I calling?” Your voice was shaky. As you held his phone in your hands, you tried your hardest to prepare yourself for the worst — hearing Satoru slur out another name.

Satoru’s head snapped in your direction. Strands of his messy white hair fell every which way across his face, but you could still make out his eyebrows, which were pinched in confusion.

“Hmm,” Satoru paused, giving you a slow blink, “you’re not that bright. Everyone knows . . . everyone knows Y/N is mine . . . don’t you know that? She’s my baby.”

You couldn’t fight the urge to grin, nor did you want to.

“Can you hurry?” With a whine, Satoru started to sink down until he was laid out across the couch cushions. “I’m gonna die if you don’t hurry and call her, please. Call her-call Y/N.”

“I’m right here, Satoru,” you said.

He looked at you again, processing your face for a moment. He rolled his eyes.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No . . . you’re not.”

“Okay, you know what?” With a sigh, you dialed your own number and handed the phone back to Satoru. “Here.”

Satoru eagerly grabbed his phone, smiling ear to ear at the sheer anticipation of getting to talk to you.

Naturally, your phone started to ring, and you answered it, staring at your drunk boyfriend.

“Hello?” You mumbled.

“Y/N? I miss you . . . where are you?”

“I’m right here-”

“Hold on, baby.” Satoru suddenly pulled the phone away from his ear, and he shot you a tired glare. “Can you be quiet, please? I’m trying to . . . to talk to my girlfriend.”

Satoru rolled over onto his side, his back now facing you. He put the phone back up to his ear, whispering, “This woman’s so rude, Y/N. No manners . . . where are you?”

“Satoru, sweetheart, that woman is me. I’m right behind you.” You couldn’t help but laugh just a bit.

Slowly, Satoru rolled back around, his eyes locking with yours as his lips parted to, once again, tell you to be quiet, but his annoyed gaze faded away. It changed into a blank expression. Then, as he studied your face further, there was a brief frown of confusion, but suddenly, his lips broke out into a wide smile. Satoru sat upright, unintentionally sending his phone tumbling to the rug below the couch.

“Y/N?” He motioned you towards his lap. “C’mere, sweetheart. Where’ve you been? I missed you so much . . . so much, baby.”

After tapping the red button on your phone to end the call, you then got up and made your way over. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap without wasting a second, his hands finding your hips as you straddled him, and he continued to ramble on, on, and on.

“Baby, there was this other woman here. She was awful . . . wouldn’t be quiet. Told her I was trying to talk to you, not her.” Satoru pulled you closer. He kissed your neck. “I missed you s-so much. Don’t leave again, okay? I don’t wanna talk to no one ‘cept you, okay, baby?”

“Okay, I promise,” you ran your fingers through his messy white hair. “I also promise to throw out all the alcohol in this house, because clearly, you can’t handle it, can you?”

“I can handle you just fine, baby. Will you kiss me now?” Satoru pulled away from your neck, those lips of his falling into a small pout.

You couldn’t help but sigh and smile over him misunderstanding everything right now.

Your needy, drunk boyfriend placed his large hand on the back of your head, guiding your lips towards his, kissing you deeply. All the while, you couldn’t help but wonder if your boyfriend was this needy when he was sober, but kept it a secret.

He certainly was.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @koikohib

daddy's home!

what happens when you leave them alone with the baby for an extended period for the first time?

characters: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna

warnings: none

tags: @fictionalhubbydreamer

Turning around on your other side facing Satoru, you poke his muscular back with your index finger. Making his back arch a bit, as he turns his head around to look at you with a confused sleepy face.

“what was that for?” he rasps, sleep still lacing in his voice.

“can you lay on top of me..? like on my back..?” you whisper, your eyes peering up at his tired blue ones.

“…”

“…”

“…you want me to do what?” he asks sitting up more to get a better look at you. His face now outright confused.

“..I want you to lay on top of me!! like crush me with your body!” You whine, your hand now laced around his muscular bicep, gently shaking him from side to side.

Satoru sighs a small smirk on his lips. “fine, fine.. lay down on your stomach.” He says softly. You smile up at him before flipping onto your stomach, your face going into your soft pillow. laying in a pencil like position.

He turns over more lifting the covers up as he goes to his knees, before laying ontop of you. Laying his entire weight on your back, he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

You sigh softly with content, feeling his entire weight on you. Turning your face slightly to the side having a lazily smile on your lips. “mm now i’m comfortable..” you mumble sleepily, all Satoru can do is chuckle lightly into the crook of your neck.

“why am I crushing you again?” He murmurs into your soft skin.

“becauseeee you’re like my personal heating pad for my period cramps,” you mumble out. As your eyes droop shut. Satoru sighs smiling, shaking his head lightly.

“weirdo..” he mumbles before drifting off back to sleep. with his body quite literally covering yours completely, your period cramps dissolving as his warmth and the pressure of his body soothing the pain entirely.

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹ ⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹ ⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹ ⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹ ⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹ ⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

I just. KNOW. Choso is the type of guy to let the alarm wake the whole neighborhood without letting go of your waist in the morning. He doesn't want you to leave the bed just yet, you're too warm, too soft...too cuddly.

"Mmmmh...just five minutes" that end up being 10... 15...30... A whole damn hour of him repeating those words with his deep, husky, sleep-drunk voice in your ear. "Five minutes and I'll let you go" and he nuzzles his nose further into the crook of your neck.

That's exactly why there's no chance you'll make it out of bed on time in the morning...

Girl imagine

Reader not knowing mark is invincible and waiting for a whole hour for Mark to come to their date, where he promised to go to a concert of her fav band. Waiting and waiting at the entrance, the band already half finished before Mark finally arrives, out of breath, thinking she'll be really angry again, but instead she's tearing up.

Would he instantly reveal himself? Tell her he'll make it up? Fly her to bands the next concert? Omg

Ooooh I thought of this, because I'm a frustrated cryer and I can't help it

Mark expects you to yell, insult, or even slap him, but instead he hears you sniffle when you turn away and his heart shatters. You're wiping away tears telling him to forget it and you're tired and just wanna go home and he insists on apologising or at least talking to you.

He wishes he could tell you "Hey, I'm that superhero Invincible! That's why I was late! I was getting clobbered!" But that would put you at risk, but this is worse. God, it's so much worse. He wishes the earth could just swallow him up now, the sweetest girl who looked at him like he put the stars in the sky, and he made you cry.

He sees you try to speak, voice your frustrations about how he could've at least told you if he'd be late so you wouldn't stand outside like a weirdo while your favorite band was playing all the songs he remembers you showing him, the songs you had him listen to with an expectant smile on your face.

But it's ok, he can salvage this. That's what Mark keeps telling himself while he tries to coax you to let him come to you, let him hug you so you could cry into his shoulder— but you shove him away, that hurt worse than any punch.

He couldn't do anything but listen as you vented your frustrations to him, crying harshly as the anger from all the previous times he was late came crashing down on you; you forced a smile and told him it was okay everytime, not this time. This was supposed to be a night between you two, you hated yourself for being vulnerable enough to share something you enjoyed with someone who didn't care.

Mark had a feeling he'd regret telling you why he's really late, or that you wouldn't believe him, but if it meant finally opening your eyes to his 'job' and being honest with you, so you wouldn't feel like he doesn't prioritise you, so he wouldn't be the reason for your tears, he'd do it.

"Look, I'll tell you everything, okay?" He finally spoke between your heaving and sniffling, coming closer and lowering his voice. "No more secrets, I promise. Just... come with me, okay? I'll tell you in private."

Eddie Munson Masterlist.

AN: a compilation of my Eddie Munson things! A lot of them will be dad!eddie related probably! I’ll try and arrange them in chronological order, story wise so its kind of like its own series in a way.

Keep reading

whenever i hear the line "fuck with my kids, you fuck with your life. you fuckin' these hoes, i'm fuckin' my wife" i always think of domesticated toji. so protective of his little family. so turned on by his pretty wife. nothing else even comes close.

he pities the acquaintances he's made in his line of work— never committing to one person and constantly giving him shit for not doing the same. they have no idea what they're missing.

he stops for groceries on the way home most nights. more often than not, he has to grab the extra diaper bag from his backseat and use the baby wipes to clean his bloody hands. he's not the type to bring you flowers, but he always picks up a drink or sweet he knows you like.

a boy on the playground makes your little girl cry and it's "oh you think that's funny? get over here you little punk. i'll show you funny—"

he doesn't understand why you're dragging him (and gumi, who's cracking his knuckles and following along) in the other direction while rambling apologies to the boy and his parents.

really though, he couldn't ask for more from life. not with everything you've given him. and certainly not when he buries himself in you every night, your knees pressed to your chest while you beg him for another baby.

A silly ask and I'm kinda surprised no one has done this yet and I like your writing so I'm sending it to you but basically fem reader and toji on an episode on maury :3

WHO’S YOUR DADDY? — toji fushiguro

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

a/n: the way this has sat in the drafts for well over a year, loved writing this btw, thanks anon!

it’s no secret that toji has his doubts about whether megumi is his.

but you’re officially over going back and forth with him. especially when he still owes you child support that he refuses to pay until you show him valid proof that megumi is his son.

and what better way to give him that confirmation that he desires than on the messiest show on daytime television, in front of a live studio audience.

“for those who have joined us after the break, today we are joined by y/n, who claims that her ex boyfriend toji is pretending to act like he isn’t the father to their two year old son megumi so he doesn’t have to pay child support.”

the camera pans to you and toji sat a few feet away from each other. you can tell that he thinks this whole thing is a joke from the way he’s slouching in the chair and the constant sarcastic replies he gives maury each time he’s asked a simple question.

“maury how do i know she’s not tryna hustle me outta my hard earned money, huh?” he asks, seemingly thinking that he’s caught you in a tight spot. “besides have you seen the kid? his hair is spiky as fuck, nobody in my family has that hair type.”

the laugh that threatens to leave your lips is almost sickening, using hair as reason to not claim his child was absurd.

it was almost as wild as trying to accuse you of being a good-for-nothing money hungry vulture. which was rich coming from him. considering that your job was practically funding his lifestyle, aside from the large dose of cash he received from his 'work trips’ that cropped up once in a while.

the cash did nothing for you as he spent it as fast as he received it. rather than putting it towards megumi’s trust fund or college fund, he squandered it all on drinking and gambling, especially when it came to the races.

it turns out his charming looks and smiles do not work on the biggest gamble of all time: betting on damn race horses.

but in the rare instance he had some had some heart he contributed towards the bills and groceries. yet that still wasn’t enough.

“when was the last time you paid for megumi’s diapers or his formula or anything related to the apartment, hm?”

you retort, revelling at how all the fight and bravado he once held was slowly seeping out of him, as if he had all of his blood sucked out of him. the host looks expectantly at toji, awaiting a response.

the audience sets off in a chorus of ‘boos’ before toji even has a chance to respond to clear his name. he feels ambushed, the humiliation of admitting to be a terrible father on television creeping up on him.

but what did he expect? he always pushed too hard and now he’s paying the price as you unsurprisingly pushed back even harder.

and of course in the sea of 'boos', there’s a few cheers in the crowd from people who are more interested in getting into his pants instead of the main reason to why you were here in the first place.

“oh and maury if you think i’m lying, i’ve got invoices, bank statements and receipts spanning the last three months.” you add “i can tell you for a fact that this man doesn’t spend a dime on anything—he might as well put on a diaper and sleep in our son's crib.”

"and so what?" toji shrugs, ever so nonchalant. to the degree it pisses you off, he could at least try to act like he cares in front of the camera and the audience.

“i still make it up to you though, don’t i?” he replies, a teasing edge to his tone that has implications that you don’t want to unpack on national television, which was ironic since your business was already out there anyway.

the look on your face is almost murderous, and luckily maury manages to pick up on before this turns into a bloodbath. he quickly perks up as he holds up the manilla envelope that was going to make or break your day.

“In here we have the results of the paternity test, come back after the break!” he says clasping his hand together as you head to the commercial break. immediately you head backstage, grabbing megumi from the staff member who seemed smitten with him.

he latched onto you as you doted on him, before he waddled off to play with his firetrucks that you brought with you in your bag. “he’s getting so big.” a familiar voice says and you turn to see him in the doorway.

“megumi look! daddy’s come back with his tail between his legs because he knows he’s about to be publicly embarrassed on tv!” you say in a mocking voice, pointing out to where toji is standing and he toddles over, smacking his arm as he adorably glowers at his dad.

“bad daddy!” he says and you stop him before he gets out of control and starts to barrel toji with his kicking and slapping. you pull megumi onto your lap trying to calm him down whilst biting back a laugh.

“we don’t hit megumi, unless people deserve it like your daddy.” you tell him softly but you doubt he’s retained any of what you said anyway.

megumi is nestled into your lap, his focus back onto the firetruck that he’s playing with. for his age the kid is incredibly perceptive to the point where it spooks you out.

and if toji feels more like an idiot now, he doesn’t say so.

—

“and we’re back! for those who have just joined us, y/n claims that her ex boyfriend is denying that he’s the father of their child to avoid child support payments.”

the clips of the past half hour play back as you sit down, the manilla envelope in your eye level making your heart race slightly. deep down you knew that he was the father so why was the anticipation making you doubt that?

the crowds cheering and whooping comes to a close once maury grabs hold of the manilla envelope, he opens it, dragging out the grand reveal for dramatic purposes as the suspense builds in the room.

“when it comes to two year old megumi fushiguro, toji… you are the father!” he announces setting off the crowd in a series of cheers. you look over at toji and notice the red flush that covers his neck and ears, a sure tell sign of embarrassment and guilt.

“all i gotta say is that i fucking told you so, hell i didn’t even have to say anything you should’ve known!” you said to him, as he did nothing but take the well deserved lecture from you.

toji felt really fucking stupid, like really stupid but he didn’t want to add to your tirade already, he already wanted to melt of pure embarrassment under the hot studio lights. he really underestimated the lengths you’d go to prove him wrong.

“it’s time to start scrimping and saving, old man. food, clothes and diapers aint cheap. I’m sure your poor race horses will understand right?” you said teasingly, biting back a laugh as you clapped his shoulder.

toji let out an annoyed huff as the sound of your laughter ricocheted in his head, the high from your victory lap still present. he couldn’t be more of a fool if he tried. “haha very funny.” he said drily, despite his head burning, now he owed you and shiu money over his stupid antics.

he knew that as long as the internet and tv were still around, he was never going to live this day down, knowing you’d use this moment to embarrass him and deservedly so.

“i’ve been your host, maury! come back tomorrow where we have suguru and satoru. two former best friends and alleged lovers with satoru claiming that suguru’s affair with the kfc worker ruined their relationship!”

That My Best Friend

Smau: in which the jjk men react to your best friend making moves on them Warnings: fluff, crack, a little angsty, pov from bff, not proofread Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna, Yuji, Megumi, Inumaki

May I have more of fatherhood oneshot with Odysseus please? 🥺 this man really gave me baby fever

A/n: aha 🤣 same... (I love writing dad fics for him)

The sun had barely crested the cliffs of Ithaca, and the palace was just beginning to stir—except for Odysseus, who was already spiraling into his second existential crisis of the week.

His hair? A mess.

His tunic? Mismatched and inside out.

His eyes? Bloodshot and twitching.

His sandals? Probably on the wrong feet.

And his mood?

Unhinged.

He sprinted through the halls, arms flailing slightly, looking every inch a war-hardened general turned exhausted dad of toddlers.

“THEY’RE GONE AGAIN!” he bellowed.

He burst into the dining room, startling a very calm Telemachus, who was just trying to enjoy his olives.

“What’s gone?” the prince asked, mouth full.

“The twins! They vanished!” Odysseus shouted, patting himself down, checking under furniture, lifting up rugs. “I turned around for one second—ONE!—and poof! Gone like shadows! Curse the gods!”

Telemachus blinked. "...Father.”

Odysseus was now on his knees, looking under a fruit basket.

“Maybe they crawled into the grain stores again—they love grain. Or worse! What if they’re—”

“Father.”

“—in the stables again? Oh gods, the goats! One of them bit me last time—”

“FATHER!”

Odysseus froze.

Telemachus pointed. "Look down.”

Odysseus slowly looked at himself.

And there they were.

One twin strapped snugly to his chest, babbling happily and smacking his face with a sticky palm.

The other fast asleep, head tucked under his chin, drooling on his tunic like a little sponge with limbs.

”…Oh.”

He stared at them.

Then at his son.

Then back at them.

“They were on me the whole time?”

“Yes.”

Odysseus exhaled long and slow, then groaned and flopped face-first onto the floor, the twins giggling wildly at the ride.

Your voice echoed from the hallway“If you wake me up one more time, Odysseus, I will let the toddlers braid your beard while you sleep.” It was a thinly vail threat of someone who was pregnant that did not to be bothered.

Odysseus just lay there on the floor, two babies squirming on his chest, and muttered.

“I conquered Troy for this.”

One of the twins sneezed directly into his mouth.

“…And I’d do it again.”

•Moments Later•

The late afternoon sun slanted through the nursery windows, painting golden beams across the soft rugs and carved wooden toys scattered across the floor. Gentle harp music floated from somewhere down the hall, and in the middle of it all sat Odysseus, half-slumped in a rocking chair, his eyes glazed and one hand twitching as a half-finished lullaby slipped from his lips.

His tunic was stained with something sticky (possibly honey… or ink?), and one twin had managed to wedge themselves into his arm while the other gnawed triumphantly on a leather sandal.

Odysseus hadn’t blinked in ten minutes.

Enter Telemachus, calm, composed, and carrying a cloth bundle of warm bread and honeyed figs.

He took one look at his father, one look at the chaos, and sighed with fond exasperation.

“Father.”

Odysseus blinked slowly. “…Yes?”

“You haven’t slept in… four days.”

“That’s not true. I closed one eye last night.”

“You fell asleep face-first in the soup.”

“It was a tactical nap.”

Telemachus crouched in front of him, gently prying the chewing twin away from the sandal and replacing it with a soft rattle.

“Go sleep, Father. I’ll watch them.”

Odysseus blinked again, as if processing the words in slow motion. “You… you’ll what?”

“Watch the twins. Give you and Mother a break.”

Odysseus leaned forward dramatically, placing both hands on his son’s shoulders. “You… glorious boy. You brave, noble, reckless boy.”

Telemachus smirked. “I trained with Athena and survived the suitors. I think I can handle two half-naked goblins with sticky fingers.”

“They bite.”

“So do I.”

Odysseus laughed weakly, patted him on the cheek, then swayed to his feet like a war-weary general who had finally laid down his sword.

“I will be laying down next to your beautiful mother.”

“Please try to not create anymore children.”

As Odysseus staggered toward his chambers—muttering about “soft pillows” and “blessed silence”—Telemachus scooped both giggling twins into his arms, lifting them effortlessly.

He looked down at them, one drooling on his arm, the other reaching for his braid.

“Alright, you tiny beasts. Let’s find a storybook, some juice, and see who survives until sundown.”

The twins shrieked with joy.

And behind them, down the hall, a door softly closed…

The man finding the bed, And Odysseus, King of Ithaca, finally slept the moment he was in your arms.

viltrumite mark is always finding some kind of excuse to be with his wife

a long expedition to another planet? oof sorry but he just has too many things to do on viltrum sorry *goes home and cuddles his wife*

Nolan banging his head against the wall because how TF is his son this down bad for a human, I just know he's SEETHING.

Anyway, here's a blurb, this is later down the line when reader is compliant for her safety:

"Dear, get up." Mark whined as he nuzzled his face further into your lap, you sat at the vanity rearranging your items for the umpteenth time, there wasn't much to do anyway.

"I refuse." He groaned into your thighs, arms locked around your legs. "I can't take the quiet or chaos of another expedition. I want to stay here, with you."

A knock resounded from the door. "Your imperial majesty? We're ready for your departure." That was supposed to be his cue to move, but he was still, his breathing soft as he sat on his knees and cuddled into your warm thighs. "Mark."

"Tell them to go ask dad. Or anyone else. Please, anyone else." He looked up at you with so much exhaustion and adoration, like he wanted you to lecture his attendants for asking him to do his job. You let out a sigh bordering on a hum, running your hand through his hair. "You can't stay here forever."

"No," he laid his head back on you, pressing his cheek against you now as your hand settled in his hair. "But I can stay for as long as I possibly can."

He wasn't moving, not now, not in 5 minutes, not in a while. Your expression became frustrated, standing up and ignoring his little whine as you moved away to get to the door.

"Dear— please don't. I'm not feeling well- I don't think it's good for me to go now-" His train of invalid excuses paused as he heard the door clack open a crack.

"He's still recovering from the injuries from his last expedition, check with his father or anyone with a high ranking to join you. Emperor's orders." Your smooth order was mostly imitation from when you heard him speak, Mark's expression went from surprise to glee.

The Viltrumite at the door didn't question you, they knew better. The door clacked shut and as if on cue, Mark's defined hands wrapped around your body and hid his face in your neck. "Thank you, thank you. I cannot express my gratitude enough."

You mentally cursed yourself for being so fast to break against that sad puppy dog look.