NOOO BC HE WOULD!! 100%%%

KARMA !

— brat taming the jjk men feat. choso kamo, kento nanami, toji fushiguro.

WARNINGS. femdom!reader, f!reader (she/her), brat taming, cock slaps, crying, handjob, choking, p in v, riding, overstim, lingerie, lollll slotted toji out :33, recording, finger sucking. ( 2k ) note. hellloooooo hope u all enjoy this. i had fun writing bc i loveee the idea of making big strong men crumble mhmhmhm. anywaysss reblogs are appreciated thank youuu love u all. repost bc last night it didn’t show in the tags 💔 but i edited it and added alottt so if you already saw it feel free to read again !! ty

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 CHOSO KAMO

“ma— make m— ooohh fuck. wai—wait” his voice trembled so cutely that it was barely coherent, crumbling into a pretty whine that drowns out his pathetic attempt (if you could even call it that) at being a defiant little brat, making you giggle, your slicked up thumbs pushing and rubbing down on the slit of his leaky tip, sending jolts of pain masked as pleasure up his bony spine, “make you?”

immediately he knows he’s fucked up. the air between you growing thick.

he didn’t know what came over him, really. maybe he had been watching too much porn, fantasizing too much, because the idea of getting tamed by you— god, just the thought of getting put in his place, turned him on so much. so, so much.

but having to actually disobey you, he couldn’t. he believes he was only put on this earth to serve you and please you. to be good. his head hurriedly shakes side to side, making each strand of ravened silky hair jump and dance before resting to frame his flushed face, “‘m sorry didn’t me—”

you land a heavy, hard slap to his cock, the sound pounding in his flushed ears blending with the beat of his heart, making his body tense up and jerk underneath you. his breaths come out in ragged little gasps, each one such a struggle as his fuzzy brain short circuits under your warm palms.

it really is cute, you think. cute how easy it is to break him. the pretty tears that drip down his puffed-up, blushed cheeks remind you of that. he’s choking on his sobs when you move to cup his face and kiss the corners of his eyes, and his cheeks. crying and sniffling because he hates when you’re mad. hates disappointing you.

“‘m sorry, i don’t— just wanna be so good for you. i’ll be— wanna be your good boy.”

“i know,” you coo, petting him like the pretty pet he is, “wanna try again for me, hm?”

and oh, he’s nodding so sweetly, cock throbbing for you, his big glassy eyes heart-shaped, staring up. so ready to be yours, ready to be the good boy you’ve trained him to be.

so you tell him again, “fuck my fists, make yourself cum, pretty boy. and look me in my eyes.”

his hips buck up, the salty tears on his cheeks warming and dried as he uses your sticky hands like a fleshlight, whining prettily when you tighten your grip around him, “‘m sorry” he babbles over and over, drooling out the corners of his parted puffy lips.

he’s so good. staring into the blown pupils of your pretty eyes without fault, like you told him to. because you told him to.

and his thighs burn, his legs shaking and trembling against the silky sheets as he gets closer and closer. the pain almost urging him on, “are you gonna cum for me? baby? gonna give it all to me hm?”

“yes, ple— please. please, can i cum can—”

you pull your hands off him.

drawing out the prettiest whine to ever be heard. like a song of the angels. his head falling back against the wooden headboard, hips bucking up in search of something to ease the ache that overwhelms in his tummy. those hot tears making a special reappearance.

“aww baby,” you hum, feigning sympathy, massaging his warm— full, heavy balls, “did you really think you’d get to cum after that, hm? did you?”

his eyes widen in desperation, disappointment. he tries to speak, to plead, to beg, but all that comes out are broken little sobs and whimpers.

the look on his face is almost pitiful. furrowed brows, pout, and his mouth hangs open.

you bend to lean in closer, your breath so warm against the shell of his sensitive ear, “you have to earn it, baby. good boys get rewarded. brats get punished.”

for you, he nods weakly, his voice barely a whisper as he chokes, “i’ll be so good, pro— promise. please, let me cum. let me show you how good i am”

so pretty. your fingers slip down to massage his aching balls, applying just enough pressure to keep him on that edge he loves to dangle over without giving him the sweet, sweet release he craves. “nuh uh, not yet,” you hum softly, your tone both firm but oh so gentle. “show me how much you want it.”

his hips buck up involuntarily, humping the air in search of your grip— relief, eyes locking onto yours, colored irises filled with adoration. he’s completely at your mercy, every nerve and ending in his body on fire, every muscle tensed up in anticipation.

and you can see the struggle in his eyes. it’s really a beautiful sight, and you savor every moment of it. “that’s it,” mumuring, “keep looking at me like that. show me how much you need it.”

his breaths come in short little, ragged gasps, his chest heaving and caving, thighs burning from fucking the air.

but finally, after what feels like an eternity, you decide to grant him some mercy, your hands moving back around his throbbing cock, stroking him just how he likes it, “cum for me, pretty boy,” you command, a soft, seductive purr. “give it all to me.”

with a strangled, gargled cry, he obeys. his body convulsing, every muscle tightening as he finally, finally finds his release, his cum spilling all over your hands in thick, hot, sticky spurts. and he’s so obedient, his eyes remaining locked on yours, even as his vision blurs and fuzes with pleasure.

“there you go,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “such a good boy.”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 KENTO NANAMI

the tie that usually wrapped snug around the collar of nanami’s shirt adding that signature pop of yellow to his suits now decorates his flushed neck, constricting it, the tail of it clutched tightly in your fists as you ride his cock, your hips rolling and jerking against him relentlessly.

thick cum drips down to his balls, pooling underneath him, a swirl of your mess and his. he’s cum two–no, four? he doesn’t even know how many loads he’s stuffed into your warm cunt— or how many you’ve forced and sucked out of him, his cock so sensitive it fucking hurts, every time you snap back down on him sending poky jolts of overstimulation through his entire body.

“fu—fuck, honey, please. i don’t have— ngh— don’t have anything left to give. fuckin’ drained me already— can’t—”

you tug on the silky fabric, making him choke on his words, gargling on warm, foamy spit. his hands reaching to grab at the curve of your waist, but he’s flinching, remembering how you said, no touching. remembering why he’s in the position in the first place.

because he doesn’t listen.

refused to keep his hands to himself, your body begging to be touched, in his words. as if he didn’t take you seriously, just kept grabbing at you, digging his slim fingers into your plush skin.

so, obviously, there’s some sort of misunderstanding .. some sort of disconnect. he must have forgotten who was in charge.

you don’t even give him a response, ignoring the prickly burn in your thighs to fuck him dumb. maybe then, ironically, he’ll learn how to act. each jerk of your hips move to push him further to the edge, to remind him of his place.

his body is weak, just sitting pretty, twitchy, letting you do as you please, sweetly hiccuping under your frame, “hah— please, my fucking god i— i’m sorry” he’s all gone and sucked up, cock crying, drooling pathetic tears of salty cum in your cruel walls. sweat peppering his forehead, slicking the ridges of his chest, making him glisten.

“please, i’m fucking begging i’ll— hah, won’t disobey you again. i’ll— i’ll be good. i’ll be yours”

aw, there it is.

and you hum, stilling your hips, letting his cock fill you all the way up, “mhm that’s all i needed to hear. now give me onee more load. just one. know you can do it pretty boy, give it to me”

even though his body is spent, just the true definition of exhaustion, he responds, his pretty cock twitching inside you as he drags against his own warm cum in your spongy walls. and it doesn’t take long before he’s giving into you. balls so empty, just a few little spurts drooling out, but it feels just as intense, maybe even more than any of his other orgasms. “good boy”

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 TOJI FUSHIGURO

“toj’ my pretty boy” your finger draws across the pink lacy lingerie that does a pathetic job of covering his cock. poking out, leaking and drooling all over the fabric, almost ripping through it with just how hard he is, “you look so good like this”

he grunts, blush growing across his cheeks, a deep, deep crimson, turning his head to avoid your gaze, avoid your phone brightly flashing, recording him.

“so hard too, aw” mumuring, you move closer, recording every detail of how he bulges through the set you so perfectly picked out for him. the pink complementing his tanned skin so well, truly a work of art “touch yourself for me”

another grunt escapes his lips, and he’s fidgeting, dragging his balls against the bed, rutting like a fucking dog, pulling at the ropes that hold and confine him, caging him against himself, “need your ..”

“yeah, need what?” you prompt with a smile, watching through your screen how he struggles to say it, pouting as his brows furrow up.

“need your help”

theres a wicked little glint in your eyes, pulling back at the stretchy band of the pretty underwear, letting go so it snaps back against the sensitive underside of his thick cock, making him whine, his broad body shaking and twitching, muscles clenching up.

humming, you bring your palm to his face, telling him to lick, and he listens, immediately.

licking a long stripe up your warm palm, but oh, he gets carried away. stretching to wrap his scarred lips around your fingers, bobbing his head up and down, drool dripping down from around his pursed lips, letting his tongue lay flat. “look at you, so eager”

he comes off with a pop, smirking because he knows you love when he’s so good like this for you.

you press your slick fingers against his covered perky nipples, watching as he twitched, before moving to stoke him through the pretty lingerie, “don’t fu—fucking tease”

you ignore him, let him get away with the little back talk because he just looks toooo cute, eyes all big, looking up into the flash of the camera, leaking through the lingerie like such a pretty boy. all for you.

you flick your wrist faster, leaning to spit on his clothed cock, sending thousands of shivers up the nerves on his spine, making him croon, his ass raising up off the bed to buck into your palms, giving the camera such a good show.

“gonna cum, shit— i’m so close. fuck— please”

he’s babbling, his voice all high and whiney.

“mhm go ahead, baby”

with a final, desperate thrust, he’s shooting against the fabric, babbling your name as it oozes through making a sticky little mess before you’re leaning down to lap at his clad tip. to clean him up.

then you come off him, stopping the video. and tojis looking up at you through glassy eyes as you press against your phone, smiling.

“what— hah, what are you doing”

“sending it to shiu”

Okay so i listened to suggestions about Jayce being unhappy with the inflicting pain bit but being unable to say no!

You | Lute x Redeemed!Sinner

Warnings: post season one by two months BUT Adam miraculously survived, Lute was able to get her arm regrown by some divine intervention, Lute being a bitch 97% of the time, Adam being Adam, reader being a sweetheart, strong language, some derogatory nicknames towards sinners, reader is HEAVILY implied to be a bisexual (real queen shit), WxW, probably very out of character for both Lute and Adam — but I've never written for either of them before ✨

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: you were a redeemed sinner, yet Lute still hated you. . . Though soon, things would change for the better.

A/N — Silva is Latin for Forest *** (I know, I'm so creative). The sick meal is something I love even when I'm not sick, but feel free to imagine whatever you want for it :) but remember: ALWAYS WASH YOUR RICE

The sky brightened, bringing along with it the dawn of your first day in Heaven. Having been a long time resident of the Hazbin Hotel, you were as skeptical as the others, but played your part in wanting Charlie's dreams to come true. 

You were the first official resident, though more of an employee by the time Angel Dust came around, and a friend — a damned good one — to anyone who came through those doors. 

It didn't matter who they were. Whether it was Alastor, Husk, or even Lucifer himself, it didn't matter. You were an excellent listener.

Perhaps that was part of the reason you had been redeemed. 

It was possible that the other part of the reason why was because you regretted your singular act of immoral wrath when you were alive and you thought about it every day. 

You had walked the straight and narrow your entire life — married young and planned on having children once you were out of college and had a stable job. . . Then your husband cheated on you with his co-worker and it was as if you were possessed by blind rage. You killed him. 

You didn't kill her — she didn't know you existed, so you let her live. . . Then she found out of your existence rather quickly and karma came in the form of a pissed off woman wearing cheap perfume and fake red bottoms. 

So you crash landed into Hell immediately. No trial in purgatory. Straight into the melting pot of horrendous historical figures that you had been forced to write essays about in High School and people like you, who did one wrong thing. 

Watching the sun rise for the first time in almost ten years, you supposed you owed it all to Charlie. Having her as a supportive friend throughout your stay. 

First to arrive, second to be redeemed. 

The halo and wings were an odd feeling compared to the horns and sharp tail. . . As well as the white, light blue, and gold version of the outfit you were wearing when you ascended. Odd but welcomed. 

“Thank you.” You whispered aloud, sitting on the dock behind the building you had been guided to upon your arrival just hours before, surrounded by the water that was completely unaffected by murkiness or toxic waste. It was the cleanest water you'd ever seen. 

Wind chimes sang in the breeze that slightly rippled the top of the vast lake, distorting the reflected pinks and yellows of the golden sunrise. 

Voices drew closer, yet they didn't matter as the air warmed comfortably, the sun rising higher and higher in the blue sky. 

It was nice seeing blue instead of red. It felt human. It felt calm. 

“[Y/N]?” A voice called out and you turned around to face the newcomer. 

A smile broke out on your face as you came to see Sera with Sir Pentious and Emily at her side. The younger seraphim was buzzing with excitement. 

You carefully stood so as to not fall into the lake, approaching them slowly. “It's good to see you again, Pentious.” You said, hugging the former snake demon. 

He returned the quick embrace and blushed, just like he did when you were both in Hell. You and Charlie were the first to give him a chance. “You too missss [Y/N]. . .” 

You smiled at him once again before turning to Emily, who seemed to be the one temporarily in charge. “Welcome to Heaven! There's so much for you to see and do! But first, do you have any questions?”

“Where exactly in Heaven are we?” You questioned, gesturing to the lake with trees to either side, but with water for as far as you could see. 

“You're at the Silva Lake house.” Sera spoke up. “It was built when Sir Pentious arrived, as a way to prepare him for the eyes of the other angels who never set foot in Hell. . . As well as a potential sanctuary for any other sinners who may be redeemed along the way, such as yourself.”

A sanctuary for the redeemed made perfect sense when you thought about it. Heaven had to do something to not only make up for the mistake in leadership that led to the annual Extermination Day, but they couldn't just throw former sinners into society without getting them used to the new conditions. 

It would be like bringing a knife to a gunfight. . . They'd be ill prepared and it wouldn't look good for anyone, especially the higher-ups. 

“So, what do we have to do?” 

This time it was Emily who replied to you. “Just be here and show us that you have no problem learning how things work up here. . . It's not too complicated, but there are a few new rules in place after recent events. . . But don't worry! I'm sure you'll both be fine!” She smiled brightly, clapping her hands together. 

You could only hope everything would be alright.

Two weeks after your arrival, you had begun to think that you could handle the new realm in which you resided. 

At the Silva Lake house, you had a set routine which consisted of a lovely breakfast with Sir Pentious in the breakfast nook, morning lessons with Emily, a silent nature stroll with Sera, a trip to the city — just barely inside the limits — purely so you could see what you'd eventually be joining, and dinners alone because Sir Pentious was allowed to stay in the city longer than you and go further because he had been there longer.

It was nice to have a schedule, but having the same one every day was beginning to bore you. At least Charlie's schedules had made room for stuff outside of trust exercises. . . Stuff like hotel movie nights, family dinners, and fun outings. 

Two weeks and you thought you were ready. A five minute meeting was all it took for that false sense of readiness to fly out the window. 

One look in the golden eyes of the woman who would've killed you less than three months ago, had it not been for Vaggie stepping in, was enough to make you feel as if your leg was still stuck under the burning pile of rubble with an angelic blade mere inches away from your throat. 

The pain and any physical indication of it happening was long gone, but the memory was still there as if it had just happened moments ago. 

Yet you still regarded her as if she was an inhabitant of the hotel — with a smile and an open mind. 

Your welcoming smile was met with a glare of disdain from the exorcist angel, who looked as if she'd try to kill you again if you so much as breathed wrong in her direction. 

Shockingly, Adam, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the whole meeting, was more open to conversing with you than Lute was. This was all part of Heaven's new plan. 

Forgiveness. 

Sera wanted you to forgive Lute for the part she played in almost killing you and your friends. 

She wanted Sir Pentious to forgive Adam for ‘killing’ him during the battle. 

And she wanted them to forgive the both of you for the roles played in the battle, despite you avoiding the battle where you could. 

“I sincerely apologize for the role I played in the battle that cost you many angels.” You said, catching Emily giving you two thumbs up from behind the two. 

“Now, Lute. . . Apologize to her.” Sera ordered lightly. 

The exorcist crossed her arms. “No. Why should I have to apologize to a lowly sinner?” She scoffed. “Not happening.”

You frowned. Lowly sinner? Ouch. . . 

“She is redeemed, Lute —”

“Is she? She looks the same. A wardrobe makeover doesn't change who someone is. And she practically reeks of Hell.” Lute turned her nose up at you. 

“I think that's enough for this evening, Sera. . . Adam, Lute. . . I apologize once again and hope you can find it within your hearts to forgive me.” You then turned away and walked towards your room.

“Sure thing, Bitch!” Adam called out just before your bedroom door closed roughly with a click. 

Lowly sinner? Reeking of Hell? 

The words stung. . . You should be mad, or even mildly frustrated. . . But you're more disappointed. Even when Adam, Lute, and the other exorcists were attacking your friends, you had been nice. . . But they didn't seem to care. It felt like you were redeemed for nothing. 

So you laid on your bed in silence, with tears unwillingly cascading down your cheeks, until your usual dinner time rolled around and Emily coaxed you out before she and Sera left. 

As you warmed up a prepped meal, you noticed that Adam and Lute were still there at the lake house, though neither paid any mind to you. Not while you milled about the kitchen. Not while you ate. 

The only time they paid any attention to you was when you walked across the far side of the living room to reach the bathroom for your evening shower. Even then, Lute only glared while Adam made derogatory comments about joining you in the shower. 

You ignored both of them, and when you came out of the bathroom, they were no longer in the living room, so you assumed they left. 

It became evident just hours later that they, in fact, hadn't left. The dead giveaway was the loud rock music that played from the TV in the living room, during a time you knew Sir Pentious was asleep — and the former snake demon didn't care for rock all that much. He was more of a classical music guy, but he could also get behind r&b. 

And you knew with the time, Sera and Emily wouldn't be around for another four hours.

You wanted to ignore it. Oh you tried so hard to ignore it, going as far as to cover your head with one of your pillows. . . But you could still hear it. And now you couldn't fall back asleep. 

Trying was pointless. 

Your morning started two hours earlier than it usually did, which unironically gave you time to do things that you couldn't do with the tight schedule. . . Like having morning coffee by the lake as the sun rose, breakfast that wasn't cereal or freezer waffles, or even a nice little swim with a shower after.

“What the fuck, dude?” You heard Adam's tired voice yell from the opposite side of the lake house, the music immediately muting. 

Lute's more awake voice could be heard through the walls, but you were unable to make out anything she was saying. . . So you sighed and went on to make a nice breakfast, in hopes it would help set the mood for the day. 

A good mood for a good day — hopefully. 

Adam and Lute weren't allowed to leave until all was forgiven and peace was made between the four of you. Orders from the almighty creator who hadn't taken too kindly to Sera, Lute, and Adam attempting to play God in his absence. 

What shocked you the most was Emily canceling lessons for the foreseeable future, purely because she could, saying ‘you've been at this for a while, you deserve a break so you're not burnt out’.

It was almost laughable. 

After the disruptive morning of rock n’ roll, you went back to the regular schedule for the most part. . . But before you knew it, you had been in Heaven for a month and your limits were being tested. 

Your food had gone missing from the fridge. 

Your laundry had gotten mixed up, despite being separated by your hand. . . Which resulted in two of your brand new favorite shirts to shrink in the dryer — you still wore them anyway.

Things you set down were never where you placed them. 

At first it drove you crazy — you thought you were losing your mind. Until Sir Pentious had come to you one late evening and revealed something he noticed. 

Lute had been either eating your food or throwing it away. 

Lute had been the one switching your laundry around. 

Lute had been the one moving everything you set down. 

You couldn't understand why someone would go to such lengths to inconvenience you when you had been so accommodating for the both of them. . . So you ignored her. 

And it pissed her off. 

How dare you ignore her existence while she was cursing yours? 

One evening, you were making a nice, hearty meal because you and Sir Pentious had fallen victim to the early autumn allergy fueled cold. It was something your parents would've made whenever you were feeling under the weather — you were just glad the ingredients were in the house. 

Adam entered the kitchen without his mask and opened the fridge as you were opening the cabinet that was filled with bowls and plates. 

“Whatcha makin’, Hot Stuff?” Adam questioned, closing the fridge. 

You glanced at him confused before opting to reply, rather than questioning anything he called you. At least he wasn't calling you sinner scum. 

“Dinner.” You croaked in reply, using a pot holder to lift the lid off of the large pan where thinly sliced and seasoned steak was simmering in a homemade mushroom gravy. You then gestured to the pot of fluffy white rice next to the pan of cauliflower. (Again, it's one of my favorites — so delicious.)

“There's plenty for you and Lute to join us, if you'd like to.” You almost lost your voice by the end of the sentence, but the first man heard you. 

“Yeah, okay. . . It looks more edible than that shit in the freezer — whatever the fuck that is.”

You would've laughed if you knew you wouldn't have landed yourself in a coughing fit. So you settled for a smile as you plated up the food. 

“It looks disgusting.” Lute sneered from the doorway. 

Immediately, your smile dropped and your fork clattered onto the wooden table. “Then don't eat it.” You snapped, taking your seat as Sir Pentious slithered into the kitchen. 

“This shit looks good as fuck, Danger Tits.” Adam shoved a fork full of steak in his mouth and released a downright sinful moan. “You're missin’ out.”

Sir Pentious nodded in agreement, eating what was on his plate relatively quickly. You appreciated Adam and Pentious trying to make things better, even if Adam was using his own way to make it seem so. . .

But you were slowly losing your patience, which became evident by the way you verbally snapped.

Lute didn't speak to you — or rather speak down to you for a few days, but she lingered while Adam got to know you better. . . She seemed rather put off with how things were going. 

Like how when you couldn't reach something, completely uncomfortable with using your new wings, Adam would grab it without stopping whatever conversation was going on. 

Or when he'd offer to make dinner (or buy dinner for everyone) just so you could have a break. 

Or even now when you were draping your towel over a chair on the back deck, prior to your swim in the lake, and he happened to be out there in the sun. You heard him mention something about you being ‘hot as fuck’ in your swimsuit, but you mostly ignored him, aside from a light blush dusting your cheeks. 

From him, she learned your favorite color, your favorite animal, your favorite everything, basically. . . And when your eyes found Lute, she was glaring at Adam, not you, for once. 

Rather than questioning it, you accepted it and found your way into the lake where eventually, they both joined you at a distance. You felt oddly alone, since Sir Pentious had decided to stay in — he still wasn't feeling the best, so you urged him to rest, claiming you'd be fine. 

Lute seemed to be attempting to drown Adam and he took it in a playful way, yelling and laughing loudly while she splashed him and jumped on top of him — something that seemed out of character for her. 

Though they both soon went underwater and just as you decided you were ready to go in, you were pulled under and came face to face with Lute. Your eyes widened as your heart beat rapidly in your chest. 

She wasn't glaring at you. . . There was no animosity behind her gaze, her hands locked onto your arms. She smirked after what felt like an eternity and pulled you back up to the surface with her. 

“Stay away from her, Adam.” Lute practically growled, holding you close. 

This was odd. It felt so wrong, but it felt so right having her arms wrapped around your waist. She hadn't touched you until then, so you weren't sure what to make of the situation.

“So you finally —”

“Shut up!”

Adam only smirked and shot out of the water, going to dry off on the deck. 

“I suppose we need to talk?” You questioned softly. 

Lute nodded and released her hold on you so that the two of you could reach the deck once more. 

You sat in the chair that Adam had previously occupied and she turned one to face you, taking a seat there. She stayed silent for a few minutes, watching you dry your hair and wrap your towel around your shoulders. 

Lute then took another moment to admire the way the late morning light caught on your face, before she spoke. 

“I was wrong about you. . . There's sinners who don't deserve good things and then there's you. . . I — you. . . You've proven yourself and. . . I'm sorry for how things have been since I showed up.”

You smiled at the apology, finally looking into her golden eyes. “You're forgiven. . . But if I might ask. . . Why did you hate me so much?” 

She became nervous, you could see it. 

“I thought you might be as bad as the regular sinners — I know what you did when you were alive and I know that's why you went to Hell. . . But these last few weeks showed me why you wound up here.” Something akin to adoration laced her tone and you blushed under her gaze. 

It was such a quick change. . . But it seemed like a good one. It seemed like common knowledge that she wasn't the greatest at expressing emotions, having been so deep in her work for the longest time.

Before you could open your mouth to reply, your heart bursted as a new sensation graced you — Lute's lips on yours. You felt your heartbeat quicken once again and your face heated up violently. 

She pulled away a moment later, stuttering out an apology. 

“I shouldn't have — hmph!” 

You immediately shut her up with another quick kiss before leaving a sweet peck on her cheek once you had removed your lips from hers. “I didn't mind. . . If this has the chance of becoming something, I want there to be communication. . . If you're okay with that. . ?”

“That's fine. . . [Y/N]?”

“Hmm?”

“We forgive you. . . I forgive you.”

You grinned and stood from your seat, reaching your hand out for Lute. “Wonderful. . . How about some lunch?” 

She snorted and shook her head, but still stood and took your hand, allowing you to guide her into the lake house for lunch. 

She sat beside you while everyone ate, shutting Adam down the moment he looked like he was going to open his mouth and say something stupid — which was often. 

You were happy and hopeful. Maybe this could grow into something beautiful. . . Maybe this could be your forever relationship. 

Just maybe. 

Additional A/N — if anyone wants the Fem!Redeemed!Sinner x Lute story to continue, requests are open! Give me ideas!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* thinking about college!yuuta, who mustered up all his courage to finally ask you out on a date. you remember the way he had flushed this pretty and soft pink, all the way up to his ears, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head as he asked if you were free on friday night to go check out that new movie you had offhandedly mentioned a couple days ago. "i—i got a spare ticket if you wanted to come join me."

you had smiled, eagerly accepting the invitation and watching, satisfied and curious as the rest of his body seemed to turn into this most adorable shade of pink. "great! i'll... i'll pick you up from your dorm!"

friday night comes, and even the slightest of touches seems to set him off. when you go for a hug upon greeting him, he's flustered and flushed, mind short-circuiting with the way you hold onto him enthusiastically.

it becomes sort of like a game, at that point, to see how far you can go, to see just how pink your yuuta can become.

fingers brushing against his in the popcorn bowl leads to a furious blush blooming across his face. nuzzling your head into his shoulder during a particularly scary scene, and you don't even have to look to see he's fighting down his emotions. you hear him mumbling your name, all breathless and bewildered.

to your delight, he's just as sensitive and pink everywhere else. much later, sucking marks into that beautiful column of his neck, borderline clambering on his face with need as he tries to ground himself to reality by holding onto your waist, your neck, fuck—

he knows he's a goner when you slide your hand down his pants, and that wicked smile of yours comes back with a ferocity. "someone's been excited."

you slip his pants down his legs and fall to your knees, and you didn't think he could've possibly gotten more flustered, but your next words may have just sent him into cardiac arrest.

"s'pretty and pink, yuuta," when you look up, your beautiful boy is gripping onto the side of your bed with white knuckles, entranced and pupils blown wide at the way your voice tinges with need. your mouth waters. "wanna give me a taste?"

“WHERE IS MY WIFE?”

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: curses & curse users have discovered satoru’s greatest weakness, and it’s you, satoru’s sweet, ordinary housewife. after getting kidnapped by gojo’s enemies, he’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ only - mdni - slightly dark content // brief smut, fem reader, feral gojo, canon-typical violence, reader gets kidnapped, reader is wounded/has injuries, angst, fluff/comfort

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 5K

♡ —𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I’d count grains of sand if it meant I could spend one minute alone with feral gojo (:

As evening fell, and after a delicious dinner was eaten at the dining table downstairs, Satoru was in the mood for something else now — you.

His pretty housewife would be his dessert.

The apple pie you baked was sitting on the dark marbled counter of the kitchen island, two big slices missing — and the vanilla ice cream tub in the freezer had, of course, two hefty spherical digs in it where the cold treat was scooped out — but, even after his stomach was stuffed after a hard day of fighting curses and teaching his students, Satoru’s head was buried in between your soft thighs, satisfying his other craving.

As your husband moaned softly, his tongue danced around your aching clit. His large hand massaged your thigh. The moonlight pouring in through the big bedroom window shined upon his wedding ring, making it glisten as he rubbed your delicate skin.

“I’ll never get tired of tasting you,” Satoru smiled a bit, his warm breath patting against your wet folds.

“You were made just for me. God, I love it. I love you.”

Two long fingers sunk into your awaiting hole. He attached his soft lips to your clit, sucking on it.

One of your hands gripped at the luxurious pale-cerulean sheets, while your other hand gripped his hair, fingers getting lost in his white locks.

“Satoru!” A sharp moan escaped your dried throat.

Every little noise you made — every moan, every squeak of the thick mattress — it all boasted his desire to please you.

He didn’t stop his licking-sucking-fingering combo until your legs were trembling around his head and he was satisfied with tasting your juices.

Only after devouring your pussy like a starving man feasting on a buffet-style dinner did he rise from his position and make his way across the bed, hovering over you.

With a smile, Satoru leaned down and planted a soft kiss against your lips. But, when he pulled away, he was met with an amused look of disgust.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, furrowing his brows a bit.

“You just kissed me after eating me out,” you said with a little, playful grimace. “That’s nasty.”

“Mrs. Gojo, I mean this in the most respectful way possible, but hush.” Satoru lightly tapped your forehead. “You have swallowed plenty of my-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” shaking your head, you cut off your husband’s naughty sentence, pressing your hand against his lips.

The corners of your mouth burned as you tried to fight off a smile. His latest affectionate nickname was Mrs. Gojo — although it truly wasn’t a nickname due to it technically being your name now — and at every given opportunity, he addressed you that way.

Even after two years of marriage, he was as excited as a freshly wedded man. Your love was a never-ending honeymoon.

You stared into Satoru’s striking blue eyes. He darted his gaze across your gorgeous face, illuminated by the moonlight, and as you ran your fingers through his white hair and he ran his thumb across your cheek, both of you close enough to feel the gentle pats of each other’s breaths on your mesmerizing faces, you both fell in love with each other just a bit more — if that was even possible.

“Can I fuck you now?”

Satoru’s question made a sudden chuckle spilled out from between your lips. He couldn’t help but laugh too.

“You’re a buffoon. I’m trying to admire your beauty and that’s what you open your mouth to say?” You playfully frowned.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a human being call another human being a buffoon out loud before.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes humorously. “We need to do our skincare routine first. We have to do it an hour before we go to bed or else we might just rub all the product off. I read that somewhere.”

“Why didn’t we do it before we got into bed in the first place?” Satoru buried his head in the crook of your neck, pouting, but taking a moment to press a little kiss onto your skin.

“Because you were acting as if you were dying of poison and eating me out was the antidote, so I forgot.” you giggled softly.

“Fine, fine,” your husband slowly rolled off of you in defeat. “Skincare routine, nothing more. Please don’t start trying to organize the bath towels.”

“I’m not making any promises,” you said, getting out of bed and following Satoru into the master bathroom.

There, you and your husband stood in front of the big mirror, cleansing and moisturizing your skin as you both chatted about his students, a movie you watched three days ago, and your breakfast plans in the morning.

And it was those sweet little moments that made Satoru’s heart skip a beat. As he flickered his eyes over to your reflection, watching your smother smooth white cream all over your face as you rambled on about a new egg recipe, he couldn’t help but think about how much he loved you.

—

6:00 A.M.

That night ended with soft sex and gentle kisses.

That morning, Satoru’s white eyelashes fluttered open to the early morning sun starting to rise, casting rays through the drawn window curtains and across his comforter.

He squinted his eyes and yawned.

Typically, he was the sort of man who would never wake up at the ungodly hour if he could help it, but the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling eggs had traveled from the kitchen downstairs to right underneath his nose.

Tossing on his blue houseboat, the grumpy-faced man dragged himself into the kitchen, greeting you with a slightly gruff morning voice and a messy head of hair.

“Good morning, baby,” Satoru walked around the kitchen island and loosely wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind. “How’d you sleep? I had a nightmare.”

With a spatula in one hand, you flipped the omelet in the skillet on the six-burner stove. With the other hand, you rubbed his arm, enjoying the warmth his hovering hug had brought.

“I slept alright,” you said. “Did the smell wake you up?”

“Always does,” he smiled lazily although you couldn’t see it.

“Well, your drink’s ready,” you gave a nod in the general direction of the silver espresso machine, which hummed as it brewed Satoru’s steamy beverage.

“I don’t deserve you,” Satoru’s arms hugged you tighter, and he showered the side of your head with kisses.

“Stop it,” your sweet laughter only egged him on as you clenched the spatula and leaned back against him even more. “No fooling around when we’re this close to the stove.”

Satoru eventually backed away after giving you one final kiss against your forehead temple.

“If all goes well, I should be back home tomorrow before dark, then we can check out that new restaurant. What do you say? I personally think it’s time for a date.”

The image of you and Satoru sipping on wine and as you wore your favorite dress flashed in your mind, and you smiled. A date night was certainly something to look forward to in light of Satoru’s overnight trip.

Sorcering duties had often taken him on distant work trips. Truth be told, you were lucky his departure would only last around twenty-four hours and not twenty-four days. Although you missed him whenever he would leave, you understood his choice of career. He was a hero.

You happened to be an ordinary human being. You couldn’t see curses. You couldn’t use cursed energy or cursed techniques, but you were fine with that.

“A date sounds fun! I’m excited now.” You took the omelet out of the skillet and placed it on a nearby plate. “And we’re making time to try out that new pottery class too. It sounds like such a cute date idea, don’t you think so?”

“I’m with you. I’ll make the reservations for the restaurant, you can schedule us for pottery-making.” This time, he was the one blissfully picturing you and him spinning messy clay with him sitting behind you and reaching around your body for the pottery wheel, your fingers intertwined as you both created a pot. Satoru smiled at the thought. “Anyway, now that you’re done cooking, can I kiss you?”

You nodded with a cheeky grin, and your husband pressed his lips against yours sweetly.

It was as if some part of him was frightened that he would never get the opportunity to kiss you again.

—

8:37 P.M.

The bright light far above your head flickered briefly as you stood in the pasta aisle at your local grocery store, but you hadn’t noticed it, too fixated on the different brands of spaghetti noodles lying on the shelf above you.

Shopping at night wasn’t preferable, but only after tossing together a simmering pan of sauce did you realize you hadn’t started boiling your noodles yet.

And, with your pot of simmering water ready, you opened the cabinet to see no noodles.

So, here you were, making a last-minute, unplanned trip to the grocery store.

By now, the only sort of pasta noodles left were the ones that a person of average height couldn’t reach. Every box was too high.

You turned your head to the left and to the right.

You even bothered to walk down a few aisles to search for an employee or anyone who might have been tall enough to reach your needed item, but the only other person staggering around was an older blonde-haired woman who was shorter than you were.

Frowning in frustration, you returned to the pasta aisle.

If you had to climb the shelves, so be it.

Suddenly, a kind voice spoke over the calming public-friendly background music playing softly in the store.

“Need some help?”

Whipping your head around, you saw a person — a taller person, thank goodness — who had a smile that was just as sweet as his voice.

“Yes, thank you!” You found that his grin was rather contagious, as you ended up smiling as well. “I just need the spaghetti noodles on the top shelf. Any brand will do.”

The beaming man with long, dark hair stepped forward, and you moved to the side, letting the apparent hero save your day.

He pulled down your desired spaghetti noodles with ease.

“Thanks for your help. My spaghetti sauce won’t go to waste now,” you said politely.

Your eyes darted up to the stitched scar across his forehead, then quickly, you glanced away.

“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”

The man walked down the aisle and left.

There was something familiar about him, oddly enough.

That hair . . . that smile . . .

He reminded you of an old, deceased friend of Satoru’s, one that you hadn’t ever met due to his villainous behavior before his death, but you had seen an old picture of him that he and your husband took during their second year at Jujutsu High, years ago.

As you placed the pasta noodles into your cart, making your way around different aisles to collect a few more items since you were already at the store, you decided that you’d take another look at that photograph once you arrived home, just for peace of mind.

The brown paper bag stuffed with groceries felt rather heavy as you walked down the street, which was brightened by light pouring out of the windows of local businesses that hadn’t yet closed.

You sighed softly.

The dark sky was sparkling with stars. The air was cool and comforting. Soon, you’d have pasta, and perhaps, you’d watch a few episodes of your favorite binge-worthy Netflix show.

If only Satoru was with you.

Chatting with him on the phone a few hours ago only made you miss him even more, but, at least his trip would be a quick one, and soon, you could have dinner with him and listen to his hilarious commentary as you watched television together.

After walking for around five minutes, you were no longer close to the local businesses that made you feel a sense of comfort during your evening stroll.

Now, you had to rely on the occasional streetlight to guide you home.

But that cold air was no longer comforting. It was a chilling breeze that made you clench your grocery bag a bit tighter.

Your footsteps suddenly halted — you could hear something moving in the nearby bushes.

Turning around, you were greeted with nothing but darkness and streetlights. No one else was with you. You kept walking.

However, something wasn’t right.

You might not have been a sorcerer, but you weren’t a fool.

And you had a gut-wrenching feeling that right now, as your wobbly legs guided you home, you were being watched.

You heard that noise again.

The grocery bag crinkled against your chest. You were certain that the bread you purchased was squished by now. If someone was following you, did you really want to unintentionally lead them to your home?

Where should you go? What should you do?

A tear rolled down your cheek from fear.

You were scared. You only wanted to go home, finish your pasta, and watch television.

You didn’t want to deal with such a potentially terrifying situation.

Pulling out your phone, you opened your dial screen.

Your trembling thumb hovered over the buttons, but before you could press anything, a black, disfigured curse appeared in front of you, screeching loudly enough to make you drop everything in your hands and cover your ears, more tears falling as the horrifying monster started to charge at you.

You tried to run in the other direction, but it was too late.

The last thing you saw before you were engulfed by darkness was that man from the grocery store standing on the sidewalk, that same sweet smile on his familiar face.

—

12:27 A.M.

Satoru’s eyes snapped open. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, as he had spent most of the night tossing and turning because you weren’t lying next to him. But, apparently, he did manage to catch a couple of hours of shut-eye.

When he awakened, there was a terrible ache in his heart. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, and beads of sweat decorated his forehead. His throat was dried to a crisp.

He was all alone in his dark hotel room.

He couldn’t hear you.

He couldn’t see you.

And yet, somehow, someway, thanks to his great power, he knew that his wife was calling for him.

—

The overwhelming scent of old, wet, musky wood and dust would never be forgotten by your memory. A lifetime of therapy would never be able to erase the paralyzing fear you felt, sitting on the cold, hard ground of an abandoned cabin with your hands bound behind your back.

Maybe the fear wasn’t completely paralyzing, though. Your body seemed to tremble with terror just fine.

The sight of it made Suguru Geto — no, Kenjaku chuckle.

He kept his eye on you for no other reason besides his entertainment, as watching you himself was pointless considering he had two frightening curses looming over you.

Once, Satoru shared a fun fact with you: regular human beings cannot see curses unless they are about to die.

That fact was certainly interesting when the two of you were strolling through the beautiful park, a red and white striped blanket in your hand and a picnic basket in his. But, now, that fact only made sweat drip off of your scarred forehead, because you could see the two, black, disfigured curses.

It was a telltale sign that you could die.

“I haven’t had the displeasure of meeting him myself,” Kenjaku suddenly spoke, relaxing in a chair he had positioned a few feet away from the corner you were trapped in. “But I have seen memories of Satoru Gojo that belonged to this body I’ve inhabited. And, I must say, I couldn’t imagine that his wife would be such a weakling. It’s truly pathetic.”

Even if you wanted to reply to him, fear had snatched away your ability to speak. It created a lump in your throat that couldn’t be swallowed down.

“My best guess is that he needs someone boring and ordinary in his life to keep house while he’s busy saving the world. You’re just the cook and maid with a ring on her finger, hm?”

“He loves me.”

Your voice was small — it was a painfully perfect reflection of how you felt on the inside. Weak and pathetic.

“Oh?” Kenjaku raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly. “Believe it or not, I hope you’re right, or else kidnapping you was a waste of time.”

Your chains rattled as you shifted in your spot on the floor, scooting as far into the corner as you could get. An ache shot up your spine from the wall pressing into your back. Pulling your knees to your chest, more tears slipped from your eyes.

“Aw, don’t cry,” he falsely cooed. “Surely you’ve wondered why the world’s strongest sorcerer would settle for someone who forgets to double-check all of their ingredients before they start cooking, haven’t you? It’s not because of love, or anything of the sort. It’s because those who are deeply insecure would do anything to please anyone who looks their way. Only an ordinary, desperate housewife with low self-esteem and no ambition would waste time caring for a man who risks his life saving strangers. What would make you think he cares for you when he spends more time with curses than his own wife? Helping strangers more than his own family? Think about it.”

Kenjaku’s hurtful words were met with silence, but he didn’t stop speaking.

“I bet you’re nothing but a burden to him. Someone like him probably hates being tied down, but marrying a fool who contributes nothing to society is the only way he can get someone else to handle his laundry while he’s busy working hard, hm? He must carry around divorce papers, ready to serve them to you the day you forget to buy detergent from the grocery store.” Kenjaku’s smile brightened. “Oh, that reminds me. You dropped your detergent and other groceries on the road earlier, by the way. Looks like you’re useless now.”

“You . . .” your teary eyes flickered from him to the hovering curses. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. None of that’s true.”

“You have to believe that I’m speaking honestly, Y/N.” Kenjaku sighed with fake sincerity. “My entire plan rests on the hope that Satoru Gojo is foolish enough to try to rescue you. You see, when you want to lure someone out, the proper way to do it is by discovering their weaknesses. When I found out about you, I was hoping that you would be his weakness. That I could use you to lure him out. Then I met you, and, well, you’re simply disappointing. Sorry to break it to you, but I have memories of the old conversations Satoru used to have with Suguru, and being tied down to a powerless housewife was certainly not how he imagined his future. But, I figured I’d try anyway, and so here you are, and he’s not here to rescue you. What a shame. I bet he’s hoping I’ll kill you so he’ll be free.”

He was lying. He had to be. Satoru loved you more than anything . . . right?

The thought had crossed your mind before; why did Satoru want to be with someone powerless? And this villain’s plan to lure out your husband relied on his hope that he’d come to rescue you out of love, so how would it benefit him to convince you Satoru didn’t love you?

Maybe he was right.

After all, if Satoru cared for you, he would have saved you by now. Where was he?

You couldn’t help but cry even harder.

“Please let me go home,” your tears clouded your vision. “Please let me go.”

“Well, you should know that I hate wasting time,” Kenjaku rested his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow pressing into the arm of the chair he sat in. “I can’t let you leave. I won’t let the effort I put into kidnapping you be a total waste.”

Kenjaku’s smile widened, and suddenly, the curses started to move towards you.

—

1:45 A.M.

The subway station was isolated. No ordinary human beings were lurking around, and Satoru was relieved. Right now, he’d kill anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

His shoes gently shuffled against the ground as he made his way into the middle of the big, bright opening, and he clenched his fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palm, hard enough to draw blood.

Two special grade cursed spirits emerged. He recognized them both from a previous fight in the woods.

Volcano head. Asparagus.

“Satoru Gojo,” Jogo suddenly said. “We didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to-”

“Where is my wife?”

When Satoru interrupted the curse, his voice was low. Dark. Startling.

Blood dripped from his palms and splattered onto the ground.

“I was drawn here, but she isn’t here, is she? Where is she? Tell me now, and I’ll kill you quickly instead of slowly.”

Jogo chuckled a bit. Satoru dug his nails into his palm even more.

“Bring us the vessel, Yuji Itadori, and we’ll return that worthless-”

The two curses didn’t have time to blink — weren’t able to register in their minds that Satoru had moved from his previous spot until Jogo was lifted off of the ground and thrown into the flickering light fixture above, shattering it and causing sparks to rain down onto the ground below, where he then fell.

Satoru stepped on Jogo’s head, squishing it underneath his black shoe.

“I remember you. You’re stubborn, right?” Satoru gritted his teeth. “Who the hell do you think you are to take her from me? Whoever you work for must want you dead if they’re stupid enough to send you on a suicide mission. You think I’ll let you leave here alive after this?”

“If you kill us, you’ll never see her again,” the other cursed spirit, Hanami, suddenly spoke up. “Bring us the vessel, and she lives.”

When Satoru suddenly stopped moving, it was only to ensure that he had heard the cursed spirit correctly.

“Did you just threaten . . .” Satoru removed his blindfold, “to kill my wife?”

It was only a matter of time before the branches attached to Hanami’s head were ripped out, and Jogo was beheaded. The subway was reduced to nothing except crumbling walls and darkness. While the cursed spirits were teetering dangerously between life and death, there wasn’t a scratch on Satoru. Instead, there was a smile.

This was simply the consequence of their actions. This was what happened to anyone who laid a hand on his girl.

Hanami’s body was on the brink of collapse as it was forced to come in contact with Satoru’s cursed technique — a blue shield-like piece of infinity that distorted and manipulated both time and space, protecting the sorcerer from attacks and rendering Hanami powerless.

Hanami’s eyes darted over to their beheaded ally — they couldn’t help him.

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” Satoru’s eyes widened. His smile grew. He slowly turned, facing Hanami, and blasted him back against the nearest wall without lifting a finger. “Where is my wife?”

—

2:39 A.M.

Kenjaku had never understood the concept of love, and, perhaps, that was why he failed.

Satoru’s love for you was his weakness, that was true, but it also turned out to be his greatest strength, and this was a fight Kenjaku couldn’t win.

Not today.

One of his curses, which had been traveling to and fro to observe what was currently taking place in the subway station and reporting it back to Kenjaku, had informed him that Jogo and Hanami were on the brink of death.

He couldn’t lose them yet. They were too powerful, and he needed their help for his future plans.

Kenjaku left the cabin, taking his curses with him.

And, without their cursed energy purposely making it difficult for Satoru to find you, he was able to pinpoint your exact location.

It appeared in his powerful mind as he was ripping Hanami apart limb by limb, and he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t know who was behind all of this, but it was clear that the mastermind had suddenly decided to let your whereabouts be tracked down in order to save Hanami and Jogo.

He didn’t want to make that deal. He wanted to kill these two, bring them back to life, and kill them over again. Their pain brought him joy, all because they took part in your capture.

But Satoru didn’t want his bloodlust to backfire. After all, if he killed the cursed spirits now, the person who held you captive could change their mind and move you someplace else and hide your location yet again, or, worse — they could kill you.

That wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.

Satoru stopped using his technique. But, as he left the subway station, he promised himself that eventually, he would kill those two. He would kill anyone and everyone involved.

But you came first.

You would always come first.

—

He found you.

When Satoru kicked open the door belonging to a raggedy, abandoned cabin, the scent of blood overwhelmed him. It dirtied his boots as he kneeled by your side. Your unconscious, bleeding body was lying there, simply left on the ground as if you were nothing.

“Y/N . . .” Satoru called out breathlessly.

He took the chains off of you instantly, his bloodshot eyes darting over every gaping wound.

It was indescribable — the anger he felt. He wanted to return to the subway and finish off those cursed spirits, to make them suffer and suffer and suffer.

But tending to you took priority right now. Satoru scooped up your broken and bruised body, holding you as softly as he could. A tear fell from his eye, splattering against your cheek.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay,” he spoke gently.

Your eyelids fluttered as you awakened. An overwhelming sense of pain slammed into you once you regained consciousness, and hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Prior to this, the only pain you had ever known was the wholesome body ache from tripping and falling while playing outside with your friends as a child. But this level of misery took away your ability to speak. Left you wondering if you were going to die.

You could make out stains of your blood on Satoru’s clothes.

Even so, you could tell based on the pained look on his face that he was suffering even more just from seeing you in such a condition.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbled, slowly getting off the ground as he carried you. “This is all my fault. They did this to you because of me. I’m so sorry.”

Satoru raised you a bit, gently pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.

He’d give anything to switch places with you right now — to be the one in unspeakable pain. Why couldn’t they have kidnapped him? Tortured him? If he had the power to take away your suffering and give it to himself, he would. For you, not only would he kill, but he’d die, repeatedly and without a second thought or a moment of hesitation.

As Satoru took you to the nearest hospital, his tears spilling onto your body, he said, “We’re almost there, okay? I promise I’ll make them pay for this, and no one will ever lay a hand on you again.”

Arriving into the uncomforting white halls of the emergency room, Satoru handed you off to the nurses and doctors who rushed up to him. But, before they placed you on the nearest stretcher, Satoru kissed your forehead once again as unconsciousness claimed you, and he whispered, “I love you, Y/N.”

—

10:02 A.M.

Two days later, you awakened in a hospital bed. This time, pain didn’t greet you, but grogginess and blurred vision. The gentle beeps from the nearby machines certainly didn’t help your pounding headache.

Your sight started to clear up after blinking a few times.

Soft strands of hair tickled your arm, and when you looked to your left, you saw Satoru slumped in a chair, his head resting in his arms on the side of your bed. You reached over and ruffled his messy white hair a bit.

He shot up, startled. His blue eyes were wide with alarm, then they softened with gratefulness, but, lastly, they darted down with sorrow.

“Y/N . . . thank god, you’re awake.” Satoru croaked out in his morning voice, clearing his throat a bit. He was dehydrated — too focused on your recovery to worry about himself. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so . . .”

Satoru got out of his chair, sat on the side of your bed, and leaned over, resting the side of his head against your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumbled weakly. “It’s mine.”

Satoru pulled his head away from you, staring at you with furrowed brows and a confused gaze.

“What? No, it’s not.”

You couldn’t find the courage to look him in the eye. Kenjaku’s words replayed in your mind. They hurt just as much as getting attacked by curses.

As if reading your thoughts, Satoru cupped your chin, turning your head back in his direction.

“Look at me,” he said. “What happened wasn’t your fault. I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care if you can’t fight curses-”

“You’re just saying that . . . because I’m kinda useful to you. But I’m easily replaceable. Speaking honestly, I’m a burden. You had to come save my life, and put yourself in danger. I’m not worth it.”

“You think I married you because you’re useful?” Hurt flashed in Satoru’s piercing eyes. “I’m in love with you, and you’ll never be a burden. I don’t care if you can’t fight curses. You’re my wife for a reason, and that’s because there’s nothing greater than seeing you get excited over finding your favorite snack at the grocery store or seeing the way you smile when your favorite scene from a show comes on, and you sit there and watch it as if you haven't seen it a thousand times. I love the way your eyes light up when you find a new activity in town for us to try, or a new book to read, or a new recipe. God, I just . . . I love you. I love you more than anything. I don’t know how you’re able to put up with someone like me. Every day I wonder how I got so lucky because I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me, and I haven’t met anyone as loving as you are. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Do you understand me? I’d kill and die for you.”

Satoru gently wiped away the tear that fell from your eyes with his thumb.

“I love you too,” you smiled softly, leaning into his touch. “I’m sorry we missed our dinner reservations and the pottery class.”

Satoru couldn’t help but lean in and kiss your cheek.

“I’ve already rescheduled two weeks out.”

Moving away from your cheek, your husband softly kissed your lips. And while he had spent time rescheduling your date night and making sure you were receiving the excellent care you deserved while in the hospital, he was also hard at work, tracking down the monsters that dared to lay a hand on you.

He would make them suffer.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @nnasv @hyunorue

If he appeared in my room then that would be a shame 😔😔😔

can’t help but think about

Men who look like they haven’t felt the touch of a woman. (they haven’t) They develop a crush on you. Men who look at you with doe eyes, ready to please. Men who will do anything if you asked. Men who shiver when you whisper in their ear. It can be anything, but the feeling of you getting close— fuck they’re goners. Men who imagine you in ungodly ways, all of this new to them. Men who are on the verge of crying because they are so sexually frustrated.

Men who still can’t believe how someone like them (shy, submissive, a stuttering mess) managed to pull someone as confident and bold as you.

Men who whimper when you finally touch them. Guttural grunts and moans, whines and whimpers— all a part of the melody they let out just for you. Men who look up at you with expectant eyes, wanting–no needing you to praise them. We’ve already established that they love your voice, so throw in a ‘good boy’ or ‘you did so good baby’ and their brain stops functioning.

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I don't want it if it ain't your touch - West Side // Ariana Grande

I’m in class rn and all i can think about is this.

Ethan Landry, Sub!Miguel O’Hara, Simon Aumar, Harry Potter, Yuta Okkotsu, Tyler Galpin, Bucky Barnes +your favs!

absolutely tragic 😪😪 #getheaventhegoodshit

What are some of the dumbest rules in heaven that basically serve no purpose?

honestly? No alcohol allowed.

I mean, except for wine when we do that “communion” shit, but it’s not even GOOD wine. You might as well be using grape juice, ya know?

He doesn't care at all