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Contains - minor smut, obsessive behaviour, corporeal horrors, body horror, neglect.
You are starting to think the man in your home isn't your husband.
It was the night after your wedding when he left to go to war, you looked up at him as he stood beside the bed fastening his armour while you covered your bare chest with the sheets. Neither of you spoke a word to each other. You still remember your thighs were sticky with his spend, and it was as though he looked everywhere in the room but at your direction. The wedding itself felt like a farce, he only needed someone to maintain his estate in his absence, picking the daughter of one of his vassals to do the job. You only spoke one sentence to him in the glow of your room before he left.
“Would you like me to give you a token?” You were still bright eyed and used to novels of courtly love. Naive enough to believe that if he didn't love you yet he would at least have respect for you as his wife.
The only thing he met you with was a grimace “Why would I want something like that?” He muttered before closing the door behind him. Leaving you there in the dark unsure if you did anything to upset him.
That was three years ago, now with the war over and all the men returning you heard stories about men returning changed from war. Quiet and unable to handle loud noises, or volatile and quick to blows. But you heard nothing about a man who once felt nothing for his wife returning home full of love.
In all the years he's been gone he's never written to you, never asked after you. The man who returned however sought you out firstly, took you in just arms with a passion you thought only existed inside those novels you long abandoned as lies. And you wanted to believe it, wanted so much to be deserving of the love you always wanted. Until you noticed some things-
His eyes flickering between colours from the start to the end of the day. Moments when his features just looked wrong on his face, slightly off angle and misplaced. Or when you'd wake late at night, turning over to your side and freezing when you'd see a void where his teeth should be. But most of all, it was his newfound gentleness, following you throughout his day without caring for the household. The way he'd hold you to him at night, gentle as he pistons in and of you, asking reassurance for your comfort, wanting to make sure you're not in pain. How he'd have you cum over and over before he would allow himself release. when your wedding night was a stab of pain, and a handful of grunts over in five minutes before he abandoned you. This cannot be the same man.
You've taken to superstitions hoping they would help. Spending hours in the temple only for him to cross the threshold and find you. Keeping salt in your pockets but he'd still have his hands all over you. The only thing you haven't tried yet was silver until you spotted him through the keyhole, cracking in two before forming himself back again. Dressing up in the skin of your husband as though it's an evening suit.
With only the moon as your witness you hold the blade carefully above his heart, it would only take one push and then the thing masquerading as your husband would reveal himself. He is beautiful in his sleep. But with the beauty of a statue, an imitation of life from the perspective of an outsider looking in. You thrust the knife down- only to be interrupted with one eye opening.
“Why can't you just be satisfied with this?” The cloying affection is finally dropped from his voice as he grabs at the knife you hold against him. “He wanted nothing to do with you but here you are, unwilling to accept all the love i have to show you,” blood drips down his palm and onto his sleep shirt, falling in thick black drops.
“What are you?” you cry out “You've stolen my husband's face and wear it for what purpose?” you try to push the knife deeper but his grip blocks you before you can break flesh or what constitutes his flesh.
“I am someone who can take any shape I wish, I took your husband's face because I quite enjoyed the life he led in his memories. Nobels always lead the most fun ones, and they tend to die easily in battle so it's rather easy to switch skins from one man to the next”. He smiles and you could swear his teeth become sharp. “Normally I'm quick to switch my interest, but how could anyone grow tired of a life with you?” His hands move, pinnng you underneath him, staining the shoulders of your gown black with his mud like blood.
“I tried for you, I read those books you hid beneath your bed, copied them exactly but you never would accept it. Is it my face? Am I not pretty enough for you? I assumed you'd want me to keep his face at least publicly but in private I can be anyone you want,” he pleads desperately leaning down above you as his face begins to shift, features rearranging themselves. You become dizzy as he swaps faces, “I can be anything you want, take any form all for you!” He transforms into the stable boy who blushes when you take his hand, to the guard that accompanies you out from the castle, to the knights from all your abandoned books, before going back to your husband. Not stopping until you scream for him to end this game.
“Show me your face then! The true one!” your scream silences him as he pauses, leaning down into your neck.
“Do you really mean that?” his breath is hot on your neck as he begins to shift. A creature of ink spilling over your body, a thousand hands and lips caressing you. Made of smoke and stone you can't escape the weight he holds over you.“My love,” a thousand voices speak in tandem, “my sweet sweet love wanting me as I am.” the creature giggles almost, giddy on his adoration of you, “but I can't stay like this for too long, else you'd become mad,” he coos, you feel teeth across your neck, nipping the skin, careful not to devour you whole. He's still so careful as you feel tendrils spreading your legs, caressing you wherever he can find skin. You can't breathe with him stealing the air from your lungs.
He transforms back slowly, reducing into bone, then sinew then flesh again. Your husband's form, a minor horror compared to what you just witnessed. He smiles with too-sharp teeth as he pulls you close to his chest as though to steady you with his false heartbeat. “My sweet little wife, how could he have never loved you?”
“Satoru, do you mind telling me why you and your boyfriend are at my table?” You glared up at the white-haired man as you tried to complete your notes from your last lecture. Suguru snorted at your comment. “Oh please, I have more self-respect.”
Satoru looked between the two of you like a kicked puppy, glossy lips morphing into a pout. “Hey! Don’t forget both of you have kissed me on more than one occasion.”
You let out a confused noise before Gojo interjected. “Anyway, I have a super important question to ask you, sweets.”
Rolling your eyes, you finally tilted your head up from your books. “We will circle back to that, but what’s up?”
He slid a slightly crumpled paper across the desk as if he were slipping you some kind of illegal substance. When you turned it over, there were three small boxes which were each accompanied by either back, biceps, or pretty face. You sucked in a breath, preparing for whatever bullshit he was pulling this time.
“Satoru, what the hell is this?” The man only smiled wider, cerulean eyes sparkling as if he had just created the greatest scheme known to mankind. “That,” he beamed, “Is a foolproof, state-of-the-art method to test how much you really like me.”
You groaned, watching as the two idiots giggled amongst themselves like high school girls.
“I don’t have time for this,” you muttered mostly to yourself, shaking your head. Satoru piped up, “Oh, come on, just for me?” His eyes widened, giving his best effort at puppy dog eyes. Suguru joined in, “Just do it so he stops asking me what his best qualities are.”
With one last exasperated sigh, you folded. “Alright, fine! You better not get upset with the outcome.” The two men cheered rather loudly, earning an annoyed “shh!” From the librarian.
You grabbed your pen, drawing a wonky box with the title “personality.” Satoru watched with hopeful eyes as each letter appeared.
“No looking.”
Satoru and Suguru turned around, attempting to sneak glances over their shoulders every few seconds.
Finally, you cleared your throat, announcing that you had finished. You slid the paper back to him just as discreetly, and Gojo practically snatched it away.
☐ back
✔︎ biceps
☐ pretty face
☐ personality
Geto burst out laughing, strands of hair falling free from his bun with the force of it, while Satoru looked somewhat distressed. “I — wha? I thought you loved my personality,” he whined, lips curling into a frown. You began to pack up your belongings, but he wasn’t done yet.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Satoru stared at the paper as though the answer would somehow change. “You seemed to have misunderstood the assignment.” You stared at him for a moment. “No, no, I don’t think I did.”
“Oh, you absolutely did.” He jabbed a finger at the paper, “See, now you wrote down personality yourself, which was correct — kudos! But you forgot to tick it.” Suguru intervened, “Maybe if you didn’t act like… well, you, you would’ve gotten personality as your best trait.”
Satoru gasped dramatically, “That is offensive! I’ll have you know I have a very attractive… everything!”
He turned back to you, “Seriously?”
You shrugged, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “What can I say? I have my priorities.”
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It's a random thought, but have you ever thought about doing a scenario where SatoSugu thinks about having a baby and hires a surrogate mother?
okokok just to make it clear i dont like anything pregnancy related and try to steer clear of that BUT i just learned that to be a surrogate you must have one successful pregnancy so >:) im making one exception.
(satosugu is like 25-30 mc is 34+)
I can just imagine that the surrogate is just a regular mom who has a loving family and just wants to give back to the community yknow? maybe the surrogate had some complications with pregnancy and now you're so grateful for your bundle of joy that you just wanna help other parents feel the same feeling
you're just a year or two below the cutmark (being in your mid-thirties), but thankfully you're paired with a lovely couple. Suguru and Satoru are absolutely delighted to meet you, gushing over you, through the moon that you've accepted to be their surrogate.
they go to all of your appointments and checkups. they're so diligent you just know they're gonna be great parents. you knew it from the moment they met your daughter, cooing over her, suguru even stuck one of her drawings on his fridge.
you adore them too. they're so considerate, nothing like the horror stories you've read about surrogacy. they dont treat you like a vessel for their unborn child. on the way from a doctor's visit, satoru is more than eager to pull over, wanting to cater to every craving you have. suguru gives you footrubs when your feet start to swell. they constantly tell you how beautiful you look. it's honestly really sweet.
unfortunately, your husband isn't so keen on them. no matter how many times you try to whittle it out of him, he's always tight-lipped about his reasoning. he wants you to maintain your distance from them. he isn't a fan of them being so friendly with your daughter.
Unlike him, you miss the look Suguru gives you when you're complaining about morning sickness. Unlike him, you don't notice the way Satoru's hand presses on your belly, not just feeling the baby, but you too.
Unlike him, you miss the way they treat your daughter. it's almost....parental.
you don't understand his reasoning, but you love him, so you respect his wishes. slowly, you broaden the distance between them. you respond to their texts less and less. you are a little more insistent on going to minor check ups and appointments yourself. honestly, as much as you liked them, you have to admit that satoru and suguru were a bit too coddling. you've been through this before, you aren't fragile. you and your husband can handle the hard parts, they just need to focus on preparing for the baby.
they notice, but they don't mention it to you. they know it's not your fault.
a couple weeks later, your husband leaves.
he doesn't even take anything. none of his clothes are gone, none of his shoes. Just his wallet.
All he leaves is a note.
I don't wanna do this anymore. don't look for me
You’re distraught. Nothing calms you down anymore. You immediately spiral, shutting out your friends and family. Your daughter is the only thing that keeps you sane. You’re abandoned, single and pregnant, and there’s no one to catch you when you fall.
It only takes a couple of days for Satoru and Suguru to worm their way back into your life. There’s only a hint of resistance before you’re falling in their arms, crying about how he could do this to you? How could he leave out of the blue like that?
You don’t get it. Nothing makes sense. If you weren’t so distraught, you might have realized the note doesn’t 100% match your husband’s handwriting. You might have realized the note doesn’t match your husband at all.
Satoru and suguru are eager to distract you from that. It’s back to status quo, accept they’re a little more touchier, a little more fussier. You watch how well they get along with your daughter. When they insist on moving into their lavish penthouse you can’t help but acquiesce.
When Suguru finally kisses you, Satoru’s eyes just as heavy, you can’t help but give in.
hey you might've lost one husband, but you gained two more:)
♡ TW: noncon, yandere, arranged marriage, infertility, 7-year age gap
♡ FEM reader
It's been a month since your wedding night.
You're still holding onto the hope that this is all just some fleeting interest of his—something he’ll grow bored of come time. By this, meaning your marriage.
You try to speed it along by making yourself seem as dull as possible, avoiding him to the best of your efforts and otherwise ignoring him if you fail to do the first—anything to make him lose interest.
Even so, you’d obviously still have to be his wife. Until death do you part is a binding vow unfortunately, and so, even if you could make him regret ever making it, you’d still have to be Mrs Gojo on paper, and be bound by the duties that come with that title, but outside of that, hopefully, you wouldn't have to see his face any more than what was absolutely necessary.
If you could get your relationship to where that was the standard, you’d find ways to make it work. You’d be the wife of a very rich man, after all, it would be a shame not to reap the benefits for all they’re worth.
Odd as it may sound, having a kid wouldn’t be so bad either. If you aren’t allowed to leave the grounds, having something to do would be nice.
But the problem of your faulty constitution still remains…
But maybe… you could hit two birds with one stone… and revert his attention away from you while simultaneously earning something to occupy your attention in return.
“There she is—my little wife,” he comes in cheering, full of lazy smiles and devious eyes as per usual.
You’d been hiding yourself away in the reading room—a place you doubt he’s ever visited—and still he found you, just like he always does. Suppose those six eyes are to blame.
Even if you never really understood what they do, you know it’s something bad, judging by the sight of him.
“Ew,” you cringe. “You’re covered in blood, go wash.”
It wasn’t an overstatement. He literally was. White hair and pale skin all filthy with red. He doesn’t seem to think much of it. On top of you despite your comment, with no regard to the book you were reading, with a chuckle against your neck, drawling, “Don't say that, you’ll hurt my feelings.”
You sigh, disgusted with him more than usual, deciding it was time to put your plan into effect, “How ‘bout you go fuck one of your whores instead and leave me alone.” Cringing under his touch, and how he reeks of rust and salt.
“Aw—you’ jealous?” he grins in your ear.
This time you scoff, teeth grit. “Not particularly. I just fail to see the point in having you keening in my ear when there’s nothing to be made from it.” And with another sigh, you mumble the suggestion, “At least a whore can get you an heir.”
He doesn’t seem to pique his interest. Only snorting at the prospect while he continues in his pursuit of touching you beneath your shirt, “Tch, trust me, the last thing I want is a stinky brat running around spoiling all my fun.”
With a grimace, you veer your head away from his onslaught, feeling his bloody hands grip your waist rough, molding your body against his, into that hard bump kept in his slacks.
You swear, trying to talk to him is like trying to talk to a dog with a bone.
“It’s not as though you’d be bothered,” you continue nonetheless, insistent. “Raising the thing would be my responsibility anyway.”
That actually gets his attention. Stopping, he lifts his head from sucking marks into your chest and looks down at you, now with a furrow between his brows.
“You’d really do that? Raise my bastards?” He questions.
To which you just shrug, saying, “Of course. Seeing as I'm stuck here, I might as well do what I’ve trained to do all my life. It’s my only purpose now, after all.”
His brow quirks, repeating your words as a question, “Your purpose?”
He laughs again then, this time more heartily, saying, “Silly wife… Your purpose is much simpler than that...”
Shaking his head at you before leaning back in, now with his lips just a breath away from yours. “Being mine.”
The proximity invites goosebumps, and so do his words. Feeling a deep shudder run through you. Nearly whining as he continues from where he left off, back with his hands around your waist, tugging your skirt up until there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin, groping into the fat of your haunches with entitlement and want.
Voice getting gruffer as he gorges himself in your warmth like it’s his personal sanctuary, saying “I'm your first in everything. Your first kiss, your first fuck, your first time making a mess.”
“Don't be gross–” you cringe, but he pays it no mind.
Only continuing, “And I'll be your only one until you die—”
For the first time in a moment, you’re the one who laughs, “Tch—I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Tone mocking as you roll your eyes—he’s so full of himself it’s ridiculous.
His head lifts again, looking at you in dumb askance.
To which you just tilt your head slyly, talking to him like the great big man-child he is, “Oh, come on, Satoru. Are you forgetting what line of work you’re in? You could drop dead any day.” With a sneer, you cup his face in your hands in sardonic affection. “You really think I'll stick around to weep at your grave when you go?”
A groan rises from low in his chest. At first you think it’s a growl, feeling victorious about having angered him. But then he all but moans, “It makes me so fucking horny when you speak like that.”
Kneading your hips, he rubs his clothed bulge against you, messaging you both with the friction between his pants and your panties. Too busy touching you to unbuckle his belt.
His rust is only a heated whisper, kissing your cheek with tongue and teeth as he keeps going, “Knock up a whore, get a brat? I don't think so.”
He pops his collar, and wrings his jacket off quickly. Tossing it aside before bearing back over you.
“Though, it’s funny you think you’d even have the time to spare when you already have your hands full with me.”
Looking down at you with those crazed blue orbs—you wish he’d just keep that infernal blindfold on, the way you feel them strip you bare even with your clothes still halfway on.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I don't plan on dying anytime soon.”
Hands on his belt next, he makes quick work of it without taking his eyes off you and that annoyed little face of yours, thinking you’re stupid for ever believing he’d need, want or even be open to sharing it with anyone.
“Nah… it’ll just be you and me playing house all by ourselves. So you better get used to it.”
Next up someone is going to claim that the Narnia series isn't kids books.
Kids books is probably not the best way to word it, you can enjoy them at every age, including your childhood, as you get older you may find new truths in them, but they're still good for any age.
Imagine If You Will... You were tired of fluttering your eyelashes and attempting to figure out just how close was close enough to suggest interest but not too close as to be improper. He was your friend and maybe asking for help was just the boldness the situation required.
Mr. Tom Hayward x Fem!Reader
Warnings: oblivious Mr Hayward,
w/c: ~2k
'Mr Hayward,' you regarded not sparing a moment before surging on for fear of losing your nerve. 'I need your assistance.'
'And a pleasant evening to you Miss L/n.' He bowed at your rushed curtsey, a small smile settling over his face at your strange behaviour.
'Would you do me the favour of assisting me in my search for a husband?' Mr Hayward was quite glad he had finished his glass a few minutes prior for otherwise he was sure it would have left his nose with the shock.
You seemed quite serious however, so he made the effort, as he always did when it came to you, to find some words, 'Do you think I will be much help?' It was an almost useless question and yet Tom felt he needed some sort of reasoning if he was going to oblige such a strange ask, not to mention the less than comfortable position it put him in.
'You know the ton so much better than I.' You said it like it was obvious, it was not. It was arguably untrue. 'Who is decent, who to avoid...' Seeing him still unconvinced your heart leapt slightly, that there was a chance his hesitance was a shred of jealousy, and so you went for it.
'Most of all you know exactly what I am looking for in a match-' 'I do? -I have no clue a-aside from the obvious but-' His interjection could not have been more perfect, a flurry of stuttering that propelled you forward, right into your bold move.
'Of course you do Mr Hayward' keeping your voice light as you could as your nerves were settling in. 'Someone smart and not entitled or thoughtless.' You watched him nod, face somewhat steeled and stifling a slight chuckle at the pointed comment. 'Kind, humorous and interested in the arts...'
His brow remained furrowed- good god man.
'Dark hair, handsome and dresses in green almost too much.' You laughed to yourself at that one, thinking perhaps it may have been a little overly obvious and yet;
'You enjoy green that much?' He teased with a slight smile, 'So much that it is a requirement?'
You responded only with a humoured nod as your head fell to your palm, a movement Mr Hayward must have taken as embarrassment that had him rushing to reassure you. 'It is very specific but if you think it vital then we shall find you such a man.' Pulling the hand from your face he raised your knuckle to his lips and you watched as the most oblivious man in England made a promise that he could surely not complete.
'Indeed Mr Hayward.'
Your murmured confirmation was somewhat deflated- Well, wait one moment. There was one more thing you could try!
'Although I must admit there is more...'
'More?' His eyes were larger now and you hoped the shock might help his realisation as you persisted.
'I know I am quite particular... he must...' It should have been difficult to think of something else and yet it was not at all, 'He must smile wide... quite wide.'
'Quite objective' he mocked, that exact smile dancing across his lips.
'And yet I am certain, especially in this moment, that it is vital.' Please, please Mr Hayward, understand my meaning.
'Well then, I admit there is no man who comes to mind. I assure you however, I will keep my eyes open.' The stupidest man you knew concluded with a nod and a flash of that damned smile once more.
'I am in your debt then Mr Hayward,' and with a curtsey you went to recover from such a abominable flub. I mean truly has the man not once ever glanced at his own reflection?
It was only the next weekend that had you meeting Mr Hayward once more and yet it felt as if the small soiree at the Gardiner's had not come soon enough.
'Good evening Mr Hayward.' You had all but written off the conversation of the week before, not in doubt of his efforts but rather deep in thought of some other method and yet you had come up with naught.
'Miss L/n, good evening. How have you found your week?' Tom had found himself a place once more in a quieter area of the event, albeit a harder task in such a small gathering.
'Oh very well, so calm and to be ended with a night among such good and close company I would say it has been a fine week indeed.' If such a overzealous attempt failed perhaps simpler flirtation was to be preferred. 'And what of-' He cut in quick, evidently impatient. 'Very agreeable Miss L/n, yet I am sad to say that I have made very little progress in finding your match-' he had rushed the words out, worried in part that your description of him as 'good and close company' might drown out his functional thoughts as it rung over and over in his ears.
You could not stop yourself from interjecting either '-I did not mean to inquire -I did not expect...' you let your explanation hang there dragging out the silence until his lips parted, Mr Hayward forcing an enthused tone from deep in his chest.
'Oh, well anyhow I shall not give up!' You truly wished he would stop smiling at you like that, at least about this.
Oh who on earth did you think you were fooling no you did not, you would take every look at that smile you could get until it was off, married and by the side of another woman.
'Do feel free to Mr Hayward, it is a search that may be doomed.' May be doomed if not for him you would have been certain that no man in London had all that you admired, however if not for him, you most definitely would hold no preference over the colour that a man wore, nor for the width of his smile.
'Please,' He seemed almost too serious, 'you must know you will find a match.' Mr Hayward felt somewhat at a loss at your behaviour, concerned that after only a week, and a pleasant one at that, you thought yourself "doomed" as you put it and it was most evident on his face.
'I do, I keep hope. I simply do not mean to hold you to your assistance in a futile search,'
Your language was perhaps a little maudlin, but you hoped it would quell his determination at least somewhat. His lips parted at the precise moment an old acquaintance arrived, speaking fast and tugging your arm as she led you across the room to discuss he upcoming nuptials, letting you send only a small smile back to Mr Hayward in parting.
'You look quite vexed Tom,' Mr and Mrs Gardiner had approached their friend not long after in a way that was definitely somewhat sneakily even in the now almost bustling space. It was not as if it were a difficult task as his gaze remained stuck across the room to where Mrs Gardiner could spot you, doing quite a bad job yourself of being subtle about keeping Mr Hayward in your peripherals. 'May I venture to guess what, or rather who has you this way?'
'Ah-ahem' the choked out noise was half cough and half laugh. 'Miss L/n has asked for my assistance in finding a husband.' Mr Gardiner glanced to his wife in humour,
'My dear I fear we should feel hurt we were not first sought out.' The pair shared a look before turning back to the younger man who was only now meeting their eyes.
'That must be somewhat torturous?' Mrs Gardiner watched him glance in your direction as his lips pulled thin, a long breath leaving his nose in thought. 'Indeed'.
'Well, if it eases you perhaps we can be some assistance.' Mrs Gardiner's voice was calm as it almost always was, she was stifling her amusement at the situation aware of the turmoil it had formed in the man in front of her.
'I would be quite glad for it, Miss L/n is quite discerning, she has a list of... requirements.'
'It is good to know what one values before starting out' Mr Gardiner chimed, a search with no criteria was almost definitely more difficult than one with some preferences. Although some was quite the understatement in this case.
'She does know exactly what she wants, I know that much. I have not however heard her list.' Mrs Gardiner smiled a little cheekily and a maybe little impressed that you had taken such initiative.
Tom shut his eyes tight as your words spun in his mind, 'She wants a husband who is smart. They cannot be entitled or thoughtless.'
The couple spoke at once in a conspiratorial whisper, 'That part seems somewhat pointed.'
'She requires he be Kind, humorous and interested in the arts...'
The couple at his side nodded along, the list was somewhat long but decently fair, it was only when his lips parted once more that Mrs Gardiner spoke in slight concern, 'You have it memorised to the word?'
Mr Hayward nodded, his expression red and perhaps a little pained, not half a match for the tight knot of his chest 'I-I suppose,' before continuing on none the less. 'Dark hair, handsome and dresses in green-' Mr Gardiner let out an "ah" as it clicked into place. '-and she even specified; "almost too much". Miss L/n said this was vital although I admit I cannot say I understand it.'
The couple let out a joint 'I do' that had their grasp on each other tightening momentarily, a movement that Tom noticed and that against his will had his gaze searching the somewhat crowded space for yours.
'There is more if you can believe- She has said it necessary that he has a smile that is "Quite wide". I pointed out how subjective that was but she was immovable. Have you any clue how wide is quite? For I am at a complete loss.' He was near breathless by the time he stopped, the frustration, at the task, at himself, lay plain on his face.
Mrs Gardiner chuckled as she closed one eye, holding her pointer and thumb in the air between herself and Tom, recalling the way he had smiled the last time you had joined the three of them for tea. 'Around this wide.'
Mr Hayward did not believe her to be serious so as Mr Gardiner spoke he let her gesture fade from his mind. He truly doubted that Mrs Gardiner was seriously suggesting what he hoped she was. 'You have it all memorised and you have been agonising over this for...' 'It has only been a week that I have been searching...' he let the correction fade and die on his tongue, the other man's wording was correct after all. 'And yet you still cannot see it?'
'See what?'
Mr Gardiner clapped his shoulder as Mrs Gardiner tugged the lapel of his jacket, the couple somewhat crowding him now, and to his notice blocking the doorway he was almost sure you had left through from view. It was an annoyance even if it did make his focus truly hone in on their words. 'Green jacket, green waistcoat... was this a new choice or is it...' 'It is most of all I own.' Mr Hayward answered quickly even as his mind took it's time rounding onto their meaning.
'Has been as such for as long as we have known you for certain. Do you know of any one else with such a proclivity?' She mused with her husband following her lead;
'I can say most definitely I do not'.
Mr Hayward stood in the silence they left for barely a moment before his feet were moving, much too fast to be casual in such a setting though it slipped his notice with ease.
You had been dragged a room and a half away by the time he found you, standing with a gentleman he could not place, in a conversation that did not seem all that enticing and yet still his pace stuttered.
The man was... fine, passable, his jacket was a drab grey, he seemed serious and too cynical for such a pleasant night as it was, although possibly worst of all was his smile. It was not nearly genuine nor wide enough for your liking.
It must be said it was not as if you had given the man a fair chance past the moment you glanced up and were met with a face that was not that of Mr Hayward.
So when you did hear that familiar, almost breathless, call of your name you turned without thought, a grand smile tugging high into your cheeks.
'Please excuse me Mr...' Oh no. You would wager you could have had hours or even days and you doubted you would have ever found the poor man's name.
Thankfully Mr Hayward held out his arm and swept you away before any of you were forced to sit in that void of silence any longer. The smile on his lips was unusually tight at first, thankfully however as you moved further it spread wider and wider into what had to be the most exquisite one to date.
'It is quite impolite to forget a new acquaintance's name whilst in conversation with them Miss L/n' His quip was light and you found your own voice much the same, 'Would you think me unkind if I said I did not particularly care?'
'Not enough green for your liking?' The apples of his cheeks were dusted red now in a change that had you hopeful, 'I should not have told you that.' You groaned.
'I disagree- at least spare me the uncertainty-' He brushed off his sleeves and held at his lapels, 'Is this the right amount'
'You are mean Mr Hayward-' you swatted lightly at his hands and watched as his grin stretched somehow wider still, 'Surely someone has stated how well you look in green.'
'Not in so many words but I do believe handsome and green were somewhere in there.' His eyes were not searching yours but simply staring deep as if trying to reach deeper with every second.
There was a shared solidness now, in your chests and in your hold on one another as he breathed out calmly. 'I believe there was also a mention of my smile?'
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nothing does it for me like the ‘surprise! this character that you thought was a beta or maybe even an omega is actually an alpha and they’re really really into you. good luck!’ omegaverse trope
Todoroki Shouto and his penchant to crawl under your skin, literally and figuratively.
He hovered behind you, close enough that his toes grazed the back of your ankle everytime you moved, warmth radiating off his chest seeped into your back with how little distance was there between your bodies.
Normally, you didn't mind it.
But, this definitely is a hazard now.
"Shou..." You mumbled reluctantly, lowering the heat on the stove and placing the wooden spoon on the plate, turning around, albeit with difficulty because he still stood grounded, "I think you should wait by the table for dinner."
You nodded towards the small dining table, eyes lingering on his chest because if you looked up, you'd see the betrayal on his pretty face, sweet nose scrunched up, soft, rosy lips pouted, cheeks all puffy as he huffed in distress.
"But, we are lovers...." He argued, voice heavy with grief, poor Shouto, he stepped back, hands reaching for your wrists to pull you closer, "Lovers stick together."
One hand travelled up, palm cradling your jaw, gently, so gently, nudging it up, heterochromic eyes waiting to meet yours.
And meet did they.
"There we go." He sighed, leaning forward to rub the tip of his nose against yours, unaware of the way your heart squeezed in your chest, unaware of the sudden urge in your being to smother him with kisses, "if I bother you so mu—"
"Shouto never!" You leaned into his palm, dinner and kitchen safety pushed to the back of your mind, rules be damned, "I was jus—I didn't want you to get hurt in the kitchen."
He hummed, the hand cradling your jaw, curling to grasp the back of your neck, tilting your face up, his lips hovering just above yours.
A shaky breath escaped your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you leaned in, meeting his lips halfway through, hands venturing from his sides you his chest before finding purchase on his shoulders.
You melt in his arms, body completely lax in his embrace, so light headed that you feel like you'll float away if he let you go.
Shouto pulled away, albeit reluctantly, forehead resting against yours, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt, "I want to get inside of you." He sighed dreamily.
Your eyes widened at his confession, staring up at him as you tried to decipher what he meant, "You can't say it so shamelessly, Shou." You mumbled, leaning forward, hiding your face into the crook of his neck, plethora of giggles escaping past your lips.
Shouto grinned, kissing the top of your head, belly all warm and fuzzy, "Hey, I didn't mean it like that." His fingers flexed around the back of your head, pushing you further into his chest, "but it is one way to get in—"
Yandere! model who forces you to be at every one of her shoots, or else she starts being hard to deal with which is surprising because she's one of the most valued out there.
She struggles to let you out of her sight and goes crazy if you're not there. It's all pretty well known within the industry that she can't survive without you, to the point that you've started being paid for just being there.
There was one time she was modelling for a designer company, and you were too busy with your own life to come so she had to go alone.
She comes into the set, all the colour practically draining from her face. "[Name]! Where are they?!"
All the workers remember the horror of watching her crash out.
"Ma'am, they're not available so you'll have to do this alone today," one of the workers that she deems "useless" explains.
"Well, I want them here!" she starts the tantrum.
The shoot was cancelled completely that day and you had a tear-stained model on the ground of the mansion that she paid for.
"[Name]! Where were you?" she shoots up, about to burst into sobs again.
"No, no, don't cry," you mutter, wiping the tears that managed to escape. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there."
"Why don't you just quit that dumb job? You're so much more than that!" she complains. "All the workers today were just testing me and I couldn't handle it."
You know she's lying but all you can do is bite your lip and promise you'll be there next time. It's a much better choice than having to deal with it.
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the concept of "personal property" is foreign to your roommate. what belongs to him and what belongs to you simply does not exist in the vocabulary of his.
so when you enter your shared apartment after a grueling nine-hour shift, you already recognize the rhythmic buzz echoing down the hallway. it’s the exact same sound you’ve confronted him about three times this month.
you march down the carpeted hallway and throw the bedroom door wide, not even bothered to knock because he certainly didn’t ask permission to breach your space.
and there he is, your thoroughly infuriating, completely shameless roommate, sprawled across your duvet with those absurdly long, pale legs monopolizing the entire mattress. his glasses are askew on his face, the lenses clouded from his own ragged gasps as he rubs your favourite wand's head against his sensitive cockhead—smearing his sticky pre-cum all over.
“gojo!” you snap, your delivery flat and dripping with unadulterated irritation. "you are doing it again?!"
he lacks even the basic decency to look up from his own groin, refusing to acknowledge your presence at the foot of your bed. his chest heaves under an oversized anime t-shirt, hips giving a needy little twitch as the rattle of the motor continues to pleasure his nerve endings. he rolls his head back into your pillows, letting out a shaky, wet moan that sounds nearly pornographic.
“shh… wait a sec,” he pants, his voice thick and raspy; a world apart from his typically fast-talking cadence that usually annoys the shit out of you. “i'm almost there. don’t be mad, it just… it feels so much better than my hands…”
you’ve had the boundary talks. you’ve threatened to lock your door (which he can bypass anyway). you’re tired, your feet hurt, and the audacity of him sitting in your room, treating your personal drawer like his own candy shop without an ounce of shame, makes your blood boil.
you stride over to the bed, and before his overstimulated brain can register the sudden movement, you reach down and wrench his hand away from his grip, sending the toy clattering onto the floorboards.
“hey!” he whines, a petulant, spoiled-brat pout instantly forming on his lips as his eyes finally dart up to yours. “i was literally right there! c’mon, that’s just cruel—”
unable to tolerate his dumb whining a second longer, you drop to your knees beside the mattress and clamp your hand around the bottom of his cock with intentional force. before he can even puff at the sudden restriction of his blood flow, you raise your other hand to land a stinging slap directly across the pink flesh of his tip with a loud smack!
satoru gasps, his spine arching off beautifully as his body spasms from the impact. his vivid blue eyes are now blown wide, blinking rapidly behind his spectacles while a miserable whimper spills from his plush lips. "do you think you can just use my things because you are too lazy to buy your own?"
to penalize his arrogance further, ensuring the lesson sinks into his imbecile brain, you squeeze your thumb and forefinger around the tender skin beneath the swollen mushroom head and pinch, using enough force to guarantee a lasting red mark.
the reaction is instantaneous. the agony of the nip, combined with another slap across his aching dick, pushes his nervous system into overload. satoru releases a startled shriek, his hips thrashing desperately as he tries to wrench his hips away from your horrific grip, thighs jerking against the sheets in a futile attempt to escape the blinding pain.
but your hands are unrelenting, and the torment only accelerates the climax. his cock throbs spastically as if its trying to communicate something using morse code before he erupts.
thick, pearly ropes of cum shoot straight up, splattering across his own flat stomach and the hem of his shirt, dripping down the pale skin of his abs.
“oh god—” he groans, voice cracking as his upper body collapses back into the pillows, the sudden impact knocking his glasses off his nose to land sideways on the mattress. he looks like a total wreck; his mouth hanging open, a thin strand of saliva bridging his lips as he stares up at you with dazed, dilated pupils that consume his baby blue irises.
even as the intense peak subsides, his hips give one final, weak roll against your hand, and he possesses the sheer nerve to smile—a lazy, unrepentant smirk forming on his stupidly handsome face.
“do… do that again,” he whispers, breathless and shameless as ever, cocking his head like an overly enthusiastic bunny. “slap it again for me..?”
