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yourlovermumu · 3 days

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⤷ THE LOVER .ᐟ micah c.

ʚ⁺˖↬ INFO. male yandere/slasher x gn!reader. 1.7k words of headcanons, plus 1.9k word intro oneshot. part two [coming soon]

ʚ⁺˖↬ CONTENTS. streamer reader (type of stream unspecified), gn!reader, reader is mentioned to have a fling with a man, detailed stalking, invasions of privacy, secret cameras, delusional behavior, breaking and entering, bodily injury/assault, genre typical violence, murder, mild descriptions of gore, abduction/kidnapping

ʚ⁺˖↬ NOTES. my weakness is insane pretty boys :( sorry but not really. anyway part two will hopefully be out sometime soon. i don't wanna make any promises haha, my work schedule/regular life has gotten kinda hectic out of nowhere. anyway yes i did research a bit too much about chloroform, but no i did not research exactly how accurate the death in this is. all i know is the carotid artery baby

my patreon saw this one week early! if you want to view my early access content and receive patreon exclusive works, join my patreon!

⛧ micah conrad was handed the world on a silver platter, being a trust fund baby, but has never had much going for him. his life has always felt… grey. blurry around the edges. dull, boring, uninteresting. nothing ever really seemed to catch his interest, and it showed with the effort he put into every part of his life. he barely scraped by in school, never did any extracurriculars, never went to college, and has barely managed to hold down anything more than a minimum wage job at a shitty gas station that only kept him on because they were desperate for workers.

⛧ without the cushion of his parents trust fund, thankfully granted to him before they estranged themselves from him completely, to keep him housed and fed, he’d likely have fallen through the cracks of society. he never really spent more than was necessary, not on luxury items or hobbies or… anything, really. he paid rent for his tiny house and it’s little basement, he bought food and clothes, and he got himself a computer to kill time between barely sleeping and barely working.

⛧ and that’s when he stumbled across you.

⛧ the first stream he stumbled across was relatively inconsequential. you weren’t a huge streamer by any means— not even that big in your specific community— and he had really only found you because he was just clicking around, jumping from stream to stream anything something lost his attention.

⛧ you were… cute. interesting, at least. he liked your voice, and your stream wasn’t mind-numbingly boring. in fact, it was kind of fun. he didn’t even really notice it at first, but he found himself chuckling at your little jokes, tilting his head as he took in the sunshine of your smile, eyes glued to the screen. his hand that had been incessantly clicking to the next stream, the next link, the next site suddenly stilled.

⛧ and then suddenly it was hours later, and you were logging off for the night, and he was smacked with the realization that he had stayed to watch nearly your entire stream.

⛧ he’s… curious. so he subscribes, and comes back to view your next stream when he gets the notification, and within less than a week— he’s hooked.

⛧ soon enough, you had a new biggest fan.

⛧ he’s dipping into his savings for the first time in his life, spending money on you every chance he gets. you’re getting anonymous donations like crazy out of nowhere, everytime you stream; if you have a wishlist of any kind, he’s clearing it out, buying everything. it feels… right to him. like he’s meant to be taking care of you like this, providing for you, being the one that makes you so happy. the way your face lights up at each donation notification could melt anyones heart, he’s sure.

⛧ you create inside jokes with him, because he’s always around. it’s an easy way to tell him apart from the other occasional anonymous commenters and messages, which he covets. he loves when you recognize when something came from him, even if you don’t know who he is yet.

⛧ he never misses a stream. he doesn’t care what he’s doing— as soon as he gets that notification on his phone, he’s dropping everything else to see you. he’ll leave in the middle of work if he has to.

⛧ he never knew anything could feel like this. this… warmth in his chest, these feelings that feel so big he doesn’t know how to keep them all in his chest, worried that the magnitude of them might just drive him insane— that they’ll crack right out of his ribcage and pour out. and it’s so sharp, so agonizing, when you’re not online, leaving him cold and desolate.

⛧ eventually… watching you through the screen isn’t scratching the same itch it used to. he just needs more— more of you, your voice, your time.

⛧ it’s not nearly as difficult to figure out where you live as it should have been. it probably helps that micah is singularly dedicated— and never focused his energy on anything else. by this point, his job at the gas station has more or less fallen by the wayside, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have it anymore. he just had to find you, had to see you in person, had to know everything about you, not just the sanitized stuff you put on line to look like the best version of yourself. he wanted to know the real you; he deserved to, in his mind. no one else may have understood you, but micah did.

⛧ the first time that he sees you in person… it’s like his entire world tilts on its axis. it feels like one of those cheesy, slow motion scenes in one of those movies he’s always hated, but for real this time. his heart pounds in his chest so hard he’s sure his ribs are going to crack, and you’re standing right there on the same street as him, and when you walk past him he can smell your shampoo. you don’t even notice him, but that doesn’t matter. you’re probably busy; he knows you have a ‘real’ job during the day, and plenty of hobbies and other things you have to do. if you knew who he was, who he really was, you would have stopped and noticed him, right? of course you would.

⛧ it doesn’t start slow. he follows you home immediately. he practically lives in his car, parking nearby, sleeping for only a few hours at a time, always waking up to check your windows— is your light on? are you still home? you didn’t leave without him knowing, did you?

⛧ by now, he has your schedule completely memorized, knows every time you leave and every time you come back. he knows what days you go to the coffee shop, what days you go grocery shopping, even how long it usually takes you and the things that are always on your list. from that, he knows your favorite snacks, the kinds of meals you tend to eat, what you drink, what you indulge in.

⛧ he tells himself that this information will be useful for later, of course, when you’re living with him and he has to take over the shopping— because there is nowhere else you could possibly end up in his head, than living with him. he wants to be able to get you your favorite things, to cook you your favorite meals and always have your beloved snacks and drinks on hand! he tells himself it’ll smooth over the moving in process; make his home feel more like your home. he knows he could take such good care of you. you have become his life’s purpose, after all.

⛧ right now, though, knowing your schedule like the back of his hand is the most useful bit of information he has… because it makes it so much easier for him to sneak into your apartment.

⛧ it takes you a bit of time to notice it at first, but every now and then something seems a bit off. you can’t find that one really comfortable pair of underwear in your drawer, or in your washing machine, and there’s nowhere else it could have gone. and then you notice that things on your desk aren’t how you left them… at least, you’re pretty sure you left that book on the other side, didn’t you? but no one else has been around to move it, so… maybe you just remembered wrong. but then, your favorite t-shirt goes missing, and you tear your apartment apart looking for it, and it’s just… gone.

⛧ sure, some of these things are… scary. if you think about them for longer than a few seconds, anyway… but then you tell yourself it has to just be that you’re forgetting where you set things, or that a friend borrowed something and you just forgot. there isn’t another explanation, and even if something else was going on, it’s not like you have the money to just pack up and move to a different apartment. no, you have to stay, you have to make this work.

⛧ he gets bigger and bolder. honestly, to him, it really just feels like… he belongs there. after all, he belongs with you— your space should be his space, and vice versa. your underwear goes missing, then comes back, and it smells like a laundry detergent you don’t use, tucked into the drawer where you definitely already looked for it. you find another can of your favorite soda hidden in the back of the fridge, when you’re almost 100% sure that you drank the last one a few days ago.

⛧ it’s not really a huge problem until the day that he figures out the password to your macbook.

⛧ at first, he’s just looking for photos. family photos, childhood pictures, anything and everything that can allow him to absorb more of your life. but then he just starts… going through your files. games, work files, text documents, saved images, absolutely nothing is safe from his prying eyes.

⛧ and then he sees all of your imessages. everything is synced up from your phone— messages to your parents, your friends, the boss at your day job… and then he finds a message thread with one of your coworkers. he reads through everything, of course, and it… nauseates him. who the fuck is this guy? why do you text him so much? why does he call you so late at night? why do you send him heart emojis?

⛧ to micah, there’s obviously some… plot here. this guy, simon (which is a dumb fucking name, if you ask micah), is bad news, has to be, but he’s not just fucking with some random person. he’s fucking with *you,* and you belong to micah. he has to do something about this, has to find some way to protect you from this man who obviously wants to use you, who could never *really* love you, not the way micah could.

⛧ and the more micah thinks about it, the more he starts to realize that there’s really only one solution that will remove this obstacle from your lives forever.

10:46 PM. MICAH.

it’s surprisingly easy to manipulate a situation to your advantage when all of your energy is focused on it. micah learns that pretty quickly. he also learns how easy it is to get a burner phone and clone yours, gaining all of your contacts, your photos, your notes… everything.

it’s a night when you’re out of the house, out with your friends, and he knows you’ll reliably be gone for at least long enough for him to finish what he needs to do. using his burner phone, cloned to be yours, he reached out to this coworker of yours— simon— and told him you needed him to come over, that you needed help and it was urgent.

then— he blocked the number. you wouldn’t receive his response. no one would. but simon would be on his way over, likely expecting something to have gone wrong… and so he won’t question the front door being slightly ajar once he makes his way inside, presumably to look for you— to come to the rescue for whatever emergency you had found yourself in. how fuckin’ quaint.

the thought of it made micah’s hand clench tight around the handle of the knife in his hand.

it would be a little messy, at least at first. that was what the ripped open trash bags were for. he figured lining a bit of the floor with that, instead of going out specifically to buy some sort of tarp, would be less… conspicuous. buying duct tape and plastic tarps is a but more suspicious than just buying duct tape and getting your own trash bags, after all. the crinkly plastic lay silent now, covering a little more than a human sized area on the floor of your living room. not right in front of the door— that would be too noticeable. it was just out of view of the light from the hallway, a few steps inside, barely noticeable with the room around it pitch black.

he wouldn’t notice it until he stepped on it, and by then, it would be too late.

micah leaned against the archway that led from the foyer and the living room into the kitchen, somewhere behind him lying the entrance to the hallway that housed your bathroom and bedroom. his gaze was focused, practically unblinking, on the sliver of dim light that came in from the outside hallway; he had unscrewed the first light, leaving most of your hallway darker than normal. propped up a foot or so away from him was a cheap, rolled up carpet— cheap for him, anyway. he bought it second hand at a thrift shop. it didn’t matter what it looked like, just that it was big enough to safely and inconspicuously house a human body. a bit cliché perhaps, but it would work fine.

and then, finally, he heard footsteps coming down the hall. he stiffened up, trying not to get too… eager. it could be a neighbor, after all. but as soon as he heard the stranger stop in front of your door, tentatively calling out your name in a voice that made micah’s blood boil, he knew it wasn’t.

the door creaked open as simon fell for the trap, placing his hand against it and calling your name once more in that worried tone. however, the silence of the apartment was the only thing that answered him, which lured him further inside. micah watched from the shadows as the man— boring, unassuming, so plain, what could you have ever seen in him?— slowly stepped inside.

he could see simon squint, his eyes trying to adjust to the complete darkness inside your apartment. he calls out again, venturing further inside. micah hates how comfortable he seems in your space, how easily he navigates from the front door to the middle of the living room. his eyes shift from simon momentarily, to the door. luckily for him, simon hadn’t pushed it all the way open— just enough to get inside. not that it mattered. he could have taken it off it’s hinges, and micah wouldn’t have cared.

his eyes dart back in time to hear simon’s shoe make contact with the first of the plastic bags as he moves a few inches past the archway, a few inches further than where micah is standing in the shadows, and simon stops. looks down at his feet. furrows his brow.

micah’s on him before he can make a sound.

the knife sinks into his neck, slicing through an artery and ripping through vocal chords. micah can feel a warm spray of blood on his face, but when simon tries to stumble, gasping like a fish out of water, micah reels him back, makes him stay put. he can’t get blood all over your floor. It splurts out a bit around the blade, especially with simon moving around like a fucking idiot, but it isn’t the geyser like spray micah had half expected, not with the knife still lodged inside.

simon claws at him, but with the amount of blood pouring from his throat, micah can tell his limbs are already feeling weak. micah practically snarls, bares his teeth at the man who had fucking dared to even breath the same air as you, and twisted the knife.

simon fell to his knees, and micah released the handle of the blade as he went down. simon claws for the knife in his throat, begins trying to pull it out like a fucking idiot. micah moves around to the back, and planted his foot on simon’s spine, kicking him forward just as simon succeeds, the metal blade removed from his throat with a slick, fleshy sound– and then his chest smacks into the trash bag covered floor, the pool of blood gathering underneath him soaking into every inch of his clothes. he coughs it up, wet splatters of it coming out of his mouth, pooling out between his lips.

his chest heaving, limbs feeling tingly with adrenaline, micah stood over the body for a few long seconds. simon’s fingers twitched, accompanied by a few more choked gurgles and some more blood leaking from his mouth, but then he was mostly just… still. micah tilted his head. he thought he would feel something… more. something emotional. but he didn’t.

instead, he could only think of this as a turning point, a night where everything was happening— everything was coming together. he knelt down, beginning to wrap the body in the garbage bags he had neatly laid out beneath it, not bothering with gentleness or respect for the dead. he moved quickly, ripping long strips of duct tape to keep the seams between each plastic sheet closed, ensuring no blood escaped.

once that was done, the body practically a plastic mummy now, he kicked it onto it’s side and grabbed the carpet, plopping it down next to him. he unrolled it, bit by bit, before rolling simon’s corpse onto the other end. he rolled the whole thing back up with the plastic covered body safely inside. he wrapped it up in a bit more duct tape, to keep it closed, then dragged it with a bit of effort to the window.

then, he dumped the rolled up carpet out your window, off the fire escape, and into the alleyway where he had already parked his car. you were only on the second floor, so it wasn’t much of a drop, but he still heard the loud thump. he climbed out after it, giving your apartment one last glance as he slowly and gingerly lowered the window as far as he could from the outside, his latex gloves squeaking uncomfortably against the glass panes.

tonight was the turning point. he’d be back.

3:14 AM. YOU.

it was darker than normal when you stumbled back into your apartment, leaving the laughter of your friends behind. one of the lights in the hallway outside your door was out, a small annoyance that you catalogued somewhere in the back of your slightly-buzzed brain, hoping to remember to call someone about it in the morning.

you fumbled a bit with your keys, jamming it into the lock of the door and twisting before pushing it open. flicking the light on while you kicked the door closed behind you, your keys were unceremoniously dumped onto the table next to your door, and you wandered immediately from the living room, down the hall, and into your bedroom.

you push the door open, moving across it to your bed to flick on the lamp on the bedside table, not so eager to turn on all of the brightest lights possible. as you stripped your jacket and shoes off, you yawned, choosing not to go through the hassle of sticking your shoes back in your closet for right now. you’d do it in the morning.

you turn towards the bathroom after kicking your shoes off. your shower needs a few minutes to heat up to the right temperature, so you kick that on first before going back to gather some underwear and pajamas. you’re more than ready to wash the smell of alcohol and strangers off of you, to climb into bed and sleep in tomorrow. you push back the shower curtains, the shower empty and cold as you lean into it and turn on the faucet, then the shower head.

you sigh, heading back out of the bathroom as the water runs behind you. you rub your hands over your face as you cross the threshold back into your bedroom, blinking your eyes against the dim lighting—

and you pause. your closet door is open. you definitely didn’t leave it like that, did you? you glance back to your bed, and your shoes are right where you left them.

just as the confusion, the slight twinge of fear, is beginning to claw it’s way up from the pit of your stomach and into the forefront of your tired, buzzed brain—

there’s quick footsteps, and then arms around you, some kind of damp cloth pressed against your face, blocking your vision. you scream, but it’s muffled, and your immediate, panicked instinct to flail your arms is thwarted by the arm locked tightly around your torso, keeping your arms pinned to your sides. your panicked breathing has a chemically, sweet smell invading your senses, like fruit and disinfectant or maybe chlorine.

you try to kick, to struggle and flail and fight against him. he turns, dragging you a step back into the hallway, before pushing you firmly into the wall, trapping your body between him and the cold surface. it limits the range of motion you can get from kicking, your knee slamming painfully into the wall as you twist and try to turn your head, still shrieking into the fabric and inhaling more of whatever the fuck is in there. it’s making your head hurt, and you can barely hear the sound of this person— this man, based on his voice— shushing you softly, his breath ghosting over your ear. but your body is feeling weaker, your lungs burning as your struggles weaken after a few minutes.

you’re not even entirely unconscious when he removes the cloth from your face, but you couldn’t have fought back now if you tried. the entire world floated and blurred like a dream, and you couldn’t move your limbs very well. you felt heavy, like you were suddenly made of some kind of metal, and then your world is spinning as the stranger lifts you up.

your head lolls back, and your mind shuts down as dizziness overtakes you. your eyes slip shut, and the world goes black.

intellectual property of ©️darling--core. do not copy, repost or translate my works without my explicit consent. do not use my works to train ai.

☆༉ — taglist: @lumi-cent @locallyloathed @prettyinblack231 @suechii @nyanbary @doejohnsonva @lorgeturtle @marsbarsstarss @moila-xx @pedrosexual @eliijah-xo @sakusadirtycumslut @samiam42 @gyaruismind

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yourlovermumu · 3 days

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[ SMAU ] 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 ! in which reader and the jujutsu kaisen men have fun with remote vibrators .

୨୧˚ incl; satoru gojo , suguru geto , kento nanami , toji fushiguro , choso kamo

୨୧˚ cw; mentions of orgasms , voyeurism , profanity , name calling ( i.e. slut , whore ) , sub! choso

୨୧˚ an; hey😨 wow new post crazy…

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

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yourlovermumu · 6 days

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Sukugo baby: Kojiro

#WOAHHHHHHH?????#WHATTTTTTT #THIS IS NOT SOMETHING I THOUGHT I WOULD EVER NEED IN LIFE #BUT NOW THAT I HAVE SEEN THIS #I DONT THINK I CAN LEAVE WITHOUT IT #THIS IS PERFECT #THEIR LOVE CHILD IS SOAKMJKIMNSWMQ #HE LOOKS SO COOL WHAT

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yourlovermumu · 7 days

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the jjk men having a wet dream abt you

ʚ incl: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, ino

ʚ cont: smut, suggestiveness, crack, fluff

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

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yourlovermumu · 7 days

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2 + 1 — gojo satoru

synopsis. two times megumi thinks gojo is a lost cause and one time he approves of the white haired idiot

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, ooc, misogyny (from the clan heads), he is so pathetic for his wife (nauseating!), slight yandere behavior, violence, in megumi’s pov, not proofread eep

notes. can you tell i've been obsessed with the apothecary diaries? >< also how long has it been since i've posted a fic? anyways... enjoy!

fushiguro megumi has always wondered how that blue eyed idiot managed to marry you. he must have resorted to underhanded tactics; or at least that's what the sea urchin suspects. though he's never voiced it, the question has bothered him since the day he first encountered the both of you.

nobara clicks her tongue. “this is borderline creepy.” her orange eyes are filled with nothing short of distaste.

“there’s more too,” megumi’s voice responded, carefully flipping the page. the delicate artifact in his hand is something that he should have not touched. perhaps he should have wrapped it with a talisman and destroyed it while he had the chance.

it was too late for that anyway, because not even a second later, gojo satoru bursts through the shoji doors of the classroom.

with eyes blown wide as if they were caught committing a crime (they were), the first years who had pulled three seats up to a singular desk stare at him. satoru's eyes widen behind his blindfold as he catches sight of the object of their focus.

there lies in the middle of the wooden desk was the physics textbook that all first year jujutsu tech students were required to read. however, this wasn’t just any plain old textbook. it was gojo satoru’s former textbook. brimmed with doodles of their beloved [name] sensei and gojo himself when they were back in highschool.

any free space that was not filled with words were taken up by drawings of you inside of hearts and sometimes a depiction of a chibi version of the two of you.

a true testament to gojo satoru’s pining and devotion to you.

“sensei, we can explain–” yuji attempts to explain himself but gojo holds up a hand to silence the boy.

unlike you, megumi finds it a lot more challenging to read the white haired sorcerer’s expression with the blindfold on. he wonders if his punishment will be a painful beating disguised as a sparring session (megumi will run to you, who will scare gojo into backing down). you have that effect on him.

it seems like the heavens have answered megumi’s prayers because gojo satoru doesn’t seem to harbor any anger at his shocking revelation.

“i can’t believe you guys found this old thing.” satoru dismisses his students’ personal space by leaning closely to observe the pages. the black haired boy makes a noise of disapproval, but was quickly cut off by his benefactor. “megumi, be grateful that i’m in a good mood today.” he doesn’t elaborate the ominous message, rather choosing to hum happily as he studies his own drawings.

megumi is smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“i never took you to be the pathetic type,” kugisaki continues to flip through the pages of the textbook. yuji nods furiously, as if to agree to her observation.

“you seriously never noticed?” megumi mutters under his breath.

gojo places a strong hand on megumi’s back, a languid smile on his face, “it was only natural, considering the lengths i had to go through to win her over.” he ignores the way megumi gasps for air.

“seriously?” itadori asks in disbelief.

“seriously.” gojo confirms wholeheartedly.

megumi shudders, recollecting memories of times before gojo tied you down for good.

2009

“sorry i’m late!” gojo bursts through the dingy apartment door with a convenience store bag in his arm. he was breathing heavily, an indication that he had run to the apartment. an uninterested seven year old megumi doesn’t bother leaving his place on the couch to greet his benefactor.

“they’re in the kitchen,” he says in his monotone voice, eyes never leaving the book that you had just gifted him.

“they?” gojo walks up to megumi to ruffle his hair aggressively. he receives a hiss in return.

“tsumiki and [name]?” the black haired kid says it like it was obvious. his sentence is accompanied with an eyeroll.

at the mention of your name, gojo immediately perks up. megumi imagines that if he were a cat, his ears would be swiveling and his nose twitching, attuned to pick up any trace of your presence. he had just learned that from the nonfiction book in his lap.

“[name]?! here? now?” gojo’s eyebrows are raised all the way to his forehead. the white haired sorcerer immediately started fixing his uniform and hair. megumi thinks it was comical. he was a lost cause.

the snarky look on his face is quickly wiped off when he sees gojo leaning down, mouth wide open.

“oi brat, check my breath,” gojo opens his mouth wide for megumi to check. the black haired kid shrivels up into the couch the further gojo leans down. megumi considers summoning his newly discovered jujutsu technique, hoping to avoid his fate.

“—toru? what are you doing?” your voice, like a divine intervention, stops gojo from sending megumi to the depths of despair. a sigh of relief escapes his lips.

now it was his turn to watch gojo squirm. the older male’s face contorts to an awkward smile and all of a sudden gojo is reduced to nothing but a mess.

“don’t worry about it darling!” gojo slowly turns around to face you. “agh—?!”

megumi has to peek around satoru’s big frame to see what elicited such a response from the man.

he’s met with a wave of underwhelming familiarity. there you stand, clad in a frilly apron with a wooden spoon in hand, the essence of domesticity incarnate. the soft glow of the warm kitchen lights dances around you, casting a warm aura that seems to envelop the room.

“welcome home, satoru.” you give him your signature closed eye smile. “i mean, you probably don’t consider it your home but—“

you’re cut off by satoru banging his head on the nearest wall repeatedly. he’s muttering something under his breath that you don’t hear.

to his dismay, megumi's keen ears catch every syllable. satoru's voice, though hushed, carries a hint of longing, "what an angel," he whispers, his words laced with adoration. "just marry me already."

unamused, he watches while you try to desperately pry gojo from his strange outburst.

a lost cause indeed.

2009

in that very year, megumi learns that gojo’s efforts to win your affection had yielded no progress. it had become increasingly apparent that his frequent visits to megumi and tsumiki's humble home were motivated to immerse himself in the semblance of domesticity that your presence offered. megumi almost pitied the man, if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew you deserve someone more sensible.

[name]

[nameeeee]

i’m dying.

and it’s your fault t^t

[name] ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

excuse me?

i’ll have you know that i worked the hardest that i have ever worked to finish all of my paperwork so i could see you tonight… only to find out from megumi that you’re on a date?!!?

i feel like my chest is caving in.

i’m going to throw up.

[name] ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

oh this is what you’re interrupting my date for?

i’m going to be sick.

please tell me, is he hotter than me? wealthier? funnier?

megumi quickly looks away from gojo’s phone screen when the white haired male slams it shut and mutters under his breath a couple of curses. he’s pretty sure half of them were death threats. honestly, couldn't you have attracted someone with more dignity?

“change of plans,” gojo claps his hands together. “movie night’s off.”

“what?” megumi protests, confusion etched in his features.

“our beloved [name] is getting swept off of her feet. you wouldn’t want that to happen, right?” gojo continues, his tone light but his gaze sharp as it bores into megumi's soul. something unpleasant coils in the pit of his stomach.

megumi feels a chill run down his spine, his mind racing with the implications of gojo's words. if you choose to date this new guy, he realizes, you won't need him or gojo anymore. and that thought terrifies him. it pains megumi to feed into gojo's delusions.

but he can’t let this unnamed suitor steal you away.

a wolfish grin makes its way to gojo’s mouth when he realizes that he’s won.

“what's the plan?”

2016

it was only years later that megumi had seen the true monster that lurks inside of gojo satoru.

on a hot summer evening, amidst a gathering of esteemed clan heads, he and satoru found themselves in a traditional chamber. while the finer details of the meeting escape his memory, the image of the room that altered his perception of gojo satoru is etched in his mind indefinitely. the wooden walls, adorned with subtle yet elegant designs, speak volumes about the room’s significance as a venue for the most influential members of jujutsu society.

throughout the meeting, he finds himself driving in and out of focus, content to let his mentor represent the gojo clan. however, his attention is abruptly seized by a particular remark that cuts through the haze of his thoughts.

“how’s that whore of yours, gojo?” a clan head jeered, clearly drunk on the sake that was constantly refilled by the servant on the side. his flushed complexion is scarcely discernible thanks to the dim glow emanating from the few lanterns scattered around the room.

there was only one person he could have been referring to: you. underneath the wooden table, his fingers tightened painfully into fists. pretentious bastards, megumi thinks.

another geezer rubbed his beard thoughtfully, “she has a nice body. perfect to be a concubine, but i would marry a more submissive woman.”

megumi's gaze stealthily darts towards gojo, seated beside him.

he’s startled to find the white-haired man wears a wide grin that belies a hidden truth. unseen by the elders before them, lurking beneath gojo's outward expression, is a manic gleam in his eyes—a revelation that sends a shiver down megumi's spine.

“i’d hold my tongue if i were you.” gojo satoru’s voice was dripping with venom. he sounded downright murderous.

"i'm right, am i not? we can share her if you'd like- name the price." the drunkard continues loudly.

megumi senses an instinctive wave of primal dread washing over him, compelling him with an urgent, almost instinctual need to flee or die.

before he can move a muscle, the flames that surround the room flicker before extinguishing in succession by an unknown force. the metallic stench of blood fills the air and all he can hear is the sound of flesh mutilating and bones crushing accompanied by the painful shouts of the men that once sat in front of him. he doesn’t have to see it with his own eyes to be able to sense gojo’s strong curse residue that suffocates the room.

“stand up megumi. we’re leaving.” his voice carries a feral edge, leaving no room for objection.

on their way out of the compound, the two don’t utter a word at what had just transpired.

megumi's gaze remains fixed on the ground beneath his feet, the images of the recent events swirling in his mind, leaving him unsettled and shaken. with each step, he grapples with the unsettling realization that beneath gojo satoru's charismatic facade lies a darker, more sinister nature.

the strongest sorcerer of today, riled up by the mere mention of your name.

megumi supposes he doesn’t feel much remorse for those clan heads anyway. he was never the type to mourn over people he didn’t know dying. especially not people who he knew would live on to do evil. it doesn’t help that they were blatantly disrespecting you. perhaps he could sympathize with the monster inside of gojo.

oblivious to the turmoil that stirs inside of megumi, gojo starts to smile.

“i know what you’re going to say,” gojo hums happily. “gojo sensei, you’re so cool! i approve of you marrying my beloved [name]! kyaa~’” he makes a pathetic attempt to imitate megumi.

the black haired boy grunts. he was going to say something along the lines of his approval for his benefactor, but all desires of flattering the white haired sorcerer disappeared.

gojo watches the black haired boy intently before tutting.

“not that it matters.” megumi is startled to hear how his voice dropped an octave. “i was always going to marry [name] and i’ll be damned to let anyone stop me.”

2018 – present day

after satiating his students with tales from his pining days, your husband comes home often clingier than normal (is that even possible?). the moment satoru enters your home, his arms envelop you, caging you in his hold.

you can't help but giggle as his hair brushes against the side of your neck, his embrace pulling you in close, as if he's inhaling your presence. his muscles flex when you attempt to slip away, keeping you in his tight embrace.

“sato– what is going on?!”

“is it a crime to show my wife some love?” he kisses your neck. when his flurry of kisses stop, he resorts to absorbing all of your features with those cerulean eyes of his.

you don’t bother pushing him away again, choosing to thread your fingers through his soft hair. even after all these years, you will never not feel the effect of satoru’s eyes on you.

“i was telling my first years about you today,” he says softly.

you smile, “is that so?”

he pushes his nose into your neck again, nodding.

“you’re so good to them,” you whisper. despite the initial shock behind satoru choosing to pursue education, you’re extremely proud of how far he’s come.

“mhm,” satoru inhales. “i’d be good to our little ones too.” one of his hands sneak to your stomach.

you delicately guide his face away from your form, your fingers tenderly urging him to meet your gaze. "is there something you want to tell me?" you inquire softly, your eyes reflecting the warmth of your affection.

satoru's smirk deepens, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "perhaps," he murmurs, his touch light as he guides you towards the bedroom. without hesitation, you yield to his lead, eager at his sudden intimate gesture.

from outside your home, three first year students stand, waiting for their sensei’s cue to enter.

“do you think he’s forgotten about us?” yuji furrows his eyebrows, hands full of grocery bags that were going to be prepared for dinner.

extra notes. had the idea of gojo and megumi crashing your date in my drafts for so long. maybe ill elaborate on it if the ppl want to see :,)

#THIS HAD ME SMILING EAR TO EAR

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yourlovermumu · 8 days

Text

so i was thinkingggg

should i do a bakugo and reader fanfic where its set in a desi setting? like indian, Pakistani, or bangladeshi setting.

and like the trope is slow burn and marriage of convenience. AND CHILDHOOD FRIENDS.

basically bakugo and your parents happen to be in the same social circle and so basically you and bakugo often saw each other at several parties and events such as weddings and family gatherings.

you guys were particularly close but werent exactly strangers to each other. growing up you, bakugo, and izuku would run off somewhere alone to play around at these events. but as you all grew older you both stopped showing up to these events as often. well...mostly bakugo. you and izuku would show up to these family events and such with your parents quite alot more then bakugo would.

you and bakugo stopped seeing each other as often eventually and drifted apart. the friendship and joy you two shared together as kids are now distant memories. especially with bakugo moving to japan to chase his ambition.

but soon enough after your twentieth birthday you hear his coming back and his parents are arranging a friendly gathering with close family and friends and that they are back in their motherland. and of course, your family is also invited.

you dont think much of it, really. its such another one of those events and family gatherings you have grown customed to growing up where you did.

it isnt odd in the slightest to get invited someone's home in occasions such as this.

but what is odd is the way your dupatta gets stuck in his watch and suddenly your not looking at anyone but him. but its not like he is in any better condition then you. he is also frozen. just staring. staring at you.

your eyes are locked with his and suddenly you dont seem to remember why you looked behind your back. why? because you felt a tug on your dupatta? thats not what matters to you right now. because with the air getting knocked out of you with the way his so far but...feels so close. you can see all the features of his face so clearly. he has certainly grown much, much more handsome in the time you two were apart for the past 7 years.

but did his eyes always look at you like? no...not when you two were kids, no.

and that fact only makes you all the more aware that you two arent just two kids sneaking away from your parents to play in a abandoned room in the far corner where no one will bother you both.

his a man. and your a women.

a soft chuckle from him breaks you out of your trance. its a intoxicating sound. his voice is deep, you note.

''not gonna untangle your dupatta, chutki?'' theres that sexy smug smile on his lips when he says that.

you cant help but roll your eyes at the nickname. its the same exact one he called you ages ago. but thats when you didnt even know where babies come from.

if it werent for his handsome face, he best bet you'd slap his face one way or another. just like old times.

but that lighthearted air that surrounded you both is now far gone with you sitting across from him. your parents at your side and his mother and father right by his.

the air is filled with grim air that only you and bakugo can sense. your parents seem to be in their little world.

their beating around the bush is obvious enough. you can already tell what this is about. and so can bakugo.

and non of you know how to feel about it. but one thing is clear, your both not kin on the idea.

''you two have grown of age. its time for marriage isnt that right?'' your mother says with a friendly smile on her face. and you so wish you could just bury yourself into a hole right then and there. sure you knew it would happen. your parents have been quite open about getting you married, saying its high time you give them a grandchild before they bite the dust. because apparently your elder sister and brother wouldnt. your brother is too focused with his multimillionaire company while your sister claims her job as a lawyer is much too demanding to spare time for marriage of all things. so now the pressure of marriage is upon you. but him? bakugo of all people? why?

you and bakugo both eye each other at your mother's words. surely...she cant be..?

''we think you two should get married. you two are a good match for each other.''

and all hell breaks loose. thats the sentence you were anticipating. bakugo is the first to express his disapproval.

''hell no! old hag are ya outta your mind?'' he shouts.

''you have to get married eventually. isnt it better to marry someone who your familiar with rather then a stranger? maybe there would have been more options open if only you didnt chase off girls by the mere sight of you, boy!'' his mother voiced. the volume of her words matching her voice.

bakugo grumbles at his mother's words, shooting her a glare.

you wanna escape. of course you do. because hell no were you gonna marry bakugo katsuki. no offense but that guy is NOT capable of being a good husband. you'd rather marry a beggar on the street then him. but its not like you can say that outright with several eyes on you.

''....abba, mami, is this...necessary?'' you gave both your parents an uncertain look. definitely trying to some how talk them out of this conversation and just go home. you cant bear to sit here and listen to this any longer.

''well...its already settled.''

you frown.

''what?''

''its settled. its not like you two would ever get married on your own record to begin with. so...your father and i as well as katsuki's parents decided that we set it up before you to can back out.''

what was to come now in your future married life?

(just a little thought lmfao lemme know if yall want me to write it <3)

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #mha #izuku midoriya #desi #indian #Pakistani #bangladeshi

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