#I feel like I missed my moment and published this too late

[sweet-bazzle-bean]

Familiar Places

Crowley/Edward Teach | 17,000 words | Rated E

After watching Aziraphale leave him, Crowley decides to try to sleep off the grief. A terrible nightmare makes his powers go haywire and he accidentally travels back in time to 1717 where he finds himself in a bar in Tortuga. He shares a drink with a man named Ed who he seems to have a lot in common with. A lot in common with. The easiest way to comfort each other and distract themselves is to spend the night together.

“Why are you miserable?” Ed asks sharply.

“Now that’s not fair,” Crowley points at him over his glass. “I asked you first.”

Ed blinks at him.

“Why would I talk to you about it?”

“Because I’m here,” Crowley shrugs, “and no one else is.”

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#Are crossovers cringe?! #Idc!!! #I feel like I missed my moment and published this too late #But I'm pretty proud of this #So voila #Read warnings/tags etc. #my fic #good omens #good omens fic #ofmd #ofmd fic #ofmd fic rec #good omens fic rec #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #gentlebeard #ed x stede #crowley #aziraphale #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbeard

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME (PLEASE DON'T FALL) ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | Nanami Kento x male!reader | arranged marriage, angst no comfort (serious) | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 23K | not proofread

warnings: hint/implied SH through passive means (no descriptions), loss of virginity, blowjobs, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, major character death, graphic descriptions of violence, yn's low-key going insane masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: this is going to have an open-ended ending so you can let your imaginations run wild. also, I'm sorry it took so long to publish this but I hope it satisfies you! also also - i truly apologize for how frantic the shibuya arc is as I'm an anime watcher so (T T) they'll be no continuation of this fic but there'll be a one-shot fic of nanami kento x reader having some sweet moments just for the heck of it along with a short fic of gojo and yn's wedding day...maybe.

“This is nice,” he murmurs. Uncaring of the water trickling into the shape of his leather shoes or how it makes his clothes cling onto him like a heavier second skin. It’s cooling, feeling like relief that was manifested into a palpable form. Pulsing, moving, pushing, and pulling as the shadows undulated. Sunlight dances on the ocean, piercing through the waters to reach as far down as it can.

Your arms around him make him grin. He reaches to hold you, the rarest of treasures appearing on his face as he feels your lips press onto his left cheek. 

He holds your flesh with a gentle squeeze. The weight of you on his back is like a comforting blanket draped over him; he kisses the delicate muscles and marks you have. You burrow your face into his neck, he closes his eyes and chuckles. "I'm sorry, my love."

“You’re going to make me late.”

It grins wide and proud at the sight of your disgruntled face. The cursed spirit was as ugly as a piece of dogshit on the street. Smelled like it too. It was a semi-special grade that had popped up in an abandoned hospital. It was the subject of a bountiful amount of paranormal fans, which meant a handful of people and teenagers had disappeared after entering its premises.

Ah, didn’t I go on a mission like this once? You thought to yourself.

“Or was it Utahime’s mission?” you muttered.

She — the curse — opens her split mouth to screech. Her white hair flies behind her as she furiously charges towards you. The corners of your mouth twist in disgust. What a wretched being. Her hands were bound behind her back as she was in a straight jacket. So far, her attacks had been long-distance but the ones that truly hurt were when she got close enough to sink her teeth in.

The chunk of missing flesh on your hand was proof of that. It was covered by your tie but those blackened veins were a clear sign of trouble if you didn’t exorcise her.

“Yeah, yeah. Come and get it, bitch.” Tucking in your chin while taking a quick breath as her horrendous form gets closer, you feel the familiar rush of energy flowing through you. She was running like a bat out of hell. Her chin probably would’ve been shaved off if she bent any lower — her disgusting mouth was slobbering all over as she unhinged her jaw. She lunges and you release a breath. With your outstretched hand, palm facing up, you press the sides of your pointer and middle finger together. The curse screams, her teeth now a hair away from biting the tips of your finger off.

“Divine Flame.”

The birds seem to freeze midflight and the ants appear static; even the clouds above the building had been glued in place. She sees your lips split into a grin, a puff of air that mocks hers as she struggles to breathe. The curse drags her ruby-red eyes to the spark of black that ignites on your fingertips. "Gods Blade."

A second ago, she was so close to taking your wretched hand off and leaving it a bloody stump. Her stomach wants nothing more than to savour the flesh of a sorcerer and hear him scream in agony as she triumphs in the fight. The memory of it, the bright flash of white that burned her skin off her flesh. She can still taste it in her mouth, she can feel the phantom pain of it slicing the back of her throat. Everything tasted like smoke and blood. As you kick her head, she tumbles until she is gazing up at the sky.

The sky?

What happened to the roof?

The sight of her shaking pupils made you scoff. The building was torn down. Sliced cleanly in half according to the angle of your fingers; everything your technique made contact with was bright orange, smoking, and singing. Cement crumbles into ash, and metal turns to oozing and bubbling liquid.

“Shit. I haven’t used that move in a while. I’m sorry, I’m in a rush, okay? I think I went overboard.” Thankfully, Kiyotaka had raised a veil or else you’d never hear the end of it. The building shudders with each step you take. She watches as you crouch next to her, grabbing a fistful of her white hair and bringing her eyes level with yours.

“Not that you don’t deserve it. You glutton. 14 people in three weeks? You brought this on yourself.”

Her eyes fill with tears as she feels your palm warm and warm and then it burns. Her screams were like nails on a chalkboard but you bore through it. Staring into the black flames that consume her you ponder about your agenda; those spikes of fury remind you of Megumi’s gravity-defying hair.

“You’re really shitty, you know that right?” she’s down to her bones now and it’s slowly piling up into a mountain of ash. Still, she finds it in herself to scream. “Your crappy domain was creepy. It’s been a while since I’ve been back in Japan. I’m just settling in. You were supposed to be a simple mission. Now you fucked up my hand and I’m covered in soot.”

Suguru would surely laugh at you. He often did when you were muttering to dying curses. It was a habit you formed, wanting to annoy them to the very end about your minuscule grievances. They weren’t to you but the curse spirits probably felt like tearing your head off as they died.

“(Y/N), you’re really unique, huh?” Suguru leaned against the red-bricked wall with his arms stuffed in his pockets. Shoko watched impassively by his side, holding a plastic bag filled with burn relief gel. It’s not as though your flames burn you. The heat they produce stung your skin. You suppose you’ve built endurance to it but you appreciate your friends pampering you; your clan was ruthless in fine-tuning your abilities, and there was no such thing as pain-relief creams or gels.

The (L/N) weren’t like the Major 3 of Japan. They were considered to be imitations. Mocked for their gaudy technique names and overzealous attack styles but weak bodies. In order to chase after the huge power gap, your clan brought the children to their knees. Grinding them forcefully on whetstones; until they either become sharp-edged or they break.

As the son of the head of your clan, breaking was not an option.

Luckily for them, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique. Unluckily for you, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique.

Your pout makes him smile. “Calling me unique feels like an insult, Su-Su,” you turn your attention toward the husk of a curse. He was pinned to the wall with one of Suguru’s spear-wielding curses as he was being toasted by your curse technique.

“I’m just trying to make them pass on easily.”

The curse warbles its disapproval as he shakes his head, its skin flaking and smoking. Shoko crouches beside you, unboxing the gel after you spread your fingers and exorcise it.

“I think it might’ve cursed you instead,” Satoru appears with canned drinks. He presses it tenderly to your warm cheeks as Shoko tends to your hands. “Here, you did most of the work today,” he thinks nothing of how flushed you seem and simply shrugs it off when you avert your gaze. Satoru ruffles your head, which erases the blush into nothing but annoyance,

“Man, can you believe we’ll be second-years soon? We’ll have juniors to bully,” Satoru says with too much glee. Suguru knocks the back of his knees with his own and Shoko and you barely muffle your laughter.

Kiyotaka smiles warmly as he spots you. It falls as his veil disappears to reveal the ruined building.

“Mr. Gojo…” Kiyotaka gasps with his hands curled to his chest. He must be pissed, Kiyotaka thinks as he glances your way. “Mr. Gojo!” you lift a hand to stop him from fretting over your bleeding hand, unknowingly showing him your fingertips.

“You used — “

“Principal Yaga won’t appreciate my tardiness, Kiyotaka.” The tie around your gaping wound unravels and he rushes to open the car door for you. “Ms. Ieiri will tend to me just fine, I’m not going to die. Oh, and please just call me (Y/N), Kiyotaka. Honestly, we’ve known each other for so long, I feel bad if you kept calling me using honorifics.”

How can he be married to Satoru? He thought as he nodded at your words. Half the time he’s expecting to be beaten up by Satoru, the way he speaks sometimes is as if he is deaf to how crass it is. As he rushes to get into the driver's seat, you try your best to tend to the soot and ash on your fingertips.

Kiyotaka watches you from the mirror. What worries him is the missing chunk from your left hand. The irritated edges and bulging veins weren’t easing his worries either. “Mr. Gojo,” you lift your head with a polite grin. Kiyotaka unconsciously returns it.

“Your husband left some burn relief gel at the back of the driver's seat,” he says. It leaves you stunned. He says nothing as your cool expression turns bashful. He was glad to see you find relief despite your twitching wound.

“I’ll drive you there as fast as I can, Mr — “

“Kiyotaka,” you huff.

“M-Mr — Mr. (Y/N).”

It’s strange what a familiar sight can do. Seeing the peeks of the sloped rooftops made your palms clammy. This was a form of torture and of that you are certain.

With every step taken to climb towards your destination, the wind carries forgotten voices and laughter. This school was a picture you kept in a box under your bed; meant to collect dust and only seep out through the cracks in the forms of nostalgia. Seeing it materialize the closer you get makes your throat tighten. The tree branches dance in the wind and sunlight falls into step. This would be scenic in any other circumstance.

You had no one to blame but yourself. Satoru may have pestered you to agree but he didn’t force your hand; you caved in all by yourself.

‘ Get a grip, ‘ you scolded yourself. This was doable. The anxiety that’s coursing through your veins does not compare to everything you’ve already been through. First-day jitters are all it is. Megumi will be there with his friends, Yuuji and Nobara.

Along with them, Satoru’s other students would meet you again!

They were all great kids (and an amazing panda). You’ve only ever seen them in passing, sometimes Satoru would’ve asked for you to meet him whilst his students were already there. They were a memorable bunch. Meeting with a cast-aside Ze’nin daughter had shocked you. It was no surprise she narrowed her eyes at you.

It was fair. The elitist nature of the major clans of the sorcery world was hard to escape and unlearn. Satoru could escape unscathed due to his curse techniques, spoiled by everyone and entrusted as head of the Gojo clan the second he was deemed worthy enough. But for Maki? She had to steel herself when your eyes landed on her. Especially because you were dressed in traditional attire, the silk of your clothes decorated with the sigil of your clan and Gojo's (your half-sibling had just been born, so you wore it to celebrate her first birthday).

You simply offered a downward gaze and nodded as a greeting. Flashing her a quick show of teeth that you showed to Toge and Panda as well.

“Mr (Y/N), are you okay?” Kiyotaka’s hands hover over your shoulder. You’ve half a mind to swat them away. He means well but at the moment you need someone whose heart isn’t racing louder than yours. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. You weren’t going to die, Kiyotaka just needed to get that memo.

“I’m well. Let’s just hurry before — “

“(Y/N)?” Satoru's presence causes Kiyotaka to stiffen up like a board. His footsteps approach you from behind. You prepare for the questions he's bound to ask. He doesn't say much, simply does a once-over on you, then focuses on the bloody bandages around your hand. An attempt to hide it behind you was made though he’s already reaching to pull it into the light.

“Satoru, it’s fine. Shoko can fix it up, I’m already late. Principal Yaga is going to have my head.” Satoru reluctantly lets your wrists fall. “You’ve got 25 minutes before the meeting actually starts. I built a reputation for being 7 minutes late for a reason. Why doesn’t anyone else abuse it?”

The twitch of your brow makes him grin. Satoru greets Kiyotaka with a nod and he promptly greets the couple a goodbye.

Satoru stays. It seemed as though Satoru was following along on your impromptu trip to Shoko’s.

“He’s excited to see you, even though he won’t say it,” he turns his head in your direction. “He sure is attached to you. All he ever does is be snarky to me. How come I’m getting all the teen angst?” he makes you guffaw.

“Can you blame him, Satoru?” you snort. “Megumi is pretty guarded after what his step-mom and his father did. I don’t blame you for taking on so many missions either but I did end up staying home more often compared to you. Besides, you’re love language of gift-giving looks more like buying love sometimes.” Satoru’s jaw goes slack and his brows pinch into that annoying expression.

“You’re saying I’m like a rich benefactor rather than a parent?”

“More like a gay uncle who likes giving expensive gifts,” you grunt as he tugs on the lobes of your ears. He’s not that offended by your words, it’s not as though you’re denying that he cares for Tsumiki and Megumi. Simply stating that they still hadn’t bridged the gap. Partly due to his frequent goings and partly due to Megumi’s abandonment issues.

It must sting to know your father sold you to a family who only cared about your abilities. It’s no wonder he keeps his walls high. You’re excited to see his friends climbing it, hoping his fortune is as bountiful as his name.

“Must you be so blunt, husband?” Satoru opens the door for you, eyeing the stains on your shirt. "I heard it was a semi-special grade," you shudder at the reminder, "did she cause you so much trouble? It's been a while since you've used God's Blade."

The fluorescent lights of Shoko's don't help your nerves. The theme of today seems to be revisiting memories. The chill in the building does not ease you in the slightest. It reminds you of the same eerie hallway you'd be escorted to, the sickening green-blue lines of light that light the path would make your palms clammy every time. Those five men were akin to statues as they held onto the thickly bound rope plastered with talismans.

"She couldn't talk just yet but managed to create a weak domain. I don't know why. I wasn't expecting it. It was so unsettling."

Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, stroking your shoulder as he steers you through the hallway. He knows you don't like long hallways with cold lights. Satoru doesn't ask the why's or what's. Those rigid lunches and dinners with your father and stepmother are all he needed.

Shoko's eyebrows jump at the sight of the both of you walking in.

"Hello, lovebirds," she stands from her chair, "d'you guys need some condoms or something?" The joke earns her an unamused expression while Satoru just chuckles.

"My dearest husband was injured in battle."

Your exclamations of protest fall on deaf ears as Satoru forces you to sit at Shoko’s check-up station. She idles over, pushing Satoru away with a gloved hand. Her touches are careful and light as she takes a close look at the wound.

Then, she grasps your other hand and you can’t help the gentle smile that graces your face as she tuts at the sensitive skin. “You’re here to meet the Principal, right? This won’t take long. You owe me dinner.”

“Yes, Ms Ieiri,” you coo. It was an odd sensation, to feel your flesh regrow, veins stitching together as muscles intertwine. Meanwhile, Satoru is moving around in her office, sticking his head in cabinets and drawers while you wash your hands. Shoko does nothing to stop your meddling husband.

“Found it!” Just as you turn, Satoru’s face looms over yours. Your gasp is choked on the lollipop he puts in your mouth. Shoko’s stethoscope is looped around his neck and her spare doctor's coat makes him look absolutely ridiculous.

"A treat for being such a good boy at the doctor's office today!"

“Those might be expired, by the way,” Shoko says. “‘Toru!” he giggles unabashedly, avoiding your wrath with glee.

“Mr. Gojo is married!?”

Megumi regrets ever saying it in the first place. Nobara and Yuji are staring at him with wide eyes, practically sparkling with curiosity.

“Did you guys not see the ring on his finger?” The chair creaks as he leans back, crossing his arms as they place their elbows on his desk. “Now that you mentioned it, I have noticed it. I didn’t think he was married,” Nobara tilts her head. “I mean, I guess he is pretty good husband material,” Yuji says. “He’s strong, handsome, and he’s generous too!”

“The lip balm he wears is expensive too,” Nobara nods as she speaks. “It’s not that expensive,” Megumi mumbled though the two simply ignored him. He was on another financial level. His standard of ‘expensive’ had been skewered.

“He just doesn’t seem like he has a wife. How does she put up with his childish attitude?”

Footsteps come from the hallway. Megumi says nothing as Nobara and Yuji press their faces to the indoor windows, trying to steal glances. His heart picks up its pace as he clasps his hands together. He kept his guard up for a reason. He expects disappointment so he can never feel that fear of abandonment — a childish wish. Your trips overseas were something he didn’t think would make him fearful again, so he iced them out the best he could. But now that you were back, he felt entirely too excited.

“Shh! Itadori, shut up! Let me sit here!”

They wrestle for the chair closest to the door. The ridiculousness of it has Megumi hiding his smile behind his palm, rolling his eyes fondly. Nobara wins and Megumi buries the feeling of excitement that Yuji is sitting close.

The doors rattle open to reveal Satoru. The silence that greets him disturbs him enough to hesitate to take a step inside. Instead, he stretches his neck and lets his head jump from one student's face to the other.

“Is this some sort of ambush? Why are your faces so intense?”

“Mr Gojo!” Yuji exclaims (he doesn’t need to). Raising from his seat, Yuji plants his palms on his desk and speaks: “Is it true that you’re married and that your spouse is going to be teaching us?”

Satoru beams, one long leg crossing over the threshold. Megumi spots a flash of (H/C) coloured hair and no matter what he does he can’t stop his heart from squeezing in anticipation.

“A guy like me? Of course, I’m married!” Satoru wiggles his fingers in the air. The ring is a simple silver band with a beautiful gem held preciously by silver roots. It was personal, something that would twinkle under the light but remain bashful in any other setting; it didn’t make it any less beautiful or inexpensive.

Nobara stands next. “What is she like? How does she put up with you? Is she cool?”

Soft laughter floats inside. Megumi’s shoulders hug his neck as you walk into the room. You were dressed in a nearly identical faculty uniform to Satoru’s though there were little adjustments and accessories here and there that made it more your own.

“They’ve been your student for less than a week, and they already wonder how your spouse puts up with you, husband,” your eyes meet Megumi’s and turn warmer. Nobara and Yuji gasp, eyes going comically wide as they stare at you.

“They’re overexaggerating. I’m an amazing teacher.” Electing to ignore your pouting husband, you address the first-year students with your hands politely folded in front of you.

‘ Ah, always so proper, ‘ Satoru thinks. It’s probably where Megumi’s manners got reinforced because it sure as hell wasn’t from Satoru. You really were a marvel. How lucky would anyone be to be yours? An idea popped into his marvellous brain. Satoru suppresses his urge to rub his hands together schemingly though hopes Nanami won't mind that he meddles a bit with his mission.

“My name is Gojo (Y/N), it’s nice to finally meet all of you. Mr Gojo has told me what promise all of you show.”

Yuji doesn’t pretend not to notice the way your eyes linger on him. He stiffens up, jaw locking as he feels his tongue spasm. Your eyes — the colour of it seemed to sway, like a flame dancing in the dark. It was spine-chilling.

To stand next to Gojo Satoru, to be his husband — to be his equal. Yuji imagines you must be strong. He wonders what your curse technique is. He is not the only one wondering. Deep in the recesses of his soul, four eyes split open and illuminate the darkness.

“We were thinking of taking all three of you on a field trip around Tokyo!” Satoru says with glee.

“It better not be like yesterday’s trip to Roppongi,” Nobara mutters. You glance towards Satoru, brow raised in question while he laughs innocently at Nobara’s accusing glare.

Megumi takes note of the smell of ash, and cobalt gaze immediately dropping to your folded hands and narrowing as he notices how irritated your fingertips look.

“You’ll enjoy this trip, trust me. Everyone can show off their skills to Mr Gojo, even Megumi,” Satoru said. Megumi's cheeks burned at the callout despite that, he was excited. He learned a lot in those 4-months and he has much to show you. Nobara snickers at his annoyed expression but catches Yuji’s lack of response. Satoru did as well though since there were no marks or mouths sprouting on his face he elected to wave it off as him being stunned by you.

For being a man? Surely, not. Perhaps for your handsomeness? That seems very likely.

It wasn’t as though he was sullen, just tight-lipped as he smiled and guffawed at the ongoing conversation.

“You may call me Mr (Y/N). It might be confusing for everyone if you both refer to us with our surnames." Satoru pretends not to grimace at the lame excuse. It was not for their sake. It was for yours and his. In 8 months, you would no longer bear the heavy weight of his name, placing it on a mantle of your victories and regrets.

“Gojo?” Kento’s voice causes you to jump. He felt bad for disturbing you from your reading, you looked so peaceful. It's been a while since he's found time to sit down and digest the words of a book. The mountain of unread literature in his home begs for a crumb of his attention — they remain untouched until he's sure he won't die without reading the final chapter. That would truly be a nuisance. The cafe had the smell of fresh paint quickly being overshadowed by freshly baked pastries and brewed coffee.

Kento apologizes for startling you. An apology you wave off, setting your book down after slipping the bookmark between the yellowing pages. The spine of it was cracked and the front of it slightly warped despite the plastic cover it was wrapped in. "A good read?"

“It was my mother’s favourite book,” you trace the title on the cover, sheepishly grinning. “She left some of her books in my possession after her passing. It got banged up after a mission with a curse in America, some alligator curse.” “What is it about?” His voice was so deep. Had it always been that deep? Admittedly, you’d only had the pleasure to see Kento again during Suguru’s proclamation of war. At that moment, you weren’t ogling him or relishing in the baritones of his voice. He’d grown up to be a handsome man. Those high cheekbones and strong eyes finally settled on his face. Despite the coat he wore, you could tell his body was chiseled and firm. Muscles stacked on muscles. He’d always been studios — his technique did require a more hand-to-hand approach. It didn’t surprise you. Most active sorcerers tend to train their bodies in order to survive strenuous missions.

As students, you recalled having sparred with him a few times. It didn't surprise you he became a Grade 1 sorcerer. With his flexible ability and his sharp wit, Kento was a force to be reckoned with then, you cannot imagine what he's capable of now. “It’s a bit dark,” you turned the cover to him, “it’s about a woman whose sister and old friend from school died. They were murdered. We follow her through her memories of them and her emotions. It’s quite interesting if you have the stomach for it,” he takes the book as you slip it into his hands.

Your fingers brushed and your ears warmed up.

‘ Ah, stop it. Stop it! You are (Y/N), a powerful sorcerer. Stop acting like a schoolgirl! ‘ “It was inspired by a murder in 1997.” Kento reads the synopsis on the back, his eyes drinking in every syllable. You wonder if his gaze is always so intense. Do they soften when he leans in to kiss? Thankfully, the book distracts him from your aggressive sipping of your drink. "Is the protagonist compelling?" After all, what's more horrid than a boring storyteller. Kento has consumed his fair share of bland-tasting media. It was just how life is, he supposes. Still. It didn't mean he was any less disappointed.

He flips through the first few pages. His touch was featherlight as he traced the edge of the pages. "She's angry," you reply after a moment of contemplation. "She is...unapologetically resentful, overly judgemental. But, for some reason. It's almost relieving to read," he watches you scratch the back of your neck as if admitting it out loud made you a bad person. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for it in bookstores. This looks intriguing.” Kento hands the novel back to you. You’re only a little disappointed that your fingers don’t brush again. He reaches into his coat as you put the book back in your bag. The file he pulls out makes you sober up from the butterflies in your stomach.

Right, this wasn’t a date — despite Satoru's jests — this was a mission. It must be a pretty daunting one if two Grade 1 sorcerers were needed. “Gojo — “ Your huff makes Kento pause. “Honestly, Ken, just call me (Y/N).” Your eyes widen. Stumbling over your words, you try to apologize for your bluntness, your hair practically lifting and puffing like a panicked cat. It has been so long since you’ve been classmates. A whole decade had breezed past. Calling him by an old nickname after so long was so rude!

To your surprise, Kento smiles. It’s unlike Satoru's, free and sharp, the corners curled like a sly fox as he set his sights on adventure. Kento’s smile was reliable, assuring you without words. Like a prince, though one that was gentler in his ways of living compared to the gallivanting knight that is Satoru.

“Only if I can call you, (nickname).”

Yū’s face floats to the surface. You had given Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Kento their nicknames.

Satoru, ‘Toru. Suguru, Su-Su. Shoko, Ko-Ko. Kento, Ken.

Yū, well, you had trouble giving him one considering how short his name already was. So he gave you a nickname instead. It stuck more than the others, every time you saw him he’d immediately call you that and you’d struggle to find a nickname that’d stick for him.

After his death, nobody called you that anymore.

If spirits were kept alive through memory, you’re certain Yū’s was thriving thanks to Kento. His classmate, his best friend. What an honoured spirit he must be. Kento was a quiet man, your mother often said those stoic ones were filled with such blinding love it left them tight-lipped so as to not overwhelm others. You wonder if your feelings have tainted Suguru in any way. The very thought makes your knuckles whiten. How awful. You hope he does not resent you.

You remember visiting Kento after Yū’s funeral, leaving food for him at his front door for weeks until you found out he had moved out.

That was a dark summer.

“Of course you can, Ken.” He stands as you do, falling into step next to you as you make your way towards your destination.

This was an interesting mission. It was located in an alleyway that once harboured a noodle shop. Something chased away the people. The building on the right was an abandoned temple, and the building on the left was a nightclub that was torn down after a murder happened.

An unlikely set of locations sprinkled with fear and isolation. The perfect breeding ground for curses. The mix of religious trauma and debauchery formed a mass that seemed forcefully threaded together by a thick rope in the center that looked oddly like noodles.

What peeved you about it was that it took less than two hours for Kento and you to investigate and exorcise it.

He swung his weapon in the air, the dissipating gore of the curse splattering on the walls in a spray. You’re waving away some dust and debris, coughing as you crush a minor curse’s head under your boot. This mission was dangerous, a perfect mission for a Grade 1 sorcerer.

A Grade 1 sorcerer.

It hardly required a duo.

‘ Satoru, ‘ you’re choking him in your mind. This must be his doing. He'd joke about setting you up with Kento but you thought it was that, a joke.

A heavy hand places itself on your shoulder, turning to face him you’re caught by how close your faces are. “Are you alright?” your body twists and you can't remember when he got so tall.

“I’ll be sore, but it’s nothing new.”

You were his favourite out of his upperclassmen. Kento never said that out loud, he wasn’t sure why; you weren’t the quietest or most polite. You were any other teenage boy. Except that was a lie.

(L/N) (Y/N). You were a product of your clan’s race to stand out. The destiny many searches for was laid out ahead of you the second you were conceived.

But you were kind. Not that the rest of the upperclassmen weren’t. You were different, a shining light that Kento finds himself gravitating towards like a moth to a flame. You were the night sky, twinkling and watching those around him. Kento was a mere mortal. All he could do was admire from the ground as he helplessly reached up to embrace deities.

He slides his hand down to your arm, and the reaction is immediate. Pain shoots up your arm, blood hidden by the dark uniform. Kento undoes his tie and wraps it above the bleeding cut. It’s crazy what adrenaline can do to you.

“Kento, you didn’t have to,” you wince as he tightens it. He offers no apologies though his jaw still clenches.

You were strong, your ranking was proof of that. But you were a (L/N). Kento heard of the rumours they tell about your clan's weak bodies but overeager abilities. It was a nice way to say that your clan was in over your head. As history notes, your clan was more devious than forthcoming. Hailing from ninjas or assassins or whatever it is that seemed more malicious.

“I’ll bring you to the school,” his tone was resolute. “It’s just a cut,” he frowns as he takes another look at it. It was deep, not bone-deep, but deep.

He’s terrified that there’s truth in them. The rumours. As you stand here with your heated cheeks and too-warm touch, he’s worried that your brain is overheating. Or maybe your blood is boiling and killing you. You could drop dead right in front of him right now, despite the amount of times you get up each and every time.

He’s terrified, (Y/N). He cannot lose another person he cares about. Kento absolutely refuses to do that all over again.

“Kento,” that stubborn purse of your lips never did go away. He can see the fight you have in you, that fire that fuels you.

As you smile, Yū’s face eclipses yours. For a split second. Just a second. It makes Kento loosen his grip. “I’m fine, Ken. Swear it,” he reluctantly lets you go.

“I apo — “

Your fingers thread through his. They’re intertwined and your grip is firm.

‘ I’m here, ‘ each squeeze relays, ‘ I’m safe, Kento. ‘

The coolness of your ring on his skin earns you a firm press.

He’s content watching you from afar, Kento had long decided that would be his fate. There was no honour in it. He sure as hell didn’t expect a heavenly reward for it. Perhaps he’s a fool for living the way he does. Kento knows he's lying to himself. Deep down he wants nothing more than to kiss you, hold you, make you his, and let him be yours.

But Kento’s fear of losing you outweighs his love for you. Staying by Gojo Satoru's side ensures your safety, wealth, status and prosperity.

Kento will be content with that. Tripping through these messy tangles of heartstrings would just be how his life went. Even if Gojo Satoru did not deserve you, he provided you with more.

He would come home without fail. He was the strongest.

“After we patch up, let me buy you dinner tonight, (nickname). We can catch up.” The offer brightens your expression. You’d always been so divine when you smile, (Y/N).

“(Y/N)?” Satoru always smells so sweet before bed. It’s the lotion he puts on his skin, specifically everywhere else Fushiguro Toji had stabbed him.

It was expensive and meant to heal and moisturize damaged skin. They’re barely there anymore. The only proof of that day was nothing more than stark lines, and barely blushed skin that hides beneath his bangs. It was just routine now, a habit he couldn’t break. Or perhaps, a reminder for him; to know what it felt like to bleed out, to die, to let others die. The day he ascended to the heavens and became the honoured one. The day everything shifted.

“Oi, (Y/N).” You’re burying your face into his neck and Satoru stiffens. He’s ticklish there, he’s told you that before.

“Are ya’ drunk? Did Nanami get you drunk?” His voice lifts in amusement at the end. He'd heard that Nanami was quite a heavy drinker from what Shoko had told him. He hadn’t expected you to come here after a date. He was nearly asleep when you stumbled into the bedroom. Did you forget your new address? Satoru feels your hands tighten around his waist. A blanket of sadness shrouds you.

“Oi. Did something happen?”

You shake your head. Never in a million years would you fathom hating grain or bread. It wasn't her fault for holding Kento's heart but what sort of cruel joke was this? The gods were mocking you. Satoru swallows thickly as your lips brush the junction of his shoulder and neck.

“Did Nanami do something?” His anger was immediate, you could taste it from how close you were. Had he always been so responsive to your emotions? All it took to make him lose his coolheadedness was a suspicion that someone had hurt you.

“Why are you here, (Y/N)?”

“Ken, he dropped me off here.” Your legs stumble as you sway so Satoru holds your hips. He can smell the grilled meat from your hair, the alcohol from your breath, and the antiseptic wound dressing under your clothes.

“You didn’t bring him home?” Satoru teases.

“He brought me home.” Satoru can feel your lashes tickle his neck. Your breath is fanning that barely-there-scar and it makes gooseflesh ripple across his skin. Right, in the public’s eye, this was still your home. Kento was a gentleman, of course, he’d send (Y/N) back to his husband.

“This is my home, S'Toru,” he agrees with you with a nod, “Of course, beloved. We should get you ready for bed, yeah?”

His breath gets caught in his throat as he takes you in. The moonlight makes your skin look absolutely ethereal. Those tales of forest spirits with decadent forms and whispering eyes that lure men to their deaths pale in comparison to you. The drunken flush that looks silly on others makes you look like you’re a teenager all over again. Your gaze was unfocused, jumping or lingering from one thing to the next.

But your eyes meet him and they're so dark. He’s taken aback. It happens when someone’s in a dim room like you are currently. Your pupils dilate to let more light in. Satoru knows that’s not the case. You’re 17 again and the windows to your soul betray you by letting Satoru in. It’s silly what humans do when they’re in love. How our eyes insist on seeing more of them. Take in every microscopic detail despite not having the ability to do so. Fluttering those eyelashes as if curling a coy finger.

' Come, ' your eyes are saying. ' Let me show you where I ache the most, this void in my chest. Come. Inhabit me. Bare your soul to me. '

The act of kissing is perhaps the silliest. Moulding your lips with another person, feeling them against you as your soul breathes into their body. It’s Satoru’s favourite sensation. The intimate act of it all, of breathing life into someone you love. It was almost cannibalistic in a way. As you stand in front of him, hiccuping from all the drinks you took and only being supported by his hands Satoru can’t stop the way his gaze lingers on your lips. Satoru wants to kiss his husband. He wants to feel your soul burn him from the inside and he wants you to harbour his own in yours.

“Why can’t I just sleep now?” You mumble. Satoru’s palm cools your flushed cheeks, his thumb ghosting the edge of your lips.

“You smell like grilled meat and beer,” he traces your jawline and cups the back of your head to pull you into his embrace. Too drunk to care about how fast your heart is beating, you simply let it happen. Satoru’s big hands travel down and he shushes you when you squirm.

Down to the sides of the waist, then to your hips, further down and down until he catches the back of your knees. He lifts you so you wrap your arms around him, going all but limp.

“Grilled meat and beer smell great! I’m so sleepy, please,” he chuckles as you kick your feet. “I prefer if the bedsheets smell the way they do now. Man, how much did you have to drink?”

The hiccup you make when he sets you on the counter makes him shake his head. Satoru tells you to lean back so he can undress you. It’s amusing to see the emotions on his face as he does.

The metallic scent still lingers judging from how Satoru’s nose is twitching. Suppose the new jacket you got did little to mask it. He unbuttons your undershirt and his eyes widen. At that, you turn to breathe in the mirror, entranced by the way your breath leaves traces of itself on the smooth surface.

Satoru ignores the way your chest stutters as he traces the outlines of the fucked up star-shaped scar on your chest. It was a sick imitation of your skin colour. So close to your heart, too close. Your hand rests on top of his as you trace his knuckles.

“There aren’t a lot of doctors like Shoko overseas,” Satoru slips his hand away from you. It rests on the big scar on your side now. He can feel the marred skin beginning from your back all the way to the front, like a sickle. He can imagine it, see the way a claw or a tooth had nearly split you in half if you hadn't gotten out of the way.

It must've ached. He would know. Muscles being torn apart viciously, bone thudding so harshly on the ground that sometimes he's convinced it's broken. You must've been in pain — muscles and nerves screaming at every movement despite whatever sorcery was used to heal it.

Scars are a part of the sorcerer society. It’s a rite of passage just as much as dying is. He’s not surprised you have them. He’s seen your bare torso before. When it’s an unbearable hot summer or on a beach, you’ve chosen to shed a few layers. Sometimes, you’d even sleep topless if it was too humid.

Each time, Satoru would find himself looking at your scars. Counting them, wondering where some came from and what mission caused it. Or was it an accident? A childhood scar that never went away. Was it your training?

Was it your father?

He never asked. Satoru didn’t want to say anything for fear that you’d no longer be comfortable around him. The ones he remembered, he'd let his gaze linger on but the others? No. It felt shameful to ask. So he never knew. Simply wondered.

In those four months, why had your scars increased? The severity of it looked more and more painful.

“You’re usually not so careless,” fear grips him and his expression is so morbid you laugh. Satoru finds no amusement in it and his firm gaze makes your chuckle fade away.

“Maybe my family’s curse is catching up to me.”

“That isn’t a laughing matter.” Satoru knows you’re not completely immune to the flames you cast. You’ve certainly grown a tolerance for it (and other flames), once or twice he recalls you casually patting away at the inky flames that catch on your clothes. But it’s a great technique.

Too great some would say.

Divine Flame. A technique that enabled the user to control cursed wildfires. To manipulate it to burn through nearly everything it came into contact with. A searing black that makes you sweat even from a distance. That is so bright when cast, it blinds those who dare gaze upon it.

The whispers of your clan making a deal with a cursed spirit followed you everywhere you went. People claim that your ancestors made a Binding Vow to become great sorcerers. To rival the other houses and to fill the void of power that Sukuna Ryomen left your society in after he massacred great clans.

But your ancestor got greedy and the vow was broken, which left canyons of karma engraved in the bones of their children. It was why your clan could never flourish. It was why the children die out, why the women grow barren and the men weak.

It was ridiculous but Satoru himself wonders if there’s truth in it.

Why would the Gods give you a body you couldn’t sustain? Were you truly cursed? This mighty curse technique engraved into your skeleton burns you from the inside out; is it hurting you?

If it was, Satoru would demand the Gods to come down and face him. Why should you pay for the mistakes of your ancestors?

Why would they dare take more from you?

From Satoru?

Had they not have their fill?

Just rumours, he tells himself. If they — the Gods — dared taking you from him he'd raze heaven and hell.

“...You would tell me if it was, right?”

Has Satoru’s eyes ever looked as dark as they did now? There’s a ring of blue surrounding that endless void. As he peers up at you, all you can focus on is that sliver of heaven. That cerulean that reminds you of the sky and the sea, that you swear shines in mischief or glows like a good omen.

What is this darkness you're peering into? An abyss that whispers for you;

' Come. Let me show you, come, teeter over the edge and fall with me.'

“Would you stop it, Satoru?” your hands on his cheek make his skin burn. “This so-called ' great family curse, ' could you stop it?”

“I’d do anything to protect you, beloved.” He'd make the Gods ever regret making him fall in love with you.

You grin as your thumb swipes over his cheekbones and all thoughts of killing unreachable Gods dissipate. Satoru lets you come down from the counter, ready to catch you if you fall as you attempt to take your pants off.

Satoru is squirming like a worm under the sun. He’s sat on the toilet lid, refusing to let you tend to him. “Gojo,” your sigh makes him chew on his inner cheeks. Finally, you manage to get his shirt off and without that second skin, he feels far too cold.

You’re in nothing but a towel. Your funeral garbs are being tended to by servants. They were probably steaming out the wrinkles while you attempted to wring Satoru back into shape.

“I can do it by myself.”

He hasn’t eaten. What little he does eat is barely sustaining him. Satoru could barely stand after his adrenaline wore off, you truly hope he will not be stubborn. You reach for his boxers and he exclaims, once again;

“I can do it by myself!”

The blood that rushes to his head humbles him. Satoru stands and Satoru falls. You catch him, gasping out his name as your arm wraps themselves around him.

His face is on your chest, resting on your clavicles while your chin is on his shoulder.

Look away, he wants to tell you. Look away from me.

Suguru’s love letters are still dark on his pale skin. Like flowers blooming under sunlight, they decorate him from behind his ears to the nape of his neck. Satoru can recall pushing Suguru away as he did, his skin remembering unfeeling metal but Suguru kisses him and Satoru forgets it all.

He thought Suguru could forget it too. He tries not to cry but he does anyway. Satoru sobs into your chest and a part of you feels anger. It was your mother’s funeral.

Why the fuck is he crying?

But your grief is hanging outside the bathroom, neat and crisp and proper. It will weigh like boulders when you slip it on and you’ll feel your stomach twist into knots as you hold back the urge to vomit. In this bathroom, Satoru’s guilt is his and you’ll be there to wash it away.

He hates himself for it. He hates how you rub his back and shush him, gathering him in your arms as you stand so you can brush away all these feelings.

He couldn’t imagine going to his mother's funeral.

He also couldn't imagine Suguru not being by his side but that was now reality.

Your mother was a kind woman. Not naively trusting, barely had any faith in others his mother once told him. But she was warm despite it. Cunning underneath the pleasantries she shared.

His mother enjoyed her company. He can’t recall if she ever enjoyed anyone’s company other than his father and his own.

‘ She’s a wonderful woman. Shame she’s married to such a horrible man, ‘ she once told him.

“Let me wash your hair, Gojo.” The water hides his tears but you wipe them away regardless. You offer him a smile and Gojo can feel that tree of guilt sprout.

He catches you as you trip on your discarded pants and perhaps you should feel bashful or shy as your naked body is pressed against his clothed one. But you’re too drunk and too sleepy to care.

Your face rests on his chest and his chin is over your shoulder.

“Why do you call me that?”

Satoru turns the shower on, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist as he tests the temperature.

“Beloved?” You nod against him and the hair that tickles his throat doesn’t make his insides shudder in memory of that day.

“Do you want me to stop calling you that?”

He pushed you into the shower and the warm water has you groaning. He’s gentle as he manoeuvres your bandaged arm up, telling you to brace it on the wall to not get it damp.

His eyes are still so dark.

“Your shirt is getting wet,” you point your finger at it. Neither of you addresses your blatant brush-off. He tells you to turn around and you do. From the corner of your eyes, you see his clothes getting tossed onto the floor and the sound of his hand's lathering soap has you fluttering your eyes closed.

He envies the careless way the water hugs you. How it slithers from your shoulders down to the curves of your legs. Rivulets of ambrosia ease your sore muscles in ways that he wished he could.

“People...people usually use baby or babe,” Satoru’s hands lather soap on your back and you lean forward to press your forehead on the wall.

“Hey,” it twists beneath your arm, brushing over your chest and tilts your head up. You can feel his chest hovering over your back and you wonder if there are raised lines where Fushiguro Toji stabbed him.

“Do you want me to call you baby or babe?”

You shrug, wanting to hang your head again but somehow keeping it exactly the way Satoru had positioned it even as his hand moves to your back again. “It’s because you’re dear to me. Calling you my dear sounds way too archaic though.” He smiles as you scoff, “As opposed to my beloved?”

You’re sobering up from the water. He can feel your muscles tensing under his touch.

“What did you call Suguru?”

You prayed that you didn’t ruin this moment. The sick curiosity of it all has rotted in you for too long. You need to know how great his love was, from his mouth alone.

If you’ve spent a decade of your life resenting yourself for being in love with a man who was never yours, you’d like to know if he was truly unreachable.

“I called him my one and only.”

He sees no point in hiding it from you. Satoru didn’t want to hurt you, he hoped if anything this would make you run into Kento’s arms. A restart, a good man who had more than enough money to make sure you wouldn't have to give up too many comforts (Satoru's money and Kento's were no laughing matter but his was as infinite as his abilities due to generational wealth). From what he gathered on Nanami, from previous partners to his parents and health, he was clean. You deserve that. His beloved, you deserve to be with a man who would never hurt you.

“Your one and only.” Your face is hidden from him. He wants nothing more than to turn you around so he can see what you’re thinking.

“But I am dear to you, Satoru?”

“You are. You’re,” he struggles to find the words. As he does, he struggles to say it.

Cutting him off, you tell him; “You are my first love, Satoru."

He inhales sharply. Crimson seeps from the gauze of your bandages. Staining the white with red. The pinpricks of pain barely register.

“Suguru was yours. I don’t hate you for it. I don’t blame you. You alone hold the sorcerer society’s expectations on your shoulders. Its happiness and misery are all on you. The strongest. I am vindictive. I am selfish.”

“Beloved, you’re not.”

You turn to face him. Here you are, standing in front of each other. Bare and vulnerable. You might as well say what you need to.

“I am, Satoru. I wanted you to hurt, I wanted you to be in pain, for 10 years all I ever wished for was for you to feel what I felt. My love for you was tainted by my own feelings by my own hate. He was your one and only. How could I hate you for that? How could I hate him for that?”

Satoru looks to the side, clenching his jaw as his hands ball up into fists. He shouldn't say anything more but there's this voice pleading for him to say it. Say that he forgives you despite the fact that you didn't need to apologize in the first place. Isn't this what couples do? They kiss and make up. After a decade of this, of wearing rings and honouring vows, you would think it was something the both of you got used to doing.

That's not what you are, in a few months, the only remains of this marriage will be harboured in memories alone. So why does this voice grip him so tightly? This hope that the both of you can actually be together...he needs to extinguish it.

“I’m glad we had each other throughout these years, I'm glad you stayed even if it was out of pity. Even if we were unhappy, even if I could not...please you. We’re friends, and I could never hate Suguru for being your great love.”

“Stop, please.” Your blood is trailing down your arm. Turning the water into a pale red as it swirls down the drain. “I married you so I could marry Suguru.” He releases a shuddering breath. Satoru’s words sobered you up like a slap to the face.

“I was 16. There were marriage proposals from everywhere, even from overseas. I didn’t want to marry them. Not because they were strangers but because my duties would pull me away from his side. But I was forced to. By higher-ups, by clan members, by my mother, the world was looking at me. You said it yourself. The misery and happiness of the world we live in depended on me. But I wanted Suguru more than anything."

He’s looking at you with tears in his eyes. It's your heart that's being shattered.

So why the fuck was he crying?

“I told him if I married you, we would divorce and you would understand the reason. Because you were our friend. Suguru said it was cruel. He knew you loved me.”

These words were like striking a match and holding it to the leaves of that beautiful willow tree you made him.

“Stop, Satoru.”

“I knew too.”

“Please, stop!”

“I — I didn’t...I would take it back if I could. But I can’t.” That voice within him withers to nothing. He pretends he doesn't feel his chest ache as he stares at your betrayal. Your arm pulses in pain but you can barely find it in you to care.

“My beloved — "

“You knew I loved you? All that time, you knew I loved you?”

Was this better? For all these years, you thought he chose you because he held some sort of fondness for you. Perhaps the comfort of familiarity wasn't too far off. But the fact that he chose you due to your proximity? The reason he was so insistent on binding your hands together in matrimony was due to distance?

In another life, Suguru is where you stand now. Except there’d be no distance. They’d be pressed together, lips locked with a passion even your flames couldn’t rival. Would you be happy in that life? Knowing that your marriage was all a facade until the honor was fulfilled and Satoru would whisk his true husband to the altar.

“You used me.” He tries to grab you but you flinch away, stumbling over your own feet as your back meets the wall.

“I’m so sorry.” "You keep saying that, Satoru!"

You needed to get away from him. There was no way this could work. Not as friends, not as husbands, not as anything more. It was foolish to think otherwise. You attempt to squeeze past him and out from the glass doors but he holds you by your shoulders.

Satoru holds you to his chest as you try to slip out of his grasp. You'd think it'd be easy since you were practically covered in soap suds. If your tears were gold, you'd be the richest man alive. He's glad you go limp, gathering you so close you can feel the raised skin of the scar he had.

Blood is seeping through the fine hairs on his arm, staining it as you hang your head in defeat. He turns you around and the foggy glass doors of the shower make your back arch.

He should stop. This absolutely won't end well. He's broken your heart, cremated it into dust. Was this his punishment from a past life? Had he scorned a lover? Was it you? Were the both of you destined to love each other this way?

Why must he love this way? You can't tell what's running through your veins right now. Adrenaline? Anger? Beer? You don't know what it is, but it makes you stay as he stares at you.

"Hate me if you need to. I can take it, (Y/N). I promise you I can."

That's the problem. You can't. The definition of hate had been skewered for you centuries ago. Maybe this is how you love Satoru; with bitter longing and resentment. They had four letters, practically indistinguishable from each other in your mind because that's what Satoru has done to you.

From the second you saw for the first time, he'd burned his very soul on your heart. Branded you like cattle with his smile, left cuts with every exhale and inhale as he laughed; this is what loving Satoru feels like.

How did Suguru manage? Was he a stronger man than you? You wish you could ask him. Would his cold corpse cushion your back with his chest, praising you for taking Satoru's sadistic love so well?

The tip of his nose brushes against your ear as he embraces you. This is what Satoru feels like slotted against you.

So many questions are running through your mind. None were answered. They kept buzzing and it's making your eyes water. The steam, the familiar scent of your favourite soap, and Satoru's fading sweetness as the lotion is washed off.

"I hate you," Satoru's breath does not hitch. He turns his head and your lips quiver as he brushes along your jaw. He can feel you trembling as his face hovers across yours. You should put distance between him. Scream and tell him to get away.

Still, there is this terrible desire to be loved by him.

Just.

Just once.

' Come. '

His eyes are still so dark.

' Inhabit me. '

So are yours.

' Let me show you. '

They flicker to your lips, pure white lashes do little to hide heaven away.

' Bare your soul to me. '

His cheek twitches when you place a hand on it. No barrier between your palm and his face. Being naked isn't the reason why you feel so exposed. It's the way he's looking at you. As if your very skin was peeled away, muscles torn apart, bones bashed to smithereens; as if he used Hallowed Purple and eviscerated you into nothing but the very essence of your soul. He drinks it in with that unlimited darkness.

' I have. Now fall with me. '

He kisses you.

It's not the other times when he tries to initiate intimacy. No. It isn't methodical, hesitant, awkward. On the other hand, it isn't passionate either. It's wet. It's pathetic. Both pairs of lips bumbling fools that try to make jagged pieces to fit. Tears sting in your eyes, and Satoru can't understand why he does this to you.

' Look at what I do to you, ' he thinks, ' all I do is hurt you. '

You gasp when his hand pulls you in closer.

Just once.

He needs to hold you like this just once.

To show you how he loves the only way he knows how — to devour you with his sin so you know how much he meant. He knows he shouldn't. This would only muddy the dark waters you tread through. But fuck it.

Fuck it.

Fuck the world. Fuck the higher-ups. Fuck the clans, fuck expectations, fuck Suguru, fuck Shoko, fuck Kento —

"Satoru," you're breathing into his mouth, lips still pushed against the other as you try to catch your breath. Praying at the altar of the body that holds your soul; Satoru is weakest before you.

His godhood is forgotten.

The strongest kneels.

The taste of him is making your head fuzzy. The pain feels insignificant and for a moment the heartbreak is forgotten.

"(Y/N)," there, where you ache for him, he's there.

His tongue feels like velvet. With one leg tossed over his shoulder, you're at his mercy. Those plush lips paint your skin, ushering your blood just under the skin's surface. The tugs on his hair make him groan as he leaves apologetic licks on your inner thighs.

"Satoru," your whisper could make a mountain bow. A brush of his teeth has you gasping. It's soon replaced with a moan as he takes your cock into his hands.

It's obscene. Sex was never meant to be anything but — however, the sight makes you feel dizzy.

This ethereal man is on his knees, cerulean eyes staring up at you as he kisses the tip of your cock. A hand squeezes the underside of the thigh on his shoulder, slithering up to your hip and reaching for your chest and neck. The whisper of his touch on your chin has you whimpering.

"Don't look away," he says, "keep your eyes on me, my beloved."

Your hands attempt to grab the purchase of the glass doors, but all you manage is a handful of steam. They cover the marks you leave as your palms press on the glass. Satoru's mouth and tongue feel like velvet — so warm and wet. When you nearly slip his nose is pressed to your pubic hair so he simply lifts your other leg. The only thing you can do is thrust into his mouth.

He strokes your hips, nails lightly scratching the surface as he encourages you to do as you please. The noises he makes go straight to your dick and you feel like you're losing your mind.

As you curl over, gripping his head, you can only see white. Satoru's throat is gulping all of your cum down, and the sensation of your cockhead being squeezed has your heels digging into his back.

Those 10 years of denying him felt ridiculous now.

There's a distinctly (Y/N)-shaped stain on the bed. There's still soap on your skin. The coldness in the air makes being wet and naked uncomfortable. But Satoru is there.

He's kissing you like he wants to eat you alive and you're weak to his whims. Your cock is in his hands, painfully hard as he strokes it and swallows every pitiful mewl you let out.

Here he is again, ruining you, branding you.

He's not entirely at fault. You let him.

It was not his fault he loved another and it was not your fault you loved him. He was a teenager, so were you. What did he know of consequences, of choice, of pain? He was 16, in love.

Were you truly vindictive? Why were you so devout in your worship?

What were you worshipping?

The tragedy of this marriage? The humour of it all is a great soap drama that the Gods peer down at to coo at.

"(Y/N)," he says your name like it was a prayer. Such reverence in his worship. His lips are trailing down to your neck and the scriptures of adoration he places on your skin make your back arch into him.

"Satoru," he answers his name with a whisper of yours. He takes a nipple in his mouth, teeth catching to feel your chest try to escape it. He doesn't let it. He tongues at the scar you have, pressing kisses there and to the scar on your side, the scar on your hip, the one on your thigh, the one near your belly button...

"(Y/N)," he'd whisper every time he does.

Satoru is in between your legs but you don't want him there. He grunts as you pull on his forearm, a breath away from showing you his dedication to you but he doesn't complain because you're kissing him.

He likes kissing you.

Satoru moves his jaw up and down, you can barely catch up but that isn't without trying. The feeling of his undercut makes your hand move to grab his hair so you can breathe. His forehead is on yours and water drips from his bangs as he pants.

That endless void; it reflects only you.

"(Y/N)".

It's your name that leaves his lips.

"(Y/N)."

He's pleading for you.

"My beloved."

You're dear to him.

Your grip loosens and he relishes the way your soul burns as it goes down his throat.

When he's inside of you, you were certain you were going to die. Life has taught you plenty of lessons and one of them was that nothing good came without a price.

His cock split you open as gently as he could make it. It was tight. You were grateful for his fingers that stretched you despite how uncomfortable it had been at first. Tears still fall as you try your best to breathe, Satoru kisses them away. He's braced on his arms with you underneath him.

It takes all his strength not to pound into you. He's barely halfway in and all he wants is to stay inside you forever. You're squeezing and he inhales sharply, a breathless chuckle escaping him.

"Easy, you're gonna cut my dick off, baby," you sniffle in response. Satoru reaches to pump your cock and shushes you as you moan out his name.

"I'm right here, beloved."

"Satoru," he meets you halfway when you lean up. His heart clenches as he tastes your tears, saying nothing as you laugh in between the lip-locking. His hips move and you clutch onto him tighter.

"Oh fuck, 'Toru." He's there. Nestled in the space he had molded inside of you. Satoru is sheathed fully. You're convinced you're about to die as your chest grows heavier. He cradles your face in his hand, wiping that steady flow of tears as he thrusts in and out. You simply let him, gasping for air and mercy as your body hangs onto him.

"(Y/N), fuck, (Y/N)," his nose curls as his lust-lidded eyes drink you in.

"'To - Toru, Satoru." He can feel your nails digging into his back. It stings but fuck does it feel good.

"More. Nuh - Need more, 'Toru. Need — "He nods. You don't have to say it. You need him.

"Me too, (Y/N). You feel s'good, s'fuckin' good."

When his hips rattle yours, it's enough to have you sobbing.

"Love you so fucking much," he says. You don't have to say it back. Because your eyes betray you. They only reflect him and you're sure this is how you die.

"Satoru."

With his name on your lips.

"Please."

Begging for his mercy.

"Satoru."

You ____ him.

The clouds are strangely dark today. Earlier this morning, the reporter had babbled on and on about the clear blue skies and bright sunny day. Weather predictions weren't an exact science, Satoru knew that, but the sky was not cheery much less sunny.

It was baleful.

The Gojo clan's grounds were meticulously opulent. Preserved history in every shimmering roof tile and old ghosts whispering tales from the creaking wooden frames. The servants are dressed to the nines as well. They lower their gaze with such grace, Satoru wonders if they're robots.

"Satoru, you've come home."

His mother does not meet him at the entrance, nor anywhere else other than her office. It's a traditional room with an open floor plan, despite her aging body she prefers sitting cross-legged as she works or writes or draws or whatever it is she likes to do.

If the sharpness of ice could be personified, it was his mother. It was spine-shivering every time someone told him that he resembled her. Her hair was colder than his own, having an almost silver tone to it compared to his lilac. Her eyes were almond-shaped with delicate double eyelids that lifted up at the end, which resembled a cunning fox. Satoru knows his nose was from hers, his chin as well although his lips were passed from his fathers instead.

"Yes, I have."

Before her, on the short-legged table (which she had commissioned from a talented craftsman), were the signed divorce papers.

It'd only been a day. There was no surprise, if anyone was going to find out it would not be the head of the (L/N) clan.

It'd be his mother.

"Was he not good to you, Satoru?" The shadows swallow his visage as a cloud covers the sun. "It was a mutual decision," he says, "we both thought it'd be best."

"Because of Itadori Yuji's death?" his brows pinched together. A sigh escapes her. "If you feel so much for children, I wonder why you never had some of your own. Men like yourself can have bloodlines now through extraordinary science." "It wasn't because of young Itadori."

"Well, it'd better have been for a good reason then. This divorce will not reflect badly on you. I know why you settled for (L/N) (Y/N) despite his clan's reputation. However cruel it was, you told me yourself you'd take responsibility. I recall you using your power as head of the clan to strong-arm the decision despite much more powerful families offering their sons for you. This ' mutual ' decision will only have a consequence on (Y/N)."

She sniffles prudently.

"I quite like him as my in-law. His late mother was an honorable lady. I do not wish for her to haunt you for hurting her son."

"I cannot keep him against his will. He wishes to be free."

She scoffs at him. He does not need to lift his eyes to know how sharp her scrutiny is. The clan may have spoiled him with care and affection, but his mother had not. A hand was never raised and she never yelled, however, she ensured that her son was able to lead studiously.

"Free? Of you?" she places her temple against the knuckles of her fist. "Do you beat him? Are your words harsh and cruel? Do you rule your house with an iron fist like his impudent father?" Satoru shakes his head, frowning at the very suggestion.

"Mother, of course, I wouldn't — "

"Do you take him despite his protests? Force him to labor heedlessly to your whims? Is there a lustier boy waiting for you in a seedy hotel?"

"Gods, no! What do you take me for!?"

Her brows cover her double eyelids as she glares at him. "Then what is it that he wishes to be free from? If you are not mistreating him, if you treat him kindly, what is the freedom he seeks?"

"My informants tell me he had signed it before you did. They tell me that he had moved to a penthouse 4 months ago, mere days after Geto Suguru's death."

The light filters through that grey cloud. It highlights the upturned tip of her nose, her pink-dusted cheeks, and her lilac eyes. She was such a refined beauty, it was no wonder her son was too. But this made her look especially cruel as she stared him down.

"I took responsibility, I told him what my initial intentions of marrying him were," he says. "You idiot," she seethed. "He was a respectable man. A good man. A strong sorcerer with a cunningness his late mother had passed down to him and you chose a dead man?"

"You humiliate him, Satoru. The poor boy will be eaten alive by the gossip. Will you take responsibility for that too?"

"How are you doing, my love?"

Megumi raises from below the covers. The distinct sound of the windows rattling open makes him rub the sleep from his. He takes a breath, then says; "I'll be training with the second-year students today with Kugisaki." He hears you exhale and he can see the gentle grin you have on your face even with your back turned to him.

“Is she going easier on you?”

“No point in training if they’re going easier on you,” he mumbles. It makes you laugh while you settle next to him on the edge of the bed.

“Fair. You still haven’t answered my question, Megumi.”

The silence drones for a minute. Despite this, you can tell what races through his mind. Memories bursting with every blink and laughter echoing in his ears. All the things he should not have to know, all those precious moments ripped away from him.

“Does it ever get easier?” His cobalt gaze is especially heavy as they dance around the room.

“Losing someone?”

You stared at the wisps of steam that escaped the spout of the kettle on the kitchenette. Losing a comrade was a rite of passage for sorcerers. Through death, through betrayal, through this or that. For you, you supposed, it was a gentle albeit tedious loss.

The morning after that night had left you nauseous. Satoru was awake just as you woke, and both of you silently, rigidly, stayed in the embrace. His toned arms wrapped around your torso, nose pressed to the top of your head whilst your lips were mere inches away from his neck. His grip tightens as you squirm but ultimately he lets you go.

You couldn't bear it. That night of bittersweetness, of passion you've been craving for, of weepy love confessions and apologies. Not anymore. So you signed the papers despite the 8 months left and sent them to him.

It's Megumi who witnessed the death — according to the reports he'd been fighting with Sukuna Ryomen all by himself. That trait you know he got from Satoru, not the cockiness, but the self-sacrificing resolve. You hate Satoru for tainting Megumi with it, even if most would call it valor.

There is no honour in a child dying.

“Yeah,” Megumi inhales through his nose. It stings. Every inhale is a reminder of Yuji’s last.

“No, it doesn’t. It stays, shrinking or stretching sometimes but it remains.” He had hoped you’d say something else. Tell him that one day he’ll forget about it all. That this sinking feeling will fade away.

But you know he wouldn’t want that. He’d want to remember. No matter how painful. To keep Yuji’s spirit alive, he’d remember.

“It’ll get easier to carry it though, that much I can promise you.” Your arm slips over his shoulders and cradles his head. He is pliant as you pull him in, closing his eyes as your lips press on his temple.

“I loved him, dad."

Megumi stares stoically, eyes rimmed with red. Those words strain to escape his chewed lips. It quivers and as much as he tries to stiffen it, a cry escapes him.

Megumi knew his time with Yuji was limited, he told himself he was content with what they had. He was a lamb sent for slaughter and the butchers were the higher-ups whose orders he fulfilled. Megumi felt like a butcher. He feels Yuuji's blood drying on his hands, he can still feel the weight of his body on his back when he carried it.

He remembers how tightly he held him when Satoru tried to pull Yuuji away from him. How unwilling he was to part with the boy who didn't deserve any of this to happen to him. Megumi starts gasping, bowing his head as he presses the heel of his hand to his teary eyes.

"Oh, Megumi." He turns into you and weeps. Body racking with sobs as you comb through his hair, curling over him as he clutches at your torso.

"I'm here, Megumi."

Tokyo is dark by the time you reach your home.

The beeping of your intercom makes you pause.

Ice-cold water travels down your spine at the overwhelming aura that comes from the front door. Although you hope for it to be Kento, or even Satoru — hell, even his mother would be great — you know who waits for you beyond that door.

To deny him what he wants will just make this more painful. What greets you as you open your door is your father’s hulking frame. Steeling your expression, you widen the door. No entourage waits in the hallway. It was just him. He always dishes out his punishments that way. He says nothing about it. Closing the door felt strangely final; the soft click and thud blanketed the penthouse in silence.

As you turn, a fist connects to your jaw. The force has your skull bouncing off the wall, crumpling to the floor.

There was a monster in your house. Trapped with you as it grabs fistfuls of your hair. It drags you to the living room, lifting and then slamming you down on the glass coffee table. The wood breaks and the glass shatters but at least it lets you go. Taking a desperate lungful of air you lift your arms to protect your head but it lifts a mighty foot placing it right on your chest.

Your ribcage screams its protests. When your hands fly out to desperately push its weight off, it merely places its knee on your chest instead. The pressure has you gasping, and blood blurs the vision in your left eye which doesn't help the disorientation. He grabs at your neck and you swear you feel your ribcage concave as you desperately try to breathe.

"You worthless child!" The beast roars. Finding a purchase of broken wood, you imbue it with cursed energy and strike it above its knee. It yells, shifting its weight enough for you to push it back and away.

Your back presses against the balcony doors and your hands tremble as you bring it to your chest and face.

The monster snarls, baring its teeth at you as it stands.

It's funny how much bigger he looks right now. It's as if you've shrunk back to being a child when you stopped being one a decade ago. It was frightening how much fear your father put in you.

When Tsumiki and Megumi first met you, you were apprehensive about adopting them. You were a teenager, barely fit to take care of yourself, much less keep two children alive. You were certain that kids were never in your cards either.

The night Tsumiki and Megumi found themselves nodding off as you were huddled up together on the couch watching some stupid TV show was when you were struck with a moment of realization.

You could never imagine laying a hand on them. The very thought made you feel sick. You wanted to protect them, cherish them, love them. Loving them felt like the most natural thing in the world.

How could your father not feel the same for you?

"I gave you everything!" He growls, veins bulging across the back of his hands.

"You breathed your first breath because of me! I gave you life!"

"Get out of my house," the words are strangled and garbled. His eyes darken as he takes steps towards you. Not like Satoru's that night. No. His eyes are dark like the walls of that hellish room. They only reflect you but not because he cares for you; because he wants to kill you.

There's a sharp whistling sound that comes from over his shoulder. The glass door behind you shatters as shards of red crystals fly towards you. His innate ability was to control broken shards of glass, changing their shapes and imbuing them with cursed energy. Blood flows from your cheek and torso. The wound from your mission with Kento spills open with fury. Cold wind rushes in as your hips bump into the railings of your balcony. He looks warbled in your vision, painted crimson.

"You're nothing without me! I made our clan rise from the ashes. I saved it from shame as I gave you that tyrant of a husband! I prevailed. I sacrificed everything for it! What do I get in return for giving you this auspicious life?"

You bring your hands up and yell as the shards intently aim for your scars, intent on ripping them open.

"Humiliation! They denied me entry to high society. Me! Denied of my destiny because of my weak-willed son!" The neighbors are rushing to their balconies and out onto the hallways. They yell if you're alright, trying to catch a peek of the scene by holding out their phones and aiming it at you. They yelp as his crystals fly into the air, clearly shocked at the unusual phenomenon.

This beast. He had 10 years to make himself worthy enough to stand between those of "high society."

Is it your fault that high society never — and would never — accept him in the first place?

He reaps what you sow. That's the kind of man he is. His pride comes before all, your mother once said to you.

She knew sacrifice. You knew sacrifice.

He knows nothing, yet he spouts his ideologies so loudly, so defiantly, it is as though it is gospel.

What a foolish man.

"Where is your respect!? Your gratitude!? I gave you life, I'll take it just as easily, boy."

He was close enough to reach out and grab you. When he did, he quickly regretted it. Fire engulfed his fist, the flame dark as ink as it roared. He yells in pain but you don't let him pull away. Instead, you bring your hands to wrap around his wrist and keep it there. His flesh smells rotten as the fire melts the skin away, charred almost. It sizzles on your skin, leaving its mark as more and more fat renders and pulsates. Bubbling like a foul soup.

Pull as he might, you keep him there, glaring with blood in your eyes.

The hand that holds his wrist lets go as he falls to his knees, summoning his weak ability again. They cut and slice furiously, emboldened by his pain, but yours was greater. With him on his knees, your hands thrust through the fire and grab his face.

It hurts. Your skin screeches in pain as the flames eat away. It feels insignificant. Before you, kneeling, was the beast that played the role of your father.

He feels as though your grip would completely crush his jaw.

The hand on yours is beginning to show bone. You feel nothing. His vomit slips down your hand, lumps of tears as well, and he looks so pathetic, so utterly inhuman. The grinding of your teeth makes your temples feel as though it's about to burst.

"Here it is! Do you feel it!? " his nerves burn to nothing, the crisping sound of his eyelashes distracting him from your voice. "I asked you a question, boy!" The flame lashes out, crawling to his elbows, and he strains out a scream.

"Here is my sacrifice!"

The fingers gripping his cheek warm and the fear in his eyes sends shivers up your spine.

There. In your eyes. That cursed candle. Its flames roar. The heat causes the windows to burst into a million pieces, sharp shards flying around. He tries to summon his ability, windows bursting as he forms a large spear. It flies to pierce through your back but your flame is too hot.

Your eyes are dark. He sees himself in them.

Had he always looked so weak?

His glass spear melts and bursts. The sound causes the building to shake and the screams that follow make your grin widen. Flecks of orange embers swirl around the both of you.

"Savour every drop of it, father."

It's always too sterile. The walls, ceilings, floors. He threatens to slip on the wooden floorboards with every step. Satoru watches the black car drive away, jaw clenched as it grows smaller and smaller into the distance.

The (L/N)'s clan manor lacked warmth. Despite the open courtyards and shoji doors, the meticulously cared for trees and shrubbery. It felt plastic. A show put on for the sake of being presentable.

The servant bows, telling him you are awake and he follows her.

The room is bright, facing the inner courtyard with a windchime swaying calmly from the threshold. You're sitting up on a futon, staring out at the small bamboo spout water feature.

Satoru can't believe his eyes. Every inch of skin below your face was covered in white bandages.

"Master (L/N), presenting Gojo Satoru."

The title brings a smile to your face.

He wasn't dead, your father, he was elsewhere. Getting his wounds treated by the best of the best but most importantly, far away from you. If Satoru thought you looked like a walking gauze, he hasn't laid eyes on your father yet. According to your stepmother, he was wrapped from head to toe, resembling a mummy from Egpyt.

It serves him right. The bastard.

You inclined your head and she bows, that same swirl pattern greets you goodbye. Master (L/N). Head of your clan. The position was temporary seeing as your father was still alive but the very title made him uneasy. Satoru settles near the wall, observing the sight before him.

The night of your 'scuffle' with your father had been the same night he fought that one-eyed curse. He had sensed a chill in his bones but with the opponent (and teaching opportunity) before him, he elected to brush it off.

"Satoru, did you see my stepmother on your way out?" He squeezes his biceps, shifting his knees as he adjusts his crossed legs. It wasn't his fault he was born with elegant legs, it felt uncomfortable to sit this way but to point his feet at you was a disrespect he wouldn't toe.

"Yeah. She seemed like she was in a rush, your brother and sisters have grown."

Of course, she would run. Make a scene of it to show her fear. To say she was displeased at the news of your fight with your father was the understatement of the century. She had wasted no time in calling for a trial, pointing a hysterical finger your way, and screaming that you did this to be called the head of the clan.

A quick mention of how your siblings lacked any resemblance to your father but an uncanny one with his trusted servant made her very tight-lipped.

"The higher-ups aren't pleased with the fiasco?" you inquire.

"What d'you think?" Satoru says dryly.

The entire population of the building had to have their phones wiped, memories too, and paid a huge sum in repairs due to your powers.

Apparently, people had thought there was a fire-breathing dragon that appeared in Tokyo.

Facing the garden, you pull the covers away. Crimson seeps through the white, like blood-tainting snow. Satoru is dressed in black pants and a white shirt, his bomber jacket was the same one you'd picked out for him some time ago.

This familiarity is not lost on him. The look in your eyes, that faraway gaze and twitching of your lips. When your mother had passed, you seemed lost but at this very moment it was as though the answer was right before you, that mishappen vision of your destiny a hair away from you.

Suguru had that same look.

"They whisper about you now," you giggle out as he takes his glasses, folding them in his lap. "They always do," he tries not to sound cocky but it's interwoven with every word.

"No. Satoru. They whisper about your curse," you wiggle your toes and stifle a grimace as the cut on your foot stings in protest. "Geto Suguru who killed his parents and (L/N) (Y/N) who nearly burned his father alive."

"They think you made us insane."

"I need reassurance." A laugh spills from your lips. He watches you curl your knees and place your elbows on them with your forehead braced on your knuckles as you give him your full attention. The sun glowed from behind you. The light does not reach your face.

"I'm not crazy, Satoru." His eyes meet yours and your smile slips away.

"I need reassurance that you won't go the same path Geto Suguru did."

"I don't resent non-sorcerers," you say curtly. "Don't play dumb." Satoru's neck is littered with traces of you. Akin to a collar. "Did the higher-ups ask you to execute me, Satoru? Do they wish to incite war on the (Y/N) clan?"

' My, you took to your role quickly, ' Satoru thinks.

"They worry that the new head of the (L/N) clan took his title with force."

"Not all of us were born with such legendary curse techniques. Is that a crime?"

Satoru's grip causes spiderwebs to appear on his glasses. "Do not be obtuse, (Y/N). You know what is implied. You've played this polite game of veiled threats and boasting for years. You know what they ask and you know what I ask."

"I don't." Shades of red bloom underneath your bandages. If Satoru concentrates enough, he could hear how the gauze seeps it and how your stitches strain as you straighten your back.

"Speak plainly."

"(Y/N)," your glare silences him.

"Speak plainly, Gojo Satoru."

Red-veined roots wrap around his throat. That precious willow tree was smoking, sparks of embers bursting from the center as it creaked and moaned. Its branches gnarled, its flowers leaving nothing but ashes.

"If the Grade 1 sorcerers weren't called to stop the fight, would you have killed him?"

The windchimes sing gently. Water gently flows from one end of the bamboo spout to the other. The birds chirp, the clouds move, and the world continues its song and dance.

Satoru's ears feel like someone has stuffed cotton in them. He makes sense of the words you speak by reading your lips, he hopes you're jesting so he looks into your eyes.

The windchimes still.

The shoji doors slide open and the same servant greets you.

"You have visitors, Master (L/N). A man named Nanami Kento and a woman named Shoko Ieiri. They've come with Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara as well."

"Please, send them in and escort Gojo Satoru to his car."

She stands, waiting for Satoru to do the same as his glasses threaten to shatter in his hand.

"Do not do this to me, my beloved."

"Have you ever loved me? Truly?"

His indignation fuels you with sick fascination. The corpse of Suguru grins, his cracked lips pressed to the junction of your neck as he praises you.

"I love you, (Y/N)."

"Then give me the same grace you gave our beloved Suguru. Leave me and cast your gaze aside. If you truly love me, husband. Grant me this final wish."

He whips his head to the side, reaching forward and grabbing the back of your head. It aches. Every shredded muscle and rattled bones, bruised organs and cut skin.

But he holds you against him. His lips taint yours.

Suguru chuckles coyly.

"Please." His forehead is pressed against yours, and you can feel it, that raised scar.

"I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, don't do this."

"Satoru," Suguru whispers it along with you. His tears almost taste sweet as they slip down his cheeks and land on your lips. That ghost, the one that drapes itself on your back with his bony ribs and dirt-covered gojogesa, his smile graces your face as Satoru's heart dies once again.

"Fuck off."

"Is it strange?" Megumi quirks a brow at you from across the table. You set down a plate of cut-up fruits, stealing an apple for yourself before you sit.

"Finding out he's alive 2 months later."

The expression on his face makes you struggle to hold in your laughter. You've never said it out loud but Megumi looked like a prickly sea urchin every time he was pissed off and now he was pricklier than ever.

"I wanted to pummel Gojo to the ground. Yuji too." He stabs into an apple and the loud, angry, chewing makes you giggle. His brows pinch as you grimace but you tell him not to worry.

The dining room is unmistakably grand. Feeling far too empty. Megumi much preferred your old penthouse. This manor was far too big, far too pretentious. Which wasn't a slight on your clan, just their tastes in design.

"Did he really never tell you?" he narrows his eyes.

"We haven't talked much," you reply. Megumi finds that hard to believe. You were both teachers at Jujutsu High, so interactions were unavoidable. Everyone has seen you and Satoru side by side, talking to each other about this or that. No matter how short or icy the interaction was...it was still something.

Formalities were still shared, and Satoru's crass behavior softened just as his voice does when he talks to you.

There must be some lingering awkwardness, Megumi is not naive to think that there wouldn't be. But, it was clear that there was still some affection Satoru held for you. It was almost jarring to see how blatantly you ignored it when once upon a time, you’d been silently blushing at his efforts. Megumi wondered if the two of you had yelled at each other again. He hoped that was not the case. Your relationship was far from perfect but...it wasn't as though Gojo did not deserve your bitterness.

"Is it because you're seeing Mr Nanami?" Sweetness slips down the fork and you hand him a tissue. “Is this like those shitty TV shows?”

The idea of this being a revenge arc against your ex-husband was humorous. Kento was far from the plotting type. He may be annoyed by Satoru but he wasn’t a man who would intertwine his hands with another for the sake of hurting someone.

“Haha,” you said dryly. “Finish up your homework, I’ll drive you back to school.”

Megumi doesn’t pout. At least he think he doesn’t.

He does.

He pouts as you walk out from the room.

Megumi continues to pout even in the car ride back to the dorms. You’re watching from the corner of your eyes, lips curled in endearment.

“Do you like Mr Nanami?” He blinks at the question, turning his head to look at you. Megumi crosses his arms, pout dissipating into a thin line.

“I don’t know him, but from what Yuji tells me, he is a very reliable man.”

“He is,” you continue to gaze out the window, ignoring the itchiness of the healing wounds. The only solace in this pain is that your father’s was greater. Still comatose, skin still peeling as the heat lingers in his bones.

Saying this out loud would make the crows that follow your every movement very rich though.

“In some ways, he reminds me of you. Both of you have a stoic expression, so mature-looking. Mr Nanamin is 27, so it suits him. But you, my beautiful son, — “

Megumi grunts as you poke his forehead.

“ — you are only 15. Stop frowning!” He yells in protest as you stretch his cheeks, frowns only deepening as he tries to escape your grasp.

Yuji waits in the hallways. Megumi and you pause in your steps and Yuji’s eyes widen as he opens his mouth.

“Mr (Y/N)!”

Mirth swims in your eyes. “Itadori, did you need something?” He scratches the back of his neck as his cheeks blush. How cute. Young love was such a sight to behold.

“Isn’t it?” Suguru sighs. “In the same halls, we used to walk through too, (Y/N).”

“No! Ah, just, I heard footsteps so I thought I could hang out with Fushiguro for a little.” You push Megumi not to subtly towards his room/Yuji.

“He’s all yours,” your cooing tints Megumi’s ears pink. He mumbles he wants to wash up first and Yuji just seems excited he didn’t turn down his offer. “Don’t stay up too late, Itadori. Classes are bright and early tomorrow,” he salutes you and the bright smile he has is so contagious you grin as well.

The eye on his cheek split open to take a glimpse.

As you turn, it slips close.

Kento waits for you at the house. He smells like petrichor and as you get closer there’s the distinctly sharp taste of lightning-struck earth. You burrow your face in the crisp white shirt he wears, and he smiles. You can tell even without looking. He always huffs in amusement before he smiles.

“Did you have a good day?” You shrug your shoulders and he slips his hands around you. Those strong arms squeeze you, molding you to his frame. “Did you?” He makes a noise, something between a hum and a grunt and you peek up at him.

Kento visited you frequently during your recovery. He sent you to school during your first days back, then he sent your favourite foods during your lunch and they turned into flowers.

His shy courting was anything but. Kento pursued you with a hunter's grace but a priest's devotion.

Could anyone blame you for accepting his attempts? He made your heart flutter, swoon and race. For the first time in your life, someone was sending you flowers in hopes of you paying attention to them. Kento fed you while you healed and the same day you find out that his eyes do soften when he kissed.

People whisper about how quickly you brought Kento home. Infidelity, they say. Hah! What a load of bullshit. A servant must’ve opened her mouth, one whose loyalties still laid with your stepmother.

How unlucky was it that her home had been burnt down the very day she was fired?

You wrote her your condolences. She begged for your forgiveness.

Kento doesn’t know this. You’re determined for it to remain that way.

“Today was nothing special. Tonight is a different story,” your brows raise at his flustered gaze. “I made reservations for us.”

There it goes again, your heart swoons. Kento tilts his head into your palm and you wonder what your life would have been like if you had noticed his gaze back then.

After that kiss, after knowing that he returned your feelings and only spoke of his interest in a baker because of your marriage, he confessed how he’d been smitten with you the longer that school year passed.

“You were training hand-to-hand with Geto,” he whispers to you, as if shy to confess this. You’re sat with the covers a mess at your legs and the food on the tray forgotten. He’s flustered? He kissed you silly mere seconds ago while you were wrapped up with bandages. The scent of healing ointments practically radiated from you. He was so put together and you’d been going through your clan's financial statements since 3 am.

Kento remembers it like it was yesterday. The way you lifted yourself up into the air, your leg was a blur as you spun. Tendrils of your hair caught the gleam of the sun and it glowed like vinyl. The ringing laughter that followed as Suguru dodged made his heart squeeze.

“We’re supposed to be working on your close combat skills, Su-Su!”

“Quit aiming for my head, (nickname)!” Suguru dashes towards you and you yelp as he catches your middle but the shock wears off. Suguru grunts when you press your palms down on his shoulders and dig your heels into the ground before kicking off, pushing Suguru down.

“Go, (nickname)!” Yū cheers beside Kento. He rolls on top of you, smiling victoriously until your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

“Oi, S’guru! I bet money on you!” Satoru waved his fist around while Shoko curled her fingers expectantly his way.

Kento can’t believe you’re real. Your smile is so wide he can see your gums, the sweat that beads down your skin makes you glimmer like a gem and despite the dirt on your skin Kento can’t fathom it to be a smudge or mistake.

Because everything about you seemed deliberately made. The blood and flesh of those before you must have loved each other so greatly to bless you with such a face. He wonders if, in the future, they’ll find traces of him in your bloodline.

Fire in the wind. Wild and free and untameable.

“You win, you win!” Suguru goes limp and you giggle. Rolling off of him, you lay down on the grass as he spreads his arms out like a starfish. You cushion your head on it and spot the bruise on his neck that peaks out from his unzipped jacket.

“Su-Su, you’re not holding back, are you?” you turn your gaze to the sky. He’d be a Special-grade sorcerer with no problem. His ability was insanely useful, and flexible - a trump deck of a technique. If he exceeded in close combat, that grade would be his with no ifs or buts.

The strongest.

Suguru blinks once, and twice, then offers a warm smile.

“Give yourself more credit, (nickname). You totally beat my ass.”

“You‘re amazing,” Kento tells you as the memory fades away. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I was content with watching from the sidelines,” your finger presses to his lips and Kento’s eyes widen. It slides across his bottom lip before it travels below his jaw and ear and you’re leaning in.

“A reservation?” Your eyes twinkle. It would explain why he was dressed so nicely. It must not be the fanciest place since he wasn’t dressed in a suit and tie but the watch he wears hints at luxury nonetheless.

“Go, get ready,” he tells you in that gentle tone that makes his voice go so deep. Everything about Kento’s actions felt so intimate. You would think he’d be reserved, wanting to go slow as to be proper. In your world, death is a guillotine blade that’s dug into your neck over and over again.

Kento can be courteous but to assume he would go slow was not likely. He knows you, (Y/N). From those times in high school to the fleeting glances of you during meetings and the mission you went on; he sees you.

Perhaps it’s just the way sorcerers will always love each other.

The way Suguru loved Satoru. The way Megumi loves Yuuji. The way you loved Satoru. The way Satoru loves you.

None of you were made for casual affection. Everything and everyone that falls for wicked beings like you find themselves with deep marks embedded in their shoulders, arms, and neck; desperate hounds begging for their man to not leave them but unable to pull their teeth out.

So Kento grips you and kisses you with a heavy weight of relief and you return it.

The Gods have taken too much from you. Kento will not be one of those things they rip away from your fingers - no, not him.

“‘Atta boy,” Suguru’s decaying arms circle your waist as you walk the halls of the house. When you shed your clothes to clean yourself, Suguru sits on the edge of the bathtub. The humidity makes him look paler and his eyes more bloodshot.

“You deserve someone like him. A good man to fill that cavernous void. Kento’s always been hiding his flustered face every time you walk past him,” Suguru moves his hands around as he talks. You don’t remember him being so chatty but as of late, this apparition keeps the voices in your head quiet. He makes sure you’re not alone.

Your father must’ve knocked your head hard enough for some screws to come loose but you find it hard to care.

“Cavernous?” you mumble. Suguru pauses then leans back a bit. His hair swaying as he does so.

“Do you think it’s enough? Being loved after everything you’ve been through, is that enough for you?”

“...Was it enough for you? In your final moments, was it enough?”

What would this Suguru know about his final moments? He wasn’t real, he never had been. He’s just a manifestation of your hurt, a coping mechanism your brain conjured for some hellish reason.

“I died by Satoru’s hand and then, died in his embrace. What could be more poetic than that?”

You died in Satoru’s arms too. That night he took you as his husband. The weeping, the love confessions, the moaning. Your heart was racing in your chest as he thrust into you, his face nearly scarlet as he kissed you.

The heat that pools between your legs makes Suguru guffaw.

He dips his hand in and traces your thighs.

“Kento’s hands are rougher than ‘Toru’s. Fingers thick and finger pads sanded with hard work. Everything you taught him as his upperclassman he still uses today.”

Shuddering, you slip your knees apart. Suguru takes a hold of your cock.

“You’ve always had the best legs, ya’ know. So strong, even your punches hurt like hell."

You lean back, eyes lidded with pleasure as Suguru pumps his fist. The water spills over the side as he slips in with you, his hair acting like curtains as he peers down at you. His slanted eyes and those onyx eyes make you feel powerless against his desires.

"He'd be so sincere with you. Every thrust," a gasp makes him chuckle darkly. "Every stroke," you moan and grip the sleeves of his robe. "Every kiss," his lips trace the bridge of your nose.

"S'guru..."

"A testament to his adoration for you. He'd worship you, (nickname). But will that be enough? His skin on yours? Is his heart in your hands instead of the other way around exciting? Will that finally fill this void?"

Your spine arches and your knees bump into the edge of the bathtub. Suguru's breath feels like a hurricane as he kisses the side of your jaw, his fist damn near merciless.

"Will you accept his sacrifice, (nickname)?"

When you come, you squeeze your eyes shut. The floor is slick with water and steam makes everything fuzzier than it needs to be. As you lift your hand from beneath the water, you grimace at the sight.

How shameful.

You settle the bath by yourself, the servants didn't need to see more than they've already heard.

Kento is waiting by his car when you step out. He drinks in the sight of you, unable to stop himself from kissing you as you come close. As usual, he opens the door for you, and you stroke the cream-coloured leather seats of his Mercedes Benz.

"Ready, (Y/N)?" He reaches over to hold your hand and you bring it to your lips before he can. He can feel the softness of your lips, the slight gloss that sticks to his skin that makes his crotch tighter than his pants liked.

"Ready, Mr Nanami." Kento chuckles, squeezing your shameful hand and bringing it to his lips next.

Suguru sits in the backseat, his dark eyes keeping themselves glued on you. You see him in reflections, in puddles, in every monotone face that walks past.

As Kento settles you on his lap, his thick cock making you feel stars and heaven itself, Suguru is still watching.

"Ken, I - "

Kento sinks his teeth into your neck and you groan. His hands are big and rough, just like Suguru said they'd be. They grope and squeeze and bruise. He grabs a handful of each cheek and your thighs are thankful for it. Kento lifts you so effortlessly it makes your desire feel unquenchable.

His strength doesn't surprise you. The gym in his apartment complex was one he frequented. If he didn't want to mingle, he had a dedicated room for working out in his home. You've seen the weights he has, how interesting was it that they were the same weight as you, (Y/N).

"(Y/N), does that feel good?" You squeeze the tip of his cockhead in reply and sink down on him to cement it. His cock keeps kissing your prostate, the drag of his dick makes you want to be keen and whine.

His hair looked good when it was dishevelled, which makes his jaw sharper and his nose makes you want to grind on it. Kento shifts and moves to lay you down on his pillows. Your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

The aching muscles hiss in protest but the lust that flows through you overcomes it.

"(Y/N)..."

Kento tries to sit up but your hands on his chest keep him down.

"(Y/N)".

"Kento."

Suguru traces his jaw and it's no surprise Kento does not react. He grips at your waist, whispering your name again. You pin his arms next to his head and Kento's eyes widen.

There it is. That darkness that takes over that molten brown. It only reflects you. Suguru is peering over your shoulder, his hands circling your neck as his dark tongue licks your cheek.

"You want what I want, Ken," you murmur against his lips. "To come undone by each other's hands, to devour each other, to be one."

"Yes," he breathes out. "Then let me feel you like this," you brought his hands to your waist once again, and he planted his heels into his mattress.

"I want to see you unravel under me, Kento. I want to see you, all of you, just as you do."

He nods and you grant him a kiss, allowing your tongues to dance.

"Do you intend to keep following me forever?"

Kento's balcony is unexpectedly warm. You can smell the breakfast he's making as you nurse your cup of tea. For your throat, he tells you.

How pervertedly kind.

The crow tilts its head and you narrow your eyes at it. "They must've paid a heavy sum. Or was it my stepmother?" It flaps its wings, preening the under feathers. Lifting your hand, you press your pointer and middle finger together. It squawks, hopping as it flaps its wings again.

"I'll pay you more to leave me alone. My ex-husband has left a hefty fortune for me. If this persists, I won't hesitate to wipe the floor with you, Mei-Mei."

The crow squawks again but turns its head to leave.

A crisping feather floats gently down onto the floor of the balcony. By the time Kento walks over to place the tray of food down on the table, it turns to nothing but ash in the wind.

"You spoil me," your legs are over his lap and he brings those hands to massage them. "You spoiled me," he answers. "Just showing my appreciation."

A group of crows flies past but Kento is cutting up your food and moving to feed you. Your cheeks burn, you open your mouth and Kento's gentle grin makes your heart race.

"I don't recall him having a temper, are the rumours true?"

Mei-Mei had better things to do. Her time was worth more than stalking someone's ex-lover. However, the head of the Gojo clan was a generous man. How could she refuse?

"Do you truly make them go insane?" He can hear her smile from over the phone. "He attacked you?" Satoru rolls his ring over his knuckles and between his fingers. The classroom was empty as the students trained on the field.

"He's committed arson against a servant who was trading secrets with Lady (L/N) and now he's burned a crow into nothing but dust. He even offered to pay more than you have. What a lucky man he is to have divorced from an endless fountain of wealth."

"Yeah? Maybe you should try that instead of chasing after green."

"Careful, Gojo. I still have my pride."

He places the ring on his palm, curling his fingers over it.

"Kento and him make a handsome couple. I almost feel jealous." Satoru would be stupid to believe Mei-Mei trusted that this stalking was him feeling possessive. She wasn't an idiot. He was concerned about you. Your grandiose act of nearly burning your father alive was the talk of the town.

The evidence of it being self-defense was backed up by the cameras in your home (the ones that hadn't melted anyway).

But it was too convenient.

Satoru is a man who is filled with memories. As careless and crass as he portrays himself as, he's sentimental. He slips a hand into his pocket and your ring is accompanied by Suguru's button.

The cameras were damaged enough to make it out as if it was just saved by fate. But Satoru knows your flames better than most. It burns everything. Devours with a hunger that no beast could compete with. It's indiscriminate. Which is why your aim is immaculate.

If it hadn't melted, you wouldn't be as free as you are now. Even in your rage and fear, you were careful to ensure your longevity.

"I'm sure you do."

"The divorce barely made a dent?"

"You already know the answer to that. Make sure he doesn't suspect me, I'll pay double."

"And if he faces me?"

Satoru grits his teeth together.

"Run."

Kiyotaka waits for him at the front of the school, that usual sour-puckered face and obscene politeness manages to elicit a grin from Satoru. The drive to the house on the hill is filled with silence, which is for the best seeing as how tightly wound he was.

Kiyotaka knew divorce could put people on edge but seeing Satoru’s fists tremble on his lap, knuckles nearly turning bone white and all, terrified him.

The gates are opened after Satoru rolls down his windows. He should ask why they were here but his instincts knew better.

“I’ll be out in an hour or so. You don’t mind waiting, do ya’?”

“Of course not, Mr Gojo.”

He smiles, giving Kiyotaka a firm squeeze on his shoulder before walking inside the modern home. Its grey colours looked atrocious against the vibrant greens of nature. Ah, Satoru was glad you had better tastes compared to the rest of your family.

Your stepmother waits for him in the living room. The carpet before her is littered with toys of all sorts. The youngest of the family takes a liking to smash some toy cars together while the others were most likely tended to by their governess.

“Mr Gojo,” she stands with a certain air of grace that prickles his skin. He nods politely her way.

"Is he doing better today?" The machines that they've hooked him to made him resemble a sick science experiment. Perhaps it's poetic justice from his late wife. The curtains were drawn and the only light was dim to ensure his skin wasn't exposed to any more unnecessary heat. There were talisman papers pasted on the walls and ceilings which Satoru thinks is entirely too much.

"Have you..."

The exposed split of bandages reveals nothing more than charred flesh and peeling skin. A hint of bone and muscle too that help him speak. Satoru ignores the hazmat suits, stepping through the heavy plastic curtains. His infinity wouldn't bring any harmful germs into this room, never had so far too.

"Leave." His wife commands in that shrill voice.

The doctors and attendants bow deeply and the door closes behind her. She sits close to the wall, outside the curtain.

"Have I?" There's writing on the bandages. Sutras are written in some sort of special ink that emits curse energy.

"killed (Y/N)." He sighs, crossing his arms as he spreads his legs.

"My son-in-law — " It might be cruel to tune out the words of a man who's half-dead, but Satoru cannot believe he's spouting this again. A part of him wished you had burnt through his throat. Satoru sighs loudly, tossing his head back and scrunching his face.

"Old man, the divorce papers have been signed. I haven't been your son-in-law in a whole month."

Between this and your increasingly violent tendencies that Mei-Mei keeps reporting back, those curses spirits working together popping up, Itadori Yuji's attempted assassination (and the mysterious way he rose from the dead...) — Satoru was in no mood.

He does not agree with your decision to commit attempted murder. But make no mistake, he fully believed the bastard deserved it.

"You keep telling me to kill him. I shouldn't have to say this, but you do know in the decade Geto Suguru was gallivanting around, I did nothing because he was dear to me. (Y/N) is dear to me. I'll wait 50 fucking decades before I lay a hand on him."

"You dare curse at my lord husband?" Satoru glances at her from over his shoulder. That distorted reflection makes her look more attractive than she actually is. "Lord of what? Gauze and morphine? If we're doing a dick-measuring contest, I win. Sit down. Your voice is annoying."

She sputters, mouth opening again. So Satoru tilts his head, flexing his fingers as he clicks his tongue.

"Woman." The ' lord ' croaks out. She watches him raise a hand, shaky fingers flicking outwards and Satoru swears steam nearly shoots out from her ears. The door has a soft-close feature which makes her attempt at slamming it void but it brings a smile to Satoru's face.

"The rumours, of my clan."

Now that was far more interesting for Satoru. His silence is a prompt for the man to continue. A sharp intake of breath comes in quick twos and threes as his bandaged hands squeeze the trigger for the drip of morphine.

Then his shoulders sink into the mattress and he speaks.

"The Binding Vow we've broken. The karma we faced since then...I think, I fear, I..."

Satoru feels his ring heat up against his sternum, so he leans forward and it's cradled by the button of his shirt.

"I fear he's paid the price, wholly, his self-righteous pain...he's balanced the scales..."

"I messed up."

The chattering of the skulls at least fills silence. Satoru can see why it'll quickly become a nuisance that will make his ears shrivel in disdain but for now, he finds it better than nothing. Whatever it is underneath him pokes him and shifts against his clothes.

Slipping a digit under the rim of his blindfold, Satoru tugs on it and exhales through his nose.

"Things are not looking good."

"Yo, Satoru."

The weight of the blindfold rests over his eyelids and Satoru sinks into the mass below him.

"I'd kill him a thousand times if I could, Satoru."

' Would you really, my beloved? ' Satoru's lips twitch into a grin. No, you wouldn't. Maybe in the moment, that night fuelled by fear and anger. The morning after when your pain still pulsed under ripped-open skin; but he knew you, his beloved, his darling friend; his (Y/N). Your father was nothing but a frail man who knew nothing of what he spoke of.

You'd be safe, protected, and cared for regardless of who you lay with or whose heart you hold. Kento be damned. You were his first and his always. Suguru's corpse was a jarring sight. A painful one too. He'd bury him properly, his love for him will join him in that new grave. His love for you will haunt him for as long as you walk this earth.

He unbuttons his outerwear, tugging on the silver chain until he unclasps it. The blue gem twinkles sweetly his way and he slips it on his finger where his skin all but sighs in comfort.

"Well, there'll always be a way. I'm counting on you, everyone." "Sealed...?"

Kento moves forward and you stare at his frame as he does. Megumi's head swivels to follow him and Ino's as well, they walk in step with him but you stand there in shock.

"Move," Suguru whispers to you. The joints of his fingers dig into your back as his hair curtains your peripheral field of vision. "(Y/N). Move."

"(Y/N)?" Ino's voice causes the group to pause. Their eyes are expectant. Megumi wonders why he cannot pinpoint the flickering emotions on your face while Kento's gaze takes note of your trembling hands.

"NA-NA-MIN!"

His touch shocks cause your pupils to jitter into focus. Kento says nothing, simply squeezing your forearm as he whispers your name.

"If they sealed him, our top priority will be undoing that."

"You know this, (nickname)," Suguru bites, the click of his teeth sending shivers down your spine. "(Y/N) — " You move past Kento, curling your fingers into fists and feeling Suguru thread him through yours.

"Let's be quick about it then."

This feeling...

"It's like that day," Suguru croaks, "the day he died. Your heart is beating so fast. Do you still ____ him, (Y/N)? Do you truly?"

"Why is he off limits?" Geto does that serene smile that makes Jogo simmer in annoyance. "Jogo, you can't kill everyone you see in battle. There's some grace in keeping a certain few alive."

"Will he be used as a hostage to make Gojo Satoru fall in despair?" his words humour Geto, truly amuses him. Mahito lifts his head from the ground, leaning on the heels of his hand as he peers at the two of them.

"Man, Jogo. You really are wicked," Geto peers at the shimmering scales of the curses that lurk within the waters.

"He's not for Gojo Satoru's imprisonment."

"Don't keep us in the dark, Geto," Mahito voices out Jogo's thoughts, his mismatched eyes impatient.

"Gojo (Y/N) is for..."

You yell as the eel tightens its body around you, digging your heels into the sand as Dagon summons it to themselves. The force of it makes your back bow and no amount of strength could stop it. Dagon holds the back of your skull and you hear Megumi yell out for you.

"(Y/N)!" Kento takes several steps forward and Maki grits her teeth.

Naobito focuses his gaze on their escape, knowing that they would be able to help the poor fool if they were outside of the domain.

But then.

"That man — " Dagon pulls you to its chest and your eyes widen as Fushiguro Toji appears before you. His eyes, it must be some sort of sorcery cast, a trick, a body double. Your fear recognizes you. He shifts his gaze to meet yours and there's a smirk on his face.

"Still alive, are you, freak?" The cursed weapon in his hand rattles in the air and then straightens. He aims it right at you and you brace yourself for the pain.

Dagon blocks it at the cost of its hand.

' It's protecting me!? ' You grunt at the blood that sprays onto your face and into your mouth, coughing as Dagon tries to fight Toji.

"Hah? Did you leave your husband for this thing?" The eel that held you disappeared into nothing after the barrage of hits he had laid out. Dagon tries to grab you but you engulf your fists into flames and spin to punch its face. Dagon does not let you escape but Toji is running toward you again so you plant your heel into its head, kicking off from its chest to fall right into the waters.

Kento catches you in his arms, and the tension of the surface breaks with monstrous sea beasts that try to land a hit on Toji. With his arms occupied, he relies on you to deter them as he makes his way back to Megumi's simple domain.

Megumi —

You stare at him as he asks you if you're alright.

Megumi, you should tell him who this man was. You should —

Dagon is exorcised.

The ground beneath you disappears. It takes a second too long for you to catch your bearings. Brain rattled and breathe knocked out of you as peel yourself off the ground. Kento, Maki, Naobito —

"Megumi!?" Kento helps you up and you take a step forward to follow the sounds of destruction but the air grows thick.

Satoru was never an artist. The horrendous rendition of the curses that attacked him the same night your father had looked as though it'd been drawn by kindergartners. But it was unmistakably him.

The disaster curse. Bald and one-eyed.

His fire makes the water on your skin steam into the air. He removes Naobito, and you move to protect Maki by getting between them. Barely in time, she still crumples to the floor but she would live if taken to Shoko quick enough. His eye widens as you stand unscathed, your clothes flaking off like snow as your skin reddens and steams.

"Gojo (Y/N)."

"Divine Flame."

He lifts his hand just as you do.

"Do not let him use his curse technique, Jogo. He's not as strong as Satoru, but you'll thank me," Geto's voice coos.

"God's Bl — "

"Kuantan?" he sets down the rest of the breakfast he made. His home is as neat and crisp as he is — though there are still traces of himself. His hopes especially. The mountain of books, the pamphlets about Malaysia here and there. If you peered into his room, Kento had even laid out a few notes of plans he hoped to fulfill. It was as if he was waiting for the perfect moment, lying in wait.

"The beaches are nice. The food as well," he sits across from you and pauses as you pat the spot next to you. Endeared, Kento settles where you ask. "Perhaps after Megumi graduates to a second year," he stays silent for a moment and watches you eat.

"...Would you resent me for not marrying you until I retire?"

You pause mid-chew, blinking at him for a moment. Then you turn your gaze on the plate, eyes trailing after the dew drop of water on the lettuce.

"I won't if you do not regret marrying someone from a sorcerer clan."

He pinches the lobe of your ear gently, tracing the shell with so much fondness he chuckles as it warms under his touch. It was damn near perverted how he did it — your heart races as he turns your face his way.

"I could never regret being yours, (Y/N)."

That memory burst into flames. His house, his books, his hopes, and his dreams. Jogo stands there in the ashes and he smiles at you with those blackened teeth.

"(nickname)," Suguru whispers. Your trembling hands stiffen as he strokes the insides of your wrists, his empty gaze reflecting you as he stands in front of you. "Balance the scales."

"Gojo (Y/N)!" Jogo exclaims proudly. "Y — !"

Jogo barely had time to react to your kick. Bursting through windows and walls. He digs his fingers into the floor and just as he lifts his head he sees your shadowed face. Your pupils were nothing but a speck of (E/C) on white as smoke slithers between your lips.

"Divine Flame — "

A spear pierces through your stomach. Jogo covers his eye just in time before your blood splatters on it. Breathing through your nose, you grasp at the crimson-soaked spear, eyes widening as you take in the details of it.

"Impossible," you turn to look and it's there. Satoru had let you name it this time, among the Fredericks and other silly names he dubbed Suguru's curses as this one was the one you named.

"Togatta?" It does not give any sign of recognition but there was no mistake.

Jogo's fist makes contact with your chest and you choke, coughing up spit and blood before he lands a final blow on the back of your neck.

The puddle of blood grows next to him. Those stupid girls, demanding things of Ryomen Sukuna, threatened to fight him with no plan nor strength. Humans were really something else.

Jogo waits for Ryomen to ask and then and only then he tells him he didn't want anything but Ryomen's freedom. Sukuna's crimson eyes take interest in the cursed object Jogo has slung around his neck; a dark shard of glass that pulses a steadily beating blue within it.

"Ten fingers and what's mine?" He looked beyond pleased.

"You've outdone yourselves." Jogo gulps, unbinding the rope around his neck and using both hands to present it to Sukuna. He takes it after a particularly gentle stroke of the sharp edges, then places it in his pockets.

"Ryomen Sukuna?" Geto nods assuredly. The rolling waves melting into the sand give leeway for Jogo and Mahito to process his words. What could Ryomen Sukuna find useful in Gojo (Y/N)? He was a Grade 1 sorcerer but he was not like his husband.

"His family line, the (L/N) clan, is a disgraced one. All the men are weak, all the women dimwitted and the children cursed. Sorcerer society looks at them in disdain, calling them desperate and thieving. It was the child from the (L/N) clan that made it possible for Ryomen Sukuna to be sealed. A son with a curse technique so strong and a face so beautiful, Ryomen Sukuna took him as his property. He had forced the boy into a Binding Vow — one the boy broke to defeat Ryomen Sukuna."

"It left the clan with nothing but shame. The Gods inflict karma on generations to come even if the Vow was wicked beyond belief. Sorcerer society rejected them and curled their noses at the clan that saved them from extinction. I still remember that boy's face."

Geto chuckles, leaning back in his seat as he closes his eyes.

"Mahito, do you think a soul ever comes back in a new body?"

Reincarnation or divine coincidence.

Jogo does not ponder on the question. All he knows is that giving Sukuna an ancestor of the boy whom he favoured, whom he made into a treasured concubine, pleased him.

"This is your reward for the fingers. Come at me. If you manage to land even a single blow on me, I'll work under you all."

Megumi is still leaning against the shutter doors. The shinigami he released, it's a beast that Sukuna had never had the pleasure of seeing before he was locked away. Placing his hand over Megumi's chest, he heals the wounds to ensure Megumi is no longer on the precipice of death and darts his eyes toward the rope that sticks out from his pockets.

He slips the shard into Megumi's hand, recalling how fond you were of the boy. How perfect. This world — this era, truly was made for him. Everything would be his. Men, women, and children — all for him to devour indiscriminately.

With Uraume and (Y/N) with him, this age of haughty sorcerers with abilities he'd never seen, ah. His mouth waters from the very thought. Once he obtains Fushiguro Megumi's body. Once you submit to him. Once he kills Gojo Satoru. Once he destroys Itadori Yuji into nothing.

"Na..."

The sight before him, it made his stomach twist into knots again and again and again...

Kento sees himself in Yū's eyes, he points to Yuji and Kento can't bring himself to say anything to the boy.

"Nanamin..."

The nickname makes his heart squeeze in relief. That youth that he wants to protect, is still there in his final moments and that alone would have made Kento die without regrets — but he's lying to himself.

He made a promise to you to return to your side. You did not ask him to say "alive" because just having a body to bury is a miracle in your world. (Y/N), he saw that stubborn strife in your eyes even as you nodded.

Too little time spent with you. Those 2 months of pure love with you, it would never be enough but he cherishes them all the same. He hopes you can tolerate this pain — he never wished for you to go through this before him, (Y/N).

He should have introduced you to his family.

He should have kissed you deeply before tonight began.

He should have given you everything you deserved.

Ah, regret truly is the worst feeling in the world.

He wants to take care of you like he promised to, (Y/N).

What could he say to Yuji to make him understand what this means?

Mahito's curse energy was enveloping his soul and Kento used the bit of strength he had left to ensure Yuji would not be the one to kill his transfigured corpse. The least he could do, this cruel kindness... "I'll leave the rest to you."

"My husband."

Shoko pauses. Satoru is not looking her way, instead, staring at the ceiling with a bored expression.

"He did not greet me," she's glad that he does not see the way she clenches the box of cigarettes in her pocket. Or maybe he does because he straightens his composure and asks;

"Is he still pissed at me or is he dead?"

"....We don't know, Satoru." His nose curls in distaste. Still, he waits for her to continue.

"Nobody has seen him and there's no time nor resources to sift through the rubble of Shibuya to find him. The last person to have seen him alive was Maki, she says that he was against the onne-eyed disaster curse."

"He'd have no trouble exorcising that baldy." Satoru is being too kind, you would struggle but you'd still win. He was sure of it. Then again, your abilities were too similar — a tie maybe? You had more wit, you'd win.

Or is that denial talking?

"Nanami died by Mahito's hand," Shoko pulls the box out and tosses it aside as he takes out the final cigarette. "Does he know that?"

"Maybe he's already with Nanami."

"Shoko."

"All of you are dropping like flies around me. Was there an invite I was never given?" She doesn't cry but Satoru stands to walk towards her anyway.

"Yū, Suguru, Kento, (Y/N)," she allows him to hold her shoulder and pull her in but does not return the affection. Should she? Would this be the final memory of Gojo Satoru she had?

"He isn't dead." Satoru pulls away after a long minute. The smile on his face makes her hopes soar and Shoko doesn't understand why she can't force it down.

"I can feel it. He's still here. Don't host a funeral just yet, yeah?"

"You're way too cocky, do you know that?"

"I have every right to be."

"Mr Gojo." Satoru wonders what Yuji would say to him. He wonders where the scars come from, when his eyes had ever been so dull or hardened, he wonders if Yuji will bounce back from everything; if he'll regret being so selfless in the first place.

"Itadori," he braces his arm on his hips, and Yuji's shoulder droops.

"Mr (Y/N), Nanamin...he said he'd leave it to me. You told Ms Ieiri that you had a feeling he was alive."

"Eavesdropping, Itadori?" Yuji's laughs as Satoru slings an arm around his shoulder, attempting to escape his hand that is ruffling his hair.

"Aah, Mr Gojo, quit it!" Satoru settles with a few more chuckles so Yuji continues. "When everything settles, could you help me fulfill Nanamin's wish?"

"Yuji."

Satoru smiles brightly, squeezing Yuji close as he ruffles the back of his head.

"You leave (Y/N) to me."

"Does this form please you more?"

Your eyes can't take themselves off the sight before you. Satoru — no, his corpse. What a strange string of words.

Satoru's corpse.

It's too unreal. Those words do not belong to one another. He grasps the back of your head and forces it to face him. You can't decide what is worse; when you wake to Megumi's face twisted in a cruel expression, finding out Tsumiki was being used as a vessel, being shown Kento's death on replay through Sukuna's/Yuji's memory of the moment, or this monstrous being before you with Satoru's corpse behind you.

"My, my, my, don't tempt me," Sukuna does not let you squirm. His four hands held you firmly within his grasp as you wept.

"I truly am delighted your bloodline prevailed. The betrayal should be punished with death but, seeing you again, I'll not make the same mistake twice."

The binding vow that was made with your ancestor, one that made Sukuna keep the flame technique within his grasp and your ancestor in the other. Breaking it left your bloodline with a technique meant to be used only after mastering the innate technique — to put it simply, it was akin to making someone tame a pack of rabid wolves before they even potty-trained a puppy. It was no wonder you were all so weak.

"Keeping such a trump card of a technique hidden from me, how shrewd."

Yuji cannot believe it. Everything was moving too fast. Gojo Satoru was dead, and the era of sorcerers was coming to an end as reality settled in the bones of curses and sorcerers alike. But then, you're there.

Apparated out of thin air — no. The necklace around Sukuna's neck. You were kept there, did you spectate everything? The entire fight? Every person Sukuna had killed —

They had tried their best to look for you and you'd just been there, hidden in plain fucking sight.

Suguru is in your peripheral, you blink and you swear you feel your mind break as he loops his arms around Satoru's corpse. Another blink and Kento and Yū appear, pale and rotten and burnt and dead.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" His eyes are filled with nothing but amusement as you will yourself out of his grasp, your foot making contact with his face as you kick yourself off from it.

The rubble stings your bare feet as you dig your heels into the ground, your dark flames eating away at the sleeves of the silken garments his loyal servant, Uruame, had dressed you in. Feeling its weight disappear fuels you with more ire than you ever thought you'd ever feel.

This man, this monster, had taken everything from you. Even if it kills you, even if you end up burning the entire world into ash and cinder — nothing matters anymore.

Your mother, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi —

Heaven and Hell will rue the day they took them. The Gods have created a new monster in the form of you and Yuji shudders at the empty look in your eyes.

What had you gone through in the months you were gone? The garments you wore were that of highly respected concubines, heavy and silken and patterned.

What had Sukuna done to you? Had he taken the very essence of your soul and ripped it to pieces just like he had done with him?

Kento's words echo in his mind, and Satoru's face appears with a blink. He needed to step in and save you — from yourself and from Sukuna's grasp. His two mentors, he can't let them down, he can't. You were precious to Megumi, to Tsumiki from what Megumi had once told him. Satoru looks at you with such a warm aura, that Kento always threatens to smile when he even mentions you.

Desperation pumps through Yuji's body and he feels his nails elongate, giving it a quick glance before spotting Kashimo descending from the sky.

Sukuna's laughter booms throughout the empty planes and echoes around the destroyed buildings. The very earth shakes with each inhale.

"You truly haven't changed, my concubine! Come! Let's go insane together!"

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #gay reader #male reader insert #male!reader #satoru gojo x yn #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x male reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x male reader

[zhonyua]

hello!

i'm so sorry for being off for so long...

i was busy pulling for neuvillette, and now that i got him, i can finally rest :)

i have lots of ideas and projects in mind and i can't wait to publish them here, but, since i was so off, i'm going to give you a little treat for being so patient! <3 thank you so much for all the support.

otterlove

shapeshifter!neuvillette x gn!reader

context: when neuvillette is tired, he turns into an otter.

content: fluff, sfw, no zoophilia, kisses but not in the otter form.

notes: neuvillette can shape-shift like the archons, i don't have intentions of being zoophile (if i write something weird, please tell me), neuvillette and reader are dating, sorry for my bad english.

you always knew how neuvillette's work could be tiring for him.

it was even difficult to have dates and other kinds of romantic moments with him, since he was so busy all the time.

on those days that he had a day off, he was always tired and of course you always let him rest.

today was not different.

you were at his house. you got used to spending time there, even if he wasn't home. it was a big and fancy house, and you could do whatever you wanted because you knew he wouldn't mind.

it was late at night. you were laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling and thinking that you probably should get up and eat something, but those thoughts got lost in your mind, because you heard the door opening.

you got up from the couch, quickly, walking towards the door to check who just opened it. when you saw the familiar figure standing there, putting his shoes aside, you ran towards him. neuvillette quickly held you in his arms, since you went so fast for a hug. you felt how his back was tense while you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"hello." you said, looking up at him, resting your chin on his chest.

"hello." he answered, kissing your forehead and resting his cheek on the top of your head. you could feel how he was trying hard to not lay his body weight on you.

"you look tired." your words sounded too obvious, but he didn't mind it. he nodded slowly, not loosening his grip on you. "you should go to bed." it hurt a little to say those words, since you were eagerly waiting for him to spend time with you, but you just couldn't see him so tired like that.

it looked like he felt the same way as you, because he sighed and pulled away to look at your face. he brushed his thumb on your cheek, looking at you with sad eyes.

"i wanted to stay with you." he said, very directly. you chuckled at the slight pout that was forming on his lips and you kissed the pout away. the moment your lips touched his, he almost melted in your arms, sighing softly.

"don't worry, i don't mind." your voice sounded like honey to his ears and he smiled softly at you, showing his gratitude.

"thank you." it was the only thing he said before pulling away from your embrace. both of you felt the chilly breeze of the night, since your bodies weren't warming themselves anymore.

you held a sigh on your throat, since you didn't want to show neuvillette how much you were expecting to spend time with him. you missed him all day, and when he finally got home, you couldn't even cuddle with him. you felt selfish for thinking like that, because you knew how much he deserved his rest.

while you were thinking about that, neuvillette stopped walking and turned back to you. he seemed hesitant and you instantly walked closer to him, a worried look on your eyes.

"what is it? are you alright?" your voice sounded soothing, while you placed your hand on his cheek.

he nodded, but he still looked unsure. "my body feels tense and sore. i don't think that just a nap can make it better." he said with sincere words. you waited patiently for him to finish his thoughts. "i think i might need to take... a small form." his words sounded confusing to your ears. you frowned, tilting your head.

"what do you mean?" you asked, your hand still on his cheek, calming him down.

he sighed before answering. "please, don't be scared." that was the last thing he said before his body started glowing and his tall body disappeared right before your eyes. it was so fast that you couldn't even think straight. when you were going to panic, you saw a small frame patting your shoes.

well, that just made you even more confused, but at least the cute thing calmed you down, just a little. it was an otter. exactly like the ones you always saw around fontaine. it was looking at you with puppy and concerned eyes, and you heart almost melted.

"neuvillette..?" you were unsure about your thoughts, but when the otter nodded eagerly at your words, you didn't know if you were going to faint from surprise or from cuteness.

you kneeled down, so you could be closer to the little otter. "so... you can turn into an otter?" you asked again, making sure of your words. the otter nodded again. so it was really neuvillette, huh?

"you should have told me before, you know?" you said, hesitantly reaching your hand to touch the otter- neuvillette's head. he, instantly, leaned into your touch, making you feel the fur on your hands. you chuckled, brushing your fingers through the fluffy texture of his fur.

so weird, you thought to yourself. you couldn't deny that he looked adorable in this form. you always noticed the resemblance that the otters from fontaine had with him.

"oh, right. you should rest." you quickly remembered the reason for his change in forms. you weren't sure if you could do it, but you picked him up, his body hanging like a lazy kitten's. you held your laughter when he moved his little legs, while you held him a little hesitantly.

you started walking towards his bedroom, trying to make him a little more comfortable in your arms. soon, you found a position for him, picking him up like a baby and cuddling him in your arms. he looked at you with half-closed eyes, playing with his paws as if he was an otter playing with a shell. it was so adorable.

finally, you reached his bedroom, laying him carefully on his bed. he immediately curled up into a little ball, purring softly at the comfort of the mattress. you bit your lip so you could hold up a "aww".

you sat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to disturb his rest, but as soon as his eyes opened and he saw you, he walked towards you, laying his head on your lap. he looked up at you with those puppy eyes and you weren't sure of what he wanted.

"what is it?" you asked, a little playfully. "do you want me to pet you?" you reached your hand to caress his head and he immediately started purring again. exactly like a kitten.

his body curled up again, and he looked like a plushie, laying on your lap. you started to brush your fingers through his fur, trying to relax him.

you couldn't hold yourself and you laid on the bed next to him. he crawled to you, resting his head on the curve of your neck, purring against you. you kept caressing him, making him feel even more sleepy.

soon enough, he was sleeping. you could hear his little snores. he looked like an adorable plushie and you knew that you were going to ask him to take that form other times.

"rest well." you whispered, kissing your fingers and placing them on his little otter nose. he purred in response, already lost in the dreamland.

#neuvillette #fluffy #neuvillette x reader #i don't know what to put here #fontaine otters are adorable #neuvillette brainrot since i finally got him #genshin impact

[theelazaruspit]

Lazy Sunday | Husband!John Price x Author!Reader

Getting some much-needed stress relief from your doting husband

Warning/content: 18+, mdni, smut, fem!reader, gentle dom!price, established relationship, porn with plot, slow(ish) burn, angst, hurt/comfort, reader wears glasses, discussion of self-doubt and insecurity, cunnilingus, fingering, dumbification if you squint? (You’re just really relaxed), creampie, squirting, no use of y/n, they’re grossly in love idk what else to tell you honestly, but if I missed anything, let me know! Word count: 4.9k.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for ages, and I've been chipping away at it slowly, but after seeing @ghosts-cyphera 's husband!price drabble, I rose from the metaphorical dead, and here we are, so thank you, Alora, for being a fellow price enjoyer and just a gem, and I hope you all enjoy <3

Everything was just too much.

You’re stiff, jaw clenched, shoulders tense, and you can feel a migraine forming between your eyes. It’s a little ridiculous, really. By all accounts, you should be more relaxed. The hard work was finished, your novel was complete, the accompanying art had been chosen, and all the finer details were squared away; now, all that was left was publishing, though that was the publisher’s headache, not yours. It was the waiting that always got to you.

No matter how many times you’d gone through the process, no matter how many works you published, the anticipation never failed to eat away at you. There is a special kind of stress that comes with releasing your art into the world, in having people get a glimpse into your mind. While it’s gratifying to share your hard work with the masses, once it leaves you, it’s no longer only your own, and others are free to interpret it as they please. It’s deeply personal and scary like you’re bearing your soul to the public, but what’s done is done. All the late nights spent writing were over, and now you’re alone with your thoughts again. 

You’ve tried everything to keep yourself busy. Your office is far cleaner now than it was before your husband left, both of your laundry was done with all the garments being put in their rightful place, and there was a cake on the counter from your late-night baking excursion a few days ago. 

All of your usual distractions failed you. Nothing has been able to loosen the knot coiling itself in your chest. It’s silly; this is not your first book. The first was well received, a fact you should be grateful for, and you are. However, its success set a precedent. What if this one wasn’t as good? What if it didn’t live up to everyone’s expectations? The more questions you considered, the more withdrawn you became, allowing your doubts to swallow you whole. And that’s how you ended up back where you started, staring blankly at an empty document. You (foolishly) believed that writing could help, thinking a fresh idea would clear your conscience, but nothing comes. So you sit, hoping for anything to inspire you, but all you hear is the voice in the back of your head taunting you. 

For a fleeting moment, you consider seeking the comfort of your husband; however, you quickly decide against it. 

Not at all because you didn’t think he could soothe you. If anything, he knows better than anyone else how to keep you grounded, but you’re painfully aware of how rare it is for John to get time off, and it would be unfair to take that much-needed relaxation away from him with your problems. Still, you yearn for the solace he provides you. It’s absurd to miss someone who’s a mere twenty feet away, someone you could easily see. But, you stubbornly resist the temptation to steal his time, even if you know he’d want you to. He was insistent that you could never bother him, but you still had your doubts. 

Compared to everything he goes through, your insecurities are small and insignificant; you can handle this on your own, even though you feel your eyes beginning to dry the longer you stare at the bright white void in front of you. A long groan escapes you as you toss your glasses unceremoniously onto your desk (had they fallen? You couldn’t be bothered to check) before burying your head in your hands. 

“You’ve got this,” You mutter to yourself. It’s hardly convincing. Did you actually have this? You’re not entirely sure, but it doesn’t hurt trying.

You’re unsure how long you wallowed before your husband appeared in the doorway. Despite being uncharacteristically patient given the circumstances, you knew it was only a matter of time before he’d come to you. Rarely would you hide away in your office while he was home; usually, you’d rushed into his arms to steal his warmth every opportunity you got, but he tried to be understanding. Having him back in the house was just as much of an adjustment for you as it was for him, and he wanted to be considerate of that. Though his comings and goings had slowed considerably over the span of your relationship, he knew they still weighed on you, and he also knew you’d sooner die than admit that, so he gave you space.

But after another hour passes, his patience wears thin. This was a while even for you, and he wanted to make sure you were alright. So, ever the diligent lover, he prepares you a peace offering, a perfectly brewed cup of your favorite tea, and heads to your door. 

His suspicions that you weren’t as well off as you claimed are confirmed when he’s greeted with the back of your hunched-over form, papers strewn across your desk. It takes one glance at you for John to know the kind of evening you’re having despite your best efforts to hide it. The stress practically radiates off you, casting a thick layer of tension in the room. The last thing he wants is to startle you, so he watches, waiting for you to acknowledge his presence. But the longer he rests against the doorframe, the sooner he realizes you haven’t noticed him yet, another sign that something isn’t quite right. 

You didn’t have to say anything for him to know what you were thinking. He can practically hear the voices in your head lying to you, slowly breaking you down, and he feels his heart clench. It’s times like this when he wishes your mind was kinder to you, that it afforded you the same kindness you so freely gave others. He also wished you would let him help you. Your independence has always been something he admired and was one of the first things he noticed that drew him to you. You were radiant, ethereal, having an air of confidence and grace about you that followed you wherever you went, practically lighting your path. 

However, your independence made it difficult for you to depend on him. He told you no fewer than a million times, practically pleaded with you to let him shoulder your burdens, to tell you that no problem was too small to tell him about, and while you’d opened up over the years, he could see that your walls were up. Nevertheless, he would do everything he could to chip away at them, to take you out of your head for a while.

He walks over to you slowly, placing the mug down before lightly rubbing your shoulders. You know he’s there, immediately feeling comforted by his presence, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You don’t want him to see you like this, not while you look like a sad puppy, but he persists, taking your silence as an invitation to speak.

“Made you some tea, love,” he says softly, receiving only a muffled hum of acknowledgment. Undeterred, he keeps massaging your shoulders, applying a bit more pressure, a soft smile gracing his features when you lean into his touch. His movements are slow intentional, wanting to ease you into the feeling. 

He doesn’t have to look at your face, which has since been laid flat on your desktop, to know your brows are furrowed, and he wants nothing more than to smooth away the creases with his fingers. 

Instead, he turns your chair to face him, forcing you to pick your head up. He ignores the whine you let out upon realizing that he’s not going to let you bask in your sadness in peace, as well as the glare you give him as you put your glasses on. There’s no malice behind your gaze, and he can see you fighting back a smile, causing his grin to widen.

“Good morning, lovely.” 

“It’s not morning, and I probably look like shit” You sigh.

You’re right; it wasn’t morning, but the latter was far from the truth. John loved you in all your forms, but this, you at home in your comfy clothes, was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen, even if you were being a little grouchy. He doesn’t take it personally. No, he knows you’re frustration is with yourself, which only motivates him to relax you more. 

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay; you both know you aren’t, so he settles with a more helpful question: asking what you need. It’s more a formality than anything because he already knows the answer. It’s clear you don’t want to talk because if you did, you would have by now. He’s no stranger to nights spent holding you, listening to you vent about everything troubling you as you lay your head on his chest, and while he welcomes your rambles, you’re too tangled up in your thoughts to get the words out. 

No, you needed something else. You needed a break; you needed someone you trusted to take control for a while, and who was better suited for the task than him? You both knew he wouldn’t move until you asked him to because even when he’s in control, he’s still at your mercy. 

You don’t answer him immediately, not that he expected you to. For all his gentle coaxing, the question was surprisingly direct, and it caught you off guard. You know what you want. You want to climb into bed, wrap yourself in blankets, and sleep, and no matter how much you try to deny it, you also want to melt into your husband’s touch while you do. But with how restless you are, that seems impossible. To do that, first, you would need to relax, something you’re notoriously bad at. John would be eager to assist, to soothe the storm that rages within you, but you also know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t help you if you didn’t ask. So, reluctantly, you confess you’re having trouble relaxing, that there are too many thoughts running through your head to turn your brain off. Once you start, it’s as if you’ve opened Pandora’s box and you just break. All the emotions you’ve tried to suppress come pouring out mostly incoherently. In your frenzy, you barely notice that John moved to kneel in front of you until you feel his hand cup your jaw. 

He doesn’t get too close, not wanting to overwhelm you, because he knows how hard this is for you already. 

You’re a lot like him in that way, birds of a feather, he supposes, as you both have difficulty opening up and trusting others. He’s forever humbled by the fact that you, wonderfully amazing you, chose him, and it’s not something he takes for granted. He values all of the time you spend together, even if you aren’t in the best of spirits. God knows he’s had his fair share of melancholic moments that you worked him through, and it is at that moment he is determined to do the same for you, to help you feel better. 

“Shh, it’s alright, love, I have you. There’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ll take care of everything, alright? I’ll give you what you need,” He reassures you in that low timbre you’ve missed so much. Your nod is rewarded with a light kiss on the cheek before he stands up, pulling you up from your chair with him. 

You let out a yelp of surprise when he scoops you up and carries you towards your bedroom. His strength never fails to surprise you, but you don’t have time to dwell on it when he gently places you on the edge of your bed. For the second time tonight, he kneels before you, taking your hands in his while looking you in the eye.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you?” His question is met with a scoff.

“Of course I do. I don’t think there’s anyone in this world that loves me more.”

“Well, I’d certainly hope not. Otherwise, we’d have a problem on our hands.” He chuckles, running his thumb over your knuckles before continuing, “I want you to do something for me. You’re so smart, love, bloody brilliant. But right now, I don’t want you to think. I just want you to feel. Can you do that f’me, angel? Let me make you feel good.” 

You nod as you did before, only this time, you’re met with a shake of his head.

“Need your words, sweetheart”

The “please” that escapes you is more breathless than you expected. He had hardly touched you, and you could already feel a bit dazed by the intensity of his stare. Your soft confirmation is met with a smile before he works you out of your sweats and guides you to lay flat on the bed. He takes his time to press kisses up your thigh, slowly making his way to your center, nipping every now and then, eliciting little gasps from you. And while you appreciate his desire to worship you, you were getting impatient. The sight of him so close to where you need him but not touching you was almost too much to bear. 

Before you can protest, he takes pity on you, slips your panties down, and rewards your patience with a long lick up your slit paired with a chaste kiss to your clit. 

Your moment of reprieve doesn’t last long before he absolutely devours you, laving at your folds without another care in the world. The strokes of his tongue are slow but firm, his mouth practically molded to your form, following you no matter how much you move and shake. He wants to get you used to the feeling, give you time to surrender yourself to him, and you’re starting to. He sees the way you grasp at the sheets, mindlessly looking for something, anything to anchor you, and he’s quick to provide. 

You hadn’t realized how much you were squirming until he pulled back, one calloused hand stroking your inner thigh with the other lacing his fingers with yours while instructing you to relax, reminding you to be good for him, to take all that he’s giving you. You look angelic, eyes rolled back, your body flushed, a sheen of sweat forming, and every touch driving you closer to the edge. But he knows it’s not enough. Had you been calmer and less frazzled, you would have reached your peak already, but right now, you need a push to help you over the edge.

When he takes his hand off your thigh and lets his fingers join his tongue, your back bows. If not for his firm grip, you may have fallen off the bed, but there is no need to worry about that. John’s got you; he always does. 

It’s overwhelming having him so wholly focused on you, feeling his deep, muffled groans against your center, and it’s clear he wasn’t faring much better. 

He may be helping you destress, but you know your husband well enough to know he’s enjoying this as much as you are, if not more. John Price is not a selfish man, far from it. Many have speculated that his selflessness will be his downfall. But, at this moment, he can’t help but think about himself. Can’t help but think about how his cock is straining in his trousers, which are becoming almost distractingly tight, about how he wants nothing more than to pump you full of his cum. But he’s a patient man. He understands that he’ll get there eventually. No, for now, he’s more than happy to have you soaking his beard. What’s important at this moment is getting you to cum on his tongue, on his fingers, because he knows the wetter you are, the easier it’ll be to slip into you, leaving him to settle for grinding himself against the bed for relief, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. 

Despite your whines and pleas for him to speed up, for him to give you more, he knows better. He keeps the same pace, knowing the slow build, while seemingly tortuous, will make you cum that much harder, and that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you boneless, without a single thought that isn’t him and how good he’s making you feel. There was no need to rush, you had all night, and there’s no place he’d rather be than here, with his fingers stuffed in your gorgeous pussy while he laps at your folds.

The sounds you two are making are nothing short of obscene. Your keens and his moans filled the room. And god, you were so fucking wet you were practically leaking down his wrist, and when your moans start rising in pitch, he knows you’re close. All it takes are a few more strokes of fingers before you’re cumming, your body going rigid with a broken sob. John works you through it, lapping up your spend and rubbing barely there circles around your clit to prolong your pleasure while patiently waiting for you to catch your breath. 

When your trembling subsides, he carefully removes his fingers, using his now free hand to smooth over your thighs, murmuring praises about how well you did for him before standing, finally ridding himself of his clothes. You look so beautiful like this, spread out, panting, still glistening with your release. It just makes him want to ruin you, but always the gentleman, he checks in with you first.

“Still with me, love?” he teases, hands soothing at your sides, earning him a laugh, a genuine laugh. One that makes your eyes crinkle, and a chuckle of his own leaves him in response. It’s a good sign; it’s progress, but he knows you’re not entirely unwound yet. He knows you still have more left in you.

You pull him in for a kiss that he eagerly accepts. It’s tender, intimate. You can taste yourself on his lips, and John’s complete and utter reverence for you almost makes you shy. His love for you flows through him and pours into his touch when he deepens the kiss, and you can’t help but lean into it.

“I want more. I need to feel you,” you confess against his lips. 

“How do you want me?” he murmurs, moving to trail kisses down your neck. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask,” and you know he means it. He’d bring you the moon and the stars if you wished. 

“From behind, I don’t want to think about anything but how good you feel,” you said, pulling away to lay on your stomach before being stopped by John’s hand on your shoulder, turning you towards him. Your momentary confusion quickly dissipates when you realize what he’s doing. 

He’s taking off your glasses. 

Admittedly, in your haze, you’d forgotten you still had them on, so used to the familiar weight, but it makes your heart swell as you watch him place them delicately on your bedside table. It’s such a small gesture, but it’s endearing, and it reminds you how lucky you are to have such an attentive, caring lover, and you can’t help but pull him in for another kiss. John adores the lovestruck look you give him as you pull away, eyes bleary, pupils dilated. And though he could look at it all day, he reluctantly moves away, readjusting you so you’re face down on the bed before slotting himself between your legs.

A contented sigh leaves you as you settle into your plush bedding, feeling thankful you’d insisted on replacing those threadbare monstrosities your husband called “sheets” (he’d huffed and rolled his eyes at your dramatics– “they are not going to rip your skin off” –but deep down he loved them too) and close your eyes, sinking into John’s touch. 

“Ready for me?” He questions, smoothing a hand up your spine, relishing in your shiver.

“Yes, need you to fuck me, John, please,” you breath, and who was he to deny you?

At your confirmation, he pushes in with a languid thrust, pulling you flush against him, giving you time to adjust. He can’t help but let out a low grumble at the view in front of him. He hasn’t even moved yet, and you’re already driving him insane. The feeling of being enveloped by you is indescribable. To be this close, to truly feel you, is unlike anything he’s ever experienced, and judging by the way you’re whimpering and trying to grind yourself back into him, he knows you feel the same. 

He sets a steady pace, unhurried, leisurely, and revels in the quiet mewls you let out. The tension pulling your muscles taut dissipated with every thrust, and John couldn’t be happier because that’s what he wanted. 

He wants to push all of those bad thoughts away. All he wants you to think about is him and how good he’s making you feel and to make you cum over and over until you’re spent. 

“That feel good, love?” he whispers in your ear, his chest pressed to your back.

“Yes, f-fuck s’good,” you gasp out, followed by a broken “I love you” that he returns while quickening his pace, fucking you deeper. He can’t help it, really. Hearing the fondness in your voice makes him want to worship you more, causing him to aim for the spot that always makes you shake, and he knows he’s got it when he hears your high-pitched keen.

You’re begging now, desperate pleas of “Please don’t stop” and “right there,” and he doesn’t need to see your face to know that your eyes are scrunched closed, mouth agape, to know that you look stunning. He wishes he could see your face, to see you when you reach your peak that you���re edging closer and closer to, and he will, but after you cum again for him.

“That’s it, good girl, always takin’ me so well,” he praises. “Take what you need. I won’t stop, promise. Just want to make you feel so good don’t want you to think about anything but cumming. You close f’me, love? Yeah? That pretty little cunt gonna soak my cock?” he questions, lifting your hips to rub your aching clit, knowing all you need is a little pressure to send you over the edge. 

Your words may be muffled, but your responding string of “yes” s are clear as day and only make him rut into you deeper. He needs you to fall over that edge again. Needs you to alleviate all that stress, and when you finally reach your peak with a muted sob of his name, he slows but doesn’t stop, watching in awe of the way you spasm around him, and waits for you to settle. 

You’re more pliant now, a bit hazy with pleasure, but he’s not done with you yet. No, he needs you, his beautiful, distinguished wife, to fully surrender yourself to him and the pleasure he’s bringing you, even if only for a while. All those years ago, he vowed to protect you, even if it’s from yourself, and he plans to do just that. He knows you have one more in you, and he intends to wring it out of you. 

A contented sigh escapes him as he pulls out before gently lifting you and laying you flat on your back once more. And when he sees your face, he’s reminded of just how breathtaking you are. Not that he ever forgot, but it’s a sight he never tires of. You’re one of the most precious beings he’s ever encountered, a goddess whom he’s eternally grateful has chosen to bless him with your presence, but now? Now, you’re glowing. He wishes he could immortalize the image in front of him, your eyes lidded, with a soft, blissed-out grin playing on your lips, but he’s brought back by the sound of your voice.

“You’re staring,” you tease, voice a little hoarse from use as you re-settle your glasses on your face.

“I could never get tired of looking at you, sweetheart,” he responds earnestly, unashamed that he had been caught because he truly could. There was just something about you that brought out such genuine affection in him. You give so much of yourself to others, and it makes him want to do everything in his power to pour the same love back into you. He can’t help but want to fulfill your every need. You deserve the world. Leaning into another kiss, he tries to convey what he can’t through words through his touch.

This is more passionate than the last, but he’s met with the same vigor from you. It’s easy to forget the task at hand, but your soft moans were enough of a reminder that he wasn’t finished with you yet. 

Lowering you back onto the bed, he guides himself into you, a deep groan rumbling in his chest while your mouth falls agape. There’s less pretense this time. You’re more than ready for him to start moving and thank god for it because as patient as he is, he’s only human, and you’re both getting desperate.

And when he pushes your knees towards your chest, laying your legs over his shoulders, the sound you make is borderline pornographic, and it’s then he realizes you may actually be the death of him. Holding himself back is proving more difficult by the second, so he opts for placing kisses on your calves to ground himself. He moves his hands, one going to hold the fat of your thigh for leverage while the other goes to cup your jaw. Any other time, he’d coax you to look at him, applying just enough pressure to make you face him, but he can see how overwhelmed you are.

Peering down at you, gaze unwavering, he sees your eyes barely open, all cloudy and lust blown, and he can’t help but tease you just a little, not that you mind.

“That’s it, this what you needed?” he practically coos at you, voice low and saccharine and growing gruffer by the second. “I haven’t been taking proper care of my angel, have I? No, no, that won’t do. Gotta make up for lost time. Poor thing, havin’ no one to fuck you properly when I’m not around. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” 

You try to answer, you really do, try to tell him you’ve missed him more and that no one makes you feel the way he does, but the words are like lead on your tongue, and your head is starting to feel fuzzy. The steady grind of his hips into yours and the feeling of being completely surrounded by him leaves you breathless, and all you can manage is a high-pitched sob that seems to satisfy him enough, and he keeps the pace. 

“Gonna be good and give me one more? Of course, you’re my perfect girl, always so obedient.” Your responding gasp is immediately met with praise. In truth, at the moment, you’d do just about anything he asked, and you could feel the pressure building quicker, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Don’t look away, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes get all teary for me” he murmurs, words slightly slurred, and you distantly realize he’s not as unaffected as you thought. “Look so good like this, just need you to let go. Can you do that? Gonna be my sweet girl and cum for me. Let go for me, love.” 

His gentle command, his firm grip, the pressure of him inside you paired with the almost feral glint in his eyes do you in, and before you know it, you’re back is arching, and you just gush for him with a soundless scream, soaking your lower halves. John isn’t far behind, and the relief of finally pumping you full is almost too much. You always get so tight when you cum, as if you don’t wanna let him go, so he indulges you, lowering your legs but not pulling out yet, instead opting to lay on top of you. 

For a while, neither of you moves, trying to gain your bearings, filling the room with your soft pants. 

Everything feels so serene, as if you two are the only people in the world. You exhale a contented sigh, eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of John’s body weight atop you.

After some time, he pulls out, shushing your whine of protest with a quick kiss before pulling you into his chest. As you burrow yourself further into him, John wraps you up in his arms. You always get so clingy after, a fact you’re endlessly embarrassed by, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s just another testament to how content, how safe you feel with him, and he cherishes the ability to give you the attention you crave.

Later, he’d clean you up, make you another cup of tea, seeing as the first was abandoned in your haste, get your favorite takeout, and set you up for a lazy night in, but for now, he holds you close. Warmth and exhaustion are seeping into your bones, and you peer up at John through your lashes and utter a quiet “thank you.” 

“No need to thank me, love. I’ll always be here for you,” he reminds, giving you a featherlight kiss on your forehead before continuing, “Get some sleep”

And as you drift off, you can’t help the upturn of your lips. Your mind was quiet, and you finally got the sleep you craved.

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[knightyoomyoui]

TWICE Sana x M/F Reader - "I Want It That Way"

I'M BACK. After 3 months of no update, your one and only Knight Yoo-Myoui returns to bring you readers more stories in my book. Author's been in a really tough situation especially last month, but that still ain't gonna be enough to take out my passion and motivation to continue writing for both mine and your entertainment. I'm gonna continue this as long as I can. However, from now on; please understand and expect that I won't be updating very often like weekly or everyday as before. Studies is my current priority as of the moment but I promise that I will always update yall. Actually though, this new kind of pacing for both my writing procedure and publishing has somehow lessen the pressure in me. I'm really liking it so far, makes me comfortable. This story is requested by ShaShaSha029 BUT..., sorry Sha because I made some changes on your requested plot hehe. I already made the same concept from my previous works so I used your other request from another member to come up with something new that I haven't done yet. And as for the other member you requested to me, I'll give you a brand new plot for her. I hope you and the readers will like this. Enjoy reading! STREAM "I GOT YOU" and "ONE SPARK" MVs btw!

"I'm going home, guys. I'll leave the office to you all."

YN/LN, a current 4th year student from Cheongnamdong Polytechnic University and the campus' ongoing president of the student council, has just finished your tasks for today and is now about to depart from their office and send your goodbyes to your fellow members kindly to end the day on a positive note.

"Be safe on your way home, Pres!"

"You too."

You continued walking after sending him all the bright greetings, but before passing to your own cubicle and reaching the door, it opened. You then heard some footsteps behind it until a familiar figure made its presence known in front of you.

You watched your classmate, friend, and the secretary of their council, Yoo Janghoon, peeking at the door with a weird smile before you find him standing on your way.

Janghoon then approached YN.

"Seems like you're about to leave."

"Yeah." You nodded. " What's with your smile in your face? You look like you just saw something amusing.", he said in a judgmental look.

"Not with my own eyes, but the words I've heard are enough to picture her on mind." Janghoon smirked and bounced his brows.

"Her? You're into hunting chicks again?"

"Idiot, I have a girlfriend now, ofcourse I'm not." Janghoon mocked YN as he was about to throw a punch. "But seriously though, not even me could deny that it really does interest me."

"Why, what's going on out there?"

"Well, I've heard from my acquaintances from the other courses that there's a newly transferred female student here in the campus earlier after the class break."

"That late?"

"Yeah, I was a bit confused too but they said the professor just let it passed because they said that her documents were finalized at the last minute so that's why." YN hummed to react.

"And would you like to enlighten me what's so interesting with this random transferee student? I mean, no offense. Welcome aboard to the university but... what's special?"

"Dude, I'm telling you, it's not just "random", this girl was a legit bombshell. Based from how they described her, it was like when she stepped on the room, they felt like there was a legit goddess that got manifested into reality."

"And that's it?"

"Y-yeah... but you know and I know, dude. Our university has been missing it's "queen" for quite some time now. And probably the students are making noise about it is because they see a huge potential on her."

"Okay. Well, I do hope she doesn't feel overwhelmed with the attention she's about to receive on the next days of her stay here."

"But we're here as the council officers to take control, right?"

"Exactly." you nodded. "Anyways, gotta go now. I still have a family dinner not to miss."

"Alright, take care pres."

"You too, sec."

You left the office and the campus with a curiosity forming in your heart and mind on the identity of this woman that has been the center of the gossips you were unaware of due to how busy you are on the duties.

Arrived at home, you entered and got welcomed by your mother who is preparing their table for a lovely dinner tonight while your father is busy watching basketball on the living room.

"Good evening, mom."

"Good eve, YN. Tired?", she said while placing the plates on the table.

"Not that much but I would be glad to rest as always.", you spoke with a timid smile.

"Perfect, meal's coming right up real soon. Join your father there, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, mom."

You walked near to your father and greeted him courteously. You sat beside him and laid your back comfortably on the soft cushion of the couch to release all the pent-up exhaustion your body has consumed on today's packed class schedule.

Minutes later, your mother commands both you and your father to position yourselves on the seats. Each grabbing their own meal, all of you started praying first before taking your first bites and swallow on such a delicious food.

"Uhm, dear. We want to talk to you about something." Your mother inserted a topic to be discussed.

"Sure, mom. I'll be listening. What is it about?"

"It's like a business talk but this also concerns about your personal life too, YN which we much rather prioritize." Your father said after swallowing his throat. "We meet up with our partners on the company regarding this and we all come to an agreement."

"Agreement to what?"

"Me and your mother are placing you in an arrangement contract with their child."

"Wait, come again?"

"Arrangement contract. It means we set you up with someone as your age to date and marry one day, and we figured out that to strengthen the connection between us, we decided to-"

"Yes, wait. I know that part, dad but... why need to? Wasn't it too early? I get that you want me to have a wife and a family someday but... it's not one of my priorities so far.", you complained.

"YN, please do understand that your mother and I ain't be getting younger as time goes on. Someday, you'll be alone, and we just wanted to give you another family that you would be glad to remain and... hopefully, to remember us like how we raised you from the beginning."

"But wasn't this too fast? You're making me rush things."

Both sides went silent, as the father felt guilty also for how true your words are.

"It's my life. You may be the one who gave me that but I developed and earned a right to decide what's right for my future."

"We know, son... but we had no choice. It's for the sake also of our business. You know that we have to keep it to the mountain top so that we don't have our efforts of raising it go to waste, especially when this is the main reason how me and your mother were able to give you a better life that you deserve. And some way or another, you will be for sure, the one who will take the mantle and own my properties. You can use it also to raise your family easier."

"We are not forcing you to do this, YN. Please, we just wanted to inform you and talk about this because you also have a side and opinion to be heard. Whatever your answer may be, we will respect it. We are just suggesting, but hopefully you can consider it, honey." Your mother's soft voice effectively kept you at ease more.

Taking deep breaths and a short length of silence to contemplate, you looked at them both as you made your choice. "Fine. This is because I love you both and I owe you two everything. I'm doing it."

They both smiled in relief. "Thank you for this, son/daughter."

"No problem. So... can you tell me more about this contract?"

"Well it's simple, an arranged contract but we requested to have you and the girl we chose to spend 30-days or let's say a month to get to know each other and figure things out if you two would believe that everything will work out as a couple." Your father explained.

"And who's the girl that you guys have prepared for me?"

"They have an only child just like us, and it's an easier idea to place her because as we learned, their daughter is currenly in search of finding somebody to love."

"Sadly, we're unalike."

"But she may be able to change your mind, on whatever that hold your heart back. You accepted the offer, now you just have to see how she really is, but we're certainly sure that she's good just like her parents."

"And what's her name?"

"We haven't been introduced nor asked for her name, but from what we know, her nickname should be "Minatozaki", and is Japanese. She was also studying now at the same campus as yours."

"I'll try to look for her and maybe we can talk there privately."

"Whatever you want, YN. Just keep us updated okay?"

"Noted." You replied before everyone returned on focusing to finish their foods.

The next day, you were a bit irritated from how the discussion last night distracts you in the middle of your duty. You couldn't concentrate at the curiousity that dwells inside of you.

So you decided to to take a break outside. You encountered a vacant spot to breathe some fresh air and drink at the iced coffee you prepared on your tumbler as you roam your eyes around at your surroundings.

That's where you spotted some group of students huddling around at a spot near the bulletin board, as if they're being crazy or attentive at something.

Eager to find out the rucus, you approached the scenario and tried to peek around, and there you noticed a female student entertaining the other fellow students by asking her randomly and even asking for some pictures like she is a celebrity.

As she turned around, her long chestnut colored hair flips around as if it denied the gravity, her side profile appeared, until it all fully rotated to have her face evident at you for the first time.

And my oh my the rumors shared by your secretary were true.

No wonder why she was already popular, she does look magnificent, enough to be mistaken as a famous personality.

Your eyes couldn't leave the sight of her just doing everything even in such bare minimum if movements that still effortlessly made her very attractive. Thankfully, there's your boy distracting you as you snapped back when you felt a shoulder wrapped on your neck.

"You finally met her." Janghoon said, smirking at you. "From what I heard earlier, the exchange student's name's Minatozaki Sana. She's a foreigner, a Japanese to be specific."

"Minatozaki?" Your thoughts murmured. Contemplating if you heard it right, but that was the same surname your father was tasked you to find, and she even has the same nationality.

Having exchange students in your campus are very rare.

You are flabbergasted as you slowly realize that... this woman is going to be the one you'll date and marry.

Unconsciously, you turned around at Janghoon with your forehead crumpled and mouth slightly gaped.

"What? Did I say something wrong?"

"Oh n-no. Not-thing." You shook your head swiftly. Returning your gaze back at her, you couldn't believe it at all that your parents and her friends does picked a perfect girl for you.

But you wondered if it could be said the same about you.

Hours later, Sana who was about to enjoy her recess, instead went to the council office to meet the president, as per the classmates told her after being tasked to do so.

She stepped in front of the door that says "Student Council Office, knock twice before entering". She followed and slowly pushed the doorknob. A person sitting at the far end of the room, looking busy on his desk greeted her.

As the door closed, it alarmed the president that the person is now here for a scheduled conversation, only that when you raised your head, you looked at her having a shocked reaction.

Sana stares at the reveal of this mysterious person that runs the entire student government of the campus. Flashbacks began to run back into her mind, slowly making her upset.

"Thank you for agreeing to come here and t-"

"Am I looking at this very clearly?" Sana immediately spoke.

"Pardon?"

"You? Out of everyone here... was chosen to become a leader?"

"W-what? Settle down, miss. I think you n-"

"A representative figure for everyone, and I get to be under your orders around here?" Sana chuckled bitterly. "I didn't know that even after years later, we'll still have our paths crossing onto each other despite how I wanted to never meet you in my life again."

"D-do we know each other?"

Sana scoffed as she looked at you ridiculously. "Ofcourse, how could you recognize me. First of all, I was just a complete nothing to you. A plaything of your cruel antics and delinquent actions. And second, I'm not the same girl you used to belittle everyday."

You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at her intently. "W-what... you..."

"Still doesn't ring a bell? Oh, how about this. The name Minatozaki Sana? That fat nerdy girl back in elementary that you used to bully so hard in our 8th year that forced her to transfer to other school. How about that?"

Your eyes sprung open as you instantly remember the name and that student you used to include in one of your prime victims in your dark past.

That description of her past self brought you back to the times when you remembered looking for her first to rather mock, annoy, or play with her until her feelings broke and look helpless.

You were a bully before in elementary days, and she was your classmate back then. But that was all only the past now as you are now a changed person, with all the better and positive things that came into your life had taught you more valuable and nice things to consider yourself reevaluating your personality.

But it looks like it could tell the opposite for Sana's part.

"I remember you now, Sana. And... please, let me tell you right now that I'm not the same person you used to despise before."

"Do you really think I'll be fooled easily by that?" Sana retorted. "We just met after what... 7 years and you're supposed to have me believing that when in fact, I still look at you as that same horrific figure I never should've want to see again, but yet here you are."

Sana still didn't took a seat. She walked around and observed the room. You were a bit relieved that all of your council members are absent in this tense confrontation. "What a hypocrisy it is to have you getting involved in an organization that focuses on student rights when in fact, you have a record of violating it before. Shouldn't be a student fitting for that must be... clean?"

"Sana, believe me or not, I changed. I wouldn't even dare to take this position if I'm not sincere for it, and I'm not forcing you to believe me."

"Oh, ofcourse you should. Because I really don't buy everything that comes into your mind not until I see it" Sana shook her head and smugged. "Maybe it'll change my mind of me planning to expose you from every-"

"Wait! You can't be serious?"

"Oh indeed I am." Sana clicked her tongue. "You ruined me before, but here I am who helped myself and from people I loved to become this better version of mine to stand here in front of you, I'm going to get you this time, YN. I'm going to make you feel what is it like being... excluded."

She leaned forward on the desk, staring at you sharply and observing your nervous expression. "But...if there's some sort of a miracle that... you did changed. Then you're going to prove it on me. Make me convinced that this YN I hate with every fiber of my being is... gone."

"What if I tell you that you already have a chance to make me?"

"And that is?"

"Have you heard about an arrangement contract from your parents?"

"Y-yeah... but they don't tell me who it is because- WAIT" Sana quickly lunged back away from you. "Please tell me who I'm thinking is correct."

"Sorry to tell you but I was just in denial as you are yesterday."

"Oh God." Sana poured out the biggest disappointment she felt in her entire life so far. "W-why does my fate has to be very unlucky everytime when it's about you? Me being in an arranged contract with you? I think I have to vomit."

"Wait! But you said you want me to prove that I changed?"

"And you really think I want it this way?" Sana looked at you disgusted. "Being as this fabled student council president or just a random student from me would be fine but... YOU AS MY FIANCE? That won't do, mister." Sana swayed her pointing finger. "Unfortunately, the answer would be NO. Now please, I have to go already. I still have a lunch to take before I lose my appetite."

Sana walked away from you and left the room unbotheredly. You sat there, back falling flat on your swivel chair. Your hands caressed your hair as you reacted unbelievably and stunned that this heavily improved Sana that you used to know many years before has returned to actually be your woman, but unfortunately, her hatred for you still lives on her till this day.

Her opposal didn't worked however, as Sana tried to request later during dinner, she was informed by her parents that the contract can only be cancelled after 30-days for the people to finally reassure their decision.

She mentioned that YN and her have a bad history in the past, but instead her parents reasoned out that maybe YN has changed and it will not hurt to give another chance. If only they know what the real reason it is, but Sana was clearly affected by their suggestion because honestly, Sana is a forgiving soft type of person.

Still, confident that she's satisfied with her answer, she became impatient and hated being with YN more.

Meanwhile, you shared to your mother about how the unlikedness of you and Sana's interests about the marriage arrangement in a deatiled manner.

"We met and had a talk, but... it wasn't as proper and civil as I expected because, I was surprised that she confessed something very familiar to me. Something that I've been trying to get it out on my head. Something that I wanted to let go for a long time."

"What was she to you before?"

"A nuisance, even though she wasn't doing even wrong. I look at her before thinking it wasn't right for her to be in this type of high class campus that I study at too, but then I figured out that me ending up bullying and making her emotional and mental state suffer is way worse than she is."

You flinched when your mother slapped you in the head. "What??? How could you bully someone?! Is that how we raised you?"

"Mom, wait ofcourse no... but, I was just made to be like that because of what happened to us, you know that!"

Your mother became speechless and a glimpse of pity became visible to you. "But it's all good now, mom. I'm not like that anymore, I'm telling you.  And that's what I should've just wanted to prove to Sana but... I understand that she won't let me anymore. I broke her too much, I can't let it happen again."

Stepping closer in front of you, she placed her hands gently on your shoulders to massage them and make your ease down. "Even I was mad and disappointed that you once turned into that type of guy you never should be, but I know from the bottom of my heart that you will always be a good kid of mine because that's how I raised you to be. You just got affected too much by our struggles before. And I believe you always, YN. The only thing I can do now for you to support you, and that is for you to keep on moving forward and never stop to make Sana forgive you, alright?"

"I will. Thanks, mom."

She patted you on the cheek. "Goodluck, okay? You have a month to do it."

----------

"Okay, class dismissed. Group 1, remember to prepare your report by next week okay?"

"Yes, prof!", the students who are part of the group that the professor mentioned chanted.

The professor left the room, leaving the students have the freedom to eat lunch during their vacant time.

"Sana, cmon! Did you bring a lunch with you?", one of Sana's classmates asked her while she's clearing her table.

"No, I'm gonna buy for today."

"Nice, let's go!"

Sana brought her wallet and cellphone with her, joins her newfound friends named Miyeon and Sullyoon as they make their way out to the classroom.

However, as they were about to, a figure suddenly pops out of the doorway, stopping their tracks. The two classmates of hers had a visible shock in their faces unlike to Sana, her bright mood quickly shrank down into a gloomy one.

"Hi, sorry if I'm almost late." You straightened your lips. "Good thing I was about to catch you leaving yet, let's go eat lunch together."

Miyeon and Sullyoon's jaw dropped at the student council president's proposal. Sana's eyebrows knitted hardly. "Huh? What nonsense are you saying?"

"Why? I'm just going to invite you to eat with me?"

"With you?" Sana scoffed and chuckled. "You have the guts, I'll give you that... but NO." Sana leaned forward at you to say this.

"Let's go girls."

Sana was just commanding her classmates and taking a step again away from you but in her surprise, she felt her body being pulled by a force. She tried to process what happened, and there she found her skin contacting with yours as she stood by your side...

with your hands wrapped around her waist.

Miyeon and Sullyoon's eyes largened in utter shock at what they're seeing. They couldn't believe that such a new transferee would get to gain closeness and change the behavior of the famously respected and knowned leader of the students around the campus.

Sana's lungs skipped functioning as soon as she felt your fingers dug deeper into her skin. Her face then starts to turn red and her face showing almost hilariously stunned reaction, with no hint of an idea what has turned you to be like this today.

"Pardon me for Sana's antics right now, we just had a fight yesterday and I wanted to come up a solution to fix that." You said in a melodic and apologetic tone to them. Sana was dumbfounded at the ridiculous fake words you are talking about.

"W-wha"

Sana wasn't able to finish her words, when she felt herself getting pulled again, now squeezed against your body which intensified her heartbeat and blushes.

"So, please. Can we eat together today, love?"

Any words that are synonym to what I mentioned earlier can be heavily applied now to all three women witnessing the sudden change of the president's act.

You led the way, bringing Sana with you as both crossed the hallway with the confused and flabbergasted duo following on the back while some of the students can see the two having this kind of contact has began to grab attention.

As they reached the cafeteria, Miyeon and Sullyoon shyly approached the "couple". "Uhm, Sana. I think we can just eat sometime. We'll let you have you two your private time okay?"

"B-but w-"

"Thank you for being considerate on us, girls." You smiled humbly at them and they nodded before they left you and Sana to find their own seat. As the two of you remained, Sana's face crumpled and seethed much air to unleash her full force on escaping to your touch.

She quickly unhooks your arm on her waist, pushed you aside, and punched you in the shoulder. "Oww!"

"Seriously, what the hell did you do to me, YN?!" Sana started to bicker out on you. "How come you just started to spit out and let my friends hear and see you assuming that we have a relationship now, huh?! Did you ate something bad that had you acting like crazy today?"

"Nope. I'm perfectly fine, and what I did there earlier, consider getting used to that." You replied. "Because from now on, I'll be going to do it with you again and again and again a-"

"Woah wait no what?!" Sana paused you. "And why is that, huh? I haven't even agreed yet on the deal-"

"But was the contract got cancelled?"

Sana fell speechless. She remembered yesterday that she swore to dump the contract by requesting to her parents after she gave her disapproval. However, she failed to do so.

You took her silence as yes. "I suppose it didn't. If it does, my parents would've informed me immediately."

"Yeah yeah yeah, you won. So what? You still can't just do it like that to me randomly. I still haven't gave you the consent to touch me or do anything lovey dovey around me. Just because the contract states that we are arranged to be a couple that doesn't mean I can let you easily do everything free around me. Especially when the fact that I still hate you so much." Sana pointed at you as she stares deeply within you.

"Alright, fine. You do have a point. I shouldn't have done it. It's my fault, I made you uncomfortable, and I'm sorry for that." You spoke in a calm tone. Sana got her insides tugged at your sudden softer behavior. "But just know this, I hope you can let me do these with everything I can. No matter how much you deny, we are still stuck in an arranged contract that has a month allowed on us to come up on a decision if we'll take a marriage, and that gives each of us the right to do what couples does.

And I'm going to use it also, for me to prove myself to you that I've changed through all these years, Sana. Consider it me acting or say whatever you want, but when it comes to you, I'll show my improved self and nothing less than that." You said plainly to her. Sana is just listening at you patiently, sticking out important details to her mind while her emotions were a bit being brought by your committed words.

"I can't force you to love me back and have our marriage settled someday after the deadline comes, I wasn't even into love these days but I had no choice but to follow. But, I really do hope that before or when these all ends, I can hear you saying that I am now forgiven."

Sana was struggling to come up for a words to answer, and you took the opportunity to let her have time to remember and process everything as you locate a seat and bought foods for both of you. You left the still pissed off Sana became completely silent and come back to join her in an awkward lunch together.

That went on and on, with you trying to get along with Sana through most of the occasions. You supposed to take it all as a yes coming from Sana that you were being a chance to prove everything to her that you are not this same bad person she used to resist before.

With your frequent actions around Sana led to the campus knowing also about your rumored relationship with her.. Some were supportive that the president finally get to have a girlfriend such perfect as Sana while some were not due to the reason of jealousy most concerning about the fact that they are not the ones standing on the shoes or position of either you or Sana.

That didn't affected both of you, especially Sana who is trying her best to become unbothered with all of these because she is too tired to explain it to many people for some truth that everyone wouldn't accept easily. She knows it all to herself anyway that it's all part of the act, that none of them are interested with each other or has a growing fond being developed.

Not until one day, she accidentally finds you tutoring a female student in the library. She saw how entertained you are on how easily the girl gets to understand quickly with your teaching, thus turning you both looking happy together.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable at the scene, her lips unconsciously forming into a frown. Sana instead leaves the room and went on to return with her friends who noticed her bad mood as she buried her head around her crossed arms on the desk.

It all procceeded until their next subject when the girls tried to approach her about it. "Hey, Sana what's with the grumpy look?" Miyeon said as she peeked at Sana who looks completely out.

"You weren't participating with us lightly, what happened when you left the room earlier?" Sullyoon added.

"Yeah, you seemed in a no good mood."

"Nothing." Sana blabbered.

"Was it YN?"

"I said NOTH-" Sana paused and realized that she just made herself obvious, Miyeon and Sullyoon were just staring at her.

"Welp, that confirms it." Sana sighed. "Care to tell us what's the problem?"

She remained silent. She wasn't sure why she's getting a bit embarassed to reveal it until she also got nervous when her friends began to list down some of the possible things a couple creates problems.

"Was he cold to you today?"

"Hmm maybe you're the one who's not?"

"Or... could it be somebody's jealous-"

"What, no?!" Sana rapidly reacted. Miyeon and Sullyoon exchanged a "gotcha" look.

"Oh unnie, you're too obvious." Miyeon laughed.

"Jealous of what? Or should we say, who?" Sullyoon curiously asked.

"S-stop! I said it's nothing, okay! There's no chance in hell that I am jealous because of him." Sana made a "tch" sound on her mouth. "I don't even like him at all." She rolled her eyes as she whispered it, barely to be heard by her friends who returned focusing on their own. As she was left alone with her trouble, her eyes went staring at the window, she sighed deeply as she felt a strange regret inside her after saying those words while remembering what she saw back in the library.

As if she meant it.

Hours later, Sana bids goodbye to Miyeon and Sullyoon before she walked at the hallway all by herself. She stopped on her steps when she felt this unsettling feeling near her shoulder.

Her head goes turning around, searching for something but was unsuccessfully. Sana sighed and shook her head. "YN isn't coming. That guy/girl is a student council president, Sana. He/she's probably busy." she muttered to herself.

Sana continued to move, with a blank face and a moderate speed. As the afternoon light about to engulf her, she felt her sling bag slowly float, the weight she's carrying quickly became lighter.

Her breath got taken away shortly in surprise until she realized what caught her from that action.

It was you, smiling while standing beside her as you taking off her bag gently from her shoulder.

"May I?"

Sana didn't respond, she just let her arm spread a bit to let the strap fall, easily allowing it to fall from your posession.

"You do look like having a bad day." you peeked at her expression. Sana slightly got shy, and turns her face away as she pouted while rolling her eyes arrogantly.

"You just noticed? I'm always like this whenever you're around me."

"You sure there's nothing more than that? I know it's pretty much of a 'me' problem but... can you be more specific?"

"Oh come on, wasn't that enough for you? Stop triggering me, please. I said what I said, you are an eyesore that's why." Sana crosses her arm. She started to walk down the stairs as you slowly followed her with a faint smile on your lips.

"Okay, if that's what you say. I'll just be here behind you. Too bad, I wanted to lead the way because I want take us somewhere unwinding first." You sighed and tightened your lips. Sana heard it, sensing a weird sensation through her. She must be saying no or even meaner than that, but how come she became more curious?

Sana heaved out a large breath of air before pausing on her walk with a stomp. She turned around to face you as she gestures you to come forward. "It's only because I needed it."

And you grinned thankfully.

The two of you went to a cliff from a road outside of Seoul. Just in time, Sana was about to whine about how dangerous this place you chose until she was distracted of the magnificent sunset in display to the skyview.

Each of you took a picture, with her being first. You clicked the button, instead the shot accidentally captures Sana turning her attention back at you. As she approaches you, you dragged down your phone in embarassment and nervousness that she might found out and suspect that you're secretly spying on her.

"What happened to you?" Sana finds your tensed manner.

"N-nothing. I just... remembered something."

"Weirdo." She teases you. "So what's gotten into you choosing this place. Are you gonna push me there down the cliff to show me your true colors?"

You looked at her exhaustedly, no much in an energy to enlighten or defend yourself. "Say or think of anything suspicious about me, Sana but I wasn't even harming you even in my imaginations anymore." You didn't bother to look at her because all you'll see rather is an irritated, sassy woman whom you had a price to pay for.

"This is my favorite place to chill." You simply answered, leaning at the front of the car and posing your limbs as you supported yourself with your arms pressed on the car. Sana looked at your side-figure.

"I started finding this when me and my mom used to go here when I was young. She was the first one to notice how beautiful the sunset is to watch from here, and I did agree on her... and it turns out to become one of my favorite scenery." Sana just listened to your story as you continue to witness the sun hides from the clouds.

"My mother told me to stay with her longer here because for a moment, she found peace and serenity. She felt like there's nothing to worry about." You paused as you smiled proudly. "She felt like she wasn't going to be alone in this battle she's facing, because I was there by her side. Even though I... wasn't that too much vocal or expressive at what I've gone through in our family, but... my heart knows where I need to stay. Where I can surely find a better outcome for my life someday."

"That's why when the right thing happened one day, I started to listen and follow to my heart first. I kicked out all those delinquent students away from my company and I only remained my wonderful mom and dad... step-dad..." You corrected yourself, Sana shrank her eyes at that intentional pause. "Because it felt like it's the right thing to do, and it did. It helped me to get back up to my feet and reshape myself to become a proper man that my mom always wanted to see in me.

Sana, mind I if ask... am I progressing?"

Sana stares at you as you glanced at her with your glistening eyes full of hope. "I'm not gonna lie this time, but you sure are doing quite an effect on me..." Her voice is slowly decreasing through the words.

"But that won't still change anything about what you did to me before. People can say past is past easily but me? If it wasn't for that, which I don't know... should I say thank you atleast anyway... for motivating me to change my appearance? Lose a massive amount of weight, beautify myself more, get rid of those eyeglasses and braces just so that I can be accepted and liked by many for my features like what you said?" Sana said with a bit of a hatred rising through her again. You remain speechless as you understand why it's driving her mad.

"I achieved a better life too but unlike you, what I did I get? You put me into a trauma that I'm still bringing to myself till this day. Fear and anxious that...  makes me still remember it all."

"I like the passion, YN... but I will never going to forgive you for what you did to me. I will always hate you for that." Sana said it with all honesty. "And that's enough of a reason for me to have no interests on having our deal contract settled."

Heartbroken, you chose to ignore and hide as you have nothing more to do than to accepts her decision. After all, you were the one who already said that you can't force her to make amends with you.

"Understood."

The next week, Sana was about to go downstairs when she found a student sipping lollipop at the corner. The guy looks completely wasted, obviously breaking the proper uniform rules. She decided to ignore him as she continue to go through but insteas, the guy catcalled her before moving on its own, approaching Sana.

"Hi there, hot stuff." The guy said before taking off her lollipop with a slurp. "Where you going at?"

"A-at my class." Sana nervously said.

"Hmmm... okay. Nice and proper, I like it. Ladies like you are easy to be tamed, isn't it?" He smirked menacingly.

Sana stepped back and grabbed her sling bag. "E-excuse me? How dare you-"

"Ohhh, daring. Such a duality we got here huh, I wouldn't mind if you can do switch roles with me, however we can only apply that in the bed."

"Shut up, pervert!"

"Cmon, lady. It's that simply, feel free to take a shot on me, and you can be there to your classroom without a problem."

"And if I don't?!"

"Challenging and fightful, I like that."

"Then you're going to love me."

Sana and the delinquent both became surprised as you made your unexpected emergence from the stairs, hurrying down ss you pushed away the guy and had him bumping his back on the barred metal gate.

"This one's pestering you?" Sana only nodded.

"Ugh shit! Ah, look. It's the bastard of this goddamn student council!" The delinquent said while touching his upper back in pain.

"Choose your words more carefully. I can report you and have you be placed in a sanction that you'll regret."

"Go on, make me. As if I give a shit. This entire university is a complete bullshit anyway. The only reason it got me staying here everyday, is if wasn't for some sexy chicks like here roaming around-" The deliquent didn't had to speak disrespectfully and point at Sana longer as he ate a crunchy right punch from you straight to his face.

"You crazy bitch!"

The guy fights back at you, returning the punch you gave. It agitated you and led yourselves into a brawl that had the groans and growls echoing to the upper floor, catching student's attention. Sana panicked and tasked them to call a guard to seperate the two.

The guy got the advantage during the fight, he continues to give you a barrage of kicks to the waist before he pulled Sana closer to her and inappropriately traced her sides while he chuckles dangerously.

Sana felt disgusted and quickly slaps the guy. "What do you think you're doing, huh? Fucking slut!" He gave Sana a fast backhand slap that had her twirling and crashing next to the metal handles of the stairs.)+•~

You saw what he did, with anger fuming in you, you pulled his leg and sent him down on the ground before you tackled him andgave him multiple punches until the guards and the officials broke up the fight.

"THE TWO OF YOU, PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. NOW!"

As a result of the fight and from the decision made by the higher ups, the guy was kicked out of the campus for multiple delinquent offenses while you got suspended for your role as the president for a couple of months when they learned that you just did that for self-defense.

Sana was sitting on the bed with the nurse preparing the first aid until you showed up and requested the nurse instead to leave it all on your hands. She hesitated for a minute that you are also bruised but you bargained until she gave up and listened to you as a respect for being a student leader.

Sana in her surprise, watched you sit down and grab the first aid beside you. "W-what are you doing?"

"Treating you."

"Don't make me a baby, YN. The nurse can do it herself."

You just stared at her and Sana felt a bit intimidated. She decided to shut up and forcefully let you do your thing. "Good. Now come closer and lemme see your cheek."

She leaned forward and directed her aching cheek on you. "That idiot." You cursed as you search around the reddening spot. You weren't aware that it was mixed by Sana's blush now to have you staring very closer at her.

You started applying the ice pack around the hurting spot as Sana hissed before she swallowed in her throat and spoke. "T-thank you... for earlier."

"No problem. That's unusual, atleast I got a positive comment from you.

"I- I wasn't expecting you to come to rescue me, okay. And I didn't know how much I needed it."

The awkwardness between each other formed as none dared to speak afterwards when both got lost in their words. However, you started a topic that might break the silence and for Sana to understand more.

"I wasn't always like this."

"I know, you said it. It's just that there's something happened that I don't know-"

"It's my dad." You answered it. Sana looked at you. "I know you've been itching to ask me what exactly happened."

"I just don't want to because I felt like it's not my intention to know more and all I had to do is to understand you because it seemed too personal that I might sound forceful. But I do really wanted to know why." Sana replied. "So... step-dad?"

"No. My biological dad." You revealed. "My original father was abusive to my mom. I learned that he became like that when he started to fell addiction to gambling and other crazy stuffs that risks your money badly. He releases his frustration to my mom until she couldn't take it no more when she heard it loud and clear from my father that he despises her for me not turning out to be the one he's expecting. He always wanted a son/daughter but... nope. That's just all a part of his excuses that made my mom snapped and file a divorce  and report to my dad, and guess what. Her attorney became so interested in my mom and here he is, my mom and my dad broke up and him, who is now my step-dad, saved mom and I." You said as you applied care on her bruises.

Sana looked at you pitifully and for the first time, she frowned for you. "W-why are still helping me or... treating me good, even though I don't return it back at you?"

"Because... I got influenced. At first, I look up to my dad. I thought at first that he was tough, strong... I started becoming like him when him and my mom always gets to have a proble but then I realized that he was a true coward for proving all that by beating up my mom. And she was the one who is actually tough, because despite of all the suffering she took from my dad, she didn't hurt him back physically but that doesn't she has no plans to fight. Because if she does, then I wouldn't be in a better state if it wasn't for her.

So I changed. I took mom as my role model. I remained calm as much as I can. I did it all to reshape myself from the ghost of the past. Now here I am, rather choosing to prove myself and mean it all on my words on you. I don't want to fight anymore to cause trauma, Instead, I'll do in a need to protect the people who are close to me."

Sana tied all the strings together, and it did finally all comes to a clear point that it wasn't really your fault that you turned out to be that reckless bully that she had to go through a hard time before. She would be lying if she won't admit that she is a supporter of a belief that people can change, and it comes through this moment that she decided that she can use that phrase for good.

"There, all done." You said as you tucked all the hair to her ear and patted the bandage firmly on her face. Sana was just staring back at your tender and admirable demeanor. "Does it still h-"

"I forgive you."

"..."

You fell silent. That was very out of nowhere, but suddenly it got so uplifted to hear that successfully.

"Y-you do?"

"And we still have a week remaining ahead of us. We can use it to finally be able get along together."

You smiled widely as you saw how Sana's bright and cute grin shines right in your eyes. She looked so beautiful, and you even felt more guilty and poor for her on vanishing this irresistable kine of joy within her before.

"Yeah we can. T-thank you a lot, Sana."

Sana patted your hand to calm your happiness down. She smiled as she stared down at your hands stacked together. She took a grip on it and even felt the heat crawling through her skin, sending to her overflowing emotions in her heart.

It actually does look... fitting in her opinion. And she even agreed more to herself when she looked back up to see the owner of the hand she would actually love to hold more in many occasions.

That moment, Sana confirmed to herself that she has now began to discover a liking on you, who is also discreetly sharing the same serenade as her too.

Days after you and Sana tried to start this brand new closeness both of you has started for each other, its aftermath had left you ran out to became so overwhelmed about it, now that have reminded you of something that requires to be done more important before the expiration was reached.

You wanted to be happy because you have now made peace with Sana, but today wasn't the right time for you to celebrate fully.

Too much occupied on spending time for each other, that it almost made both forgot that you had to deal with a serious matter when the next day comes.

Your mood disrupted as you got conscious of the date today, not even Sana's bubbly personality can distract you from it or anything. You couldn't even join her as you remained watching her instead for some reason.

"You seem like you're in deep thoughts again, YN." Sana poked you with the tip of the ice cream she bought. "Are you okay?"

You didn't answer right away as it took time for you to snap back into your senses and found yourself being confronted by Sana.

"Y-yeah."

A lie. Sana detected that disturbing twitch of a forced smile on your lips.

"Really, what's going on? I know i've seen this last time on you getting blacked out of nowhere but this one feels different."

"How can you say?" You asked in a dead tone.

She shrugged and opened her ice cream first before she continued speaking. "That something's definitely bothering you. You're so stiff and uneasy. Does it makes you scared?"

"M-maybe it is..."

"Care to share what it is then?"

You were about to respond but Sana introduces you to her cold palm blocking your sight.

"But first, eat your ice cream. It's gonna melt, plus... it's my favorite flavor, okay? I don't want it getting wasted." She pouted adorably.

You chuckled and sighed as you opened your ice cream. "Delicious."

"Who? Me or the ice cream?"

"W-what?" You looked so baffled at her suspicious remark.

She laughed loudly at your embarassed expression. "I'm sorry- it's just... you keep on staring at me while you're licking it and commenting it for me. I thought you're teasing me so... I tried to get back on you."

"S-stupid, you and your pervy thoughts..." You rolled your eyes and blushed intensely at her own silliness. "And what if I say you?" you smirked a little and glared at her.

"Then I don't mind having you grab a taste as much as you like~" Her eyes didn't even had to glare back at you to look flirty and seductive, instead aura changed on its own as Sana ensures that the one who started this kind of fun won't end up getting defeated in the end.

You gulped and looked away from her enticing look as she wheezes. "Sorry, what's gotten over me. Anyways, let's go backto where we left. Oh yeah, what's making you scared?"

You had to compose yourself before replying to her. "Of us. Certainly... for you."

"Why?"

"I can't tell if this luck that I have of making myself had to witness this whole you being... just the way you are is only temporary for me to see, because I fear that... I might lose this... real you, again." You said.

"I appreciate the consideration YN but, risks are inevitable okay? It's fine to take it as long as it won't step or abuse my whole being again." Sana said. "I know you're scared but... face your fears. This is why you seek for another opportunity, right? To make things right."

"But would it be wrong for me if..."

"If...?" Sana waited for your next words to follow up.

Your heartbeat quickened, nerves trembling, emotions rising, as there's no going back once you have revealed this secret you have been keeping from her in weeks. "Would it be wrong for me if I don't just want you as a friend anymore? That I also began to admire you more than that?"

Sana's smile dropped. Her gaze went more focused on you as she couldn't believe what she's hearing. "Y-you like me?"

"I know it's ridiculous of me to say that to you, because I feel like I don't have the right to feel this way because I made you like this... forcefully with my wrongdoings. But, I don't know why my heart is being like this." You said to her.

"Maybe it's due to what I've said to you last time that I started to follow what my heart wants, and it pains because... I feel like this is what I may be missing after all these years when I rather ending up hurting you against my will. And now it makes me worry if I continue this feeling i'm having now that we have buried your hatred, I might lose this... bright side that depicts the real you, Sana. That I mercilessly thrown away when we first met.

I don't want to let it go but... I couldn't  get rid of this feeling in me, even after you told me you have declined our contract, I'm heartbroken but I still keep on loving you." You started tearing up. For the first time, Sana has fully visualized this fragile self of yours and it truly does hurt her deep inside.

"But I don't want you to pity me. I still respect your decision, but... for the last time... a last hope in me, I just want to ask... do you... still want to reconsider it?"

You looked at her with your poor eyes. Sana got her breath taken away by your weakened state. Her heart crumples in pain seeing you like this because you are heavily concerned of something that you don't even had to.

Because she likes you too, and you don't even know yet.

If your heart chooses her, her heart needed you more.

"I'm sorry..." is what came out as a whisper to Sana's shaking tone. Your heart shattered and there's your last hope disappeared like a popped bubble in the air. She was about to speak but you interrupted her.

"I see. I get it, no matter how much a person forgives you for your sin, there's always be time that would grant you the punishment for wasting that moment that you should've been good rather. A karma, in short. And this one, is what I have to bring and suffer for the rest of my life."  You said to her with a bitter smile. Sana was in awe at your guilty pronounce.

"I enjoyed our time but I think I have to go now, Sana. I'm sorry." You excused yourself to Sana as you emptied your ice cream and left her speechless on your spot with her. Her frozen consciousness has what costs her to respond late to unable to catch you as you walked away from her sight.

Sana was left in distraught, as the words she was about to say and the entirety of your confession sinked down to her.

March 31. The day of the proclaimation has come. The month is ending and that means the contract has reached its breaking point. You and Sana met again in the court along with your parents in each of your sides.

Both parties are worried and confused on why you and Sana seemed so dull and devastated that neither couldn't look at each other's eyes anymore. This is what you feared, and the regret is eating you up again so bad.

"Mr/Ms. LN, are you in favor of the contract to be published and hereby signed by you?"

"I do, your honor." You said. You wanted to give it up but you chose to fight for what you have desired more. You wanted to be with Sana longer, and even if it won't grant you the same opportunity, it doesn't matter. Atleast you have become honest to your heart that you would've love to have her as yours.

Sana's lips trembled as she tried to fight the tears about to pour down on her face but was unsuccessful that the judge had to halt the question. It breaks your heart more to see her in an emotional breakdown in front of you.

"Miss Minatozaki, are you okay?"

"I... I'm not..." She sniffed her nose and wiped her tears before proceeding. " I'm not in favor of the contract, your honor."

Your family and Sana's both were in shock and saddened. You weren't surprised, but you are surely devastated that she is really this a hundred percent certain of her decision.

"Are you sure with your answer, Miss Minatozaki? You look hesitant. Perhaps you can provide a clear explaination why you still responded the opposite?"

"I'm really not in favor of the contract, your honor." Sana shook her head. She wiped her tears again before she stepped forward and came closer to you.

"Because I don't want to have it done arranged."

Your eyes widened. The collective gasps of the both sides can be heard from the court.

"I'm rather hesitant because I want to be with you more, YN... but not through this. I want us to build the story of our relationship through our own. I want it that way, not this where others had to dictate and rush us how things should go for us." She apologetically looks back at yours and her family, and gladly they nodded understandably at her point.

She immediately pulls you into a hug so tight that you wouldn't even care also if you got suffocated into her endearing gesture of what finding your home should feel like. "I'm glad that you didn't let go, YN... because I love you too."

She sobbed into your shoulder and you gave up with your emotions as flood of tears fell down on your face, but this time it was all full of joy and relief. You reciprocated her action as you wrapped her body into your own embrace and cuddled her head on your side.

"Thank you... thank you for giving me a chance, Sana. I'll do everything I can not to ruin this. I love you.

She leans away fron your shoulder and holds your shoulders as she traces your face super close between each other. "I'm so proud of you, YN. You deserve it."

"And yes, I would be glad to be your girlfriend... and your future wife soon." She winked before she pulls your head next for a wholesome romantic kiss.

Your families and even the judge clapped and congratulated in support for your newfound stronger relationship with Sana since this is a sight to behold seeing two couples aren't destined to be torn apart from each other... but rather to stay together forever despite all the harsh and crucial situations they had gone through.

Love, in cooperation with time; always finds a way to connect two people's hearts no matter how long it might take, and this... is the way their story had to go.

#twice #twice sana #minatozaki sana #sana #sana x male reader #sana x female reader #twice book of one-shots x reader #knight yoo-myoui #twice sana au #twice sana fanfic #twice sana one-shot #twice fanfic #twice au #twice one-shot #kpop au #kpop oneshot #kpop fanfic

[talkdutchtome]

You Should Have Said No

chapter seven - enchanted

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / pierre gasly x reader )

summary . . . when your fiancé cheats on you, you strike up an unusual friendship with one of his closest friends, who just so happens to have had a crush on you since he set eyes on you. chaos ensues.

inspired by the works of miss taylor swift )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . enchanted - taylor swift )

warning . . . cheating, mental illness, angst, eventual smut, poorly translated french and dutch, swearing, mention of parent loss, emotionally abusive parent, slight social media au, kendall jenner as fc (potentially more i’ll add as i go along)

a/n . . . so i took a bit of a hiatus, but upon returing i found i had written this chapter months ago and for some reason never published it, so here it is, more to come in the coming days )

Max Verstappen was usually a picture of confidence, there was very little that made him nervous; after all he spent his life driving at 200 miles an hour. Max was consistently cool, calm and collected no matter what he was doing, that’s just who he was. But as he stood in front of your apartment door, he felt a chill of uncertainty deep within. He had rehearsed his words a thousand times, but now, as he prepared to knock on the door, all eloquence seemed to escape him. Could he do this? Should he do this? Even though his friendship with you was still fresh, it had come to mean a lot to him, and if he did what he wanted to do, he was well aware that he could lose the newfound friendship. “It’s now or never” he spoke out loud to himself before finally gathering the courage to knock on the door. When the door swung open, revealing you stood there in your pajamas holding a rather large glass of wine, Max couldn’t help but second guess whether he should be doing this.  

“Hey Max, I-” you started, trying to find a way to apologize for kissing him and then completely ghosting him immediately following the kiss, but was interrupted by the Dutchman’s voice cutting through. 

“Wait, Y/N. Just let me get this out” His words hung in the air, heavy with anticipation, and you watched as he took a deep breath to steady himself. It was evident in the way his hands trembled that this was not an easy moment for him. Despite his anxiety, Max looked directly into your eyes, his sincerity shining through. 

“30th of September 2017. That is the day that you and I met, I remember it like it was yesterday. Pierre and I knew each other from karting but when he got his seat at Toro Rosso, and you came with him to the Malaysian GP, we met each other for the first time. When I saw you for the first time, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life, and when I got to know you, I realized that not only were you the most beautiful girl, but you were also the kindest and funniest girl too. But you were with Pierre.”  

For a second Max stopped, wondering if it was too late to run away and pretend that this never happened. He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye, afraid of what he would see. You were frozen, slowly taking in every word he said.  

“You were with Pierre, and I knew I needed to respect that. So, I ignored everything I knew I felt for you. I kept you at arms length as nothing more than Pierre’s girlfriend because I knew the more I got to know you to harder it would be to ignore how I felt. And I was right; because as I've spent more time with you, it’s made it impossible for me to pretend that this isn't how I feel. I know this is selfish of me, I know that the last thing you need right now is me making things more complicated for you after everything you’ve been through, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss. I can’t pretend anymore. You deserve so much more than how Pierre has treated you.” 

Max's confession hung in the air, and as he finally looked into your eyes for the first time since he started speaking, his own were filled with trepidation. He feared that he might see disgust or anger in your expression, but what he found instead was a bewildered look, a mix of surprise and confusion. For a moment, silence prevailed as you tried to process the whirlwind of emotions that his words had stirred within you. Max, sensing your confusion, stammered out an apology. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I shouldn't have put you in this position." He took a step back, as if ready to retreat and give you space to collect your thoughts. "If you want me to go, just say the word." 

You shook your head, still unable to find the right words. "No, Max, please stay," you finally managed to say softly. "I just need a moment to process all of this." You motioned for him to come back inside, and as he entered your home, the air was filled with a sense of uncertainty.  

Max stood there, his gaze locked onto yours, and it was clear that he was waiting anxiously to hear what you had to say. You could see the nervous anticipation in his eyes, the way his fingers slightly trembled. It wasn't just your feelings that were in turmoil; Max's emotions were on display as well. 

"Max," you began again, your voice wavering with raw honesty, "I would be lying if I said that I didn’t feel anything for you. But I’m just so confused." Your gaze dropped to the ground for a moment before returning to meet his earnest eyes. "I met Pierre when I was 13 and we’ve been together since, he was my first and only everything. So even though he hurt me more than I knew was possible, those feelings don’t just disappear” 

You continued, trying to express the jumble of emotions swirling within you. "I like you, a lot. And the time we’ve spent together has been great, but I'm in a place where I have no idea what's going to happen with Pierre. It wouldn't be fair for me to lead you on when I'm still grappling with my own emotions." 

Max nodded, his understanding gaze unwavering. "I get it, Y/N," he replied softly, his voice filled with empathy. "I don't expect you to have all the answers right away, and I don't expect you to suddenly be done with Pierre. But I also don't want to give up on the potential of what we might share." He took a deep breath, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "So, if you're willing, could we start by going on a date? No expectations, no pressure. Just two people getting to know each other better." 

Your heart swelled with a mix of emotions, but you needed to make sure he understood the complexity of your situation. You searched his eyes for any signs of hesitation and, finding none, you mustered a small, genuine smile. "Okay, Max," you replied, “If you’re sure you’re okay with me not really knowing what I’m doing, then I’d happily go on a date with you.” 

As Max heard your tentative agreement to go on a date, a radiant smile spread across his face, illuminating his entire expression. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and his eyes sparkled with genuine happiness and relief. His excitement was palpable, and it showed in the way he couldn't contain a small, triumphant chuckle. 

Max's voice, once tinged with nervousness, now carried a buoyant enthusiasm as he said, "Thank you, Y/N. I promise there's no rush, no pressure. We can take things as slow as you need. I'm just grateful for the chance." You truly didn’t know what was going to happen, you liked Max, but you loved Pierre. Things were pretty much as complicated as they could be, but Max had made you feel like it was okay that you were confused, it was okay that you didn’t know what you were doing.  

Content that you had agreed to go on a date, Max stood up to leave and as he reached the door, you noticed a moment of hesitation in his gaze. It was as if he was contemplating something, and for a brief second, you thought he might lean in for a kiss. Your heart raced at the possibility, but then you saw the doubt flicker in his eyes, and his lips curved into a warm, sincere smile. He decided to step closer and envelop you in a gentle hug. 

The embrace was warm and comforting, and as Max held you, you couldn't help but feel a wave of happiness wash over you. There was something undeniably exciting about the prospect of this new chapter, despite the complicated circumstances that had led to it. The mix of emotions that had coursed through you during the day seemed to have settled into a pleasant anticipation. 

As you climbed into bed that night, you were amazed by the unexpected shift in your mood. Instead of feeling worried or stressed about the uncertain future, you were filled with excitement and happiness. Max's genuine interest and the possibilities that lay ahead left you with a sense of hope and a newfound joy that you hadn't anticipated. 

Taglist - @lordperceval-16 @omarsiglia @tom-rec @hiraethrhapsody @barnestatic @ironmaiden1313 @dudenhaaa27 @aundercover @amalialeclerc @icarus-nex @reidsworld @simxican @idkiwantchocolatee @ruleroftheuniverse @faithm120601 @eugene-emt-roe @bicchaan @leclercdream @be-your-coffee-pot @pjofics @yunnie-f1 @girlintheredscarf @larastark3107 @rosalysaoirse @mycenterfold @janeholt3 @daddyslittlevillain @gaslysainz @princessria127 @laneyspaulding19 @fangirl125reader

#f1 x reader #max verstappen #formula 1 #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #max verstappen x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x oc #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen x y/n #f1 fanfic #fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #formula one x reader #f1 imagine

[lightlycareless]

uuu just imagine reading manga with naoya in bed while being cuddled up together <3<3

Hello!!!

Ok so this is sweet—kind of domestic amirite? oof. I love me some domestic Naoya when he's nothing but a loving husband. akgfhaksjghkjaghjkashgjas and a nerd too ahahah awww anyways...

warnings: very tiny mentions of smut. implications really. fluff outside of that.

happy reading!!

Imagine it being a cold snowy day where Naoya doesn’t have to go out on missions, tend to clan responsibilities, or anything else.

A day where he can simply spend his time in nothing but his favorite, deserving things, such as catching up with his favorite series, enjoying a well-deserved break from all those countless missions, and of course, spend time with you—his needy wife who didn’t hold back from letting him know how much she missed him.

“What would you like to do today?” is how the days would begin, with you peppering endless kisses across his face while the two snuggled underneath the sheets.

“Hmmm, I feel like spending the whole day in bed.” He sighs, kissing the top of your head. “The new chapter of the manga I told you about came out yesterday, and I want to read it.”

“I’ll make breakfast, then.” You smile, ready to push yourself up from the futon and rush to the kitchen—though Naoya had something else in mind too.

“What’s the hurry, my love?” he murmurs, pulling you back to him. “Going away from me so soon? I just came back…”

“N—No, of course not… I could never!” you blush. “I just… just wanted to make the best of today, you know? Please you.”

“You know, there’s one thing that will immediately please me.” He breathes against your ear, you shudder.

“…I still have to get your bath ready.”

“Can’t see why we can’t do both.”

You press your lips together, heated by his words.

“Ok, but we can’t get too distracted—I still want you to enjoy your day! You rarely get to rest as of lately….” You pout, he laughs before leaning to give you a kiss.

“With you by my side, there’s no way I cannot.”

After that is done, followed by a relaxing bath and a delicious meal prepared by you—Naoya insists in only being fed by you, not the staff; you happily oblige—you’re quick to take your place by his side on the futon, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and rest your head against his chest while his free hand holds up one of his favorite magazines, the one that publishes his favorite anime of the moment.

“I read they had to reprint this issue solely because of one mistake. Nothing too big, but apparently big enough to have the whole publisher pull out the magazine…”

“Gee, that must’ve been quite the task—And to allow it too! Is the author that big or something?”

“Kind of, he’s the best seller at the moment.”

“No wonder, if he’s not happy, that means no business for them.” You sigh. “I wonder if the change is even noticeable.”

“I don’t know, but that’s what I’ll figure out now—they usually point it out anyways.” Naoya squeezes you against him, kissing the top of your head.

“Well, that’s sounds like a wonderful plan!” You grin. “And if you get hungry, or want something to snack on, just let me know and I’ll bring it to you.”

Naoya blushes.

“I love you.”

It’s your turn to blush.

“I love you too.”

The rest of the evening would go on that way, with Naoya reading his manga, eyes intently fixed on the panels while murmuring to himself whenever particularly interesting scene occurs, if not scoffing when a character does something stupid—just as he did in real life; both gestures that you found incredibly cute, how relaxed he is when doing things he loves.

And though he was very focused on that, he was still attentive enough to your presence and gestures, hands and lips looking for yours whenever you reached out to him or vice versa, as well as allowing you to feed him, careful enough to not distract him that much.

Because you just couldn’t snap him out of trance, you know? He looked so adorable!!

Although it would turn a bit… too much soon enough.

“I don’t—I don’t want anything else, Y/N—” he protests when you try to shove another piece of popcorn into his mouth, going as far as moving away, but you simply stuck to him.

“Come on, you have to eat!”

“Not to this point!” Naoya gasps, stomach full to the point of exploding! Of so it feels. “I don’t—I don’t want anything else!”

“Tough luck, Naoya—If you didn’t want me to spoil you, you shouldn’t have stayed home!” you giggle, and Naoya just relents, because he can’t do anything else when he’s putty to both your adorable charm and insistence, his beloved wife.

A side of Naoya that fortunately, is just for your eyes to see.

I just realized that Naoya was the kind of guy to say: "I want a wife that is submissive, that is only attentive to me and knows her place and yadda yadda yadda" until you came along and he was like "ok I like that but... I also want kisses...."

Idk I just keep thinking he's very desperate for affection hahaha call it ooc I DO NOT CARE I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM. 😶😶

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this small thing 🥺❤️ him getting all flustered because you're always so caring to him is AGH healing!!! We could literally change him...

Now, thank you so much for sending in this ask ❤️❤️❤️ take care and hope to see you soon!!!

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

[makkir0ll]

summer heat

(reader x mattsun)

959 words

{a/n: I did in fact finish writing this at 12 am. So excuse any grammar and mistakes. But this in fact my first ever piece I'm publishing here. So if you have any sort of constructive criticism please tell me (kindly though) anyways enjoy}

it was mid-summer, and its that point of the month where the temperatures were at their all time highs, and the fact that your air conditioning broke didn't make it any better.

it's late at night, you and your boyfriend mattsun couldn't sleep comfortably. The humidity and heat mixing which made your sheets stick to your sweaty body in discomfort.

the two of you had made your way to the living room couch. The room is dim with only the fairy lights you hung in your apartment giving it a comforting glow, and the light of the television playing your favorite show shines on your faces. The windows are open to let the cool night breeze in along with the fans spinning at the highest speeds in attempts to cool the both of you down. You and mattsun lay on opposite ends of the couch, not being able to sit close to each other without being uncomfortable, but your legs meet in the middle, tangled with each other.

"Its so hot" you groan in annoyance. Mattsun glances over at you, wishing he could do something. Anything. To put the two of you out of this misery.

"I know baby, tomorrow we'll call the landlord again and I'll make sure he fixes it. And if not, we can crash at Makki's" he responds in a sweet tone, putting his hand over your shin to comfort you. You smile at the gesture.

He feels the weight of the couch shift, he glances over at you get up and walk to the fridge. You open the freezer and grab two ice cubes, you turn back around to face him with a grin on your face. He smiles dearly at you as he watches you walk towards him, handing him the cube. He puts the cold cube on his body, the cool touch soothing him. You move his legs aside as you rub your ice cube all over your neck. You sigh at the feeling.

In that moment, mattsun can't seem to get his eyes off you. You look so beautiful to him at that moment. Your hair tied back in a bun with your front layers clipped back. You're wearing a sports bra and the shorts you've had since high school. You're wearing your glasses, that you only wear at home or when you're too lazy to put in your contacts. He wishes you always wore your glasses.

"What are you staring at? Do I have something on my face?" you question, looking at him, and putting your fingers around your mouth. Maybe some of your dinner had missed your mouth. He shakes his head no, and you turn your head back at the tv.

Suddenly he feels like this moment right here, this is it. Sitting on your couch as your favorite tv show plays in front of the two of you. He reaches his hand into the pocket of his shorts and he feels the small velvet box he'd been carrying around with him everywhere since after your one month anniversary.

Now he sits here, next to you, two years later on the couch the two of you bought when you first moved in after a year. His stomach is doing flips, he can't believe what he's about to do, but he knows that this is what he wants for the rest of his life. He's known since the moment he laid eyes on you.

"Will you marry me?"

"What?!" you say in shock, whipping your head to his direction. All your focus is on him.

"Will you marry me?" he asks again. His stomach churns, he feels butterflies in his stomach, his heart is beating faster than imaginable, and he starts sweating. Not because of the heat this time. He moves down to the ground and gets on one knee, pulling the box out his pocket, opening it to reveal the ring.

"Y/N, for as long as we've been dating that I was going to marry you. Fuck, since the moment I laid my eyes on you I knew. I-"

"Yes." you cut him off

"What?!"

"Yes. YES. YES! A MILLION TIMES YES! I'LL MARRY YOU!" You yell as you jump onto him. You have a couple of happy tears streaming down your face as you and mattsun lie on the floor of your apartment, bodies tangle with each other.

He shifts his weight so that you straddle his lap now. You cup his face, leaning in to give him a kiss. "I'll marry you any day" You say between kisses. He smiles and pulls you impossibly closer to him. He pulls away and grabs your left hand, sliding the ring onto your ring finger. It fits perfectly. Its in the metal you always wear, something he noticed immediately. It has a small diamond in the middle, nothing too fancy. You look at it in awe.

"I know its not much, but it's all I could afford at the moment." He looks at you, rubbing small circles on your hip.

"It's perfect." you say softly. Looking back at him. "It's everything and more. I love you"

"I love you too." He puts his hands behind your neck, pulling you into a kiss. You gladly kiss him bacl. It's soft, its intimate...

Its....cold?

You both feel a gush of cool air blow against your bodies. You break the kiss and stare in disbelief and turn to your air conditioner, seeing it had turned on. You giggle at the coincidence of the timing, and you guys go back to what you were doing before.

Its still late at night. You and your fiancé mattsun lay in bed sleeping comfortably in each others arms with a feeling of love in the air.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! #mattsun #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa fluff #mattsun x reader #mattsun fluff #matsukawa issei #seijoh #hq imagines #hq fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines

[jamilelucato]

The Writer and The Illustrator (Part 03)

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Miss [y/n]

Summary: (Part 01 / Part 02) In the carriage en route to Lady Danbury's ball, tension crackles between Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] and Mr Benedict Bridgerton. Beneath their bickering lies an undeniable attraction that they both need to take care of before it's too late.

Age rating: 18+.

Author’s note: It's the end of age! No, I'm kidding, but it is the end of this story.

To read Anthony’s fic, click here! For other stories, click here.Enjoy

An air of tension hung heavy within the plush confines of the velvety blue carriage.

True to his word, Mr Benedict Bridgerton stood promptly outside the [y/l/n] residence at seven o'clock, resplendent in his finest attire, ready to escort Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] to Lady Danbury's ball. The initial exchange, with Mr [y/l/n]'s presence in the periphery, was pleasant enough—gentlemanly handshakes and cordial smiles exchanged between the men, with Benedict embodying the epitome of a refined gentleman, at least in the eyes of the [y/l/n] household.

But such commendation found little favour with Miss [y/n] [y/l/n].

Seated across from Benedict, [y/n] regarded him with a fiery intensity in her gaze. She couldn't shake the feeling of indignation at Benedict's earlier remarks, his unwitting perpetuation of the sexism she fought against. Who was he, she seethed inwardly, to lecture her on the perils of being a woman author in the 19th century?

[y/n] was well aware of the risks and well acquainted with the challenges she faced as a woman pursuing her literary aspirations. She wouldn't have embarked on this daunting journey if she weren't driven by an unwavering determination to realise her dreams. And yet, Benedict's condescension rankled her—his first foray into illustrating a book hardly qualified him to lecture her on the intricacies of the publishing world. He was a newcomer to her domain, ignorant of the trials she endured.

Still, despite her righteous anger, [y/n] begrudgingly acknowledged Benedict's artistic prowess. She may have bristled at his presumptions, but she couldn't deny his talent as a painter. His not-so-recent exhibition at the Bridgerton house, for the family's closest friends, had been a testament to his skill. Though she had been present under the [y/l/n]'s invitation, Benedict's work ultimately swayed her decision to enlist his talents for her project.

Benedict's voice, though barely above a whisper, resonated within the confines of the carriage, imbued with an unexpected intensity by the close quarters.

"You won't say anything?" he queried, his gaze fixed firmly on [y/n].

She unwaveringly met his gaze, her voice collected as she responded, "And what would you have me say, Mr. Bridgerton?"

A sharp exhale escaped Benedict, frustration seeping into his tone. "Am I now merely 'Mr Bridgerton'? No longer 'Ben'?"

[y/n]'s eyes rolled in exasperation. "Well, forgive me if the current circumstances don't exactly evoke the camaraderie of our long-time friendship," she retorted sharply. "Ben was the amiable fellow who praised my boldness in my talents as he delicately illustrated them. At present, however, it feels like he's nowhere to be found."

That woman threatened to drive him to madness.

Benedict's hand rose instinctively, gripping his own chin firmly as if to silence the words he yearned to express. The action seemed to quell the words on his tongue, preventing him from affirming that he remained the same Ben who marvelled at her talents and considered her utterly unique.

Somehow, Benedict couldn't bring himself to offer [y/n] the praise she might have expected at that moment.

"I have all the illustrations with me in the carriage," he declared, nodding towards the briefcase nestled beside him, unseen until now in the dim light of the carriage. "Before the ball concludes, we shall escape, and I shall escort us directly to your editor."

"Oh, why, Mr Bridgerton!" She exclaimed with exaggerated surprise, her eyes widening playfully. "It appears you've managed to summon your inner gentleman at last. Quite a departure from the sexist pig you were earlier in my library."

She was maddening. Utterly maddening.

For a myriad of reasons, unfortunately.

Benedict wanted to attribute his discomfort solely to her condescension, which tempted him to respond, assert his dominance and put her back in her place. A firm swat on her behind might remind her she must be a pleasant, nice girl.

Heavens! He nearly exclaimed aloud, reining in his thoughts just in time. Benedict found himself entertaining the notion of [y/n]'s posterior, a territory over which he had neither jurisdiction nor entitlement.

Clearing his throat, Benedict offered, "I apologise if that's how it came across. It was never my intention to diminish you because of your gender."

"It wasn't that," she responded, her gaze penetrating his. This time, he noticed, there was no anger in her eyes. [y/n] simply wanted to clarify her perspective. "You said I shouldn't go alone."

"Yes, and I stand by that," Benedict affirmed.

[y/n] paused, realising she needed to elaborate further for him to grasp her viewpoint.

"I understand your concern," she conceded. "But you didn't offer to accompany me. You only criticised me."

Benedict felt a chill run through him at [y/n]'s revelation. He had argued with her under the assumption that his willingness to accompany her was implicit. Not merely because she was a young, unmarried woman venturing into a dangerous part of London at an ungodly hour but because it was their joint endeavour she intended to pursue solo.

Now that he knew her secret identity and understood that this tenth book would not be her last, Benedict was determined to accompany her to the publisher's office on all future occasions. It would be against his principles as a gentleman—principles instilled in him by both his father and mother—to allow a lady to undertake such journeys alone, especially now that he was aware.

Suddenly, he realised, with a softening expression toward [y/n], that he'd be accompanying her to the ends of the earth from then on. He recognised the truth in his revelation. He couldn't envision himself being apart from her.

But the carriage stopped before Benedict could articulate his newfound determination to [y/n] or even offer an apology for any misunderstanding. They had arrived at Lady Danbury's residence.

As [y/n] began to prepare to disembark, ensuring her hairstyle was intact and smoothing her satin skirt, Benedict peered out the window, a heavy groan escaping him.

"No."

Startled, [y/n] looked up from her lap to find Benedict wearing a determined expression. He lightly tapped the carriage roof swiftly—a clear signal for the coachman to continue the journey. Almost instantly, [y/n] felt the carriage lurch forward as the horses resumed their pace.

"What are you doing?" she inquired, still adjusting her hair, the sudden movement causing her to worry about her appearance.

At that moment, she realised—quite abruptly—that lately, she had been increasingly concerned about her appearance. After her second failed season, during which she remained unmarried, Miss [y/n] had abandoned many of the formalities of fashion. She seldom wore corsets and paid little heed to the latest dress designs, opting instead for simplicity. Her hair, usually secured in a tight bun resembling that of a governess, was styled by her own hands, as her brother had also tasked her maid with attending to her sister-in-law.

But something had changed.

Benedict frequently selected her as his dance partner at parties where they unexpectedly crossed paths. They often rendezvoused in Hyde Park to discuss their book. Almost every afternoon, [y/n] found herself at the Bridgerton residence, although she couldn't quite fathom why she felt an unspoken obligation to maintain a polished appearance.

She wasn't oblivious to the rumours circulating about them. Many speculated that the two were courting, and why wouldn't they? What other reason could a single gentleman have for associating with an unmarried lady?

Still, [y/n] dismissed such notions as ludicrous. She felt like the most withered flower in the garden—what bee would alight on a flower with almost no pollen?

She consumed Benedict Bridgerton's thoughts. He couldn't help but gaze at her, taking in every detail. Only then did he realise he had instructed the carriage to continue, bypassing Lady Danbury's residence entirely.

Good Lord, he mused, in just fifteen minutes in her presence, [y/n] had managed to drive him insane, as he had assumed she would.

And, of course, he wanted to blame himself but blast it all; why did she have to wear the most exquisite dress in all of British fashion? Why did she have to wear a corset that not only accentuated her waist but also elevated her bosom?

Benedict, a gentleman with little interest in women's fashion, found himself fixated on it that particular evening.

"Mr. Bridgerton!" she exclaimed, breaking through his reverie.

Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] was, without a doubt, the most stunning woman he had ever seen. Suddenly, he regretted not having his drawing chalks with him so he could capture her likeness right then and there in the soft glow filtering through the carriage windows.

"[y/n]," he whispered her name like a plea as he wet his lips, "what's going on between us?"

She averted her gaze, feeling the weight of his intensity. "What do you mean, Ben? We're simply working partners."

He grinned like a mischievous imp. "No, we're not."

"Ben," she began, intending to distance herself. No, that would be a lie. His fervour drew her in like a moth to a flame, even as she knew she shouldn't respond. It didn't matter that she'd heard whispers about the longing looks he cast her way across the room; it didn't matter that her brother had overheard Benedict defending her at the men's club just two days prior. "We're just the writer and the illustrator. That's all."

"The writer and her illustrator," he echoed, but she barely noticed the subtle pronoun shift.

"Yes," she nodded, swallowing hard. "The writer and her illustrator."

A smile of pure delight graced his lips.

"I am yours, I'm afraid," he confessed, taking her aback. She, a writer, was powerless against his words. Involuntarily, she leaned in closer, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence. "Could you say it again?" he pleaded, inching nearer, breaching the space between them.

They were mere inches apart.

"What? 'My illustrator'?" she repeated, her confusion mingling with the intoxicating atmosphere.

"My writer," he responded, mirroring her phrase. "Mine."

He was marking her with words. She liked it.

"I'm also afraid I have to kiss you," he said, leaving her confused. Benedict couldn't need permission, could he? She thought she was being very obvious when she prompted forward, her cleavage at his disposal.

She might have been a virgin, but she wasn't naive.

With a swift, decisive movement, [y/n] closed the gap between them, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss. Ben's initial surprise melted away as he responded eagerly, his body instinctively leaning to hold her in an embrace. The tension between them for so long ignited into a blaze of passion, consuming them both.

Their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate, as the carriage rocked gently beneath them. Benedict's hands roamed over [y/n]'s body, tracing the curves of her silhouette with a reverence that bordered on worship. [y/n]'s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she surrendered to the heady rush of desire coursing through her veins.

At that moment, the confines of the carriage faded away, leaving only the two of them wrapped up in each other's arms. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the heat of their passion, their bodies moving together in a sensual dance that spoke volumes without the need for words.

Amidst their embrace's perfection and delectable allure, [y/n] sensed an unspoken yearning deep within her soul. Despite the exquisite intimacy they shared, she couldn't shake the conviction that there was something more she craved from Benedict—something she couldn't quite articulate or request. Each time she drew near to him, although he didn't push her away, she felt him place his own hips away from hers.

Yet, after countless attempts to bridge the distance between them, Benedict could no longer deny the fervour burning within him.

"[y/n]," he murmured her name with a weighty sigh, attempting to extricate himself gently with one final kiss, but the lady refused to relent, meeting his lips once more. "I must escort you home."

His words sent a tremor of apprehension through [y/n], causing her to withdraw instinctively. She had barely noticed that she wasn't even in her seat anymore: she was trying to jump into his lap, but as he kept moving away, she seemed to crouch in the carriage. Oh, the shame that flooded her being, her gaze lowered in embarrassment.

Her reaction tugged at Benedict's heartstrings, stirring a tumult of emotions within him as he swiftly reconsidered his course of action.

"Do not feel ashamed," he implored, his tone pleading. The thought of [y/n] bearing any semblance of shame was unbearable to him. "I must release you now, for I could easily succumb to temptation in this carriage, and such a fate is ill-suited for a lady of your stature. You deserve far better."

Though every fibre of her being yearned for more at that moment, [y/n] knew deep down that he spoke the truth. She deserved better. He hadn't said he liked her, for instance. He hadn't proposed. She supposed that, to be deflowered, she at least deserved that.

"You're right," she conceded, her gaze drifting to the window as she pondered their proximity to her home. "I've never done this before, you know?"

Benedict stifled a sudden urge to utter a remark that hovered at the tip of his tongue, granting her the space to share her thoughts freely. He trusted her to confide in him, as she always had.

"I've never been kissed," she admitted with such earnestness that Benedict was taken aback.

Never been kissed? The notion perplexed him. After all, hadn't she just demonstrated such fervour and skill with her lips in the confines of the carriage? How could someone as captivating as [y/n] [y/l/n] have never experienced the simple act of a kiss? Surely, no shortage of suitors had come calling at her door.

"No, you can't be serious," he interjected, his incredulity evident as he leaned closer, their proximity becoming increasingly intimate. It seemed he had lost all semblance of restraint in her presence.

"But I am," she insisted, a hint of defensiveness colouring her tone as she addressed her innocence. "I am a spinster, Ben. Gentlemen typically pursue the young and bright diamonds of the seasons."

"You are young, and you are bright," he countered, his brow furrowing in response to her apparent self-deprecation. "You may not have been dubbed the diamond of the season, but that designation would have hardly done you justice."

[y/n] found herself unable to muster the strength to protest. Further, a realization soon dawned on Benedict as he observed her resigned demeanour. Yet, despite her acquiescence, he sensed a lingering doubt in her eyes.

"[y/n]," he began, his voice softening with sincerity, "these debutantes are hailed as diamonds because they are transparent and colourless. You, my dear, are nothing like them. By God, you are the most brilliant writer I have ever met; your scenes are so well described that I had no difficulty drawing them. If only I had dedicated our time together to capturing your likeness, I would have employed every hue in my palette to convey the sheer beauty that I behold in you—the most exquisite woman I have ever beheld," he confessed, his heart swelling with emotion as he laid bare his sentiments. "And look, I'm older than you."

"Only by a few years," she countered, a flicker of warmth igniting within her, a profound longing to smile once more gracing her features.

"Wait," Benedict interjected; his movements stilled as realization dawned upon him, connecting the dots between her confession, observations, and the vivid scenes in W. Jabber's novels. "[y/n], if you've never experienced a kiss, how is it that you wrote such erotically charged passages?"

Her eyes widened in alarm, akin to a child caught red-handed in mischief.

"'The Flowers of Our Garden,' despite its intricate political narrative, contains some rather passionate scenes," he remarked astutely, drawing upon his recollection of the four novels by W. Jabber that he had perused.

"Nothing overly explicit, Ben," she countered defensively. "Nothing I couldn't have imagined."

"Did you imagine being kissed?" he pressed, his gaze piercing.

[y/n] swallowed hard, her mind racing. Of course, she had—what woman hadn't entertained such fantasies? In the past month alone, while toiling alongside Mr Bridgerton day in and day out, [y/n] had conjured more scenarios of tender embraces than she had penned words.

"And what of the intimate caresses described in 'Flowers'? Did you envision someone touching you in those places as the protagonist did with his wife?"

"Ben," she uttered his name with a cautionary tone. "Yes, I am no stranger to worldly matters, having witnessed much within the confines of party gardens. Do not judge me for it. After all, no one judges Mr. Jabber for his prose."

"[y/n]," he started again, rephrasing. "I didn't ask how you know those things in your novels. One doesn't need to have died to know death," he offered through analogy. "But I'm curious if you desired those experiences for yourself. The kisses, the touches...?"

She cast her gaze downward, contemplating her response. "Yes," she admitted quietly.

"Oh, dear," he murmured tenderly, his words a gentle caress. [y/n] lifted her eyes to meet his, finding herself lost in the depths of his caring gaze.

He wanted her as the protagonist of his stories.

Benedict realized that to fulfil her desires, he first needed to address their current situation. And that solution seemed clear: he longed to give a name to their connection.

"Will you marry me?" he implored, drawing closer in the soft glow of the carriage.

"What?" she exclaimed, taken aback. Surely, Benedict must be jesting, she thought.

"I desire your hand in marriage," he persisted. "Please, say you'll marry me. Say you'll be mine, [y/n], and I will support you. I want nothing more than to cherish you. To experience the passion depicted in your novels and beyond. To capture the moments in my paintings. To immortalize you, now and for all eternity, bathed in candlelight."

"Benedict Bridgerton!" she gasped, feeling a flutter in her chest akin to a young maiden's.

"Ben," he gently corrected her. "I'm your illustrator, remember? Your Ben."

He yearned for her affirmation, yet she remained silent, lost in her thoughts. Determined, he leaned in to kiss her, pulling her onto his lap, his desire for her no longer a concern.

"Say yes," he whispered against her skin, trailing kisses along her neck. "Say it, [y/n]."

"Yes," she breathed, succumbing to the intoxicating allure of his touch. "Yes, I am yours."

"You are mine," he declared, his lips trailing lower to the curve of her bosom. With a playful smile, he pressed a kiss before meeting her gaze again. "You are mine."

"I am yours," she affirmed, feeling a shiver of anticipation. And as he bit her there, tenderly, she surrendered to the promise of more—a promise that seemed boundless in the arms of Benedict Bridgerton.

Benedict left a trail of kisses all over her that night in the cramped carriage. He began with tender kisses upon the lady's bosom—no, upon his bride's bosom!—before trailing lower, his hands deftly undoing the fastenings of her dress until it lay in disarray. Though not entirely bared, she was more exposed to him than ever.

"I... I..." she attempted to speak, to offer some form of explanation or apology. Was it due to her appearance? But she felt anything but unattractive under his hungry gaze, beneath his fervent touch upon her curves. Perhaps that's why the words eluded her.

He scarcely afforded her a chance to articulate further.

Ben persisted in his passionate assault, his bites and caresses a testament to his desire to taste her, to consume her completely.

"I need you to sit back... no, that won't do," he pondered the spatial constraints of the carriage. "I want you to go back to your seat."

She arched an eyebrow, bemused.

"I will kneel before you."

A soft laugh escaped her lips. "No need to worship me."

He knew she teased him, relishing her playful spirit. "I shall indulge in that too. It's been my practice since our journey began."

A smile of pure delight graced her features.

"But for now, my dear, I simply long to savour you, and that I can only achieve if you recline in your seat."

[y/n]'s initial confusion morphed into a swirl of emotions as Benedict delicately guided her back into her seat within the carriage, positioned her to face him, and divested her of the remaining layers of her attire. Fully exposed now, she stood vulnerable before him, her naked form laid bare. Yet, as she observed Ben's reaction, his evident pleasure at the sight of her, she couldn't suppress the smile that graced her lips.

At that moment, her confusion ebbed away, replaced by a sensation akin to pleasure.

With his bride before him, Benedict ventured where none had dared. [y/n] had never fathomed such intimacy possible. Though she had witnessed many clandestine trysts in the moonlit gardens of ballrooms and countless exchanges of affection, she had not anticipated the sheer ecstasy of feeling his touch in places even she hesitated to explore. It was an exquisite revelation, one she wished to prolong indefinitely.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he inquired, his gaze fixed upon his task. [y/n] responded with a breathy affirmation, amusing him, yet he longed to hear her voice her pleasure. "Speak to me."

"I want you, Ben," she said suddenly, surprising them both by her boldness. "I want… oh!" Her words trailed off as a surge of sensation overwhelmed her. The intensity mounted with each passing moment, threatening to consume her, but Benedict halted before she could reach the brink of release.

"I want you too, dear," he declared, rising from kneeling. "And now, I shall claim you as mine, forever marking you as mine."

She regarded him with eyes ablaze with passion.

"You're ready, more than that," he continued, his words trailing off as he became lost in the depths of his declaration.

A smile graced her lips. "I'm eager."

He grinned; a devilish twinkle in his eyes caused her cheeks to flush crimson.

"It might hurt, I must tell you," he cautioned as he began to undo his trousers. At that moment, as he moved, [y/n] realized she stood alone in her nakedness.

"You must remove your shirt," she insisted, emboldened by her desire. Knowing Ben's yearning for her, she felt empowered to act upon her longing.

"I suppose I must, mustn't I?" he teased.

"I shall assist," she declared, reaching forward to disrobe him, stripping away each garment until he stood as bare as she. With gentle strokes, she trailed her fingers over the expanse of his chest; her curiosity piqued until her touch encountered something far more masculine than the smooth contours of his torso.

"Oh," she gasped, biting her lip in surprise.

"You may explore at your leisure later, my dear," he murmured, covering her hand with his own. "For now, I fear I may lose control if you continue."

Enchanted by his words, she acquiesced, allowing him to guide her hand away from his sensitive skin.

It had felt soft to the touch, yet beneath her gaze, she found it firm, rigid, and elongated. It was not what she had envisioned, but somehow, it was better.

She liked his use of words, so she let him take her fingers away from the delicate skin. 

The air thickened with anticipation as their desire reached its crescendo. Benedict's gaze met [y/n]'s, a silent exchange of longing and need that spoke volumes without a single word.

With a shared understanding, they closed the distance between them. Benedict's hands roamed over [y/n]'s naked form, igniting sparks of pleasure that danced along her skin. She gasped as his lips found hers, their kiss a fiery union of passion and urgency.

As their embrace deepened, Benedict guided himself inside her, their bodies becoming one in a primal dance of ecstasy. [y/n] moaned in pleasure, her nails digging into Benedict's back as he moved with a steady rhythm, each thrust driving them closer to the edge of oblivion.

In the throes of passion, time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, their cries of ecstasy mingling with the rhythmic creaking of the carriage. 

It was only them, lost in the blissful oblivion of their shared desire.

And as they reached the peak of their pleasure, they clung to each other with a fierce intensity, their bodies trembling with the force of their release. 

As they lay entwined in each other's arms, their breath coming in ragged gasps, Benedict pressed a tender kiss to [y/n]'s forehead, his heart overflowing with love and adoration.

"You're mine, now," she said before he could say it first. For an unknown reason, she felt possessive over him. "I think I... I do love you, Benedict Bridgerton, you must know."

Before she could register the astonishment in his eyes, Benedict silenced his own smile with a fervent kiss, his lips claiming hers with a hunger that spoke volumes.

"I'm yours, without a doubt, and I love you more," he confessed with a smile, though his expression soon shifted to one of realization. "I'll have to procure a special license for our wedding. It will entail some effort... but it will be worth it."

"Can't endure being my fiancé any longer? They say being my husband will be even worse," she teased, her fingers trailing through the dark waves of his hair, tucking them back from his forehead.

"I would gladly remain your fiancé for a lifetime to become your husband for as many lifetimes as we have," he replied charmingly. "However, having a bride who is... with child might raise some eyebrows."

"Oh, Lord," she gasped, her eyes widening in alarm as she pulled back from him. "You don't think...?"

"It's a possibility," he confirmed, his tone laced with both excitement and apprehension.

He felt her tense, her body hardening over his. But he ran his hands over her curves and, smiling, said, "Don't worry about the child, my dear. I heard that a great writer is about to release a beautifully illustrated children's book..."

At his words, their laughter mingled with kisses, at their secret and the promise of a marriage that was not only passionate but also very, very artistic.

#benedict bridgerton x yn #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton fic #benedict x reader #mr bridgerton #polin #anthony bridgerton

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Bleach

[yoongi x reader] [1.3k+ of tolerable angst and fluff if you squint; nothing much going on but feelings are there]

A/N: I wrote this when I was missing Yoongi and weeks have passed and I'm still missing him. My bad on the late publish! Work and life got to me. :/ I hope you still remember me.

-

Yoongi hadn't moved since the moment he entered the shop and sat himself at your usual table at the corner of the artisan cafe. The spot hides you from everyone else, but you get a pretty view of passers-by. And while most patrons would avoid getting seated at the table, for you and Yoongi, it was a haven and you were just glad you didn’t have a lot of competition over the seats.

Thus, Yoongi thinks it's cruel, how, in a matter of minutes, the corner that once felt like a safe place for you and him, suddenly feels too claustrophobic for him alone. He wants nothing but to leave the place.

Your quick departure was a contrast to his static posture at the wooden seat—ruminating, processing everything. You left as quickly as you came.

He estimates you had only stayed for half an hour, and in those gone minutes, it was only you who talked while he was shocked and blindsided by what was happening that he was rendered speechless.

"Yoongi, let's break up."

No hello kiss on the cheek, or not even a curt Hi. You dived straight to the point. Your candor is a trait he appreciates, but today, he feels otherwise.

His brain struggled to comprehend what your words meant. He heard you, but somehow he didn't understand the words and all that followed. Yoongi is a man of few words—never one to talk nonstop or hold the mic at get-togethers; rather, Yoongi is a listener.

But just for today of all days, he hoped he was more vocal; articulate.

Yoongi heaves a dry rueful chuckle.

How unbelievable, he sighs.

Was this a fever dream? Did he accidentally fall asleep while waiting for you and if he wakes up now, will he find you still seated in your chair taking pictures of him as you muffle your giggles.

He finds himself bargaining to whoever was listening to let this be a dream.

The café starts to fill up, he notices.

For years, Yoongi sat on the very same chair his ass is at right now and across from him is where you should be… still—that's how it always was. He doesn't see the point of staying and saving the other chair now.

He looks around one last time. Yoongi holds on to the chance that you're still in the café pulling a mean trick on him and yet, as his eyes land on his pitiful reflection on the glass, he loses heart.

He lets a few seconds pass before he takes the cup of coffee he ordered for you, albeit it's too sweet and creamy for this taste, he'd rather not have it thrown away.

At least, he'd get to save something that shouldn't go to waste today.

-

People say when you do something in repetition, it dulls the emotion that it carries. He wonders how many more sad desperate voicemails must he leave before he stops the aching in his heart. He hates the yearning and anger that races within him.

"Y/N. It's Yoongi. Please answer my calls. I just... I need to talk to you. This can't be it—the end of us."

He isn't sure if he despises you for summoning these odd feelings out of him or it's himself he dislikes for acting this way.

Yoongi had been recalling the days you spent with and without each other before the day you broke up with him. He has been desperately searching for a reason—he needs to know why.

Was it something he said or did? Or was it something he DID NOT say or do? Or did you just wake up that day and decided you no longer loved him?

It's driving him insanely frustrated. He doesn't pray, but lately, he has been whispering pleas and promises.

One phone call—just this once. That's all he asked for.

His phone pings and on the screen pops up a notification from you—Meet me at Hakdong Park, 7PM.

-

Yoongi fidgets by the swings. His habit of biting his nails resurfacing and he faintly tastes blood as he nibbles on his thumb. He peeps at his phone to check the time and it's not long before it's 7PM. Just a few more minutes...

"Yoongi," you called, voice demure. He wouldn't have heard you if it wasn't so quiet in the park, aside from the cicadas chirping in the background.

Yoongi quickly stands up, but before he could run towards you for a hug, he holds himself back and roots his feet on the sand. Instead, he waits for you to walk towards him. And as you approach him, he wishes you would hold him.

Just this once, he pleads once again.

But unlike his last request, this falls on deaf ears.

You sat down on the swing beside Yoongi. He copies you and sits next to you—mindful that his knees won't touch yours.

He hears you let out a defeated sigh and he was ready to lead the conversation this time, but you speak first.

"I miss you." You turn your head towards him and smile bashfully. As if what left your mouth was something that shouldn't have been let out.

Yoongi can hear his heart beating, melting the bitter feeling you poured on his heart not long ago. "Then why didn't you answer my calls?" He wanted the words he spewed to be pointed, accusing. But that was never him, both of you knew that, unfortunately.

You hum as you scratch your nails in your jeans—a nervous tick of yours that Yoongi learned over the years. He also knows how to quell those nerves and his own hand starts to fidget as he lingers to reach for yours.

"I was afraid of what you would say." There were long spaces of breath between your words, as if unsure.

"You were afraid...of me?" Yoongi confirms. He's left more confused than the last time. He tilts his head to peek at you, but the darkness and shadows cover your face.

"Not exactly. I guess it's more of your words. I had to keep away from you because I was afraid you would change my mind...about the break up."

Yoongi hums and nods. "At first that's why I called you." He wouldn't deny it, because his first thought was to do just that. But as emotions settled and he found himself in a better headspace, he realized he wanted more to understand why you wanted to end things with him. "But now, I just need to know why. At least make me understand where you're coming from."

Keeping his crawling limbs to him, Yoongi clenches and unclenches his hands. He glances at you as you nod and visibly gulp air. He catches the shift in your eyes, and he knows how your mind works overtime. He wonders if you're thinking of an amicable reason to shoo him away or were there just too many reasons to consider that you had to take time and sort your thoughts?

The former has to be it. He always knew he was difficult to love—always lacking. Not enough of this, not enough of that. He thinks he's got your answer, and he thinks he might not be able to take it if he hears it from you—so he prepares to leave.

"I loved you too much," you murmur. Seeming afraid of your confession. Disregarding his earlier doubts, Yoongi stands from the wooden plank. He kneels in front of you and takes your freezing hands between his, bloodied thumb circling your knuckles.

It wasn't a reason he expected nor considered. His confusion must have shone through his face that made you let out a sad smile.

"You really should stop biting your nails." Yoongi watches in slow motion as you take his hand in your palms and lift them to your lips for a soft peck.

-

#yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts suga #yoongi fic #bts

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

~ Bonded by a Ring | JJK

Pairing: CEO!husband!Jungkook x writer!fem!wife!Reader

Warnings: arranged marriage, fluff, a bit of angst. (This is a light chapter tbh, I can't think of anymore triggering content. Let me know if I missed anything!)

Summary: We take a look at your life as Mrs. Jeon, wife of the rich heir to Jeon Enterprises, Jungkook. He was a handsome gentleman who you were able to call your husband yet the relationship between you both was entirely political and civil. Could feelings begin to sparkle between the cracks of marriage?

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: This was supposed to come out yesterday on Kook's birthday but I was busy and I couldn't edit it but here it is! I'll continue writing this small drabble series when I find the time while also working on other fics I hope to be able to publish soon.

Let me know your thoughts on this one in the comments, please! Drabbles are open for this au in case you want to request something my inbox is open!!💜

It was dark outside. Dusk had settled a while ago and your husband was still not home. You worried for him, for his health. He worked so much and rested too little.

You were sitting on the couch, your laptop rested atop your folded legs. Glancing at the clock you noticed how it was nearly midnight. You sighed. This was not new for you. For Jungkook to always come home late, seldom were those times in which he dined with you.

Rarely did you ever go to bed together as you often found yourself curled in the large mattress without him to keep you warm during the night.

You and Jungkook have been married for some months now. A marriage that was arranged by his parents. A marriage that was of advantage to you both for he needed to have a wife and an heir to inherit his family's company and you, well you needed his name.

As an author who had published her first novel, you became really popular in the world of words and books and you could thank it all to your husband's marketing team.

There was no love between you two. But you didn't hate him either. The relationship between you and Jungkook was a polite one, he was ever the gentleman with you and in exchange he obtained your respect.

You cared for him to a certain extent. You always made sure he never left for work on an empty stomach and had ready some light dinner for when he came home late. You always made sure his shirts were ironed and his shoes polished.

And in return, Jungkook always gave you anything you could possibly need. Do you have an appointment with your editor? He'd make sure his chauffeur would drive you there. Do you need some new clothes? You could always use his credit card. Do you want to get Bam a new toy? He’d made sure to bring you the best catalogues he could find for you to choose what to buy for the spoiled dog who had earned your heart too quickly.

It was a balanced relationship. He respected you, you respected him. Jungkook had his life, you had yours. But to the public, you both were a happily married couple. While inside closed doors, you treated each other as an old acquaintance of another lifetime.

Your attention got stolen by the sound of the electronic lock as the front door opened and in came Jungkook. Even from where you sat, you could see the tiredness in his body. The exhaustion.

You put the laptop aside before standing up and walking towards him. You took his coat from his hands and presented his slippers to him.

If Jungkook hadn't been that tired at that moment he'd have thanked you with a soft smile.

"I'm glad you're home, do you want to eat something? I can heat you up some dinner if you'd like?"

He let out a sigh, the stress, problems and frustration from work were getting on his nerves. And to even think that he had to go back tomorrow...

"No, I'm fine, (y/n). I just want to sleep."

You nodded, placing his coat in the hanger while putting his shoes in its place. The scent of his cologne invaded your senses and your touch lingered on the heavy robe he previously wore for longer than needed.

Your eyes followed his figure as he disappeared in one of the hallways and into the bedroom you both shared. You have never minded sharing a room with him, let alone the bed. The other two rooms in the large flat were transformed in your study while the other was his personal gym.

Walking back into the living room, you saved the draft of the story you had been working on for some time now before you powered off your laptop.

For a moment, your eyes lingered on the city lights. They looked so close yet so far at the same time. The large glass windows that reached from the floor up to the ceiling allowed you to see such a beautiful view.

You felt a sudden sense of loneliness wash over you. Something that felt strange in you, something you couldn't describe, let alone place its source.

With a sigh you turned around, your arms were hugging your figure as you approached the couch once more. You placed the laptop on the coffee table before walking towards the bedroom, turning the lights off on your way.

Jungkook was already lying down on his side of the bed, his back facing you. With quick and silent movements you approached the other side of the bed and sat down before getting yourself under the covers.

You assumed your husband was already asleep as deep breaths could be heard in the quietness of the place. You turned on your right side, facing his back as you shut your tired eyes after having been in front of a screen for too long.

"Goodnight, (y/n)."

Those whispered words reached you before you fell into your deep slumber. You mumbled the words back as you succumbed to the tiredness in your body.

"Goodnight, Jungkook."

Little were you aware of the fluttering in your husband's heart at your words. Of the small smile that graced his lips at the little attentions you always gave him. By the way you were slowly entering his heart without you having the slightest idea.

Jungkook was woken up by his noisy alarm and he cursed under his breath before turning the frustrating noise off. With a sigh he sat up, one of his hands ruffled his hair before he stood up and went to the bathroom as he needed to get ready to go to the company yet again.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, Jungkook stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft noise that nearly echoed in the overly silent apartment.

"Bam, stop it. You already had breakfast."

He heard your voice from somewhere in his large home as the smell of coffee suddenly hit him. His feet carried him over the hallway and across the living room until he entered the kitchen that faced the dining area.

Jungkook saw how you had prepared a plate filled with fruit and some yoghurt as well as a cup of coffee. He couldn't help the smile that grew on his face, the moment itself was precious as if gotten out of one of the dramas he had caught you watching from time to time when you needed inspiration to write or to simply pass the time.

His stomach fluttered when you lifted your gaze from the large yet cute dog who stole your attention to look at your husband. A smile on your own was painted over your lips.

Time seemed to stop when your eyes met his, Jungkook didn't know for how long the both of you stayed like that. As if trapped in a loop of time of perfection. Almost like a real married couple did.

He broke eye contact and cleared his throat, as if snapping himself from some kind of spell. A spell only you conjure over me. The thought crossed his mind before he could stop it. Your smile disappeared from your face as you looked aside, your cheeks heating.

"Did... did you sleep well?"

You asked after a moment or two of silence. Even Bam stopped moving by your side as if somehow the canine felt the subtle tension rising in the kitchen.

"Yes, thank you."

Then it was awkward again. You didn't know what to say. He wasn't moving, neither were you. He didn't seem to want to lift his gaze as it was placed on the white floor beneath his feet. As if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"I made you some breakfast. It is not healthy for you to leave on an empty stomach, Jungkook."

He hummed, walking toward the stool before sitting down, his breakfast resting on the marble counter.

"I'm going to take a shower."

You excused yourself and left the kitchen, not allowing your husband to say anything as the next second you were already walking down the hallway.

A sigh left your lips as you leaned on the closed door of your shared bedroom. What just happened? You thought to yourself while pressing the back of your hands up to your cheeks to try and cool down the skin that felt suddenly too hot.

You decided a cold shower would help you clear your mind so you didn't waste another minute to grab your clothes and hop into the shower, allowing the cool water to run down your body and refresh your mind.

Jungkook sat at the stool, spoon in hand as he ate the last of his yoghurt. His cup of coffee was already half empty when you emerged from the bedroom, your hair was wet and you were wearing fresh clothes.

The scent of your shampoo hit him and there it was, the fluttering in his heart, the soft churning of his stomach.

He emptied the bowl with his breakfast and downed the remnants of his coffee before he stood up.

"I have to leave now."

Your hands picked up his bowl and cup as you placed them on the sink.

"Have a nice day, Jungkook."

He didn't know what was happening. Everyday you woke up and prepared some breakfast for him, sometimes he ate it at the flat other times he took it with him to eat it at the office.

Why was he feeling so strange right now when what you were doing was completely normal?

You turned to look at him with a warm smile over your lips, ignoring the way your heart sped up a little by the mere sight of him or the way you felt your palms begin to sweat due to the nerves of being with him in the same room.

He mirrored your smile and you swore you had seen Heaven. You loved his smile. You had always found it pretty. It suited him. Not that you had ever told him that but it was a thought you had had since you first met.

"Don't forget to have breakfast, (y/n). I'll try to come back a bit earlier today."

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the thought of him coming home at a decent hour from work.

"Oh, that's good. Have a nice day, then."

You mentally face-palmed yourself. You already wished him a good day, idiot! But he chuckled, walking away from the kitchen and toward the front door. You watched him like every other day, you watched him put his coat on as well as his shoes.

Jungkook turned around and smiled at you before he was out of the door, the soft click of the lock echoed so loudly in the now nearly empty flat.

You sighed, going back to the kitchen to prepare something to eat for yourself. Just like Jungkook told you. The promise of his early arrival set a smile on your lips once more. Wanting to be with him again, even when he had just left not even five minutes ago.

The reason for this new feeling? You didn't know. But you couldn't say you didn't like it either. Jungkook was your husband after all, it was only natural to want to be close and spend time with the person one marries, right?

"Jungkook, are you listening?"

His head turned to look at the side only to spot Jimin, one of his close friends and co-workers already looking at him with an expectant and curious expression over his delicate features.

"Sorry, what?"

Jimin sighed, a hand running through his blond hair.

"I was saying that we need to close the deal with Mr. Cha as soon as possible. It will help us increase our sales."

Jungkook let out a deep breath as his thumb kept clicking and clicking the pen that was in his grasp.

"I know. I'm sorry, hyung. I have a lot on my mind right now."

Jimin clicked his tongue as he put some files aside.

"Yeah, I figured. I'll ask Hoseok to look into this and bring you the contract for you to sign."

"Thanks, Jimin-ssi."

The latter smiled, more than smirked and said, his hands tangling in front of him over the table.

"Now tell me, what is bothering you?"

Jungkook knew his friend was going to ask that question sooner or later. He leaned back on his chair and said, fidgeting with the pen in between his fingers.

"It's (y/n)."

If Jungkook had been looking at his friend, he'd have seen how Jimin's eyes widened at the mention of your name. He had met you on a couple of occasions, one of them being your wedding with his younger friend, that's why he grew surprised when you were the centre of Jungkook's current state of mind.

"What happened? Did you two fight or something?"

The doe-eyed man shook his head, placing his pen on the table before his eyes locked with the curious gaze of one of his closest friends.

"What? No, I don't think I could ever fight with her."

Jimin hummed, allowing him to continue.

"It's just that... man I don't know. I can't sleep, I can barely eat. My mind is always racing with the mere idea of her. This morning I saw her smile and... I just thought of how beautiful she looked while smiling. I want to make her smile like that, you know? I want her to be happy and to smile at me like that everyday, Jimin."

There was a moment of silence between the two men. Seconds tickled by, the silence stretched. Nearly swallowing the younger man with his own thoughts and racing heart.

"What? Don't you have something to say, Jimin-ah? You are always teasing me and when I tell you something serious you stay quiet."

The blond haired man seemed to snap out of his own mind. The only thought in his head was the one of Finally!

"You like her."

Stated Jimin. There existed no ounce of hesitation in those three words.

"What?!"

Jimin rolled his eyes, if anyone had seen the scene they would have thought it to be comical.

"Shhh, don't shout like that. I simply said that you like her. You like (y/n), Kook."

Jungkook swallowed. The possibility hadn't even crossed his mind. Did he- did he truly have feelings for you?

"But how?"

Jimin refrained himself from smacking Jungkook on the back of his head. Perhaps they were both speaking as friends right now but the blond man had to remind himself that Jungkook was technically his boss too. At least his future boss.

"Jungkook, it's completely normal. She is your wife, she's been living with you for months now. It actually surprises me that this hadn't happened before considering your one year anniversary is in two weeks."

The heir to Jeon Enterprises was too stunned to speak. Jimin had revealed a reality his heart already knew but his mind rejected to accept for he couldn't deny his friend's statement. He liked you, he really did. And now, he saw his situation with way more clarity than before.

"What do I do now, Jimin? Should I tell her how I feel?"

The older man laughed a bit. His eyes closed with the motion.

"See? You didn't deny it! You really like her, huh?"

Jungkook rolled his eyes, not liking the teasing from his friend.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Aish, you are totally clueless when it comes to romance, aren't you? Listen, Kook, first you have to know if she likes you back. Don't just open your heart where there could be a field of thorns, gift her things and see her reaction, do things for her and pay attention to her words, if she gets flustered or not. And if she doesn't show any signs, well then you have to win her heart."

Jungkook still had so many questions, so many things he wanted to know in order to act on the feelings his heart was treasuring. You were his wife, wasn't a marriage supposed to be sweet?

What he had with you wasn't bitter, but he found himself craving as of lately that sweet love of the heart.

He wished to be with you like a husband loves his wife, not only bounded by a ring but by sentiment too. To be tangled in the web of feelings that threatened to blossom in his heart with every thought of you, every single memory of you.

And he was going to do just that. To fight for your love. To win your heart or claim it if his name was already written in your soul for him to live in such a sacred place.

Bonded by rings, destined by fate. Claimed by society, yearning for a life by your side.

~Masterpost

Sept/02/2023

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

#jungkook #bts #bts fic #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook x you #arranged marriage #jungkook arranged marriage #love #sweetcarrotsandroses97 #bts ot7 #ot7 #bts jungkook #jungkook series #jungkook x reader angst #jungkook x reader fluff #sweet marriage jjk #sweet marriage

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 4, Mus Urbanus

Fatal attraction is one thing but stuck on a stakeout, a certain little mouse decides to push her luck with the cat who's been chasing her... just how far is too far, and how much more can they take?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Hahaha, remember how I said I was going to do shorter updates? Yeah well, I felt really bad for missing the previous week but I did have a lot of terrible IRL shit happen, so working through that was a priority. That being said, going back through all the amazing comments and everything everyone has written has been absolutely keeping me afloat! Thank you all so so so so so much, you will never know how much it all means to me.

There are a couple of Hannibal references in this part that, hopefully, will start to make sense by the last part of the story (which was, coincidentally, the first part written!) Not going to lie, I am just glad to publish this so I never have to think about this damned part again as I have been stuck on in for literal months. Also sorry if Soap's accent sucks, the only experience I have with anything remotely Scottish in the way of language tendency is my grandmother whose father was a Scottish immigrant and that's it.

Anyways, I hope you like agnst and interrogation scenes, because next week, König loses his faith in god and in mouse while tied to a chair! See you there!

❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀

PREV | Pt. 4 Mus Urbanus | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

“Mouse?” A voice from in front of her calls out, but only after she deliberately drags her feet into the threshold of the neutral ground, alerting him of her presence. 

“Quiet as a.” She utters her usual response, stepping into the little flat in Buenos Aries, Argentina. She hears the smile as Soap sucks in a breath at her little joke. Her callback should be old by now, shouldn’t make him smile anymore, but he does anyway. He’s easy to get along with, something hard to come by in war. She crosses the minimal space between the two and takes stock of his little setup. 

For a mission, it’s luxurious. He’s sitting, in a chair might she add, with a scope poking barely out of an antique window on the 7th floor of an apartment building, looking into a busy market square. His arms rest on a table littered with little signs of life, a map of the area adorned with notes and coordinates in inexpensive ink, no less than 7 pens whose caps are chewed through (everyone’s got bad habits but this little sin of his drives poor Price up and down the goddamn wall), two disposable cups with sediment rings denoting how much instant coffee was drunk from them at a time before they returned to their places besides their drinker. Most notably, however, are two radios in a strange moment of near fornication– backs ripped open and wires crossed in an almost pornographic display of field ingenuity. 

Damn demolition specialists, she hears the echo of Gaz say in her head and she absentmindedly rubs the scabbed over cut on her left hand where the shrapnel of a certain someone’s frag grenade got her two weeks ago. She wants to be mad but-

“Hear any good ones, lately?” Soap turns to her, he’s disengaging from his post, changing his guard for her to take his spot, just as command ordered. He’s been in this little nest for about 6 hours and she can feel his desire to scuttle and tinker about radiating off of him. As he takes apart his gun, already aware and familiar that she refuses to use anyone’s but her own, his eyes shine to life. The color of sky blue permafrost, yet they radiate a certain lived-in warmth impossible to distance yourself from. Eyes almost like-

She bites her tongue at the thought. Bad time to be thinking about König… she mourns. But, speaking of the man.

“Yes, but it’s bad,” she offers, in fake warning as she sheds her outer jacket before moving to unhook the case that stands between her and the assembly of her gun. She knows the warning will only intrigue the poor pyrotechnic more. 

His smile is nothing short of sadistic as he raises an eyebrow.

“No, like, really bad,” she emphasizes, throwing a pleading look his way. His grin gets even more shit-eating-er if that sort of thing were even possible. “I mean it, MacTavish. Pass it along to your long-suffering Lieutenant, and you will be picking teeth out of your shit.” “I’m sure I’ve done worse to Ghost,” he supplies, rolling his shoulders. Yeah, I’m sure you have, she thinks but is much too self-preserving to say, especially aware that the Frankenstien’s monster of a radio he’s resurrected from two dead circuit boards is likely not secure enough to promise any real privacy. She would rather not alert Simon Riley that she’s become a dealer in his and Soap’s arm’s race of terrible jokes. He does not take prisoners, after all… 

“Alright, alright, just don’t tell him it’s from me,” she smiles, putting her hands up defensively in a quick jest. “Okay, play along with me now,” he nods along as he steps away from the perch and lets her take his spot at the table. 

“So, what's the difference between a piano, a fish, and a gluestick?”

“I know about two-thirds o’ this one.” 

Mouse trap baited. She smiles.

“Give it a go, then.” She wiggles in the chair, pressing her cheek to the crux of the sight and its metal holder. She sighs into the familiar feeling of control that settles into her bones as she hunches over.

“Can tuna piano but’cha can’t tuna fish?” He supplies, half teasing her already.

“Yep, but you’re forgetting something.” She sighs and goes to fiddle with the red-light optics extension, Command is confident enough in her abilities that she was specifically told to take it off for this one. She hears Soap whisper a quiet ‘oh shite’ behind her when he realizes he probably forgot to himself and she laughs a little. 

“What about the glue?”

Mouse trap set. Poor Soap, always getting himself into ambushes…

She smiles wide and hums remembering how excited her kitty-cat was to tell her this part. 

“See, I knew you’d get stuck on that one.” 

Mouse trap sprung. A moment of silence.

“Oh fuck me, that one is bad.” Soap chokes out a hearty laugh as he collects his discarded coffee cups from her side.

“No thanks,” she purrs as she finally sets herself into position. “Use it at your discretion, soldier.”

“Aye, that I will.” 

Soap goes to rummage through the kitchenette to her right and she takes the moment she lacks supervision to indulge herself. She does not move her sights to alert the man with her of the wandering of her eyes, instead, she scans windows and alleys without visual aid. The stale air threatens to choke her as she rakes over the golden-hued morning scene with desperate efficiency. 

After what feels like an eternity of stolen glances switching between her targeted area and anywhere he may be, she sees him. 

Technically, she has no way to know for certain that it’s König, she doesn’t have his usual wave or cheeky grin (affectionately referred to as a Cheshire Cat Smile in her own belabored heart) to alert her to his presence. That being considered, there is a masculine figure barely peeking out of a window into an alleyway who is just shy of 7 feet tall and his face is covered. Yeah, probably König. She smiles despite herself and her company. She wonders if he has radio access to her little hideout. 

(She remembers the seemingly endless weeks of his arrival to her perch. The early morning light hits the streets the same way it had hit the forest ground that day. Like a fairy tale prince, beseeching a princess on hand and knee, he would always somehow appear in her sights, nearly as though it was just meant to be! 

His form stands out tall and proud from its surroundings and she recounts every single reason he should not be here. By the third time their eyes caught she’d decided he was doing it on purpose, but she never let him get away with it without some acknowledgment on her side. She can only imagine that if she’s getting hunted for sport, her calling out his position will, at least temporarily, halt his advance. 

But by this rate, she’ll be in his mouth by the end of the year. 

His eyes are cold and bloodshot red. Painted tears lick their way down the hood she’s never seen him without, possibly a feeble attempt at impersonality? Maybe if he looks enough like a monster people will just trust their first assumption and leave him alone. But she’s never been one to judge a book by its cover…

“I see you, König.” She warns out to him. He stills among the foliage, bathed in sweet-honey-like warmth from the rising sun. He does not shy away from his imminent death on the business end of her rifle, of course not! Instead, he raises his chest proudly, seemingly aware that the loneliness in her yields to whatever greater magnetism the loneliness in him commands. He’s an enigma, it bothers her that of all the people to put the effort into finding her, it has to be him. Mostly she curses herself for promising him a next time all those encounters ago, if she’d known what sort of a game it would inspire in the predator stalking her like prey despite her flipping sniper rifle, she never would have said a thing. 

He may be in her scope, but he’s got her under a finer microscope to seek her out so faithfully. She wishes she got this sort of dizzying devotion from someone, anyone else. It is the third day this week he has found her.

What she expects to happen is what has happened for weeks now, 1) he hears her transmission, 2) he smiles at her as a predator smiles at pray, his eyes find hers and her hackles rise in utter terror, and 3) he hums to himself and turns away, self-satisfied enough to have won hide-and-seek for the time being.

That does not happen. 

Instead, König sits down, right where he is, and pulls out that monster of a knife he keeps strapped to himself. He throws it up and catches it without looking at it, instead his eyes are laser-focused on Mouse. This is, of course, despite the fact he should have no earthly idea where she is. He plays with his knife idly for what must be an hour, but she does not- no, can not- look away from him.

She remembers her trigger finger twitching with sinful power, she remembers choking back the insistence at killing another lonely person, devoid of their autonomy on a basic level when they signed up for a mercenary-issued ticket to hell.

She remembers hopelessness. She remembers refusal. She remembers the smile reaching his eyes when she played along with his joke. 

“Why don’t rats like cats?” Her radio labors out. 

She half forgot what his voice sounded like, surprisingly excitable and shrill for a man of his stature. Her brain stutters around the implication of the only words she’s heard him say to her since the fateful ravine that gained Mouse her own personal 6’10” shadow. 

She blinks a few times in surprise, genuinely pondering if her long hours hiking through the woods have made her susceptible to hallucination and general hysteria. She is not thinking when she timidly responds-

“Why?” 

“Because they are weapons of maus-destruction.” Konig replies like it’s not the stupidest thing she’s ever heard in her goddamn life. Perhaps it's pity at the memory of his discomfort around his comrades. Of the thought of the way he tries to make his body so small when around others (truly an impossible task he routinely fails.) Maybe it’s irrational fear, twofold and buried in her instinct to shoot despite the clear disadvantage on his behalf and her insistence that she does not do her damn job, or fear of the inhuman man in front of her stalking her through the woods. Or it could be discomfort, no one ever prepared her for dealing with whatever the fuck this is in basic training or field school. In the end, it doesn’t really matter what it is.

In the sparkling, decadent light of a sunrise, her heart hammers in her throat at the first joke he’d told her, in some strange and desperate attempt to fill the meters of silence between them.

She laughs. 

And he hears it.

And with his wide stance, his ghastly executioner’s hood in the place of a crown, and his knife back in its holster- his beautiful eyes seem to smile. Suddenly, his eyes look lived in, like someone has just put up new curtains in an abandoned house. His whole affect changes hinging on what was an irresponsible outburst on her behalf at best.

And for the first time, she does not fear a monster hunting her through the woods, silent and purposeful in his pursuit of prey. Instead, she wants to understand a man, whose eyes have lit up like a princess has just laughed when he kissed her hand.) 

Soap wanders back into her small perch with two cups of coffee and sets one down next to her. She takes a quick glance and hums with appreciation. He takes another sip out of his and she remembers that they’re supposed to share shift for about an hour before his rotation ends.

“You treat all your girls to coffee in the morning?” She quips.

“Only the pretty ones,” he returns with an effortless charisma and her breath catches.

Not because of Soap, but because in that alleyway, where she really shouldn’t be looking, she sees the uneasy rise of two massive shoulders and-

Oh my god, did König just… get jealous? 

The next idea she has is downright evil, really this is not the place or the time or any of that but-

Fuck it. She’s already flirting with the enemy, what more could this do? She’s already told the poor mountain of a man something dangerously adjacent to “God I really missed you when we didn’t talk to each other for three weeks like a horny teenager and by the way I love you desperately and think about you when I’ve got my hands down my pants,” and she probably imagined him tensing up, anyways. No harm, no foul. 

Maybe, it's dangerous, to wave a steak in front of a mountain lion, but what if she wants to get mauled?

“Hey Soap, what page are you on?” She says, putting her terrible plan into action. She sees him look up from his report, or more likely an idle sketch, on her periphery. 

“Ah, only the second chapter, did'ya move my bookmark?”

“Nope, the book’s in the leftmost pocket in my duffle.”

“Thank ya,” He says and moves from his spot to go fetch the book from it. She takes a quick sip of her coffee, delighted to realize he’s made it to her specifications as far as milk and sugar go, as he rummages around in her bag.

The impromptu book club started nearly eight months ago when Nova passed her copy of Emma by Jane Austen off to Gromsko to help him with his English. That turned into Mouse recommending the book Jane Eyre to Nova on the pure suspicion that she would hate it, which she did. Gromsko still needed to practice and enjoyed the spirited discussions so he joined the blossoming group with an English copy of The Doll by Aleksander Głowacki after he finished Jane Eyre. Never one to be left out, and surprisingly well-read when he wanted to be, Soap had pitched the idea of The Lord of the Flies (because to quote “Fucking Brits,” and he wanted to subject others to his high-school reading list.) If she remembered correctly, Farah and Reyes had also started sharing copies of books they enjoyed occasionally.

“Can’t believe it was Gromsko that put it in rotation.” Soap says, pulling out a well-worn copy of The Silence of the Lambs from the bag.

“He said he picked it up years ago in Polish thinking it was a cooking field guide.” She offers, as the man next to her idly thumbs through pages.

“Yer shitting me, yeah?”

She just shakes her head and smiles into her scope. Soap laughs and removes his homemade bookmark, a pencil sketch of a stake-out view somewhere in Mexico scribbled onto scrap paper. He keeps his thumb on the page and flips through to where hers is, much further along.

“Yer a right romantic, ain’cha Bonnie?” Soap laughs somewhere between the pages and somewhere behind her. “Hmm?” 

“This part, that’ya highlighted,” she hears a well-meaning sneer in his words. “The one you put the hearts by and everything…”

Mouse’s mouth tethers itself into a terse line and she attempts her best noncommittal shrug. 

Somewhere in her line of sight, a mountain shrugs himself chuckling lightly. She wonders what it would feel like, to lay on his broad, muscled chest as he laughs, how closely he would hold her, how she could rest entirely on top of his chest and not touch the ground beneath them and-

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She lies through her teeth. Soap’s laugh behind her is loud and proud. Suddenly, his casual sadism isn’t so amusing when turned around on her. 

“Do you think it's because I like to look at you and think about eating you up—“ he reads from the book, voice dripping in mock chivalry and breathless romanticism. “About how you would taste?"

She feels her cheeks and ears heat up as Soap loudly proclaims her funeral to all those who may care, and she doesn’t miss the way König leans a little too close to his radio as he goes about mocking her. His stance shifts as if he hangs on the very words like he’s found a secret buried deep in her subconscious. Technically, she has no way of knowing, but Mouse knows in her heart that König is smiling. At least someone is having fun. 

Once Soap comes down from his laughing fit he puts her bookmark back to its spot and talks at the back of her head. 

“With your pressed flower bookmark and everything. Oh, it would be sweet if he wasn’t Hannibal the Cannibal.” Soap hisses out. “I always figured you were…” he pauses searching for the right word, “adventurous from how Gromsko talks bout ya, but seriously cannibalism?”

If she’s not mistaken, König’s hand grips ever so slightly tighter on the radio attached to the best. Maybe the battle plan has to change, but she’s still got some ideas. 

Soap is completely oblivious to the electricity licking up the air between her perch and one man on the ground. He looks around frantically, seemingly desperate to find her, and look in her eyes. Mouse is a sniper, she really should hate the attention, but something fatalistic descends into her smile as she lets Soap continue his little outburst. 

“I swear. You and him, yer sure there’s nothing there? He’s even given you special field medicine lessons, no one gets treatment like that from Gromsko.”

“His name is Sobieslaw.” Notably, it is not a denial. Technically, everything that’s just been said is the truth. 

König’s shoulders rise. 

He looks right down her site. 

She smiles. 

Come and get me, kitty-cat. 

“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You’re the only person who calls him by his first name.”

“Because you never put in the effort to learn it.”

“That don’t mean a thing since I don’t have tits.” 

“You do, just not as good as mine.”

“Aye, off it. Gromsko is into you.” She can hear from the way Soap’s voice carries haphazardly around the room that he is pacing and talking with his hands. She doesn’t turn her back, gaze still fixated on the looming shadow in her sights. Soap continues, entirely unaware of the exact type of beast he is tempting. “He swaggers around you, never even bothers to fucking ask to pick up your boxes, he just does it. His voice gets all soft around ya, too, like he’s cooing at a goddamn pet animal or something. He nearly got into an actual pissing contest with Ghost the other day when he bitched about you beating him in poker. Face the facts, Bonnie, he wants you.” 

König’s eyes have focused with the ferocity of an apex predator and his chest labors out concentrated and sharp inhales and exhales. He resembles a recently sharpened knife, desperate for some carnage after a particular kind of attention. His body is crumpled in on itself not unlike a cat getting ready to pounce. His heels dig desperately into the cobblestones beneath his feet. His hand flicks out his beloved Glock field knife with all the reverence of a praying man.

In short, he looks every part like he does in immediate battle. He looks like he did the split second before he started sprinting for her in the snowy woods, the scene that occupies her lonely nights when she tries in complete vanity to recreate the feel of his hands cradling her sides.

Mouse should be scared of König.

Instead, she sees before her a scene of complete and hopeless adoration focused so intently on her alone that she should be afraid of. Realistically, she recognizes the clear and present danger of the moment. Is König upset at her? At Soap? At a potential adversarial suitor by way of Gromsko? She doesn’t quite know, but after a career of intentionally hiding like a coward, she basks infatuated by the calamitous captivation he exhibits.

He looks like he wants to maul something to death.

As keen as she is on getting him close enough to try to get over to her (and ideally, throw her under him,) in her infinite mercy, Mouse decides the teasing has gone on long enough.

“I like Gromsko just fine, but not like that.” Soap audibly scoffs and König’s entire form relaxes. Both men mutter something to themselves before an encore of gunfire breaks out. Mouse’s heart stutters to a stop when her radio comes in.

“Visual on Gaz, he’s hit!” Nova calls out, clearly alarmed. Soap grabs for the radio right next to Mouse and brings it to his face, holding onto a few loose wires as he does to ensure the amalgamation does not fall apart in his fingers.

“Where is he?”

“Two blocks from south from you, Gromsko is a click out.”

Soap looks at Mouse with his heart bobbing in his throat. The pain and worry on his face is palpable.

“Go.” She says. Soap looks around frantically at their supplies, seemingly taking a split second worth of inventory, making as many life-or-death decisions as he can in such little time.

“Soap, listen to me,” Mouse soothes. “I keep overwatch, you take my TAC vest and stabilize him until he can get a medic.”

“Mouse, I can’t just leave you-” “You can, and you will. Go.” She says with all the finality of a door slamming shut. Soap doesn’t look at her again as he gathers her supplies and nearly sprints downstairs. 

Soap leaves. Quickly. Quietly. He never looks back.

Her stomach settles into discomfort and she looks through the door he closed with the same sad nostalgia she looked through falling snow and monumentous trees. She can’t help but think she would not get the same priority in Gaz’s situation. Like some terrible premonition, she imagines bleeding out on the ground as Soap turns away, never once looking back.

Would König come for me? She ponders, before she smothers the paranoia-induced delusion with the memory of his large hands on her sides. She looks down at her shoelace, where she carved a cylindrical hole through his effigy to attach it. The birchwood mouse carving that sleeps at her right toe gives a silent reassurance: he never really left you, did he?

By the time she looks back into her scope, in between the all-too-familiar white noise of war that’s broken out around her, she sees a shadow dart out from the alleyway one down from where König is. The figure is cloaked in the specific type of military fatigue denoting his affiliation, one that is unluckily for him, kill on sight. It ducks behind the building to the right, where König is. It stalks out, lining itself up behind the hooded man, brandishing a drawn pistol.

König doesn’t have the time to react to the blood spray that litters across his back from the other man’s head once Mouse pulls the trigger on her gun, silently thankful (as awful as it is,) that Gaz getting hurt allowed her to take the shot without Soap inquiring into her actions. (But maybe it’s her fault in the first place that König was distracted enough to allow someone to get the drop on him…)

König looks back towards her and his head lulls to the side like a heavy flower bloom weighed down by morning dew. His eyes, somehow the softest she’s ever seen, are also carving a large chunk of her soul like a knife cuts through soft wood. When he lifts his hood to blow a kiss to her, she knows she will never get her traitorous heart back.

“Danke, mein Engel,” the radio on her table whispers in his voice.

“It’s only fair. I did owe you, after all.” She responds, all together unconcerned with whether or not he can hear her. She smiles, thankful she can see those bright eyes another day. 

When he turns away, she feels her entire heart walk away with him. With every step of his fleeting form, she feels less and less herself, as though someone had separated her shadow from where it meets her feet. Something has changed in the air between them, a sad resignation settles into her trigger finger when she releases it.

For the first time, she does not feel as though she wouldn’t run if he took her, but rather that some integral part of her is with him as he leaves. 

All is fair in love and war, but she’s not sure just how much longer she can stand to play cat and mouse.

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo @crowbird

And special thanks to @bucca2 and @ivymarquis for finally kicking my ass into gear to write this. Can't wait to read yall's WIPs!

#Navigation -> Cat/Mouse/Den #König #König x reader #König x OC #König MWii #König COD #Char: Mouse

[amphibious-thing]

This is maybe a dumb question, but looking at the portraits of Hervey, I have a hard time noticing anything about how he's dressing that seems out of the ordinary or especially more 'feminine' for the time period (barring that one where he just has his coat buttoned super low and his whole shirt out?). Am I missing some obvious detail (material they were made out of maybe?) or was the his effeminacy/the perception of him as effeminate just more based on behavior than 'presentation'?

Not a dumb question at all. It was combination of his sexuality, his diet, his androgyny as well as his clothes & makeup. While Hervey's femininity was almost certainly exaggerated in satire written by his enemies there was some basis to this satire.

Sexuality

In the 18th century there was an association between effeminacy and sodomy. I don't think we can discount the role the rumours surrounding Hervey's sexuality played in the public's perception of him. William Pulteney's 1731 pamphlet A Proper Reply to a Late Scurrilous Libel satirises Hervey as Mr. Fainlove. Pulteney describes Fainlove as a "delicate Hermophrodite", a "pretty, little, Master-Miss" and insinuates that he's a pathick who "enjoys every Moment and Fruits of his Guilt". The 1739 pamphlet The State of Rome, Under Nero and Domitian satirises Hervey as Sporus (an allusion to Pope's satire of Hervey) describing him as a "Male-female Thing," who is "Fit only for the Pathicks loathsome Trade".

Pope's choice to satirise Hervey as Sporus in An Epistle from Mr. Pope, to Dr. Arbuthnot (1735) was itself a comment on Hervey's sexuality. Sporus being the boy that Nero is said to have castrated and taken as a wife.

Diet

Hervey was epileptic and suffered from a chronic colic. He details his medical history in An Account of My Own Constitution and Illness. At the recommendation of his doctor's George Cheyne he adopted a milk and vegetable diet. Cheyne believed that such a diet was "absolutely necessary for the total Cure of the Epilepsy” and also prescribed milk and vegetable diets in cases of “extreme Nervous Cholicts”. (The English Malady, p167 & 254) Hervey ate no meet for three years before reintroducing white meet. This diet was seen as effeminate by his contemporaries. Lady Louisa Stuart cites his refusal to eat beef as an example of the “extreme to which Lord Hervey carried his effeminate nicety”. (Stuart wrote this anonymously in the introductory anecdotes included in the 1837 edition of The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.)

Hervey also drank "ass’s milk with powder of crab’s eyes and oyster-shells" for his heath. This is mocked in the poem The Lord H-r--y's First Speech in the House of Lords (1733-4) that calls him "a perfect curd of ass's milk." Alexander Pope included a similar line in An Epistle from Mr. Pope, to Dr. Arbuthnot (1735) describing him as a "mere white Curd of Ass's milk".

[Certain City Macaronies drinking Asses Milk, print, c.1772, via The British Museum.]

The association between effeminacy and asses milk features in the satirical dialogue The City Macaronies drinking Asses-milk, at the Lacteum, in St. George's-fields published in the November 1772 edition of the Oxford Magazine which was accompanied by the above illustration. The dialogue mocks macaroni for drinking asses-milk as a treatment for "nervous cases" and "hysterics" claiming that it's "delicate men" such as the macaroni "whose fine feelings are sensible of the slightest pressure, that are acquainted with hysterics". The son of the milk woman wonders aloud whether the macaroni are men or women. His mother tells him "they're neither, they are a kind of half and half breed."

Androgyny

With his slim figure and a bit of a baby-face Hervey was considered to be naturally androgynous. When Lady Deloraine said to him and Miss Fitzwilliams that "in her opinion a woman could never look too much like a woman, nor a man too much like a man" Hervey admitted that "considering the two people she said this to, it was certainly well said; and I can forgive her having bragged of it to every creature she has seen since" (Hervey to Stephen Fox, 18 September 1731)

Satirical descriptions of Hervey liken him to a cherub or a fairy describing him as pretty, little, soft, dainty, delicate.

In A Proper Reply to a Late Scurrilous Libel (1731) Pulteney satirises Hervey as "pretty Mr. Fainlove" who he describes as a "delicate Hermophrodite", a "pretty, little, Master-Miss", a "pretty, little Scribbler", and comments that he shouldn't "sully those pretty Fingers with Ink" that "a Fan would become them much better than a Pen."

The Lord H-r--y's First Speech in the House of Lords (1733-4) describes him as "the softest, prettiest thing". In An Epistle from Mr. Pope, to Dr. Arbuthnot (1735) Pope describes him as having a "cherub's face". Tell-tale Cupids (1735) satirises him as the "pretty baby fac'd Lord Dapper".*

In A Fairy Tale (1743) by Horace Walpole depicts Hervey as a literal fairy describing him as a "Dainty little Figure", "most delicately Fair and light" who "would have been vastly Pretty if it’s cherry-lips had ‘nclos’d any Teeth".

*quoted in Lord Hervey: Eighteenth-Century Courtier by Robert Halsband

Clothes & Makeup

Pope didn't describe Sporus as a "bug with gilded wings" and a "Fop at the toilet" because of Hervey's natural androgyny, clothing & makeup absolutely played a role in the public perception of him.

The Duchess of Marlborough described Hervey as a having "a painted face, and not a tooth in his head". Pope described him as "painted Child of Dirt that stinks and stings". And the The Court Garland refers to him as "Thou powder-puff, thou painted toy". (see The Opinions of Sarah Duchess-Dowager of Marlborough p42, An Epistle from Mr. Pope, to Dr. Arbuthnot & Lord Hervey: Eighteenth-Century Courtier by Robert Halsband p138)

The fashionable look of the period required pale clear skin, flushed red cheeks and dark eyebrows. While washes and creams were used to achieve clear pale skin, white cosmetic paint could also be used to lighten and smooth the skin. Rouge was used to give colour to the cheeks. Burnt cloves could be used to darken the eyebrows. While some of these cosmetics contained lead or mercury not all of them did.

[Lord John Hervey, oil on canvas, c.1741–1742, by Jean-Baptiste van Loo, via Art UK.]

It's hard to know how reliable the accounts of Hervey's makeup use are however his portraits do depict him with this fashionable look (in particular the rosy cheeks of the Jean-Baptiste van Loo portraits and the Enoch Seeman portrait). While modern depictions of 18th century fops will sometimes exaggerate makeup depicting men with pure white faces and almost perfectly round red circles on their cheeks, Hervey's portraits are more accurate to the look these cosmetics were trying to achieve.

The use of cosmetics are highlighted in satirical depictions of effeminate men throughout the 18th century century. As early as 1691 Mundus Foppensis: or, the Fop Display’d was mocking men for the "wanton use" of "Spanish Red, and white Ceruse". In 1773 The Old Beau in an Extasy depicts a "Fop at Sixty two" who uses "Chinese Paint for Artificial Bloom". In 1812 Regency A la Mode depicts the Prince Regent applying rouge to his cheeks while he gets laced into stays. The Court Garland's satire of Hervey is just another example of a satirical depiction of a fop in makeup:

Thou powder-puff, thou painted toy, Thou talking trifle, H----y; Thou doubtful he, she, je ne sçai quoy, By G-d, the K--g shall starve ye.

[Left: The Old Beau in an Extasy, print, c.1773, by John Dixon, via Lewis Walpole Library.

Right: 1812, or, Regency A la Mode, print, c.1812, by William Heath, via Lewis Walpole Library]

As for clothing I have to admit I'm better at late-18th century menswear. That being said material and colour seem to have played a role in what was considered effeminate.

A letter to the Read's Weekly Journal or British Gazetteer published on the 8th of May 1731 complains; "Rich and coloured Silks are in themselves effeminate, and unbecoming a Man; as are in short, all Things that discover Dress to have been his Study- 'Tis in vain for a Fop of Quality, to think his Title will protect him." In particular the article criticises poke sleeves and green waistcoats. While poke sleeves are absent from Hervey's portraits the Seeman portrait depicts him wearing a green waistcoat.

Green waistcoats are also mentioned in a story published in the Universal Spectator and Weekly Journal on the 18th of October 1729 describing and effeminate man's clothing as follows:

He had a flower’d pink-colour Silk Coat, with a Green-Sattin Waistcoat lac’d with Silver. Velvet Breeches, Clock’d Stockings the Colour of his Coat, Red-heel’d Pumps, a Blue Ribbon at the Collar of his Shirt, and his Sword-Hilt he embrac’d under the Elbow of his Left Arm,

This green waistcoat is laced with silver. In the Jean-Baptiste van Loo portraits you can see a embroidered silver waistcoat peeking out from beneath Hervey's coat.

[Left: Lord John Hervey, oil on canvas, c.1737, by John Fayram, via Art UK.

Right: Lord John Hervey, oil on canvas, by Enoch Seeman, via The Collected Verse of John, Lord Hervey]

While the quality of the photo leaves much to be desired I wonder if the coat from the Seeman portrait is supposed to be silver. The coat he wears in the The Hervey Conversation Piece could also be silver but it might simply be grey. Sarah Osborn thought that silver coats looked effeminate. She wrote to Robert Byng on the 2nd of June 1722:

I believe the gentlemen will wear petticoats very soon, for many of their coats were like our mantuas. Lord Essex had a silver tissue coat, and pink color lutestring waistcoat, and several had pink color and pale blue paduasoy coats, which looked prodigiously effeminate.

Hervey wears a "prodigiously effeminate" pale blue, possibly paduasoy, coat (possibly a long sleeved waistcoat?) in the Fayram portrait.

The low buttoned waistcoat is somewhat interesting and consistent throughout his portraits, buttoned particularly low in the Fayram portrait. The effeminate Captain Whiffle from The Adventures of Roderick Random (1748) is described wearing his waistcoat "unbuttoned at the upper part to display a brooch set with garnets" but Hervey is broochless and looking at other portraits from this period the low buttoning doesn't seem to be unusual.

[Left: Detail of The Hervey Conversation Piece, oil on canvas, c.1738-40, by William Hogarth, via Fairfax House.

Right: Lord John Hervey, oil on canvas, c.1741, by Jean-Baptiste van Loo, via Art UK.]

Fur-lined suits like that worn by Hervey in the Jean-Baptiste van Loo portraits were imported from France or Italy and could be very costly. Mary Delany describes Lord Baltimore wearing "light brown and silver, his coat lined quite throughout with ermine" at a ball where "finery was so common it was hardly distinguished". (Mary Delany to Ann Granville, 22 Jan, 1739/40)

Fur-lined suits were somewhat of novelty in England and would become a feature in Grand Tour portraits. Peter McNeil explains in Pretty Gentleman (p123):

The novelty and glamour of new fashion goods generated excited responses to Lyons silk waistcoats, Italian velvets and fur-lined suits. There was a well-established tradition of wealthy men acquiring clothing on the continent and then having themselves painted in them, either in Italy or back in England.

(see Benjamin Lethieullier 1752, Lord Archibald Hamilton 1755-56 & John Scott 1774 all by Pompeo Batoni an artist well know for his Grand Tour portraits)

Hervey's buckles in the Jean-Baptiste van Loo portraits look to be set with paste (glass) or gems (buckles could even be set with diamonds). While it's impossible to tell what Hervey's buckles are set with these buckles could get very expensive. Later in the century macaroni were mocked for their expensive taste in similar buckles. (see McNeil p90)

[Left: Shoe buckle, metal & paste, 18th century, British via The MET (83.1.103).

Right: Detail of Lord John Hervey, oil on canvas, c.1741, by Jean-Baptiste van Loo, via Art UK.]

While Hervey was certainly a fashionably dressed man he doesn't take it to the extent you might imagine of the archetypal fop. Satire exaggerates. Hervey's enemies chose their words deliberately to humiliate him. The amphibious thing of Pope's poetry was in reality a chronically ill queer man with a taste for fashion.

#I wrote this post while sick with covid so if anything doesn't make sense I blame the covid #lord hervey #queer history #fashion history

[carlos-in-glasses]

Fic Pride Friday - on a Saturday!

Thank you for the tag @freneticfloetry @lemonlyman-dotcom @bonheur-cafe

@literateowl @ladytessa74 @liminalmemories21 🧡 And for giving me a reason to create a banner for non-WIP tag games.

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

I've opted to share from three fics- Suddenly in the Silence, Where All This Love Comes From, and Wrestling Angels:

Suddenly, in the Silence:

"I think the closet is haunted," TK says, fumbling the buttons of his lapelled pajama shirt. Carlos faces the opposite side of the room. "But it's from Ikea." "Not that one." TK throws an arm towards the white pre-fab nothingy unit that had housed their pajamas. "I mean the old Reyes relic." "My dad's tatarabuelo built that," Carlos says defensively. And occupies it now, TK thinks but does not say. Instead, he opts for, "It might be fun to sleep in your old bedroom like we did that time before. Snuggled up in that creaky twin with your adorable horse comforter over us." "My old room," Carlos breathes a laugh, "Is the most haunted in this house." "With memories, though, not ghosts."

Where All This Love Comes From

A single tear slips from Carlos' eye. Years ago, there was a young man in New York City called TK Strand and he had no idea that in Austin, Texas, a stranger called Carlos Reyes was aching, yearning, pining for exactly him. He had no idea how loved he was going to be by someone he had yet to meet. He had no idea how wonderful he was as a person with or without a partner – but he was about to find out. That's why you have to keep living, Carlos thinks, so you can find out.

Wrestling Angels

But love is going to come into his life, and it won’t be what he’ll expect, because it’s going to be TK Strand, a firefighter who shows up in Austin from Manhattan following a relapse. He’s a little fierce and rough and moody and funny. He’ll bring disorder to the orderly life he’s about to work so hard to create for himself and himself alone. TK will cause him pain, and he’ll push TK’s buttons, and then it’s going to work out, and he’s going to marry him. And TK is going to be the one to ask. Love is going to be powerful, runaway, gutting, enormous – yet weirdly and utterly defined by the small moments as much as the major events. It’s going to feel physical and invisible, like storm winds that take his breath and knock him off his feet. He’s going to have sex. He’ll have it with a few guys before TK, and every time with each of those guys, it will be somewhere on a sliding scale of outright bad, awkward, embarrassing, mediocre, good, better, great, fantastic. With TK it will be different. Supercharged, mind-blowing, right from the start, and it will also be gentle, romantic, connective in a new way. It will always be a deeper experience than with anyone else. It’s going to mean something real every time, even from the beginning when TK insists that it’s not going to, and Carlos will pretend as much as he can that he doesn’t mind.

I know I'm late so might have missed things but open tag and tags below:

@reyesstrand @paperstorm @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @heartstringsduet

@vineofroses @theghostofashton @lightningboltreader @chaotictarlos

@goodways @welcometololaland @orchidscript @rmd-writes

@strandnreyes @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @chicgeekgirl89

@sznofthesticks @nancygillianmvp @safeaswrites @my-little-tilly

@sugdenlovesdingle @carlos-tk @honeybee-taskforce @sanjuwrites

@alrightbuckaroo @never-blooms

@fallout-mars - If you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

#Fic Pride Friday #cig tagged #cig fic #my fic #Wrestling Angels #Where All This Love Comes From #Suddenly in the Silence #Tarlos fic #tarlos fanfic

[bloodynereid]

Correspondence

part 2 of Those Sunlit Kisses ! read part 1 here, part 3 here & part 4 here

pairing: robert 'rosie' rosenthal x oc (lucy everett)

tw: mentions of war, bomb bunkers, love letters, general fluff, mentions of kissing

description: the love letters between a young couple eager to see each other again.

a/n: whooo part 2!! this part was always in the works ever since i wrote part 1 and even if it's wayyy shorter than the first one i'm still proud of it. ALSO i would strongly recommend you read part 1 before starting this or else you will probably understand nothing that is going on. i hope you enjoy and lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

My dearest Rosie,

I realized you didn’t get my address the moment your train was pulling out of the station, and so I hope this letter reaches you safe and sound. I already miss you more than I thought was possible. What have you done to me, Rosie? 

The sun is setting and that Artie Shaw record you love is playing and my thoughts are just filled with you. I finished packing a few minutes ago, I’m all ready to leave for London in the morning. And I seem to already be regretting my decision to leave this place. I feel such apprehension towards my job and my life there. 

One small consolation is that you, my dear, will be closer to me. I eagerly await your response and remember you will always have a place in my heart. I love you.

Yours,

Lucy XXXXX

My darling Lucy,

You cannot imagine the joy that went through my body when I received your letter. Oh my dear how I miss you so. I want to go back to those days on the beach.

The summer sun here is almost stifling, it makes the oil pungent and the heat seems to be strangling me. I am currently hiding away in my bunk, trying to read your letter in peace but Croz keeps sending me these glances. It’s like he knows I’m writing to you and not my Ma, but that might be because of the stupid grin that appears on my face whenever I think of you. You are also plaguing me in every way.

I imagine that you are in London now, just hours away from me… I could easily just hop on a train and go see your beautiful face again. Or maybe you can come here soon. Just say the word, my love.

Tell me all about work and your new article! I searched for your paper this morning and imagine my surprise to find your name inscribed there in neat ink. They just published that article you were telling me about a week ago. It was truly incredible, darling.

I can hear Crosby calling, so with lingering thoughts of you I sign off.

All my love,

Rosie XXXXX

P.S. - Crosby says hi!

Dear Major Rosenthal,

Well isn’t that an official way to start my letter to you. Don’t worry you’re still my Rosie ♥. I’m sorry the heat is horrid over there, if it makes you feel any better I have to sleep with all my windows open because I feel like I’m about to collapse whenever a new gust of heat hits me.

It is dreadfully late to be writing to you but I am too excited to wait until tomorrow. It was wonderful to get your letter as well, my dear. You have been on my mind a lot today, what’s new about that? 

I was sitting on my little kitchen table while the sun was starting to rise and it felt like your arms were around me once more. Maybe I am becoming delirious with my yearning for you or it may just be the heat, but oh I miss you so much, my darling.

I do not know when your next mission is but know you’re in my thoughts and be sure to come back to me.

I am so very glad you read my article, and enjoyed it. I am also grateful you didn’t sing my praises too much, I truly do hate compliments as you know. My next assignment is very exciting. I feel like an actual journalist for once! I’ll be getting to do some field work and interviews so I’m very much hoping that this signifies some kind of turning point.

I wish I could go visit you and see that beautiful plane you were telling me about. When do you have leave again? Or maybe I’ll just take some time off to see you one weekend. Let us meet soon, my darling. Thoughts of seeing you again have me going all giddy inside.

Tell Crosby I say hello! I’m glad you have someone there for you, my darling, when I can’t be. I hope I can meet him soon! I sign off with a kiss and will now go to sleep, awaiting dreams filled with you.

Only yours,

Lucy XXXXX

Dearest love,

Hello my darling. It truly feels like an eternity since we last saw each other, that house by the beach seems so far away. If you’re becoming delirious with thoughts of me then I’m inclined to say that I’m feeling the same way about you. I have just gotten back from a mission and foregoing any details, it did not go well.

However, I did seem to feel your presence surrounding me while I was up there. Maybe it was because I was so close to death a few too many times and you steered me away from the edge. It was as if you were next to me and whispering sweet things in my ear. 

Oh I am so proud of you, my dear. And I will now sing more praises about you because you deserve them and more. I will be eagerly awaiting your article and I hope you aren’t overworking yourself.

My next leave is in about two weeks and then I have a few sparse weekend passes. Things are amping up over here… I can’t say much more but it’s going to be an important day. I would love it if you came up here but only if it works for you. I am sure I can find some halfway decent jazz clubs in London, so don’t worry yourself too much about that. I just want to see you again.

Crosby read the last part of your last letter and now has been harassing me to meet you. Apparently I look like a love sick idiot while reading your letters and I do have to admit that’s probably true.

I cannot wait for your next letter, sweetheart. I hope you slept well and know you have been in my dreams since the first night we met.

Always and forever,

Your Rosie XXXX

My dear Rosie, 

I am beyond glad and grateful that you are safe, at least for now. This may be short as I’m in one of the bomb shelters at the moment and there is limited light, but I wanted to reply to you as soon as possible.

I am sure that I can get some time off to see you in the next few weeks. I finished my article and it’s currently being revised, which is exciting. Would next weekend work for you? I could come down there and you can show me around the town, I’ll need to find some place to stay but other than that I am beyond ready to see you.

Do tell Crosby to stop harassing you since I will most likely be there soon to meet him. And do let him know that he is welcome to come to London with you at any time as I have a spare room which I’m sure you wouldn’t be using if you ever came to visit. I love you and I miss you.

Eternally yours,

Lucy XXXXX

Darling Lucy,

I hope you’re alright and this letter finds you safely. Next weekend would be perfect, Crosby somehow made arrangements so you have a place close to the base to stay at! He seems more excited to finally meet you than I thought was possible. Of course, I am beyond happy to finally see you again.

It has been a long few weeks without getting to see your face, my dear. I don’t know if I could survive another month without kissing you and running my hands through your hair. I go up again in a few hours and wanted to write this before I left. You should know that the note you gave me before I left on that Sunday afternoon has become my good luck charm. It sits in the pocket of my jacket as of this moment.

Maybe sometime soon I can go to London and drag Croz along with me. And that bed sounds more inviting than my bunk…

I love you my darling, and I cannot wait to see you.

Sending you all my love,

Rosie XXXX

BOARDING TRAIN. ON MY WAY. SEE YOU SOON. LOVE. LUCY.

part 3

so... little notes about this part: i actually wrote all of the letters except the last one by hand in one of my notebooks before transcribing them and changing a few details. i just felt like it would make them more real idk, if anyone wants to see pictures just like lmk haha.

a few other details of the letters: i have a book of like a collection of letters from wwi and i used some of those as a reference point. i also looked up a bunch of stuff which was actually a really nice self indulgent research project.

crosby was always meant to make an appearance but i ended up toning it down from the original plan.

next part will be the reunion fic and then there's going to be a time jump which will be fun. i'm really just playing with the timeline at this point don't think too hard about it.

taglist: @justheretoreadthxxs @callumsgirl <333

#rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #masters of the air #mota #mota spoilers #mota fanfic #mota oc #masters of the air oc #masters of the air x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie x oc #robert rosenthal x oc #my ocs <3 #harry crosby #nate mann #maria writes

[gadriezmannsgirl]

Hiii i had a request maybe you go with gavi to sevilla to spend time with his family and like go swimming in his pool 🫶🏼

Thanks to me going to the pool yesterday (Even tho I didn't went inside the water😭), here's a small blurb (This was supposed to come out earlier since I spent my whole night awake because I couldn't sleep, but boo, miss @gavisuntiedboot published a chapter of her majestic Just Pretend series so I kinda left everything I was doing at the moment and have been re-reading the chapter over and over again because it's a masterpiece, add into the mix Uni homework and finally catching up on the sleeping hours😭)

Pool Day with the Fam -P.G

Summary: A pool day is always welcomed

°°° °°° °°° °°°

"Y/N, hija, don't you worry please. Go and enjoy" Belén had said once more but you shook your head

"I will do, Belén. In a few, just let me help you dry these dishes, you already cooked and on top, washed them" You smiled "It won't kill me helping you helping you around a bit"

"You're the best, cariño. Even my own kids forgot I'm stuck here" She pulled a face as you laughed together.

Talking about the Rey of Roma and he's here

"¿Preciosa?" You heard Pablo's voice getting close as you and Belén stood there not doing nothing "¿Bonita, estás aquí?" He came on your view as Belén was waiting for him to smack him with the drying towel for leaving her to do everything "¡Auch, mamá!"

"Aurora will get one too, eventually. How is it possible my baby Y/N, is doing everything you are supposed to?"

"You told us to enjoy today!"

"After helping me clean up!"

"Sorry, mom" He hugged her "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Y/N already did it" You giggled seeing your boyfriend look at you narrowing his eyes

"Pero, ¿Y tú de que te ríes?" He asked getting closer to you as you were going backwards "Wanna have a real good laugh?"

"No" You shook your head already knowing his intentions

"Too bad, I do want to" He said before launching himself at you as you tried and ran away from him, Belén's laughter echoing the house.

As much as you tried it, he was a goddamn football player and he ran for a living meanwhile you... You studied to get your degree.

"Don't you dare do anything bad to my baby, Pablo Martín!" She had yelled when you yelled as he grabbed you in his arms and carried you towards the pool

"Nonono!" You yelled "No, amorcito! Please, don't throw me just now into the water, I swear I won't get mad at you anymore for you to leave the toothpaste open and squish it in the middle instead of doing it from below!"

"Too late, princesa"

"No! No! NO!" You grabbed onto him but it was failure.

The splashing sound was heard all over the Páez Gavira's backyard. Pablo, Aurora, Javi and Gavi were laughing. Until you didn't went up to scream at him.

"Amor, come on now" He said but several seconds passed and nothing "¿Amor?"

"Why isn't she coming up?" Aurora asked starting to worry

"Get her out, now" Pablo, Gavi's dad, said trying to remain calm as Gavi got closer to the pool when you jumped out of it, scaring him.

Now, you were the one laughing. Aurora, Javi and Pablo were also relieved and with light smiles on

"Puta madre, Y/N" Gavi said deeply breathing "I got so scared" You shook your head

"That's karma" You said "And this" You got closer to him grabbing his face to kiss his plump lips for a few seconds, your hands going down to his hands intertwining them "is revenge" You pulled him by his hands making him get head into the pool

You all were laughing by the time he came out to grab some air, Belén had come out with some drinks for all of you and was looking at the scene surprised and confused.

"Señorita" He said smiling

"Lo que es igual no es trampa" You said softly as he threw some water at you

"Chica, you scared us!" Aurora said sitting on the pool edge

"Your brother is mean to me, I had to do the same and get back" You smiled feeling Gavi lift your legs up and make them go around his waist, he tickled you as you squealed a little "Stop!"

"You stop saying that, everyone will believe it and it isn't true" You roll your eyes, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pushing yourself against him and kissing his neck.

"No, hermanito. Everyone can see how whipped you are for-AH!!" She yelled also being thrown at the pool by her boyfriend, Javi. We all laughed as she discretly showed her middle finger to her boyfriend

"¿Qué son esas cosas, nena? Those gestures aren't nice at a-AH!" Now, it was Belén who had pushed Javi as you all laughed histerically

"Don't mess up with my daughters, kid" She said smiling as Aurora and you cheered as she defended you both

"Go, ma!" You yell making everyone laugh.

Pablo was sneekily getting behind Belén but it seemed as if she noticed it because she turned around and the poor man quickly made it seem as if nothing

"Don't you even dare" Belén said as Pablo kissed her lovingly and threw himself into the water

You laughed as Belén smiled proudly "At least, we know who has the power in the relationship" Aurora said

"You always gotta have it" Belén

"And you always gotta let her win" Pablo said to the two youngmen with that life lesson tone, you laughed looking over to your Pablito who was laughing so carefree

"I already do that" He whispered against your lips, smiling

You started chatting and fooling around for the evening and eventually when the night hit got out of the cold water, all of you, now, in your pijamas, on the couch having a good time together.

"We should come to Sevilla more often, Pabs" You whispered distancing yourselves for a bit from the conversation his parents, Aurora and her boyfriend had going on

"You like it here?"

"I love it here" Pablo smiled widely kissing you once more

"Anytime you want us to, amor"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviypedrisbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld

#M. is writing #fc barcelona #fc barca #pablo gavi #gavi #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi icons #pablo gavi fanfic #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi blurb #pablo gavi angst #pablo gavi fluff #gavi x reader #gavi x you #gavi x yn #gavi imagine #gavi icons #gavi fluff #gavi angst #gavi blurb #gavi smut #pablo gavi smut #this doesn't contain smut but still for the tags :) #pablo martin páez gavira #football players #gavi x reader smut #pablo gavi x reader smut