#edited again because i found memory man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atrwriting · 5 months

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future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

#corio smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #corio snow smut #corio fic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus fic #coriolanus imagine #corio imagine #the hunger games #lucy gray #sejanus plinth #young coriolanus snow

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 2 months

Text

The crushing | joel miller x f!reader, 5.2k

Summary: This is the story of a man who had everything in the palm of his hand and traded it all for an empty space in the hollow of his heart. Or This story follows Joel, two to three years after he cheated on his wife.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST, cheater!Joel, Joel's POV, this is NOT “The Falling” from Joel's POV, brief mention of smut (p i v) but nothing too graphic (I think), self-loathing, depression, therapy, flashbacks and memories from the past, alcohol consumption, Tommy being a supportive brother (eventually), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Ok, so, Joel gave me a whiplash on this one, he was either staring at me through the screen giving me nothing, or he was mumbling unintelligibly in my ear while I was trying to keep up with him. It started out as a final chapter, but I really think that this part should be Joel's POV and the next and -probably- final one should be the resolving, however that may come. I guess it can be read as a standalone, but if you're interested, it's a sequel to “The Falling”. I edited it seven thousand times because I kept adding things along the way, so I hope it all makes some sense and there are not too many mistakes.. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

P.S.: I just wanted to take a moment and let you know that I really appreciate everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged and asked about “The Falling”. I honestly didn't think a single soul would take the time to read that kind of story. It means more than you know and I didn’t take lightly how close to home this fic hit for some people; yet you’ve given it a chance, sharing some of your own experiences with me. I love you all, take care and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! 🥹🫂

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

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...need your reassurance...

...your only focus…

...for the foreseeable future...

He did make it his sole focus. Because of course, he closed the deal, even after he left that damn table like a madman. He still found a way to get what he wanted. That's the man he was. And he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or not. But self-loathing was a daily occurrence now, so one more reason added to the list was nothing he couldn't handle.

For two years he would wake up every day, is it called waking up if he doesn’t sleep at all?, he would work his ass off, he would go home, he would sink into despair and then he would start all over again the next day. A vicious cycle consisting of 730 days in a row. The deafening silence within the walls of the house was excruciating, the loneliness was unbearable. Even the light penetrating through the windows seemed different than when you were there with him, a dullness surrounding every corner of the now barely lived in space.

You. He hadn’t seen your face in 730 days. He hadn’t smelled your scent or touched your soft skin. He barely listened to your voice anymore, any form of unavoidable communication, you preferred to be conducted by the lawyers, or via text messages, at the most. At the 731st one, he finally knew, something had to change. He couldn’t repeat another day, like all the others that came and went. He simply couldn’t.

Tommy suggested that therapy might help Joel, a few times, but he refused every one of them. Maria was keeping her distance, her place was delicate, being his brother’s wife but also his wife’s best friend. Surprisingly, she was the one who finally got through to him.

“Are you gonna stay a recluse for the rest of your miserable life, then?” Maria wonders, switching her gaze between Joel and the dining room. Everything was untouched, as you left them when you moved out, but the place felt empty, depressing, probably mirroring Joel’s existence.

Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not a recluse..”, he snarls through his teeth, rolling his eyes at her. He was more than eager to be done with the dinner his sister-in-law insisted on having in his house and be left alone, in his natural state. Alone. Infuriating woman.

“What do you call that?”, Maria persists, goddamn lawyer to the bone.

“What?!” Joel spits back pissed off, looking at his brother next, for support.

“That!” she gestures around his body and his surroundings. “The way you go on for the past two years! Either get over it or do something about it!”, she doesn’t hold back, even when Tommy proposes a gentler approach. Yeah, look where it got you, is the paid answer, so Tommy steps back, shaking his head and raising his hands up in surrender.

“You’ve got him on a leash, hm?”, Joel jokes absentmindedly, “Can you breathe alright, Tommy boy?”, earning himself a hard glare from Maria.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..” Maria mutters, causing Tommy’s eyes to widen in horror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Joel retorts doing a double back at her.

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”, Maria throws her napkin on her plate and leaves the room. Joel remains silent, pondering the meaning of her words. It would be a long time before he understood what she meant.

Therapy was hard.

Therapy was hard because he had to do it for himself. He had to concentrate on himself. He thought, being the contractor that he was, that he would walk into the room, get the answers he needed and fix his marriage, just as he rearranged the bricks and the wood and the steel on the construction sites.

But this wasn’t about his marriage. His marriage and the way it crumbled down was the aftermath, he came to learn. It was the outcome of insecurities, selfishness, lack of communication, ungratefulness.

He got it all wrong. Everything. Every little thing. He had to rewire his brain and change every point of view he was holding onto. Honesty. Honesty was the key.

“Why didn’t you reach out to your wife after that night?”, his therapist insists.

“I respected her boundaries.”, Joel was quick to respond.

“And what were those?”

“She didn’t want to see me.”

“Did she say that?”

“No-, I mean-, the way she left that night, she didn’t say much in general. But she blocked my number, so.”, he shrugs in defence.

“So, how can you be so sure that she didn't want to see you? Even if you're right, it doesn't mean that she didn't expect a reaction from you, or that you weren't allowed to try, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would she? I upset her, she needed time to think, work things out.”, Joel explains.

The therapist swipes her fingers over her lips, contemplating her approach. “Joel, you walk into your bedroom, into what is supposed to be a safe place and you see your partner with another person in an intimate moment. How does that make you feel? Just say the first words that come to mind.”, his therapist changes the point of view.

Joel shudders just at the thought of it. You, naked, flushed, lips parted and swollen, skin sweaty, breaths short and pupils blown wide, coming for anyone other than him. It would utterly destroy him. “Furious, pissed, betrayed, heartbroken.. I think I would lose it, if I’m honest.” he admits instantly, in his haste to throw the abomination of this image from his thoughts.

“I see. But in her case, you think your wife was just upset?”

“No, of course not.” Joel slightly frowns, shaking his head.

“Do you think she felt all those feelings that you just described to me?”

“I believe so, yes.”, god this is so hard.

“You believe so?” the therapist pushes, again.

Joel’s nostrils flare from the sharp inhale, “I know so.”

“So, she wasn’t just upset.” the therapist concludes and Joel agrees without meeting her eyes, “No, she wasn’t.”

Over time, Joel came to realize that his choice of words was a subconscious attempt to diminish the seriousness of his actions.

“You said in a previous session that you gave space to your wife to work things out.”

“Yeah, it was only fair.”, Joel confirms.

“So, it was hard for you to give her that space?”

“Yes, of course, I missed her every day.”

“Was that a constant in your relationship?”, the therapist wonders.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“How did you work things out as a couple, before? I assume you had difficult times as partners, no?”

“Nothing major to be honest, my wife was a very calm and reasonable person. If anything occurred she would talk to me about it.”

“And how did you respond to that?”

“Uh, I was there to listen, we always found a solution together as a couple.”

“Hmhm, so, what changed this time?”

“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.

“Why didn’t you talk to her? Communicate with her? Maybe help her see your side of things, like you did before, find your way out of this together, as partners.” his therapist explains. “And even before the infidelity, did you let her know that something was bothering you, that you felt differently?”

"I didn't feel differently about my wife. My feelings for her never changed.", he immediately corrects her. "My love for her was never the problem," he confesses and it's the first time since his therapy began that he's shared something so personal, so private.

“But there was a problem, something was wrong if you felt the need to be intimate with another woman. So, why did you keep that from her?”

Joel opens his mouth already knowing he does not have an answer. Or that he doesn't want to give one. He shakes his head, raising his brows in a silent admission that he can’t answer that. Or he won't. His gaze is fixed on a loose thread on the fabric of the couch, his fingers keep picking on it.

“Joel?”

“I- I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know.” he keeps shaking his head. He can’t answer that. He won't.

He was so angry when he left the session that day. He was so angry at you. He was angry at your honesty, your clarity, your courage to have a mind of your own and to speak it freely, knowing full well that probably no one else shared the same opinions as you did. That's what he loved most about you, but now he hated it.

“Own it, Joel. Own what you have done. At least that way it will be worth something. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”

This was one of the last things you said to him on the phone, while he was trying to persuade you to change your mind about the divorce. You were always so brave about those matters. Matters of the heart, of integrity. He remembers you always talking about things that he found admirable but utopian. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

“I need to be able to sleep at night. I need to own my decisions; not because I’m always right, far from it, but at least I know I’m being honest with myself. And that matters.” he recalls one of your late-night talks.

You usually found it easier to share your most vulnerable thoughts once you were thoroughly fucked and satiated. When Joel held you in his arms, your breaths almost shared over the same pillow, your scents and your fluids mixed together.

“We’re all imperfect beings, flawed; we all feel embarrassed when we fuck up,” you continue, “it’s hard to admit our mistakes to others, I get that. But deep down we always know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Admitting it only helps us to be present in our lives.”

“Be present?”, Joel seems fascinated by the way your mind weaves your thoughts together into deeply rooted beliefs.

“Yes, my love, there's no greater freedom than to live your life truthfully.” you smile at him, softly. Your sleepy eyes roam his face affectionately. Your fingertips caress his jawline, your thumb pressing lightly against the bare patch of his beard. He can feel your devotion pouring from your fingers and sinking into his skin at that moment.

“That’s one of my greatest fears, you know. Living my life in ignorance, in a lie.”, you whisper your deepest insecurity against his soft lips. His hold on you tightens as he rolls you onto your back, nestling his hips between your welcoming thighs. You are safe in these arms. His arms. You surrender to him, body and soul. You can feel his growing erection pressing between your folds, already wet from your combined releases. He tenderly brushes his lips against yours and slowly licks his way into your parted mouth, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He enters you in one fluid, slow thrust, his warm exhale cooling your wet lips. “Then let me give you something real.”

Thinking back to those moments, Joel couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had brought that fear of yours to life. What broke him was that it was not a lie. Your life together had not been a lie. He loved you. In fact, he was burning up for you. He was a man of control, but not with you. Never with you. You consumed his every thought; being around you for too long made his lungs constrict in pain, begging for a deep breath. Sometimes he was worried sick that if he completely let himself love you like he needed to, he would suffocate you. He loved you. And it killed him that his actions suggested otherwise.

But at some point he had to be honest with himself. He was just protecting his ego. He was trying to get the upper hand out of a shitty, compromising situation. He wasn't being thoughtful, he was being selfish. He was biding his time. He thought the longer he left ‘it’ untouched, the less it would hurt when the inevitable time of confrontation came. He was scared out of his mind that he would lose you forever. No second chances, no redemption, no reconciliation.

No lingering scent on his pillow as your hair pools there, under his chin, as you nestle your face between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. No laughter through the enormous house, damn, why did he build it so big; you never clarified what the disbelief in your eyes meant when he said he built this house for you, while he pulls you up on your feet for a silly cowboy dance.

No more gentle touches, no more noses brushing together as a silent goodbye in the kitchen before you rush off to work. No more turning around just before you open the door to leave, running to him like a little girl, giving him quick, hungry pecks on the lips while he laughs on your mouth, squeezes your butt cheek and slaps it playfully to say goodbye. Later, baby, he would promise you, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and he could feel your skin crawling with anticipation.

No more I love yous, either breathed, either whispered, either panted, as he makes a home for himself inside your warmth.

When did he fuck you last? He used to have you every day. You craved it every day. You craved him. Why did he stop telling you he loved you every chance he got? When was the last time you said it?

A week before that fateful night, when you touched him longingly, aching for him to touch you back and he told you he had work to do, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he sit there and watch the light fading from your eyes? I love you, you said with a sigh against his temple and walked out of his office defeated. Why did you say that? Did you know? Did you suspect? Why didn’t you fight him? You should have said something, anything, pushed him, punched him in the chest, woken him up. Would he have woken up? Or did he need that to come to his senses? Does he have to fall? Does this falling ever stop? Does he have to let you go? Will you come back to him? Does he deserve you?

Days blurred seamlessly into one another. Joel drifted further and further away from everyone. The house haunted him, all the progress he was making within the therapy walls was dissipating once he stepped inside the cold space of his empty house. Leaving the confines of it was his first thought in the morning, while he hurriedly dressed to go to his office far earlier than necessary and his last when he closed his eyes, as he laid his weary limbs on the couch, chasing still your now long gone scent on its fabric, knowing another sleepless night was his only companion until the first rays of sunlight hit the floor-to-ceiling windows to announce the beginning of another day.

People at work tiptoed around him, not knowing how to act. It was as if he was there, but not really. He was focused solely on the Marks project, mechanically going through board meetings, paperwork and supervising the construction site. He. Just. Wasn’t. There.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

He simply stares at the text message for a good full minute, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone. This was one of the rare occasions you had initiated communication with him, always about the progress of the divorce.

No, no, I won’t, the little toddler in him screams, stamping his little feet on the ground.

The papers are not ready.

Joel texts back. He keeps it simple, frightened he might not get an answer back.

Joel, we both know they are. I don’t want any of your assets or your money; this is an easy signature, please.

An easy signature? You think he cares about the houses, or the cars, or the money?

You know I can’t accept that. The house is yours and so is a good part of the money.

The point was to share this house together, Joel, don’t you think us splitting up kind of defeats the purpose? And what on earth makes you think I would ever want to go back in there?

So, there’s nothing I can do to make this easier for you?

Easier? You think money or property can make up for what you’ve done?

Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Just wanna do something for you, anything.

Can you turn back time?

Of course, he can't. So, he doesn't know what to say to that. He just keeps staring at the screen, lost in thought. After 2 minutes another text follows.

You know I can’t..

Sign the papers. Please.

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about today, or should I take the lead?”

“Actually I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”, Joel suggests for the first time. He usually lets the therapist decide where to steer the conversation, then simply refuses to elaborate until he feels ready to talk.

“What about it?”, he shifts his gaze from the window to the direction of her voice.

“I should probably rephrase that. I’m always thinking about that night, repeating it in my head again and again and I’m troubled by something I realized.”

His therapist nods to signal that she's listening.

“Why did she just leave? The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense to me. She just left. No shouting, no breaking things, no attacking either me or-”, her. “Why she didn’t stay? Why she didn’t insist that I leave? She was just- so quiet.”

The therapist smiles in recognition of Joel's near breakthrough. They were beginning to get somewhere, his empathy nudging him under the surface.

“I'm really glad you mentioned that, Joel, so I'd like to take you back to that night and try to understand what might have been going through your wife's mind at that moment," she explains.

“So, she walks into the house, finds her safe space violated by her husband, and she chooses to handle the situation calmly and quietly-” Joel tries to stop her, but she already knows what he's going to ask. “I can't tell you why she chose that path, that's for her to answer, only she knows why.” His therapist continues, “She is making one request of you and one request only, can you tell me what it is?”

“She asked me to leave the house.”

“Hmhm.” the therapist looks at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to talk to her.”, Joel elaborates, “I thought that if I refused to leave, she would accept to listen to me.”

“So you forced your needs on her, while she was in a particularly fragile state of mind.”

“I should have made my intentions clearer, you mean?”

“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place. Why do you think was so important to you, to explain yourself right at that moment?”

“Because I knew it was probably the last time I would see her for a while, I just wanted to ease her pain, why is that so wrong? Should I be indifferent? Would that be better?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be depriving her of her right to choose?” Come on, Joel, break some eggs.

Joel now begins to make connections. He rubs his hand over his face, the realization of what has really happened crushing him. “Oh, god, I-” He's been so selfish from the start. He hasn't shown you any respect, not even at this delicate moment. He didn't give you a choice as to whether you wanted to listen to him or not. He didn't even let you choose where you wanted to stay. He just made you leave the house. Did he make you believe he wanted you to leave? That he wanted her to stay? Because he didn’t. Fuck. “-I never thought about it like that.”

Fuck.

How could he be so blind? Why was he so blind?

His therapist insisted on it. Because no matter how much progress Joel made over the course of a year, he never revealed the true reason behind his infidelity.

“Joel, we’ve talked about a lot of things; you’ve tried really hard to make this all about your wife and about understanding what she was feeling and how your actions have affected her, but as I keep reminding you”, she smiles understandingly, “you’re the one in therapy, you need to heal your wounds before you even attempt to heal hers. And although it is in fact a really noble thought, this” she gestures between them, “can only work if you do it for yourself. I know it may sound selfish, but I promise you, it is not. It is the exact opposite.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”, his voice hoarse from sleep as he answers the door after the insistent knock at it. Tommy looks at him surprised once he opens it, “You’re sleeping, already?”. No, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t call it that. But when he goes almost a week without any proper rest, passing out is the right word for what he’s doing. “Yeah, I guess I dosed off..” Joel lies. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Tommy responds as he squeezes himself through the door to enter the house. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”, Joel mutters under his breath. “You just saw me at work this morning, is everything all right?”

“I just came to check on you.” Tommy confesses uncomfortably.

“You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?” Tommy deadpans.

Touché.

“Tell Maria I’m fine, Tommy, no need to worry about me; go spend the night where it counts.”, Joel replies in an attempt to push him away, as he walks farther into the house, rounding the kitchen island.

“Hey, brother, I’m here, I am here for you.” Tommy’s eyes narrow in pain and concern as he stares at his sibling's back, following behind him.

Joel exhales hard through his nose, his grip tight as he grabs the edges of the counter, his head lowering between his shoulder blades.

“You shouldn’t, nobody should.” Joel sighs, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his forehead.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Tommy snaps at him. “Enough self-loathing, enough resignation. Enough. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

Joel laughs at that. “Is that right? Is it enough for you? What about her?” he asks, his head turned to the side, looking at his brother over his shoulder.

“What?” Tommy is genuinely confused.

Joel turns his back, resting his waist on the edge of the counter, now looking straight at Tommy. “I should have what? Just get on with my life? Let it all be water under the bridge? Disrespect her even more?”

“Jesus..” Tommy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip, his eyes shut in frustration.

“Are you doing this for her? Does she even know that?”

“It doesn’t matter, Tommy!” Joel raises his voice, exasperated. “I’m not doing this for her, I’m not doing anything for her, apparently and that’s the problem.”, his voice breaks, the lump in his throat too big to push down. “She’s not here anymore, Tommy.” he’s standing fully on his feet now, pushing himself away from the counter, leaning slightly forward, like he’s trying to make his brother understand; his eyes are glazed, Tommy had never seen him so devastated before. “She’s gone. I’ve lost her.”, his palms clenched in fists in front of his chest, resisting the urge to wrap them around his shirt and rip it to shreds, as he wants to do with his heart.

“I thought therapy was working..” Tommy whispers, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath him.

“Oh, it’s working, all right!” Joel chuckles in irony, sniffing his nose. “I’m getting a front-row seat, witnessing what a piece of shit I am-”

“Hey!” Tommy tries to cut him off.

“-what on earth was she doing with me to begin with, is beyond me.”

“HEY!” Tommy's eyes bulge out of his sockets, angry at his brother's self-deprecating words. Joel bends his waist forward, puts his elbows on the island in front of him and lets his head sink in again.

“Ok.” Tommy breathes deeply to ground himself, his hands in a position of a prayer in front of his mouth, “Ok, we could both use a drink.” he realizes, as he moves to open the cupboard to grab two tumblers and the whiskey from the shelf with the drinks. “..or five.”

The two brothers drink their first round in silence, both calming their nerves down. Tommy refills their glasses without asking; he knows this is going to be a long night.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Tommy begins, pushing Joel’s drink back towards him. Joel wringles his brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? You’re always there for me.”

“No, I haven’t, not really.” Tommy admits, “I let Maria take over when all this happened and I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing you could do, Tommy, don’t sweat it.”

“Let me say this, please.” Tommy raises his hand, his palm facing his brother. “I was just- fuck, we all knew how much you loved her, how much you loved each other, so when it all went down, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. What to say to you, how to comfort you. I didn't know how to deal with you.”

“You blamed me.” Joel says matter-of-factly.

“No-”, Tommy weakly refuses but Joel shakes his head dismissively, interrupting him. “It’s ok, Tommy, you should.”

Tommy looks embarrassed, his cheeks slightly pinkish, not only from the whiskey. “It’s just that I- I couldn’t reconcile the image of the man you were with her, with.. you know..”, he stutters.

“..the image of a cheater. Say it.” Joel adds.

Tommy shakes his head, like he still can't believe what's happened. “Besides, while she was staying with us those first few weeks I saw how devastated she was, man- she was a shell of a woman, so I was confused, I didn’t know how-”

“Tommy. Tommy, it’s fine.” Joel feels his skin crawl visualizing you like that in his head, cutting his brother off once again; he deserves every ounce of mistrust and he knows it.

“No, it’s not.” Tommy insists. “Yes, you fucked up. Brother, you really did. You did a number on her-”, Joel’s body tenses instantly at his brother’s words, his jaw clenching as his eyes darken, moving down to his hands, his grip on the tumbler tightening, his knuckles turning white and Tommy stops abruptly, “shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”, his face twitches with regret.

“It’s the truth. That’s exactly what I did.” Joel’s gaze seems detached as if he's somewhere else right now.

“What I meant to say, is that I should have been there for you in spite of what has happened. I can see you're suffering, it's taking its toll on you, it has been for some time now; tell me what I can do. How can I help you?” Tommy seems almost desperate, like he’s the one in need of redemption.

Your text flashes through his mind, can you turn back time?, making him smile bitterly.

“Can you turn back time?” Joel's repeating your question and as the words leave his mouth he can feel your presence next to him. That's the most he felt of you for the last three years. He's almost blissful.

“You know I can't.” Tommy sighs. Joel laughs earnestly, the irony of the moment too good not to appreciate.

“Joel, brother, please, just talk to me. Help me understand. You act like you’re the one who’s been cheated on. So, what happened? Why did you do it?” Tommy is pleading with him to give him anything.

Silence fills the room for much longer than either of them would like. Joel feels torn between telling his brother everything or keeping his mouth shut. He wants to tell him, he hasn’t told a soul, but he’s not sure he can get the words out. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not sure he can substantiate it, make it real. Because that’s how it feels. He talks about it and it becomes real.

But maybe this is the right thing to do. That’s what needs to be done. He needs to talk about it. He needs to tell the truth and admit the pain he’s caused. Make it real for you, too. Perhaps it is time for him to give you what is rightfully yours. Acknowledgment.

Joel’s made up his mind. He’s gonna talk to Tommy. He lifts his glass to down his drink for some liquid courage, freezing his hand in mid-air as the next words fall from his brother’s mouth. “First of all, who was it?”

“What?” Joel's eyes search Tommy’s through his glass for an explanation.

“Who did you do?”, Tommy clarifies.

Joel feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Who did you fuck, Joel?”, Tommy begins to feel confused, are they not on the same page here?

“You don’t know?”, Joel can barely speak now, his voice low in shock.

“No one does, not even Maria; she never told anyone.”

You told nobody? Not even your best friend? Why on earth would you do that? Did you feel ashamed? Was it just too much to talk about?

But his brain takes pity on him, helping him for once to understand. He’s connecting the dots while your voice fills the corners of his mind through his memories. His head is swarming with images of you standing in that walk-in closet, remembering what you said the last time he saw you. You’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.

You were right.

It didn’t matter who it was. That is why. He was the one making the choice. He was the one breaking his promises, breaking your trust, breaking your heart; breaking you. He was the one who should have known better. He was the one who should have been honest. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

He feels a fresh wave of pain scattering through his body. He welcomes it. Damn, he’s craving it. He’s glad you chose to withhold the identity of the woman. Not because somehow it’s making it easier for him to defend himself, on the contrary.

There’s no one else to blame. Nobody. Just him. All of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment, all of them on him. He embraces them all. Everything. He will take it all, swallow it down and let it rot inside of him.

Joel tells Tommy everything. Everything, but her name.

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Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre

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gojoluvs · 2 months

Text

Forever yours.

⤿ Satoru Gojo × reader

Summary, The only reason why you even agreed to marry him was for your father. Now you wish you could go back in time and reject the offer.

Warning/ tags; angst, profanity, smoking, cursing, smut, cheating, mean gojo,

Genre; angst, cheating, infidelity, jik, Gojou × reader

Notes: the tag-list is open if you'd like to be mentioned everytime i update just send me a message also sorry for the spelling errors I didn’t have time to edit :c

9.5k words

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Feeling the warmth of the sun peek through the window, you awoke with a sense of longing.

Feeling the bed empty, you just sighed, realizing that Satoru was nowhere to be found and here you were, laying down on your honeymoon bed. Closing your eyes, all you could do was imagine how you used to wake up next to Toji, and how happy he looked to see you awake. You remembered how he used to caress you after you shared your good morning kiss, and tears began to well up in your eyes as you longed for those moments once again. But you also knew that those memories were in the past and that you had moved on.

"No, I swear to you," you could hear Satoru arguing with someone.

His voice was filled with frustration and desperation, as if he was trying to convince the person of something very important. His words were muffled, but his tone was unmistakable – he was pleading with them to believe him. Despite not knowing the context of the conversation, it was clear that Satoru was in a heated argument.

Confused, you got out of bed feeling a bit sore from last night's activities. As Satoru clenched his phone, you noticed him heading outside to talk to someone. You couldn't help but wonder who he was arguing with and what it could possibly be about.

As Gojo's friend spoke on the phone, he seemed to grow more and more agitated. "Listen Geto, please keep her distracted for now. I know how she gets when I'm out of town," he commanded, clearly worried about something.

"Don't worry, I've got it covered," replied Geto, Gojo's trusted friend and partner in crime. "I'll make sure to keep her entertained and away from her phone." Geto knew that Gojo's girlfriend was prone to constantly checking her phone, so he made a mental note to keep her busy with activities and conversations.

Noticing your presence, he began walking towards you, a look of desperation in his eyes. "Listen, I got to go. Just please do what I tell you," he pleaded before hanging up and letting out a heavy sigh.

"Who was that?" You questioned, watching as he walked past you and into the door. Rolling his eyes, you followed him inside. As he walked towards his desk, he replied, "Just another annoying colleague." You couldn't help but wonder why he seemed so irritated by this person's presence.

Right, you almost forgot that this man hated your guts. It was clear that he didn't want to be anything more than acquaintances, let alone friends. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

"We have a long day today, so wear your best outfit because I'm taking you out." Walking into the restroom, he closed the door.

As you stood there in awe, you couldn't help but wonder why he was suddenly taking you out. Did he have important business associates in town? Or was he trying to impress someone by showing off his new wife? The possibilities swirled through your mind as you anxiously waited for him to reveal the reason behind this unexpected outing.

Walking back outside you grabbed your phone hoping you could take a picture of the sunset and post it later. Despite not being as famous and recognized as Satoru you did have a hefty amount of followers.

You quickly snapped a picture before heading back inside. Your heart dropped when you saw a notification, "Toji zen'in added to their story." Biting your lip, you clicked on the notification, taking you to his story. Your heart broke as you saw a photo of him and another woman.

To make matters worse, there was small writing in the photo that said, "Happy birthday to one of my greatest friends ever." It was clear that Toji was hanging out with other women now.

All you could do was feel disappointed that you were no longer in his life. Toji was your first love, your first best friend and your first everything. Letting him go now was possibly the worst thing you could ever do. With a longing sigh you walked back inside the house, deciding what you were going to wear for later.

As you stood in your closet, staring at your clothes, you couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness. Toji was the one who always helped you pick out your outfits and now he was gone. You never thought you would have to make these decisions alone again. With a heavy heart, you chose an outfit and got ready for the evening ahead, trying your best to push away the thoughts of Toji and the pain that accompanied them.

"You would look better if you wore white, compliments your face." he said, snapping you back to reality. Raising an eyebrow, you couldn't help but question his statement.

"Does it really compliment my face more?" you asked, slightly skeptical. He simply shrugged in response, leaving you to ponder if his opinion was genuine or just a ploy to get you to wear white.

You could see his tall figure leaning on the door frame. He had some black pants on but his hair was still wet. As you tried to turn away, you couldn't help but feel flustered at the sight of his bare chest. Quickly turning back around to change, you tried to push the thoughts out of your head.

Before you knew it, you were already inside a Rolls Royce that Satoru had rented. You were in the front seat, watching the clouds slowly move as you thought about your new life back home. You used to work for Toji's company, but now that you had split up with him, you had to figure out your next move.

Would you stay in the same industry or try something completely new? It was a daunting thought, but you were excited for the possibilities that lay ahead.

As you stared at the ground, lost in thoughts, you couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. If only you had followed through with your feelings for Toji, maybe you would have a different life now. But instead, you chose to marry Satoru, hoping for a better future. Yet here you were, still struggling and hoping for a job from your husband's family.

And as you thought about Satoru and his lover, you couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't taken the next step in their relationship after dating for so long. Perhaps things would have been different if you hadn't married him. But it was too late for what-ifs, as you were now stuck in a bittersweet limbo, unsure of what the future held for you.

The constant thoughts and questions about why your father chose the Gojo family continued to linger in your mind. You couldn't understand why he would choose them over all the other families in the neighborhood.

You couldn't recall ever being close to the Gojos, especially Satoru, who seemed to ignore you most of the time. The only time he ever showed any kindness towards you was when he gave you his umbrella on a rainy day in high school. But even then, you could sense his disdain towards you. You couldn't help but wonder why he never showed any interest in you, even though you knew you were not the most attractive girl, you were sure you were still worthy of someone's attention.

You still remembered the day your family got invited to one of their annual big parties. You had no friends there, only Satoru. Despite feeling like a lost puppy, you followed him around until he suddenly turned on you. He told you to leave him alone and that he didn't want to be associated with someone like you. To this day, you are still confused as to what you did wrong to get on his bad side.

"We're going to be meeting some of my friends who stay by here so please, be at your best." nodding your head all you could do was keep your head low.

You just wanted to go home. forget about this whole stupid marriage. However, as you follow along to meet your soon-to-be spouse's friends, you can't help but feel a sense of dread and sadness. You know that you're only going through with this marriage for the sake of your family's business and reputation, and not because of love.

Your heart aches as you remember your true love, who you had to leave behind for this arrangement. You can only hope that your true love is happy and that someday you can be together again.

You might've been married to Satoru but your heart only belonged to one man. The man who helped you throughout everything. He was your confidant, your best friend, and your soulmate. The one who knew you better than anyone else and loved you unconditionally.

Despite your marriage to Satoru, your heart never wavered and remained devoted to this man who had been there for you through thick and thin. No matter what obstacles you faced, he was always by your side, providing unwavering support and love. He was the true love of your life, and no amount of time or distance could ever change that.

Hopefully Toji would wait for you, because you knew deep down you wanted only him. This marriage meant absolutely nothing to you and you were going to keep it like that. You couldn't risk losing your true feelings for Satoru, no matter how strong they were, and you were determined to keep them buried deep inside.

You couldn't let yourself fall for him, because if you did, you were afraid of what might happen and how it would affect your life.

As you sat in the passenger seat, watching as the car passed by the city of Santorini, you couldn't shake off the feeling of anxiety. Meeting his friends for some reason made you feel scared and uncertain. Did they know that this marriage was fake? Did they believe his lies? You couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the truth came out.

You knew your sole purpose in this arranged marriage was to give birth to an heir to their company. You always wanted kids but you wanted to have them with the man you loved. However, you were forced into this marriage and knew that you couldn't do anything about it. Your heart broke knowing that you would never have the opportunity to have children with the person you truly loved.

Despite the challenges, you were determined to give this child the best life possible. You knew that their parents may not have loved each other, but you were committed to making sure their upbringing was not affected by it. You were determined to provide a loving and nurturing environment for them, and you were ready to face any obstacles that may come your way.

feeling the car arubtly stopped you raised your head. Seeing a beautiful beach house in front of you. Satoru rolled down the window pressing the small button to talk in the intercom in the gate.

"Its Satoru Gojo, im here for the party." he said. Greeting the guard and gave his name, waiting for the gate to open. As the car slowly made its way up the winding driveway, you couldn't help but admire the stunning architecture of the beach house.

The sleek design, the ocean view, and the lush landscaping all added to the allure of this luxurious property. You couldn't wait to explore and relax in this beautiful setting.

You quickly grabbed your purse and headed out to the car. As you closed the door behind you, the wind gushed and blew your hair gently. The chilly atmosphere sent shivers down your spine. Suddenly, you felt Satoru's arms wrap around your waist as he led you towards the entrance of the house.

Before you entered inside he stopped you, "wait, take out your phone and take a picture of us together. post it later." he said. Nodding you grabbed your phone out of your purse. Leaning your head towards satoru, you smiled.

Before you could even protest, he snatched your phone and stuffed it into his pocket. "You won't be needing this today. I'm keeping it until later," he stated sternly, giving you a piercing look.

The door opened and you were greeted with a tall man with blonde hair. "Satoru, nice to see you." He said hugging him before landing his gaze at you. "I see you brought a guest, i'll tell shoko." he said smiling at you before motioning to come inside.

The man, whom Satoru introduced as his friend Kento Nanami, smiled brightly at you. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said with a warm handshake. His blonde hair was neatly styled, and his tall frame exuded confidence.

The man's words were barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. He gestured towards the door leading to the back, which opened up to a stunning view of the beach.

"Everyone's outside if you'd like to follow me," he repeated, beckoning the others to join him. "And feel free to come by anytime, the beach is always open for our guests." With a smile, he stepped outside.

There was a pleasant atmosphere, with everyone dressed in bright summery colors. Soft classical music played in the background, while the sound of people chatting filled the air.

The house was undoubtedly expensive, but its breathtaking view of the beach made it worth every penny. Its grand size and stunning surroundings left you feeling awestruck.

"Is that who I think it is?" said a woman with long brown hair, her slight eye bags only adding to her undeniable beauty. She seemed to be in deep thought, her gaze fixed on the figure walking towards her. As they got closer, she couldn't believe her eyes - it was her childhood best friend who she hadn't seen in years.

"Shoko," Satoru smiled before embracing the woman. "How have you been? It's been a while since we last saw each other."

Shoko smiled warmly and replied, "I've been good, thank you. How about you?"

"I've been good as well," he said, introducing you to his friend. As you shook her hand, you couldn't help but notice the warmth in her smile. "And this is my wife, Y/N," he continued.

"I see geto has been putting in the work," he said, placing a hand on the baby bump she had.

"Don't say that... It was unexpected, but yes, Geto is the father." She smiled, placing her hand over his. "I never thought I would be doing this with him, but I couldn't be happier." They both looked down at the baby bump.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal at the mention of a baby, especially when Satoru had touched her belly with such adoration. It was a harsh reminder that he only wanted you for a child, nothing more. You looked at her with a mixture of sadness and longing, unable to find the words to express your feelings.

Satoru was casually talking to shoko, making comments about her pregnancy and how happy he was for her and geto. You stood there baffled that he had the audacity to act so kindly to them but never to you. Deep down you wondered how he'd be if you'd never married him.

Despite the amount of people at the party, you couldn't shake the feeling of shame and regret for being there. The sight of the other woman, who was most likely his true love, only added to your feelings of inadequacy.

You couldn't help but think that he never truly loved you, and never will, because of the arranged marriage your father forced upon you. You didn't want to show your tears in public, so you silently told yourself to "suck it up." But deep down, you couldn't ignore the fact that his lover must have had it worse than you, being in love with a man who only saw her as a pawn in a business deal. You couldn't help but feel envious of her freedom.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of resentment towards Satoru and Shoko. You knew you would have to live with him until you bore a child of his, but the thought of being left again made your heart ache. You longed for true companionship and love, but instead, you were forced to endure a loveless marriage for the sake of bearing an heir. The loneliness and emptiness you felt only grew stronger with each passing day, and you couldn't help but wonder if this was truly all life had in store for you.

Your silently closed your eyes, letting the smell of the beach fill your nose. Exhaling, trying to recompose yourself after almost crying. You licked your lips before putting on a smile and opening your eyes again. You couldn't help but feel grateful for the peaceful setting of the beach and the calming sound of the waves crashing against the shore. It was the perfect place to gather your thoughts and regain control of your emotions. As you took a deep breath, you felt a sense of relief wash over you, knowing that you were able to overcome your emotions and put on a brave face.

You walked towards satoru, your heels clicking with each step. You hooked your arm with his before engaging in the conversation he was having.

"So, will you be the godmother and godfather of my child?" She said scrunching her nose. You were taken aback by her request, unsure if you were ready for such a responsibility. Your husband's hesitant look mirrored your own thoughts. You

You took a deep breath before finally answering, "We would be honored." Shoko's smile widened as she thanked you both, and you couldn't help but feel excited for the journey ahead as godparents to her child.

As he walked away, you couldn't help but notice the look of concern on his face. You wondered what could be going on inside his mind and if everything was okay. Shoko's presence also made you feel a bit uneasy, as if she knew something that you didn't. You found yourself anxiously waiting for his return, hoping that he would come back and explain the sudden tension in the air. "It'll get better."

"What do you mean?" you asked, turning to face her with a confused expression. She tucked a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear as she looked at you with a pitiful expression.

"I know about everything, but please just give him a chance," she pleaded with a heavy sigh, placing her hand on her belly and starting to rub it. "I know it may seem like he hated you, but the truth is, he doesn't. He's just struggling to deal with his own emotions, Y/N." She looked at You with compassion, hoping to ease the tension between you and Satoru. "Please, give him a chance to make things right."

"I know it may be difficult for you to understand, but there were things that happened before you came into the picture," she explained with a sigh. "Him and Jiiyuu had a long history before you arrived, and it's not your fault that he's acting this way." As you stared at her, you couldn't help but feel baffled by her words. How could he blame you for something that happened before you even knew him?

You avoided her gaze, staring at the floor you just wanted to disappear. To never been seen again, maybe then you could feel loved. Despite not knowing Satoru as much and just being recently married your heart ached. You knew him for almost all your life and for him it was like you were a mere bug in his life, easy to be forgotten.

The pain of unrequited love consumed you as you stood there, unable to face the woman you had spoken to. You couldn't help but feel invisible, ignored and insignificant in the eyes of the one you loved. No matter how much time and effort you put into your relationship, it seemed like you were never enough for them. And as you stood there, longing for their love and attention, you couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it to continue chasing after someone who would never truly see you.

"I see," your voice barely audible. You felt the need to swallow, holding back your tears you continued to look at the ground.

"Just please," She grabbed your hands placing hers on top of yours. As her warm hands consumed yours, you felt the sudden feeling of coldness gone, even if just for that simple moment she stared at you. "Give him a chance," she pleaded, her eyes filled with sincerity and hope.

In that moment, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of doubt and hesitation fade away as you considered her words. Maybe, just maybe, she was right and you should give him a chance. You had to remember he lost someone he loved too.

You smiled kindly at her, thanking her before going off to find your husband. You bit your lips trying to spot your white haired husband but it didn't take you long. You spotted him speaking animatedly with Kento and another man wearing glasses.

You debated on walking towards him, what if you were a nuisance? Or what if he just didn't want to try in this marriage as you did. These thoughts swirled in your head as you stood at a distance, unsure of what to do. You didn't want to bother him or make things more difficult, but you also couldn't help but feel hurt and frustrated by his lack of effort in the marriage. You were torn between approaching him and confronting him, or simply walking away and accepting that things may never change.

Your thoughts were abruptly disturbed when you saw a man with pinkish hair approaching you. He stood tall and had two small tattoo markings on his face. As he got closer, you noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes and your heart began to race.

"What's a pretty lady doing out here alone, huh?" he said, grinning as he stuck out his hand in a polite manner. You kindly smiled back, unaware of who the man was. You didn't mind the company and thought it would be nice to have some conversation.

"Oh please, you must have me confused. I'm no pretty lady," you giggled, correcting the stranger. You then introduced yourself and accepted his hand, shaking it firmly before he introduced himself in return.

"I'm Ryomen Sukuna," he introduced himself, a mischievous grin on his face as he stuck his hands into his pant pockets. Despite his playful demeanor, it was clear that he was a handsome man. "Nice to meet you, Y/N Gojo."

"So tell me, are you here alone or with someone?" Tilting your head to where your husband stood you sighed.

"Im with my husband, you might know him actually." He raised one eyebrow, pouting his lips he looked at the crowd trying to guess which one was it.

"Hm, is it that ugly fella with the black hair?" You giggled, rolling your eyes at him. You shook your head in denial. "No, that's actually some random person I don't know," You replied with a smile. "But nice try."

"Try again." You said, shaking your head as you grabbed a pastry from the pastry table. You couldn't resist indulging in one before heading back to your seat. You had made your way over to the table without even realizing it, too absorbed in the conversation with a certain man.

"Oh I see, you're talking about Gojo," he said, pausing to point his finger directly at where your husband was sitting. "That albino looking guy," he added with a smirk.

Before you could even engage in an actual conversation, you were pulled away from the man, your husband standing in front of you defensively. "Don't talk to my wife," he said, his tone filled with jealousy and possessiveness. It was clear that he didn't trust you and didn't want anyone else to have a chance to get close to you.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a sly grin forming on his lips. He had always found Satoru's rigid attitude towards relationships amusing. But now, as he leaned in closer to Gojo, he couldn't resist teasing him about his own love life. "Oh please, funny coming from someone with..." he paused dramatically, enjoying the way Satoru's expression shifted. "with a lover."

"I can't believe you would choose that disgusting excuse for a person over a mature, respectable woman like her." He said, with a hint of bitterness in his voice. He then quickly composed himself and found his way back to his seat. Satoru grabbed onto your arm, pulling you along with him to your seat as well.

You could feel the tension in the air as you avoided his gaze, knowing that he was fuming with anger. He was visibly biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to control himself, his anger only intensifying at the mention of his lover and the insult Sukuna had thrown his way. Despite the fact that you were the one wearing the ring, it was clear that he did not care about you at all, and it was painfully evident in that moment.

You gripped the fabric of your white dress, feeling the soft material between your fingers. As you ran your hands over the delicate fabric, you couldn't help but admire the intricate stitching and the way the dress hugged your curves perfectly. The softness of the fabric against your skin made you feel elegant and confident, something you hadn't been feeling in a while.

Shoko smiled as she addressed the guests, her voice projecting through the microphone. "Thank you all for coming, we'll be having games soon as per every baby shower has one. These games are a fun way for everyone to participate and celebrate the new arrival. We hope you enjoy them and have a great time!"

Truth be told, you wanted to run and escape from this form of everyone's expectations. You longed to return to your old life, free from the pressure and obligations that came with being the chosen one for an arranged marriage. You felt sorry for yourself for being so naive, thinking that Satoru would just accept the situation without any objections. In all honesty, who would want to be in your position?

However, you couldn't help but feel envious of the vastness and freedom that the sea represents. You longed to be able to travel and explore without any responsibilities or worries holding you back. As you gazed at the sea, you couldn't help but compare your stagnant and unfulfilling marriage to the endless possibilities that the sea seemed to offer.

You stayed staring at the sea, lost in thought about your miserable life. You wondered if maybe being with Toji, your best friend and lover, could be like the sea - a source of solace and escape from your troubles. The rhythmic crashing of the waves and vast expanse of the ocean seemed to offer a sense of peace and possibility that you longed for in your daily life.

The wind gushed over you, a few of your hairs falling out of place. Bringing up your hand to fix it you tucked your hair behind one ear. You longed to be loved, to be someones everything again. Maybe it was regret you were filling, or maybe you just felt like you deserved absolutely nothing. As you sat there, the emptiness inside you grew, and you couldn't help but wonder if anyone would ever see you for who you truly are and love you unconditionally. The loneliness and longing for a deep connection weighed heavily on your heart, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing from your life.

You never wanted to be the cause of someone else's heartbreak, yet here you are, living a life that was meant for someone else. You can't help but feel guilty and unworthy of any love. Every time you looked at Satoru, you were reminded of the fact that you were not the one they were meant to be with. It's a constant internal struggle and you can't help but wonder if things would have been different if you had just followed your heart.

"Y/N?" You're thoughts were interrupted by Shoko, her hand sticking out to help you get up. "It's you and Satoru turn for the blindfolded diaper game."

You took her hand, following her to the center. Everyones eyes looking at you and your husband. They handed you a blindfold. Grabbing the soft fabric they placed it on your eyes, tightening it before starting the game. Every other couple had their own doll, having to change the diaper before anyone else did.

"Go!" Shoko giggled seeing everyone start.

As the game began, you could hear the sound of rustling fabric and giggles from the other couples. You and your husband carefully felt for the diaper pins and began to change the doll's diaper, trying to do it as quickly and accurately as possible. The crowd cheered and laughed as the game progressed, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with the other couples.

Despite the blindfold, you and your husband worked together seamlessly, and in the end, you were declared the winners. As the blindfold was removed, you were surprised.

"Y/N and Satoru take that one! Seems like she's a lucky lady, huh? He knows how to change diapers!" exclaimed one of Shoko's friends.

You chuckled awkwardly as you found your seat, sitting down next to your husband. "I didn't know you knew how to change diapers," he said with a genuine confused look. You looked down and shrugged, "I guess I learned something new."

You caught a look on his phone, seeing he was texting a certain number you remembered seeing.

before you knew it the day had come to an end, you were already back at the Hotel cave you had rented out. You felt mentally and physically exhausted. For some reason you felt more at peace now. Maybe it was because you had come to realization that you could never make Satoru love you, but yet you knew you had to try. At elast for Toji, his last words being "Take care of yourself, okay?” It hurt so bad.

Satoru was in the restroom getting changed, practically forgetting about your existence. You stood outside, feeling a mix of emotions - irritation at being forgotten and a sense of loneliness.

“Toji… Please never forget about me.” As you stood there, lost in your memories of Toji, you couldn't help but feel a sense of longing and sadness. Even though he was gone, he was still a big part of your life, and you could never forget about him. The thought of him fading from your mind was unbearable. You hoped that wherever he was, he knew how much you missed him and how much he meant to you.

You threw yourself on the bed, kicking off your heels and undressing yourself, you unclipped your bra and grabbed a big T-shirt stopping as you recognized it. It was one of Tojis shirts or rather as he said, his “lucky” shirt. He had explained to you that he met you with this shirt on so he had gave it the title the “lucky” shirt as he was lucky enough to meet you.

As you held the shirt in your hands, memories of him flooded your mind. You remembered how he would always wear this shirt on your date nights, how he would always smell like his cologne mixed with your perfume when he wore it. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized that you would never see him wear it again. You threw the shirt back onto the bed and collapsed onto the pillows, wishing you could turn back time and hold onto those happy moments forever. But now, all you had left were memories and his "lucky" shirt.

Hearing the doorknob unlock you quickly grabbed the shirt and put it on, leaving you in just ur panties and Toji’s shirt. You grabbed the soft sheets of the bed and pulled it down, going under the sheets you faced away from Satoru who has just gotten out the restroom. You didn’t dare to say a word to him.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you pretended to be asleep. You didn't want to face the awkwardness of the situation and you hoped he would just leave you alone. But then you felt the bed shift as he climbed in next to you. Your heart raced as you felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you close.

"Why do you smell different, more..." he paused, slowly sitting up from the bed and turning on the small lamp next to him. "You smell like cologne," he said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He couldn't quite place the scent, but it was definitely different from the usual lavender and vanilla perfume you wore.

You tried to reply before he took the shirt off you, “Its Toji’s isnt it.” He stared at you not daring to blink, his intense gaze making you feel vulnerable and exposed. You could see the anger and betrayal in his eyes as he realized you had been wearing another man's shirt.

"I didn't think it was such a big deal," you covered your chest with your arms as a shiver ran through your body. The coldness of the hotel cave was biting, causing goosebumps to emerge on your skin. You could feel the chill in the air, but it was nothing compared to the icy feeling in your heart.

Satoru gripped the shirt before throwing it, most likely hiding it later on. “A big deal? my wife wearing another’s man shirt? not a big deal?” He scoffed grabbing one of his shirts and throwing it to you.

"You must be stupid or something," he muttered, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "And don't pretend to be shy. I've seen your breasts before." With a scoff, he turned off the lamp and lay back down in bed next to you. You couldn't believe his audacity and felt hurt by his crude words. It was clear that he didn't value or respect you, and you couldn't help but question why you still stayed with him.

Today was your last day of the so called “honeymoon”.

You loathed every moment spent here with Satoru. You envied anyone who didn't have to endure being in his presence. You would rather be dead than ever come back here with him again.

You hated the fact that you married such a handsome man. You couldn't help but feel conflicted, as his sleeping figure appeared so peaceful and innocent. It was hard to reconcile this image with the way he treated you, with the hurtful words he would say and the way he would make you feel small and insignificant. Yet, here he was, arms wrapped around you, his touch so gentle and loving. It was a constant battle between your heart and your mind, torn between loving and loathing this man. But in this moment, as you awoke to his sleeping figure, you couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different between you two.

As expected, he wasn't wearing a shirt and you were surprised to find that you weren't wearing one either. You couldn't help but feel a rush of heat to your cheeks as you realized you were practically skin to skin with him. The close proximity and lack of clothing added an unexpected tension to the situation, making your heart race and your mind race with thoughts of what could happen next.

Despite your initial attempts to escape his grasp, you found yourself unable to resist the comforting presence of the man in front of you. You couldn't help but feel drawn to this peaceful version of him, free from his usual toxic behavior. You gently placed your hand on his smooth, shiny skin, reveling in the softness of his cheek and the fullness of his lips. Your thoughts turned to kissing him, but you quickly scolded yourself for even considering such a thing. He may be different now, but he was still the same man who had caused you so much pain.

You gently brushed one of his hairs out of his face, revealing his forehead. With a sigh, you spoke his name, "Satoru." You shook his shoulder, hoping to rouse him from his slumber.

His blue icy eyes staring back at you, he released his grip and rubbed his face tiredly. "Mm, Gmorning," he grumbled, clearly not a morning person. Despite his rough exterior, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and comfort in his presence.

“Today's the last day of our vacation and I want to do something memorable, something that will make this trip even more special. Please, can we do something fun and romantic together?” He let out a deep sigh before getting up from the bed.

Without saying a word, he walked straight to the restroom, leaving you feeling disappointed and unheard. You could hear the sound of the faucet being turned on, a clear indication that your requests were being ignored.

Once again you were alone, somethinf you were going to have to get used to now. You got up grabbing the white t-shirt your husband gave you last night.

You walked outside extending your arms up stretching your sore muscles and gazing at the sunset. You took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, salty air and feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin. As you looked out at the stunning view of the caldera and the sparkling Aegean Sea, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and contentment. Despite the painful memories associated with this place, you knew that this beautiful view would always hold a special place in your heart. You took another deep breath of fresh air and let out a content sigh, feeling the tension from your muscles slowly dissipate. The warm sun on your face and the gentle breeze made for the perfect morning routine.

You could feel the tension in the room as you walked in, but you didn't know how to break the silence. Satoru seemed completely absorbed in his phone, not even sparing a glance in your direction. You walked straight towards the restroom, in need of a bath. You stripped yourself off your clothing. immediately going into the hot shower, feeling it go over your body you could finally relax.

As the warm water cascaded over your body, you could feel the tension and stress melting away. It was as if the shower was washing away all the worries and troubles of the day. The soothing sound of the water and the comforting warmth enveloped you, providing a sense of calm and peace. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, feeling grateful for this moment of relaxation amidst the chaos of the day.

Suddenly, the sound of the bathroom door opening caught your attention. You turned to see your husband walking in and casually brushing his teeth, not even noticing you in the shower. As you watched him, you couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness and disconnect. Despite being in the same space, it felt like you were in different worlds.

“Listen, we’re going to go eat dinner then we can go see what we can do alright?” You hummed in return not paying attention to a single world he said. You knew that his words were empty and insincere. He had a habit of saying things to placate you, but his actions always spoke louder.

You just wanted to go home, to find a new hobby to preoccupy yourself with. You got yourself ready, elegant enough for a so called “dinner” he was taking you too.

He emerged from outside grabbing his wallet and keys he closed the door before heading out by the parking area. “Its kind off like a cruise but its only for a few hours so stay with me at all times, got it?” You nodded back entering the car with your husband.

As you drove to the harbor, your husband explained that the boat you were about to board was a yacht rented out for private events. You were excited for the mini cruise and couldn't wait to see what the night had in store. As you boarded the yacht, the sun started to set and the view was breathtaking. You thanked your husband for the surprise and promised to stay by his side throughout the night.

The sun was setting, casting a beautiful orange glow over the ocean and the yacht. As you stood next to Satoru, you could feel the warmth of his arm against yours. You both tried chatting with the other couples on the yacht, enjoying each other's company and the stunning view. The drinks were delicious and you could feel yourself relaxing more and more, grateful for this chance to spend time with Satoru. Maybe this trip would be the turning point in your relationship.

You felt the vibration through Satorus pants, indicating that someone was trying to reach him. With a brief apology, he excused himself and made his way to the other side of the yacht to take the call in privacy. From your spot on the deck, you watched as he paced back and forth, his expression growing more serious by the second. You couldn't help but wonder who could be calling him in the middle of your vacation again.

Feeling dejected and alone after being stood up by Satoru, you decided to drown your sorrows and headed to a nearby bar. While nursing your drink, you struck up a conversation with a group of people who, to your surprise, were also on their honeymoon.

Particularly, you had met this rather old couple, they were in their 40s and said that this was their third time back in the mini cruise. They were sitting at the deck, enjoying the ocean view and sipping on some cocktails. "We just love the atmosphere and the relaxation that comes with being on this cruise," the woman said, smiling at her partner. "It's like a mini vacation from our busy lives," the man added, nodding in agreement.

"You're absolutely gorgeous!" exclaimed the woman as she took a sip of her cocktail, once again admiring the stunning symmetry of your facial features. She couldn't help but notice the way your eyes sparkled in the dim lighting of the bar, or the way your smile lit up the room. It was as if you were the perfect combination of beauty and charm, making it impossible for her to take her eyes off of you.

"Thank you so much, you look rather gorgeous yourself," you replied, smiling at her compliments.

"Now tell me, why are you here all by yourself?" The woman asked, tilting her head with curiosity.

"Well," you begin, trying to come up with a plausible excuse, "I just needed some time alone to clear my head. It's been a stressful few weeks and I wanted to take a break from everything." You flash a fake smile, hoping she wouldn't catch on to your lie about your husband. You knew he was here, but he was too busy talking to his mistress on the phone to notice your absence.

As you stood nervously in front of her, she playfully nudged you and said, "Well, let's hope some young, handsome man here can swoon you and steal your heart." You couldn't help but laugh at her teasing words, and her smile only grew wider. She gestured for you to come and talk more, and you found yourself feeling more at ease in her presence.

You tried to look for satoru, to no avail was no where to be found. You sighed in disappointment following the middle aged couple back outside. “You know i used to be just like you,” she said.

You tilted your head confused, “Just like me?”

“I would often take spontaneous trips to new places, whether it was a nearby hiking trail or a faraway city. Being in a new environment helped me to relax and forget about my stressors for a while. The excitement of exploring a new place and the freedom of being away from my usual routine brought me a sense of peace and clarity. And even though it may have seemed impulsive to others, I never regretted taking these adventures to clear my mind.”

"That's also how I met my now husband," she continued, "and I can tell you from experience that it's important to always be certain if the man you are marrying is the right person for you." She went on to give you further tips and advice on marriage, sharing her own personal stories and lessons learned.

You didn't know why she was so comforting, maybe it was the way she kind of reminded you of your mother in some way or maybe because you needed someone as wise as her to speak with you. You were grateful for the empathy she showed towards you and the insightful advice she gave. It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders after talking to her.

"You're a beautiful young woman," she said, smiling at you before taking off her sunglasses. "Never settle for less because there's always someone who would do anything for you." Her words resonated with you.

Almost the entire night you spent it with the couple, talking about your future and what college you went to. The whole night was filled with laughter and you had realized mid way through it that Satoru still hadn’t came back.

You had found out the womens name was Akari Nitta, she was probably one of the nicest people you had ever met. As the night went on, you couldn't help but feel grateful for meeting Akari Nitta. Her kindness and warmth made you feel at ease, and the drinks only added to the pleasant experience. You found yourself opening up to her, sharing stories and laughing together. The alcohol slowly took over your body, making you feel lightheaded and carefree.

Despite just knowing the couple for a few hours, you felt an instant connection with them. It was as if they could see right through you, making it impossible to hide anything. Before you knew it, you were pouring your heart out to them, telling them everything that had been happening between you and your husband. Akari's anger was palpable, and you knew she would do anything to protect you from Satoru's mistreatment. "Oh sweetheart, don't cry," she said, wiping away your tears as they fell down your cheeks.

Although you despised alcohol and the hold it had over you, you found it to be a temporary escape from the harsh reality of your life. It was a fleeting moment of calm amidst the chaos and pain that plagued you daily. It was a temporary numbing of the emotions and memories that haunted you, making it easier to endure the present. But deep down, you knew that alcohol was only a band-aid for your problems, and it would never truly solve them.

To make matters worse your husband happened to appear by you after the many hours he was gone he was surprised to see you crying. “Y/N, whats wrong?” You could tell he was genuinely concerned as to why he came back to his wife crying.

Jiyuu had been drunk calling Satoru, telling him how she missed his touch and how she wouldn’t wait for him to divorce you. The whole time without you knowing he was calling her and couldn’t even be with you on your last day of your honeymoon.

"You... You're a disgrace," she said with venom in her voice as she spat at Satoru, who looked back at her with a bewildered expression.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" His eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer. You stood there, confused and unsure of what was happening.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she continued, her voice shaking with anger. "How could you treat such a wonderful and sweet girl like absolute shit? And then insult her like if it was her fault?” Her words pierced through the air, leaving him speechless and ashamed. People stopping by see what was going on.

His eyes widened, “Listen old hag, Shes my wife and stay out of our love life.” He narrowed his eyes as his anger flared, "I don't need your meddling in my relationship! She's my wife and I'll handle our problems on my own." He clenched his jaw and shot a fierce glare at the old woman, challenging her to say anything else.

Her voice trembled with emotion as she continued, "She deserves to be treated with love and respect, not like a worthless object." Her words were filled with anger and disappointment towards the man standing in front of her. "You are nothing but a coward, incapable of taking responsibility for your actions." She turned and walked away, leaving the man to contemplate his behavior towards the girl. “wonder how disappointed your mother would be.” she spat back Shaking her head.

The yacht abruptly stopped, causing you to stumble into Satoru's arms. "Toru, let's go home, please," you slurred, clearly intoxicated. Satoru could tell that you were completely wasted and in no condition to continue partying on the yacht.

The words the woman had said hit him hard, he carried you to the car and placed you on the passenger seat. You had fallen asleep once he carried you. As he drove, he couldn't help but replay her words in his mind. He sighed not wanting to deal with anything else. His world already felt like it was crashing and this? Just made it worse. He wondered how he was going to handle this situation and if he could even fix it. The weight of it all suddenly felt too heavy to bear.

The car ride was quiet, save for the occasional snore from you as you slept soundly in the passenger seat. He couldn't help but feel conflicted about his feelings for you. On one hand, he wanted to stay true to his commitment to jiyuu, but on the other hand, you brought a sense of peace and comfort that he couldn't find elsewhere. He knew he had to be careful, not wanting to lead you on or hurt jiyuu in any way. But deep down, he couldn't deny the guilt he felt for you.

He couldn't bear the thought of losing Jiyuu again. It was like a constant ache in his chest, a reminder of the love he once had and lost. He couldn't understand why he resented you so much, why he treated you so badly when you didn't even want the marriage either. He was torn between his loyalty to Jiyuu and his duty to make the marriage work. But deep down, he knew that he could never truly love anyone else the way he loved Jiyuu.

However, he was determined to make his dream a reality, even if it meant sacrificing his marriage and causing heartbreak. In the end, he was able to be with the person he truly loved, but at what cost?

He parked the car before getting out and carrying you once again, he could obviously tell you had one to many drinks as you couldnt even wake up from it. Finally he made it to the house Gently placing you on the bed, he changed you out of your clothes and put you in something rather warming. All he could do was just stare, stare at your flushed cheeks and your glowy skin. He could tell you had been crying because your lips were slightly more plump and your eyes were a but puffy.

Feeling a pang of guilt, he couldn't help but wonder what could have caused you to drink so much. He made a mental note to check on you in the morning and make sure you were okay. As he turned to leave, he couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness over you, even though he barely knew you. He hoped that you would be okay and that he could help you in any way possible. With a final glance, he quietly left the room, hoping that you would wake up feeling better in the morning.

He didn’t mind picking up your stuff and putting it in your suitcase, remembering that you had to wake up early tomorrow he ordered room service and asked them to bring some Advil for the headache you were sure going to have tomorrow.

He couldn't quite put his finger on the reason for his sudden change in behavior towards you. It could have been the influence of the stranger's words, or perhaps it was the weight of his guilt that finally caught up to him. Whatever the reason may be, it was clear that he was making an effort to be kind to you in this moment.

As he lay in bed, he kicked off his shoes and reached into his pocket to grab his phone. He scrolled through social media, occasionally glancing over at you lying next to him. Suddenly, his phone vibrated, and he quickly sat up, intrigued by the notification. He leaned over, seeing your sleeping figure he sighed in relief. He opened the message, seeing it was Jiyuu trying to text him at 2:04 in the morning.

+1 *** *** ****; love you Toru, don’t forget that.

He bit his lip contemplating if he should reply back, 'Toru...' he remembered the nickname gracefully slipping out of your mouth, and for some reason, it made him smile. He couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and fondness towards you.

Taglist; @allofffmypeaches @shycreatorsandwich @ryumurin @cloudsinthecosmos @4-everm-0-re @kurookinnie @bluebreadenthusiast @diannana @haurno @fouyumixuri @numblytemporary @spin-garden @oyaoya-bungeegum @we-loveebony @katteddie86 @mine-lu @rosso-seta

#arranged marriage #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jjk smut #gojo satoru #gojo satoru angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #mean gojo #modern au jjk #cheating gojo #sukuna #shoko ieiri #geto suguru #jjk fanfic #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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thesmollestsnek · 1 year

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Death echoes

So a while ago, i found this dp x dc post that had a really interesting lore headcanon for Danny’s ghostly wail. Idk if I’ll be able to find it again, I’ll link it here if I do, but essentially it posited that every ghost has something called a “death echo”, which is an ability unique to them based heavily on their deaths. These echoes are the most powerful move in a ghost’s moveset, but they’re also extremely volatile and draining, typically damaging the ghost in some way when used, with Danny’s being his Wail because he died screaming. The original post then went on to some really cool halfa!Jason ideas based on these death echoes, but for this lil snippet with an extremely long intro I’d like to focus on Danny a bit more.

Edit: Apparently I may have extrapolated a lot of the actual lore behind these death echos myself? The inspiration post was a lot longer in my memories. Or I might've mushed multiple posts into one mental box and then forgot lol. So a lot of the actual detail from this point on is seemingly mostly original material? I think? Idk man, sometimes my brain spits out information without giving me any clues as to where it got that information. Anyway, this post got kinda long and since I'm... decently sure this is where I shifted from summarizing @ailithnight's post to writing all my own thoughts I figured here would be a good place to throw the cut lol.

So! with all of the context-for-the-context out of the way, let’s move on to the actual context for what I’m writing cause I can’t be bothered with writing an intro XD

Essentially, this is an au where Danny is an established member of the Justice League, or maybe one of the teen hero teams? I’m a slut for eternal teenager Danny, but maybe he’s enough of a powerhouse to be on the main team despite him both looking and acting like the dumbass fourteen year old he died as. Either way, he’s on a League/League-sanctioned mission and things go bad. Like, everyone-almost-dies bad. And so as a final desperation attack, Danny uses his Wail, a power he’s never told anyone on the league he even has. And it works, and they make it out, but after the fact everyone has. Questions. And because in this au death echoes are deeply personal, Danny dodges those questions, but the league coughbatmancough isn’t satisfied with that. So they push for answers. Answers Danny’s not willing to give, because. In my mind death echoes aren’t just based on how a person died, but also their experience of that death. What their last thoughts were. When Danny died the only thing that he could process beyond just an all-encompassing painpainpainpainpain was the sound of someone screaming. His screaming. And so his death echo is the sound of a fourteen year old child screaming in deathly pain and terror weaponized, which definitely gave the league Even More Questions than they would’ve had already. Which finally brings us to the actual snippet, which is a conversation between John Constantine, who was brought in for his experience with the supernatural once it became clear Danny wasn’t going to talk, and Danny himself.

~~~~~~~

“So, kid. Batsy tells me you’ve been hiding some of your abilities, wanna tell me what's up with that? Call it an occultist's intuition, but somethin’ tells me you’re not just being stubborn for the hell of it.”

“It’s... complicated. And not anyone’s business, either!”

“Kid...”

“Why does it even matter?! It’s not something I want to or am even able to do on a regular basis! I saved the mission, can’t they just accept that and move on???”

Sighing, Constantine reached up to start massaging his brow. “Kid, you and I both know that ain’t gonna be enough. Now I know that some things are better left alone, but the rest of these idiots? They can’t accept that, Batsy especially. That man’s never left bloody well enough alone in his life”

He looked up just in time to see the otherworldly teen shrink into himself, looking every bit the child he was. “I know but... why? Why do they need to keep asking questions? And why do they only ask the ones that hurt to answer?”

A sharp glance. “The fuck kinda questions are they asking? Batman was speaking in more grunt than word, so I didn’t really catch all the details of what this power you’re supposedly hiding even is.”

Phantom shrinks even more into himself at that, and responds in a voice so small it’s more sigh than speech. “I... I can scream. And it breaks things and pushes people back. But it, it sounds. Bad. And it brings up bad memories and I don’t like to do it or listentoitoreventhinkaboutitandtheywon’tletmeforgetand-”

“Breathe kid. I know you don’t need to but just take a deep breath with me. Don’t you go getting lost in your own head on me now., Constantine reassured the kid automatically, the sheer hopelessness prompting action long before the words themselves could be understood. Then the rest of him caught up, and he had to pause. Looked up at the kid, saw just how distressed he was. A picture was starting to form in the back of his head, and Constantine didn’t like what he saw one bit. A last-resort power that the normally open Phantom was strangely reticent about. A scream so horrible sounding the rest of the league would not to stop asking questions about it. Terrible memories to match said scream. And one truly miserable child who couldn’t bear to even think about any of it.

“Phantom... is that your Echo? Screaming?”

A miserable nod is his only response, the tears that had been welling up in the kid’s eyes finally starting to fall. Cursing softly to himself, Constantine stood to leave, bracing himself for the Bat’s inevitable questioning. “Well then you just take all the time you need love, and leave the rest to me. I’ll make sure the rest of those idiots know not to ask you about this ever again.” And with that Constantine turned and strode towards the door, leaving the quietly sobbing child to collect himself in privacy.

~~~~~

I had a whole-ass lore dump conversation between Constantine and Batman planned here, explaining how death echoes are deeply personal, and asking about one is a taboo on par with, potentially even worse than, asking a ghost about their death outright. Because they are formed from an amalgamation of how a ghost died, their last thoughts, and their final emotions, in some ways asking a ghost about their Echo is like asking them to describe their death in painstaking detail. But uhhh... inspiration bug left. So yea. Side note, I’d like to apologize if my depiction of Constantine’s accent was Bad, I’m but a lowly USAmerican whose only exposure to British accents is through tv ^-^’

#did some minor edits to fix typos and make things flow better when i went back in to add the hyperlink #that being said dont expect too much i wrote this in a bit of an inspiration frenzy lol #and barely edited it after the fact #the snek rambles #the snek writes #snippit #dp x dc #danny phantom #john constantine #idk wtf else to tag this #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #crossover

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everythingne · 6 months

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ wing damage, chapter one (mv1)

Eldest of the Halliwell girls, Y/n (or Nadine) gets her heart broken by the man she’s supposed to wed in six months. Four years of love slipping down the drain faster than she can try and grasp at the remaining water droplets.

But... not all hope is lost as far as the f1 community is concerned and they might be right, since Max seems to be trying to get a little closer to his team owners eldest daughter.

max verstappen x influencer!halliwell!reader / fc: sophia la corte (and various ginger women on pinterest.)

warnings & notes: cheating, mentions of alcohol, small age gap (24-27), strong language, probably inaccurate f1 information, using a name as a placeholder for y/n bc i’m not typing that every time, dates are off by two days in the beginning. deal.

EDIT: I love nadine too much to scrap her story even tho christians a BITCH, so for all intents and purposes in this fic, congrats! a spice girl now owns oracle red bull racing 😭

(part two!)

“Do you want me to confront him?” Max asks, sitting down next to me in the paddock. His hand comes to squeeze my knee, my father rubbing my back as he deletes every photo—every memory of Jacob Taylor from my phone.

Four years down the drain.

My friends back home at my apartment are currently bagging up his stuff. Both Mona and Ally will move in with me, just like college again, once his stuff is empty. My bare apartment will soon be filled with our old nick nacks but i can hardly be happy about it.

Cheated.

The man who spent 50k on an emerald cut four karat ring with a real gold band, cheated? The man who cried when his mom told him she loved me, cheated? The man who cancelled an entire film set because it conflicted with my schedule, cheated? The man who won over the hearts of not only Geri Horner, but Christian Horner? He was the one who cheated?

Jacob was (strong emphasis on the was) the highest standard I ever held. Now, I didn’t even know what standards to have anymore. Anyone could be a cheater. I never stood a chance.

“It’s fine, Max.” I say softly, wiping at my face again to try and make it look less like I’ve been sobbing since I found out as soon as the plane touched down two days ago. The paddock is buzzing, qualifiers getting ready to start for the first GP. The warm Bahraini sun beats down on the track and I can see the heat wiggling above it. Even in March it’s as hot as summer over here, and part of me misses the gloomy, smoggy streets of London right now.

“It’s not fine!” Max groans at me, throwing his head back in exclamation. I know he’s sick and tired of hearing me say it for the thousandth time, but if I say it’s not fine, I’ll break down. And we can’t have that.

“Max,” GP's voice calls before Max can go on another tirade about killing Jacob. Max turns and I can see the hesitance in him to leave my side. He’s been like this since I met him the first day he raced with Red Bull years back—instantly the two of us clicked. When the days got hard, or his dad got on his back a bit too much, I would appear by his side and with a tiny smile somehow I'd fix everything. After I became his sort of 'chauffeur' when one of our drivers got sick in Abu Dhabi his first year, and we got stuck in an hour of traffic with nothing to do but talk, we became basically glued to each others sides.

I think having my unwavering support made a lot of the transition into Red Bull easier for him. And in moments like these, where he's watching me with a keen eye, I don’t know how I lived so long without his calm presence at my side. I was only a five years old when my Mom bought Red Bull Racing, it’s been my entire life, and every racer who has passed through our team has never stuck to my side like Max Verstappen has.

“Go.” I nudge his knee when I see his hand twitch and hover by his helmet, eyes darting to me and then GP who waits in the doorway, so I supply, “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Max nods, giving me a departing hug before he gets up and starts tugging his racing suit on. Immediately my mother replaces him, turning my head to card his hands through my hair.

“Oh, honey.” Geri coos, squeezing my arms as she lets me lean into her, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong, Mama.” I sigh, leaning into him and letting his wrap his arms tight around me.

“No, I trusted that boy. That’s what I did wrong.” She says back, before handing me back my phone. We sit like that for a long time, people passing us without asking. Everyone knew. I had found out the same way they all did—on social media. Jacob didn’t even have the balls to tell me himself. Fucking coward.

Eventually someone calls my mother away for some celebrity, sp I force myself to sulk off to a hidden corner where I can munch on chocolates and watch Max from a little tv. Not as good as my usual perch next to my Mom, but I don’t need the public seeing me the day I find out my fiancé of several years had been cheating almost the whole time. With his co-star.

Fucking hell.

nadinehalliwell

liked by maxverstappen, danielricciardo, charlesleclerc, and 124k others...

nadinehalliwell: before and after max won

tagged: bbhalliwell

gerihalliwell: love u lots mini ginger spice!!!!

⤷ nadinehalliwell: mama ill cry </3

charlesleclerc: maman says hello and that she will have wine for you when you come to monaco

⤷ arthurleclec: nadine you are very beautiful do not let a man win -- maman

⤷ thenadinehorner: OMGGGG <3<3<3 XOXO MAMAN JE VOUS AIME TELLEMENT

bbhalliwell: bahrain was NOT ready for the halliwell girls !!

maxverstappen: you and your sister together is recipe for disaster

⤷ danielricciardo: bet they're planning ur downfall.

⤷ nadinehalliwell: beware both of u 🔪

I knew returning home to my apartment was going to be hard. I had spent a few days with my mom and Bluebell home in Nottingham.

Being in my mothers had been refreshing enough to start and heal my heart. I also learned that my mom was really fucking good at healing, it involved a lot of wine and a lot of cursing.

My apartment in Monaco had been a home full of happy memories of moving in with Jacob, and our time living together everyday I wasn’t at grand prixs and he wasn’t on set. Memories of our families and friends together with us, and now it would be just me.

So empty. Alone. White walls with no decorations anymore. Just staring at me, closing in slowly.

Opening the door I sucked in a breath of pure agony. My mother's warm hand around my shoulder a soft reminder that even if I felt abandoned, I wasn’t alone. Not by a long shot. And as the door clicks open, my hand finds the lights instinctually, and my eyes widen to dinner plates.

“Welcome home!” a chorus cheers and I laugh, all my of old friends circled around the end of the foyers hallway, wine glasses and soju bottles in hand. I can’t even speak as tears fill my eyes and the girls run to me, waving my mother off. She kisses my hairline, tells me she'll text me when she gets home, and shuts the door as my friends cart me into the kitchen and wipe my tears and fix up my messy hair with giggles.

“Tonight!” One of my friends—eventually I source the drunken giggles to Ally, “we will make you so hot and sexy, he will regret it.”

“And if he comes crawling back!” It’s Mona now.

“We will rip his dick off!” Marija shouts and the girls raise shots to me.

“Guys—what is all of this?” I can’t help but laugh, and then the three look at each other and smile.

“So… you’ve heard of a revenge dress, right?” Ally says slowly, and it all clicks.

nadinehalliwell

liked by maxverstappen, charlesleclerc, christianhorner and 976k others..

nadinehalliwell: ‘little black dress, who you doin it for?’ 🖤

tagged: monanotlisa, allycameragirl, marijaswrld

maxverstappen: Is this that ‘hot girl era’ thing?

⤷ charlesleclerc: i think so.

monanotlisa: absolutely sexy. as per usual.

allycameragirl: FUCKKK UR HOT 🖤🖤

landonorris: one direction???

⤷ nadinehalliwell: ofc you know it’s one direction.

⤷ landonorris: cannot tell if this is a compliment or not but thanks ?

marijaswrld: 🧎‍♀️ < me

#my fic #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula one smau #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen smau

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unadulteratedsoulsweets · 24 hours

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A DC X DP IDEA #31

You and I, we’re not the same.

Imagine dis…

Corrupted ectoplasm is always the main reason why Jason had a pit rage. I know it was because he was dumped in Lazarus' pits when he was found wandering around.

What if I offer you guys another reason why he rages so much?

…

Lady Gotham is devastated by her little squire, her beloved child laid to rest. The little boy used to play around her alley as if it was the best playground he ever played in. The little boy whom she shielded personally with her shadows to hide from those who wished harm to her child. The little boy who shines the brightest when he laughs, and that good-for-nothing pest killed him.

If she had enough strength within her city she would have already dragged that clown’s soul to the deepest and darkest place of her realm but couldn't. She needed whatever ectoplasm and strength she had to bring him back. Her Dark Knight is getting reckless by the day, gone the knight that would protect and see the goodness in this cesspool of a city, was replaced by a man who is still grieving for the loss of his child and taking it out on everyone but mostly himself.

The boy rose and could dig himself out but his father didn't find him, someone else did.

That day Lady Gotham wailed in devastation. Every Gothamite felt and heard something, from the people who had hidden in the deepest of corners of her city for protection to the labyrinths that hold countless undead Talons all of whom simultaneously shivered as they all seemingly heard a mother’s scream that had just lost her child again.

…

It was assassins that had found him that was true but they didn't find him in his grave, they had found him wandering around with instincts and muscle memory as his only tool to survive. At first, Ra thought that he was the missing link, the key to everlasting life but after countless research and experiments thought that Jason Todd was a fluke in the greater systems. Seeing that Talia’s leverage on her beloved is about to be disposed of, she immediately throws Jason into the pits as it may have not raised the dead but he is alive enough for the pits to heal.

When Jason Todd was dipped into the green glowing waters of the Lazarus pits they didn't see it…

They didn't see the way the pits seemed to split Jason Todd in half. As if answering a man or a father’s prayer.

I need no other child as long as mine can split themselves in half.

At that moment, deep within the deep waters of the pits, there were two.

One who looked far too different from what he looked like before, a body that had been fixed by the pits.

One who had been left behind, the body of a teen who had been too malnourished.

The pits split Jason Todd apart, while the other one started to gasp for air and began swimming to the top, the other continued to sink into the endless pit.

No one was there to witness it but as the other one sank deeper a portal manifested behind the sinking Jason Todd swallowing him whole as if there was no one else.

…

Jason knew the moment he woke up in the middle of the Lazarus pit, was rage. RAGE for naively believing his birth giver yet she had given him to the Joker for safety, RAGE for not being avenged by his father, RAGE for being replaced before his body even turned cold…

rage for something, MISSING?!?!?!!?

Jason knew that there was a part of him missing, maybe it was the once young innocent naïve child that loved theater, perhaps it was the once hopeful child to help their home into something more, but it was because deep down he knew that there was something wrong with him.

He had memories missing or even spotty and blurry at best. He knew he used to help Alfred around the kitchen but the feelings and the details behind such core memory vanished. The sense of joy and utter happiness, when DAD Bruce bought a first edition book that he had been eyeing for a while, the fear and dread to open and read, said book in fear of damaging his first ever gift.

He knew that if the rest knew of it he would be kicked out, just when they were both trying to mend their broken bridges. So he kept it all in memories and emotions that should have been present are gone as if someone had cut through him and dragged those out.

But it all clicked in one normal night during patrol.

…

He was just swinging from one building to another when he felt it, a pulse, calling out to him. Every inch of him is screaming to follow it as if something is begging him to go, so he does.

Upon arriving at, his former rundown apartment. Where he and his mom, Catherine, once shared and called home.

Slowly entering the said apartment there he saw his old room where he and Catherine slept while cuddling when she had drugs out of her system.

A teen, looks exactly like him, same eyes that have the same shade of blue that the butler managed to capture before his death. The shape of his eyes, the way his hair was styled, the way he looked at Jason as if he was in danger.

But the moment the two of them met their eyes something clicked inside them.

They are each other’s half…

…

Jason and Danny, after he introduced himself which made him a bit confused and so that there would be no mix-ups seeing both of them are technically Jason Peter Todd, both began exchanging stories to each other seeing that even though they have no idea how and why they were separated better yet they don’t know how come Danny traveled to the past to be raised normally.

…

As Danny begins to narrate his story Jason can’t help but let his mind wander here he is. Talking to a version of him if Joker didn’t happen. A smart and innocent version of him that has a loving family, and haven’t have any blood in their hands. The perfect son, something Bruce would be ecstatic about. He is ruling over Crime Alley using every dirty trick in the book. Yet a version of him became the perfect vigilante, despite death wanting to do good and see good in everyone.

I am the sinner, and you are the saint.

…

I am the sinner, and you are the saint.

Danny thought as he in turn listened to his other part, he knew that that Jason the one in front of him was the one who made it out. While he merely drifted at the bottom, Danny felt envious of Jason despite the two being the same person just different experiences. Yet the moment he regained Jason Todd-Wayne’s memories he can't help but laugh at fate for pulling their strings. A billionaire who wanted to be his son, eccentric parents, dying once again with no mom nor dad within sight… He was laughing deep within his room when he got his memories back.

Even Clockwork looked at him with pity? Sympathy? sorry? He doesn't care when the ghost visits him for a timely visit.

Here he is looking at the version of him if he ever came back to Bruce. The father had yelled at him about not wanting teenage rebellion from him. When he remembered his memories it was already far too long when the League of Assassins had him and Bruce already had a shinier Robin, a perfect son and the perfect brother to Richard Grayson. So he didn’t reach out despite remembering each code that could verify his identity. Each secret and each whisper that only Jason Todd knew and experienced.

So he stayed, stayed with a family that practically raised him a family that neglected him and their biological daughter. But in the end, he still died, for their cause, he may be considered a trained individual but fought humans, not immortal-like beings that seem to have their version of madness.

His parents whom he grew to love and care for parents despite their shortcomings, still opened him up and explored his insides when they learned the truth.

It made him chuckle, he just never did learn, did he…

He escaped, running from one city to another, never staying for too long as many heroes despite their dislike of him when Grayson made his hatred known for him, learned and still watched him grow into a young teen.

So when he was living from one state to another, to avoid detection, lose his trail, escape his hunters, going back to his training as Robin as well as the memory of being a street kid deep within Gotham’s dirty alley. So when he first entered the city boundaries, Danny could feel it, the way Lady Gotham immediately welcomed him.

He heard it all, how Red Hood controlled crime, how he staking his claim on Crime Alley that even the Bats had forsaken. How within his rule was better than any gang or leader who did try and control that section of Gotham.

Danny can’t help but feel envy, here his other self doing good to the place where he crawled from. His other being the vigilante who made a change, has the drive to fight and protect, the drive to dirty his hands to ensure that the kids in his territory live a somewhat normal life. So when he made eye contact he knew that he was the sinner.

So here he was talking and listening to a grown Jason Todd of him. It made him cringe the moment he saw him, it made him think of Dan, the way he stood, his expressions, and even the tiniest of details. The anger, if Danny and Jason never met again despite one knowing of the other’s identity.

…

If one looked from outside of their little bubble one would see two beings. Who truly understood, acknowledged, and accepted each other. No matter how different the two are, one would comment that they look like soulmates, who gravitate toward each other and readily accept each other’s edges. One would whisper that the two are brothers, who support each other and rely to each other.

No matter, the Gothamites muttered, Gotham never have felt more content and at home than the day they saw Jason Todd, the supposed right-hand man of Red Hood, and Danny Nightgale, the Gotham’s guardian for the children. Talking and spending time to each other.

Now, if only Batman and Co. stop sneaking in to take a glance at their new resident.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

#dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #danny fenton

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dancinglikebutterflywings · 3 months

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It Was Supposed To Be You | Kim Hongjoong

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Y/N runs into her ex the night before she's meant to be getting married.

Warnings: Angst turned to fluff. Ex-lovers to lovers. Swearing. Kinda run-away brideish. This is a repost from my now deactivated blog. More of an explanation in my pinned post.

Word Count: 3,013 - this is the longest imagine I've ever written. It took 4-5 days and a lot of editing. I hope you all enjoy.

ATEEZ Masterlist | Tag List Sign-Up | Requesting Guidelines

Y/N can't help but laugh at a joke told by her maid of honour. She is out for dinner and cocktails, celebrating what her friends and her older sister affectionately refer to as her "last night of freedom". Shes getting married tomorrow afternoon. Everything appears to be going well until she sees someone she never expected to see again.

Kim Hongjoong, her first and former love, is seated at a nearby table with his friends. Filled with a mix of emotions, she excuses herself from the group of women she's with, mentioning that she needs to use the restroom. She politely declines her sister’s offer to accompany her, and she walks in the opposite direction of the restrooms.

Stepping outside the restaurant into the cool night air, hoping the gentle breeze will help alleviate her overwhelming feelings, she doesn’t notice she's being followed until she hears his familiar voice. It's the same voice that she once adored and found comfort in, whether he was talking, rapping, singing, or shouting at his fellow members.

She turns to face him, unsure of what to say or do. The last time they had seen each other, it had been a whirlwind of anger and heartbreak. Determined to keep her composure, she acts as she hadn’t just seen him a minute ago. "Kim Hongjoong?"

"I heard you were back in town," he says, a look of surprise on his face. His eyes drift towards her hand, fixating on her large engagement ring. "I heard you're getting married." His eyes met hers again with a mix uncertainty and a hint of sadness. "Congratulations."

Avoiding his gaze, she glances down at her shoes and quietly thanks him.

"Are you happy?" Hongjoong is unable to stop himself from asking. Thoughts of her, her happiness, and the impending wedding have consumed his mind ever since Wooyoung shared the news with him last night.

Tears threaten to fall as she struggles to hold back her feeling as she continues to avoid his intense stare and nodded her head. She knows as soon as she looks at him, he will see the doubt written all over her face.

In the weeks leading up to her wedding day, she has been plagued with self-doubt. Is she happy? She believes so. Her fiancé is a good man who treats her well and cares for her. However, deep down, she knows he is not the one she always pictured marrying. The painful truth is that he will never be.

Because the man she had once imagined spending her life with now stands before her, igniting a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. Memories of their past relationship flood her mind, reminding her of the deep and unconditional love they once shared. It was a love that was abruptly cut short, leaving her heartbroken and longing for what could have been.

Even after meeting her fiancée and allowing herself to move on, her thoughts wandered back to Hongjoong often. But it was never intentional. She'd hear his songs on the radio, overhear teenagers at the coffee shop she worked at discussing ATEEZ's latest comeback, posters would be hung up in the music store she walked past on her way to work, and her younger sister, who was a toddler when she and Hongjoong met, will ask about him every time she visits her parent’s home.

She shakes her head, as she gathers the strength to confront her feelings. "I... I'm happy, but not as happy as I used to be," she confesses, her voice barely loud enough for him to hear her. "I was happier when we were together."

Hongjoong's eyes widen as her confession weighs heavily in the air between them. He takes a step closer, his presence enveloping her in a familiar warmth that she has missed. It's as if time stood still, and they are transported back to when their love was all-consuming.

Reaching out, he gently places a hand on her arm, offering her a comforting touch. He smiles, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and understanding. “I was happier when I was with you too.”

It was at that moment the tears began to fall as she finally embraced the truth – she only settled for a good man, because her heart will always belong to Hongjoong. The thought of calling off her engagement crosses her mind. Immediately after, a wave of guilt washes over her.

"It was supposed to be you," she reminds him. "I was supposed to marry you."

"I know," he says, hanging his head in shame. "But I fucked up and now you're marrying someone else."

"I am," she says trying to sound confident as she lifts her head but still won't look at him, knowing if she did, she wouldn’t be able to contain herself. "It was nice seeing you again."

Before he can reply, she turns on her heel and starts walking away from the restaurant, unable to go back inside and pretend nothing just happened.

Y/N enters her parent's home well past midnight, only to find her sister anxiously waiting for her. With a deadly expression, her sister rises from the couch to confront her.

"Where the hell have you been?" She whispers yells, making sure not to wake their parents and younger sister. “You took off from the restaurant and we couldn’t call you because you left your phone at the restaurant. We’ve been worried sick about you. I only just managed to get mum and dad to go to bed. I promised them I would stay up and wait for you.”

"I’m," Y/N lowers her head in embarrassment. She intended to message her sister, but upon reaching the park, she realized she had left her phone behind.

"What's wrong with you? Does it have something to do with Hongjoong? I saw him at the restaurant and wondered if you had seen him too."

Y/N nods in response. Even after leaving Hongjoong at the restaurant, he continued to occupy her thoughts. The more she thought about him, the more she contemplated calling off the wedding. However, guilt would always creep in, reminding her that she is marrying the man that she’s supposed to marry.

"What happened?" her sister asks, her angry expression transforming into one of concern. She’d witnessed the aftermath of Y/N and Hongjoong's breakup, so she knows how heartbroken Y/N was and hoped Hongjoong was just as heartbroken, if not more.

"Nothing," Y/N lies, brushing past her sister and heading towards her old bedroom. "I'll see you in the morning."

"But-"

Y/N cuts her sister off by closing the door, knowing that it wasn't just "nothing". Y/N had been fine before she left. Her sister was determined to uncover the truth in the morning, one way or another.

“Oh, sweetie, you look absolutely beautiful,” Y/N’s mother gushes as they stand in the living room, admiring her in the full-length mirror. Y/N just finished getting ready, with her hair and makeup perfectly done.

Y/N attempts to smile, but it quickly falters. The thought of calling off the wedding haunted her all night, as she struggled to push Hongjoong out of her mind.

She’s tried to convince herself that she is ready to move on, that her love for Hongjoong is a thing of the past. And for a while, it seemed like she had succeeded. Her fiancée become her everything.

But, as the wedding day grew nearer, doubts began to creep into her mind. She couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that maybe she hasn't fully let go of her past. When thoughts of Hongjoong resurfaced, she would find herself questioning if she was truly ready to commit her life to someone else.

It isn't fair to her fiancée, who has done nothing but love and support her. She remembers the way her fiancée's eyes light up when she said yes to marrying him. Calling of the wedding, would be an act of betrayal. But is it a betrayal she’s willing to commit?

No matter how much time passes, the memories of Hongjoong refuse to fade. From the early mornings spent together before he had to be at the studio to the late nights she’d stay awake just to make sure he went to bed and got a decent amount of sleep, to being his biggest support during his trainee days. They lingered in the deepest corners of her mind, like a constant presence that she couldn’t escape.

Their relationship had been built on love, trust, understanding, and a shared passion for everything they loved and enjoyed. It was a relationship that evolved into something more meaningful than they ever imagined it would. Despite the challenges they encountered, their commitment to each other never faltered. When he left school to pursue his dreams of becoming an idol, she was there, as his biggest supporter. Likewise, he was there as she pursued her passion in photography, a shared interest they both loved. Every moment they spent together, the good and the bad, left a mark on her heart. After their breakup, she spent so many nights replaying their memories over and over again, wondering where it all went wrong and how they could have fixed it.

With a heavy heart and tears streaming down her face, she desperately reaches behind her, struggling to find the zipper of her dress so she can take it off.

"What's the matter?" Her mom inquires, taken aback by her daughter's behaviour. She noticed her acting strangely throughout the morning, but assumed it was just pre-wedding nerves. Now, she thinks that something more that is troubling her.

The only word that she can get out is, "Hongjoong."

"What does Hongjoong have to do with anything?"

"Please just unzip my dress," Y/N pleads, frustrated with her own failed attempts and her mom's lack of help. "I need to take it off." Her voice grows louder with each word as she becomes more desperate to remove the white garment. Her cries catch the attention of her older sister, who rushes into the room concerned.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” her mom replies, “Something about Hongjoong?”

At the mention of his name, Y/N collapses to the floor, sobbing. Everything from the past few weeks comes rushing to the surface.

Her sister kneels beside her, embracing her tightly, doing her best to provide some comfort. It's been a while since she's seen Y/N this distraught. Their mother joins them, wrapping her arms around her two eldest daughters.

"Tell us what's going on, sweetheart," her mom coos, concern filling her voice. She motions for everyone else to leave the room to give them privacy. The last thing she wants is for Y/N to feel embarrassed when the gossip train, especially her cousin, starts spreading rumours.

Y/N, through her tears, lets it all out. She tells them about what happened the night before and all the ways she's felt recently. Her sister and mother listen patiently, giving her the room to speak without any interruption. As she finishes telling them everything, a feeling of calmness comes over her.

Y/N's mother, broke the silence that had fallen over them as they tried to think of something to say. "what are the odds of him showing up like that? You haven’t seen him in three years and last night he just so happened to be at the restaurant you’re at. It's like fate was giving you one last chance to reconsider.”

Her mother's words seemed to validate everything Y/N was thinking. The encounter with her ex-boyfriend, just hours before she was set to marry another man, felt like more than just a mere coincidence.

And this wasn’t coming from a place of hate, disappointment or unsupportiveness, on her mother’s behalf. While her parents think that her fiancée is a good and decent man, they had witnessed their her previous relationship, and couldn't help but notice the subtle hints that suggest she is not completely over Hongjoong. When they confronted her about it, she would shrug it off, making it seem like there is nothing to be concerned about. Their advice was not meant to discourage her from moving forward with her fiancée, but rather to ensure that she went into this new relationship with a clear and open heart.

"You're right," Y/N whispers, her voice barely loud enough for her mom and sister to hear.

Her mom reaches out and gently squeezes her hand, offering her support. "Sweetheart, sometimes we get so caught up in what we think we should do, that we forget to listen to our own hearts. It's okay to question things and to take a step back to rethink it over. This is your life. You get to choose who to spend it with.”

Tears form in Y/N's eyes once again, but this time they are tears of relief from having her family’s support. With nothing more to be said, she quickly stands up and rushes to her bedroom, searching for some clothes to change into. Her mother follows behind her and helps her out of the dress. She quickly changes and goes to leave the room but hesitates.

“What about the wedding?” she asks.

“Your father and I will handle it,” Her mom assures her. “Now go work it out with Hongjoong and call us later.”

Her hand still on the doorknob, she hesitates again as her gaze falls on the beautiful engagement ring adorning her finger. With a sigh, she gently slides the ring off her finger, feeling the weight of her decision in her hands.

Turning towards her mom, she hands her the ring. As she speaks, her words are filled with guilt, "Let him know that he deserves someone who is sure of what she wants and can give him the same love that he has given me. Tell him that I’m sorry I couldn’t be that person for him.”

Her mom nods and takes the ring. She hugs her before going back to the door. Taking a deep breath, she turns the doorknob and leaves the room.

Arriving at Hongjoong's dorm, she anxiously knocks on the door, hoping he's inside. As the door swings open, her excitement fades seeing Wooyoung standing there. It's not that she doesn’t want to see Wooyoung, she would be thrilled to see all the guys again, she was really hoping it would be Hongjoong that answered the door.

“Y/N?” Wooyoung asks with a look of disbelief. “I thought you were getting married today,” he continues as he takes her in. She’s standing there in an oversized t-shirt, a pair of denim shorts, her hair a mess and her make up smudged from the all the crying and then trying to fix it. A look of empathy crosses his face. “Are you okay?”

“Is uh… is Hongjoong here?” She asks as her, her anxiousness growing but the second.

He nods looking back towards the inside of the dorm, “I’ll go get him for you. Did you want to come in?”

She shakes her head, “I’ll stay here.”

He nods again and leaves, leaving the door open, to get Hongjoong.

A minute or so later, Hongjoong arrives at the door, the same look of surprise on his face as last night. “Shouldn’t you be getting married right now?”

Shaking her head, “I couldn’t marry him, not when the man I want to spend the rest of my life with is right here, in front of me.”

“But after everything that happened, you should hate me.”

“You weren’t the only one who fucked up, Hongjoong,” she says, her voice filled with sincerity. “Leaving you instead of fighting for you, is the biggest regret of my life. We could have worked it out but instead we let each other go. But I haven’t been able to let you go. You’re always in my mind, in my dreams and everywhere I go. Seeing you last night, made me realize that you’re the still the one who I can see myself spending the rest of my life with.”

Hongjoong's surprised expression slowly transforms into a mixture of hope and uncertainty. He takes a step closer, closing the door behind him so they could talk without the other guys being nosy. His eyes search hers for any sign of doubt.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice filled with a vulnerability he often doesn’t express. She reaches out and gently takes his hand, intertwining their fingers.

"I’ve never been more sure," she replies, her voice steady. "I love you, Hongjoong, and I want to be with you."

A wave of relief washes over Hongjoong, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "I couldn't let you go either. And I never stopped loving you."

They stand there, eyes locked together, and fingers entwined. Their past mistakes and the uncertainty of their future hangs in the air, but they both willing to fight for their love.

"Let’s start over," he finally says, with a new sense of determination.

A single tear of joy escapes her eye. Without hesitation, he reaches out, and lightly brushes away the tear. With his hand cupping her face, he leans in closer, his lips planting to hers in a soft and lingering kiss.

As they part, a smile spreads across his face, showing the happiness he's feeling right now. Seeing him smile, causes her to smile, her own happiness mirroring his.

"What's the bet the guys have are up against the door trying to listen in, right now," he chuckles, knowing his group members well enough to know they will be.

"I wouldn't past them," she agrees just as there is a loud shout from Wooyoung telling someone off for standing on his hand.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests, “I’m not ready to share you with them yet,” he adds earning another shout from Wooyoung and groan from the others before the door swings open and arguing ensues.

Y/N and Hongjoong, quietly sneak away, wanting to be alone for a little while longer as they talk and get to know each other again.

Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated.

©️ 2024 CRAZYFORMFICS. NO ONE HAS PERMISSION TO COPY, TRANSLATE AND/OR REPOST MY WORKS ON HERE OR ANY OTHER SITE.

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rustedhearts · 4 months

Text

the old house (boxer!steve harrington x librarian fem!reader)

summary: steve's world is shaken when his father unexpectedly dies.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1995) ✶ record store

✶ the library

tags: death; mention of childhood abuse/trauma; daddy issues; manhandling; grumpy (for good reason) steve; ansgst; hurt/comfort; not edited so ignore any mistakes.

“i would rather not go back to the old house. there’s too many bad memories.”

— back to the old house, the smiths

california, september 1995

LOCAL ATTORNEY FOUND DECEASED IN OFFICE

Sept. 12, 1995

HAWKINS, INIDANA — Local attorney Richard “Rich” Harrington was found dead in his office Thursday evening.

Police dispatched to the office on Main St when his assistant called with concern for his well-being after the phone went unanswered for over 12 hours. When the door to the office was unlocked on arrival, his assistant, Ms. Betty Nesbourne, knew something was wrong.

Emergency services found Mr. Harrington at his desk. Police have confirmed the cause of death was a heart attack.

A well-respected attorney, Richard Harrington had a practice on Main St for 20 years before his death, and won countless cases for those in need in Hawkins. Friends and family recall him as a “kind and loving man.”

Mr. Harrington is survived by his wife, Catherine Harrington and son Steve.

Steve dropped the newspaper on the kitchen table with a sharp slap. His hand came to his eyes to soothe the ache that gathered there, knee bouncing against his chair. His fist rattled where it sat on the placemat next to a vitamin you set out for him. You handed him The Hawkin’s Post—still folded and in its sleeve from delivery—with a kiss on his cheek and a beautiful grin.

He never expected to find this when he opened it.

“Honey, have you seen my Nike hat? I don’t want the sun in my face today,” you called from the top of the stairs, readying yourself for the day.

Steve lifted his head, inhaling sharply. He cleared his throat and pushed his fist against his knee to stop it from jostling.

“Uh…closet probably, baby.”

Your feet scampered away to search, and Steve sighed. His eyes glazed over the letters that made up his father’s name on the inked paper before him. He knew nobody was eternal, that death was inevitable.

For some reason, he never prepared himself for this. For his useless father’s death.

And right now, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

He wanted to be angry. Hell, he should have been angry. He had every right after they had the balls to call someone like Richard Harrington “kind and loving.” Anyone that ever came into contact with him knew he was nothing of the sort.

Angry, too, that Steve never had the chance to tell his father how he truly felt about him. That he never had the opportunity to dole out his own form of punishment; the punishment Steve had to endure growing up. Because he was bigger, stronger, grown. He could’ve put his father on his ass in five minutes flat.

But every time he drove past his childhood house, all Steve wanted to do was get sick.

“Honey?”

Steve’s head snapped over toward you peeking around the doorway, donning his favorite jeans that sat a little low on the hips and a tight half shirt You found your Nike hat, and it now sat atop your head. Even how gorgeous you looked couldn’t quell Steve’s sudden confusions.

“Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat again, folding the newspaper again.

“You ready to go? We’re gonna be late if you still wanna stop for smoothies.”

“Comin’,” Steve mumbled, standing from the table.

He took the newspaper with him, staggering toward the bedroom with apparent soreness from a healing bruise. You glanced at the vitamin next to his coffee and rolled your eyes.

Upstairs, Steve shoved the newspaper into one of his shirt drawers and slammed it closed.

✶ ✶

"Everything okay?"

You smoothed your hand over the back of Steve's hair in the Cadillac, top down to let in the beating sun. The wind ruffled his long locks, tickling at his eyes covered with a pair of Ray Bans. He had one hand on the wheel and the other dangling over the door—normally, one parked itself in your lap to roam and massage. It wasn't like him to opt out of touching, even on event days.

"Yeah," Steve replied shortly, pumping the gas to send the car jolting through a barely-green light.

You let your hand rest on his back, skin hot through a thin t-shirt. "Okay...you sure?"

"Yep."

You took your hand away, diamond ring catching a glint of sun on its journey to your lap. You fingered the stone absentmindedly, your next "okay" small and quiet.

The low hum of tires over the road and the occasional click of the turn signal filled what was otherwise an empty car. Sirens, car horns, the whoosh of a gentle, morning breeze.

A convertible of women driving alongside in the opposite lane recognized Steve, and passed him a carful of ecstatic waves. He didn't even acknowledge them. You offered them a smile, but it wouldn't soothe the sting. You knew that disappointment all too well.

Steve zoomed the car up to the curb of your local smoothie bar, slamming the door hard when he got out. He yanked your door open and stepped aside, winding an arm around your shoulders as you stepped onto the street—but it all felt mechanical. You peered up at his expression, and it was entirely vacant. He was pressed up right against you, but he felt lightyears away.

Something was wrong—why didn't he just say so?

He ordered your smoothies and leaned back against an empty table near the wall. You tucked your hands into your back pockets, eyes on the tops of your white tennis shoes. The urge to ask once more what was wrong gnawed at you with need, but you were fearful of his eyes cutting down too hard again. You hadn't been afraid of Steve and his moods in quite a while.

Not since he put this ring on your finger last year.

Attention directed downwards, you were oblivious to the bustling crowds strolling in after morning workouts and vigorous runs—until an elbow swung a little too close to your face, a body knocked backwards by an unsuspecting and friendly shove.

A young boy, no more than eighteen, spun around with pink cheeks and a sheepish grin. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

You all but looked away, soaked in shame from what you knew was coming next. Steve pushed off the table behind you, a heavy paw shoved against the younger boy's chest. He teetered off balance, eyes wide on his attacker and the glare marking him victim.

Keeping a sharp eye on the boy, Steve grabbed at you by the bicep and tugged you into him. More mechanical pushes and pulls, more hardwired roughness he worked hard to outgrow. But whatever grieved him, whatever he sat and stewed on, sent him spiraling back into a troubled boy.

Worse than the roughness was the absence of words that accompanied it. The lack of commands or reassurances. Just silent glares and hard-set jaws that said all they needed to say.

Strawberry-banana smoothie freezing cold in your hand, you trailed after Steve with a lump in your throat.

At the arena, he plowed past Big bidding him good morning and stomped straight for the dressing room. The coach's eyes slid over to you, throwing up his hands.

"What crawled up his ass?"

You gave a tiny shrug. "Been like this all morning."

Big huffed, returning to his task of wiping down the ring for morning training. Steve had until two o'clock, then would return home to rest until the fight at eight. You hoped at some point he'd calm down.

"Better get it out of his system before tonight," Big grumbled, shaking his head.

Your silence was agreement, and you hurried to the dressing room to tell Steve just that. When you pushed the door open, you found him seated on the leather bench with his back to the door, staring at his poster on the wall.

Clamping the door closed, you tossed your smoothie into the trash bin and huffed. “What the hell is your problem today?”

He shed his shirt sometime before you came, and the bare muscles of his broad back constricted and flexed as he wound a roll of black tape slowly around his fist. His eyes were steadily fixed on the wall, boring into his own face printed in red. More mechanical movements. More empty thoughts.

“Steve.”

He stopped rolling, a ribbon of unfurled tape dangling over his thigh. In the attached bathroom, an echoed water drip plopped. People were arriving outside, filing in and out of the hall. Conversation hummed through the door.

“Dad died.”

When you drop on a roller coaster, all the adrenaline in your body festers in one spot. It all squirms and sizzles behind your navel, bringing the rest of your body to a cold chill. That very feeling overwhelmed your body now.

“W-what?”

Steve tore his eyes away from the wall and placed them on his hand. “Thursday. Heart attack...found 'im in his office."

Your feet moved on their own accord, taking you to Steve where you knew you needed to be. Your arms collapsed around him, face buried in his neck with a hiccuped sigh. His hands remained limply in his lap, eyes casting a ghostly glance upon the tops of his shoes.

"Oh, Steve," you whispered, mouth squished against his shoulder.

Steve had one photograph of his family in the house. Hidden in a photo album behind a page of high school memories: his father in a grey suit, his mother in a turquoise dress with shoulder pads, fourteen year old Steve wearing a sweater to hide the bruises on his arms. It was his father's birthday, and the only time, Steve said, he pretended to love Steve.

But still, scrawled in a fourteen year old boy's chicken scratch across the back:

Mom, Dad + Me

For a moment, you stood there breathing into him. Feeling the size of his own inhales and exhales expand your arms and close them in. Lips pressed to his warm flesh through crisp cotton, thinned a little with sweat. Feeling him pause every few moments, as though to check that he were still, in fact, breathing.

"Saw it..." Steve paused again, and then deflated with a humorless scoff. "...in the newspaper this morning."

You lifted your mouth from his shoulder, chin pressing down in its place. Your adjusted your arms to tighten around him, cheek leaning into his. He was so warm, so suddenly small.

It suddenly occurred to both of you in this moment that his mother had no way to contact him. Even if she wanted to call, she hadn't had his phone number since he turned eighteen.

He scribbled it on a torn piece of paper the day he moved out and tucked it in her drawer. For months, he waited for her call. It never came.

"Isn't that fuckin' ridiculous?" Steve shook his head, a sigh shot through his nose.

You rubbed you hand over his chest, eyes sinking shut. "Jesus, Steve."

Are you okay? was the obvious next line of questioning, but it seemed silly in this moment. Of course he wasn’t. Steve might not have loved his father, might not have known the person he’d become (or stayed) the past ten years, but that didn’t make this any less painful. In fact, it likely made it more painful. To have your father die without truly knowing the man.

"Should I talk to Mikey? See if they can push—"

"What? No," Steve huffed, head craning closer to yours. "M' gonna fight."

You recoiled enough to meet his eye, brows furrowed at the determination in his gaze. "Are you sure?”

Steve clasped a big, warm hand over your own. A gentle pat, a barely-pressed squeeze. His eyes turned away, and he stood to his feet.

“Gonna head out. Stay close, ‘kay?”

He staggered toward the door, and you whirled around. “Wait, Steve—“

The door clamped shut, and the buzz of florescent light was all that filled the quiet.

✶ ✶

He fought, just like he said he would. You sat erectly in your front row position, every breath inhaled held too long in your chest. Your nails pierced divots into your palm from tightly clenched fists. Your legs hadn’t stopped bouncing against the seat.

Every bloody blow had you wincing, each narrowly-dodged swing pulling a gasp. By the fourth round, Steve was staggering to his corner and spitting an alarming amount of blood into his bucket. His left brow split open again. It took the gentlest of taps to rip the skin that never healed correctly. He’d probably need stitches, like he always did.

Under Big’s words screaming at him and a cloth firmly pressed into his wound, Steve’s eyes were empty. Glazed over, mouth lolled open, shoulders slumped forward. It wasn’t his usual huffing, brutish, bull-like performance. It was instinctual, but free of thought.

Right now, you knew Steve wasn’t there. He was in his head, far away in a mess of thoughts. The blinding lights, the frenzied crowd, your own worried face watching him—none of it even registered to him.

The bell dinged, and back in he went. His punches held half the weight, half the power and drive. His dodges and sweeping side steps were stuttered and skipped. It was a dangerous game to play, and sickening to watch. You had every urge to run in front of his opponent and block the next swing, knowing Steve would let it hit him where it hurt.

But you sat where you were, nibbling on the skin around your nails, stamping your heel vigorously on the arena floor. It felt like waiting a lifetime just for that victory bell to ring.

It came out narrowly in Steve's favor. Sculpted arm a limp, weak thing in the referee's hold, drooling blood down his chest. His eyes found a spot on the floor and never left it.

Not until he trudged his way to the dressing room, and he found you seated on the bench. His eyes lifted from the ground and peered into you: blown-wide and still bleary, but alarmed in a harrowing way. A breath shuddered through his cheeks, escaping him with bloodied spittle that rolled down his chin.

They hadn't stitched him up yet. Boils of blood beaded along his cheek and temple, splattered across his chest. His gloves were looped together and strung around his neck. They were the first thing you removed when you stepped forward.

"Hey," you greeted softly. Steve followed your movements silently, blinks slow and staggered. "You did good, baby."

He swallowed, and it came with winced difficulty. A little wheezed, a little struggled where his nose bent from crushing force. He'd need it set again. It sat in a bulging, crimson aggravation in the center of his face. Everything about him was puffed up, bleeding, and pulsing with pain.

But he was the smallest he'd ever been.

"You gotta get stitched up, baby," you whispered, manicured thumb wiping through a smudge of blood on his cheek.

His hands smoothed over your hips, tongue darting out to lick over the split in his lip. "In a minute," he mumbled.

His steps forward sent you backward, guided blindly toward the bench again. You sat instantly, hands braced on his arms still buzzing with heat and adrenaline. You had only a moment to glaze over the state of him before his head fell forward against your chest.

"Oh," you gasped, warmed immediately by the damp heat of his head and the weight of him pressing into you. "Oh, hey, baby, it's okay."

Arms looped around his shoulders, you let your cheek fall atop his head, pushing past the salty, musky scent wafting from the heat of him. Comforting him was the only thing that mattered right now.

Steve's fists pressed into the bench, bookended on either side of your body. His cheek squished against the cotton of your dress, staining the fabric with the blood weeping from his severed flesh.

On the other side of the door, shoes squeaked over polished floors in a bustle to get somewhere. There was an order of things after a fight, necessities and niceties that needed to be carried out. Right now, as you smoothed your fingers through his dripping hair and massaged the knots in his back, you knew Steve wouldn't be doing any of them.

"He'll never know me," Steve mumbled into your skin.

You sighed, eyes sinking closed. The ache that festered in your chest, you knew, was no match for his.

"He didn't deserve to."

On the other side of the door, cameras waited to click Steve's photograph. Fans waited for autographs, his coach waited for a celebration, his manager waited to plead for another endorsement. It was a money-hungry, vain soulless scheme.

In this room, pressed against your familiar frame, Steve knew the only real thing in this world was right here under him.

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington au #king steve #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington series #steve the hair harrington

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lvlyghost · 11 months

Text

Dreams and Illusions

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You open your eyes and he is not there. Never missed a birthday at the café. An empty chair mocks you, the waiter that's worked here for so long he already knows your routine. Knows he didn't show up this time.

Word Count: 800+

Tw: past trauma, hurt/comfort. flashbacks to simon's family but nothing too descriptive, it's just there. poorly edited👻✨

A/N: literally what my dream was about, okay maybe changed a few things and places. hope this isn't terrible. 🌸

Masterlist✨

It's the same place. The same hour. The same spot.

The candle flickers in front of you. A private celebration at the café. You smile, eyes meeting deep blue behind a mask. Serious as ever he stares back at you, nodding ever so slightly, encouraging you to make your wish and blow the candle.

So you close your eyes. You think for a brief moment about your life, about what you've lost and what you've found, and hope for it to stay until the end of the times.

You think about a dim lit hallway and apartment 174. Doors slamming shut, screams and fights. Blue eyes, that meet yours while you hold the keys to your own home. Conversations that start with a gruff 'good evening'. A kid and his parents.

A man that comes and goes.

Then they're all gone and you're left with silence.

Months of silence.

Days and nights go by in the blink of an eye.

He's back.

You hear the sound of things being packed so you knock. Simon greets you, shoulders relaxing when he sees you, it's been so long. Five years since that day. He's all you've got. You're all he finds comfort in.

But now it's been eleven months.

You open your eyes and he is not there. Never missed a birthday at the café. An empty chair mocks you, the waiter that's worked here for so long he already knows your routine. Knows he didn't show up this time.

So you blow the candle with watery eyes and stare at it in a daze. Maybe you were truly alone after all; and those beautiful five years were a part of your imagination. Something that could only live in your memory. Good things never last for you.

It's a chilly night, in the middle of October, you mutter a happy birthday to yourself and ask for the check with a broken smile.

One small golden box catches your eye as it slides towards you. You turn to look at the intruder. A chair creaks right beside you as a broad body sits down next to your rigid form.

"Got it at the gift shop at the airport as soon as I landed." He comments. Voice as somber as ever.

You bite your lower lip, fighting the tears and the lump in your throat.

"You came." You breathe out. The chocolate cake long forgotten. Refusing to look him in the eye; because you know if you do you'll lose your composure. The heat that radiates off of him is overwhelming.

"Couldn't leave my girl alone. Not today." You cover your mouth with your hand, squeezing your eyes shut. "Sorry I made you wait."

His arm comes to rest on the back of your chair, sending goosebumps down your spine.

"Where have you been?" When you finally peer up at him he's already staring down at you, eyes boring into your own. "Thought I'd never see you again."

Simon breathes deeply. He too thought the same. He'd never say this to you; that he almost didn't make it back. That the last few months he was unable to stand up for himself. He needed the time to heal properly and then go back to his safe place in the whole world.

Next to you.

"Open it." He says instead, pushing the small box closer to you.

You open it with nervous hands, it's small and it shines. A beautiful necklace with a shamrock.

"You remembered."

He walks back with you, one big hand placed on you lower back guiding you even if you know the way. You ramble about nothing and everything. Things that happened in his absence. Josh, the neighbor from next door moved out. Daisy the nosy lawyer who was deeply infatuated with Simon has gotten pregnant.

You got flowers from one of your co-workers.

He had growled at that piece of information.

The familiar apartment complex brings him a sense of bittersweet peace; the walls look dirtier than he remembers. The corridor is the same he's walked for countless years. You both come to a stop right outside your place, Simon is staring straight to the last door. The one that brought atrocious memories of the heinous crime that occurred to his family.

"Are you...-"

"I don't like being here." He states. The place... you were the reason he kept him coming back.

"I know..." you hesitate for a second before taking his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. If you close your eyes you can still see the gruesome scenes from that day. You sigh. "Guess that means you're not staying..." you can't help the disappointment in your voice.

"Didn't say that." He turns to look at you, intently. "Wherever you are, that's where I wanna be."

Even if it meant reliving the worst day of his life, when he came home to his brother's apartment. To see the bodies of everything he had left. It was twisted that the place that made him miserable also had in it the only reason he keeps going.

Good thing never happened to people like him. Tragedies were his life signature.

Yet he hopes, he dreams that, perhaps you'll be the exception.

#cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw22 #cod ghost #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #ghost cod

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 7 months

Text

(and if nothing brings you back) Surely, I'll roam through life in black

Mihawk x reader. NSFW!!

Title is an excerpt from Blind and Frozen by Beast in Black (again). Sequel to Built a haven for your love (until I let you fall apart). There will now be a separate epilogue to this story!

Note - 13/11/2023: I have edited Built a haven to delete a brief reference to Kain, the reader's past lover, in order to focus on other, more important characters.

*****

Dracule Mihawk is a patient man.

It is a natural quality, and at the same time that self-restraint is one of the reasons he has come as far as he has. After all, you don't become the best at what you do if you get bored easily, or frustrated after a visible lack of progress after a few short weeks; while natural talent did undoubtedly play a role in making him the man he is, Mihawk knows it is the long hours he spent practicising his swordsmanship (every single day since he was five, hundreds and even thousands of repetitions of the same figure, of the same lunge or the same parry, until he could perform them in his sleep and through simple muscle memory) that has made him the most respected and feared adversary in the four seas. He has always known in his heart the way of the sword was his destiny, no matter how hard and long the way to the top would be, and that path he has walked, patient and persevering, confident that one day his efforts and dedication would bear fruit - which they have. Even so, he still practices, every day, with the same focus and tenacity of when he was ten, still until his arms hurt and his fingers bleed, and then a little more.

Dracule Mihawk is a very patient man, not least because there is very little nowadays that can actually excite his curiosity to the point of anxiety; no rival in the last decade has seriously interested him, no swordsman he has heard about or met has made him feel excited at the prospect of a fight (or rather, one has; but a full year after their first and only meeting, Roronoa Zoro still has a long way to go before becoming a worthy opponent. But that is not a problem; once more, he is patient, he can wait.) and no future plan or commitment has ever made him wish time would pass faster. He is not bored, per se; he is just perfectly content with the way he spends his days, without worrying about what the future may bring...

... except for a single, tiny (no more than fourteen pounds by now, according to a book he has accidentally found in his library and even more fortuitously leafed through until he has found the chapter about infant growth) detail... one that has kept him awake at night for the first time in his life, and that not even training until his body gave up and his mind begged for the relief of sleep has been able to banish from his thoughts.

You. Or, to be more precise, the consequences of the night you have spent together. Or, to be even more precise, the reason why you haven't made him aware of them like you had agreed to do.

That... your silence, and the suspicion you are not deliberately keeping him in the dark (why should you? You have promised to inform him as soon as you had seen your doctor, you have his transponder snail number, you know how important it is to him) but something is keeping you from calling... that is what is making him loose his sleep.

To be honest, he started feeling anxious (a feeling he has at first almost struggled to recognize, so alien it was to his personality) just a few days after you had said goodbye, a feeling that became harder and harder to ignore, and then to keep at bay, as the weeks succeded one another. At first, he wasn't worried - just irritated. Even the most ignorant man in matters of childbearing knows it could take a while, perhaps even a whole month, before a person has reason to suspect they are expecting, and a late period could be due to several reasons other than pregnancy. Also, according to the book, it is not uncommon for pregnancies to end in the first three months, for reasons not even the best doctors fully understand; perhaps, he reflected as he polished Yoru at the end of yet another day-long training session, you have decided to wait until you are reasonably sure your pregnancy is real and healthy enough to reach full term, before informing him. Given how important this is to you, how desperately you wanted to get pregnant and have a baby, you may have ordered yourself not to believe it yourself until then, as if you knew you couldn't bear to lose the child you had waited for so long...

He was sure - no, he had been ready to bet his life that you would call after three months, to tell him you were officially, undeniably pregnant with his child. You are not the sort of person who forgets a promise they made, and while he has not yet decided what role he would play in the child's life, if any, you knew (you had to know!) it was important for him to be aware of the truth. He expected to receive your call any day, and he was determined not to miss it, so much that for the first time in his life he started bringing his transponder snail to the training room, or wherever he had decided to practice in that day, to make sure he heard it ringing.

It didn't. Or rather, when it did, it was never the call he expected. It was never you, and while three months became four, and then five, and then six, Mihawk started feeling restless, and frustrated, and then worried. Why aren't you calling?, he kept wondering. The thought, that was rapidly becoming an obsession, was constantly on his mind (when he trained; when he ate; when he showered; when he fought, either yet another quarry the Marines had sicced him on, or some fame-hungry swordsman who thought they could measure themselves against him and invariably discovered they could not; when he tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep) and threatened to drive him mad.

Six months after your night together, he had to stop lying to himself and seriously consider the hypothesis that you hadn't simply failed to contact him, whether because you had forgotten (absolutely impossible) or deliberately, but something was preventing you from doing it. Also, the two of you had never gone so long without meeting, and your few mutual acquaintances had not seen you recently either; you might have taken some time off from, or indeed put an end to, your activity as a mercenary when you realized you were pregnant, but that would not explain the lack of contact. Were you sick? Was the baby making you sick, and so weak you could not even hold a transponder snail receiver and speak in it? It seemed absurd: you were a still young, healthy woman, and even the most difficult pregnancy could not put a person into a coma! What could have been happened, then?

Has something terrible happened to you? It was, unfortunately, much less improbable than he would have wished; after all being a mercenary had to be one of the most unsafe, potentially fatal professions in the world, and your latest quarry might have turned out to be more challenging than you had expected, or maybe someone set to avenge one of your past victims had been able to sneak up on you and...?

He wanted to know. He had to - no, he needed to know, he reflected one night, the umpteenth in which he had found himself unable to sleep, as he looked at the starry sky out of his bedroom window, because while very little in the world had the power to upset or even just to actually interest him, he felt not knowing what had happened to you, and if you were safe and sound, could really drive him insane. You were strong, clever and resilient, but no one could keep their guard constantly up day and night, and so many dangerous things existed in the world; if you were hurt, and kept somewhere against your will unable to ask for help, he would move heaven and earth to find and set you free. And if it were already too late, if you had... died, either at the hands of an enemy or for some other reason...

In that case I really don't know what will become of me, he thought, then and so many times in the following months. He would have gladly stabbed himself in the heart rather than uttering those words out loud, or having someone else know he felt that way, but that was the truth and Mihawk was not in the habit of lying to himself.

The thing that vexed him the most was the inability to contact, and then to look for, you himself. He had not thought about asking for your own transponder snail number (something he had reproached himself for many times) and he even ignored the name of your island, which would have been the first place to search in. Worry and frustration prompted him to do what he never thought he would: call the Marines and ask... for informations.

"(name)? I haven't seen her in a while." Vice-Admiral Garp said, his tone pensive, on the day Mihawk contacted him "I was informed the man I had sent her to dispatch is dead, but she never came to collect the bounty, nor has she called or written to ask us to send it to her. I'm starting to think something bad has happened."

"Have you tried contacting her?"

"Of course we have. But her transponder snail has been deactivated since the first time we called, I don't know where she lives nor whether she has friends or family. Why do you care what happened to her?"

The sudden question, asked in a deliberately casual tone, took him by surprise for a moment. This doesn't concern you, Mihawk wanted to answer, but he stopped himself in time. He didn't particularly like Garp, but the older man was clever and relentless, not to mention he considered those like the two of you, pardoned pirates and mercenaries, like a necessary evil to keep in check; he would not go as far as to hurt a pregnant woman, and was probably already aware of your acquaintance given all the times you and him had sat down to drink and talk at the Marine HQ, but the least he knew, the better.

"(name) had promised to help me find a person I am interested in." he invented, confident a mere business deal would not interest the Marine much "A famous swordmaker she had been acquainted with years ago. She had promised she would track him down for me after her latest assignment, but I have not heard from her in a months."

"Had she now."

"What do you mean, Vice-Admiral?" Mihawk asked, suddenly irked; he didn't like the skeptic, vaguely mocking, tone the older man had used.

"Nothing, nothing. I'm afraid I can't help you, Mihawk; If you see her, tell her we'll keep the bounty for her."

As if he were the Marines' messenger boy. Mihawk disconnected without answering, sighed, and covered his eyes with his hand. It was as he feared: the call had been useless; you had disappeared, and he had no way to find you.

*****

And he still doesn't, six more months later, as he sits on the front steps of his house, a glass of red wine in his hand and his gaze facing the sunset, the familiar but still breath-taking view of the sky lit of red and black for once failing to catch his interest.

A year. A whole year spent thinking about you, worrying about you - and without you. He has sent word to his (very few) allies, acquaintances and whoever he could trust or owed him a favour, asking them to be on the look-out and inform him of any news, no matter how apparently far-fetched, about you.

It was all for nothing. You must have given birth by now, your baby should be around three months of age (has he ever seen a baby that small? Probably not since he was a very young boy himself, and he is sure he has never held one in his arms; well, he’s sure you’ll show him how…) but there is no trace of either of you. You seem to have disappeared into thin air, and Mihawk has never been so worried in his entire life. The possibility you are safe, having decided to hide and fake your death, doesn't even cross his mind; you had a deal, one he knows in his heart you would never break, both because you would have no reason to and because you would never do that to him (you wouldn't. It may sound presumptuous to think so, to believe he has some kind of influence over you, and he cannot claim to know what is in your mind... let alone in your heart... but you would keep you word, he would bet his life on it) which must mean that something is keeping you from contacting him, someone has hurt you, either keeping you prisoner somewhere, which would at least explain why you have disappeared, or worse...

You could have been killed. You could be dead, and the thought is so fiercely painful, the agony it fills his very being with so scorching and bitter, Mihawk wishes he could tear his heart from his chest, because if that were actually true nothing else, nor vengeance nor the passing of time, and surely not another lover, could ever give him the smallest amount of relief. So many people die every day, in some cases alone and unmourned, but the same cannot have happened to you, you are too... too smart and capable to have let an enemy overcome you, and too special and precious to have lived through something so terrible and humiliating...

And the baby? Your baby? What has happened to them?

Accepting to conceive a child together has been an impulsive decision, taken after just a few hours of reflection, but Mihawk does not regret it... and not simply because it has led him to the best night of his life. The thought of a child, of any child, hurt and killed would naturally horrify him, but to imaginehis own baby, his son or daughter, in danger or hurt... is it possible for a man to bear such an overwhelming grief?

He never thought he could feel like this; he never thought he would meet someone capable of arousing that sort of feeling in him, but he has, you have, and while Mihawk doesn't regret it, and knows he won't even if he does discover you have passed, the thought of losing you and your child before even having the chance to meet them... and to say goodbye to you, and... to talk to you once more, is... is...

He doesn't pray. He never has, and he knows in his heart it would make no difference, nor would he be able to find some comfort in it. Mihawk doesn’t believe in God, not in the benevolent, all-powerful kind so many people trust to make their lives a little more bearable or at least to reward them for their good deeds in the afterlife. What, who, he believes in, is himself, and this is why, after he woke up screaming from an horrible, excruciating nightmare (in which he opened the house door to find your reanimated corpse in front of him, a tiny dead body in your arms, telling him you were sorry you made him worry) he promises himself that if he ever finds you, you or the baby or hopefully both, he will never leave you again, and will give his life to protect you.

I swear, (name). I know you didn’t break your promise voluntarily; let me keep mine. Please, come back to me; I trust you. I can’t go on like this; not knowing is destroying me. Let me know you are both all right, and I swear I won’t let anything happen to you…

Are his feelings (fear, the instinctive protectiveness towards a child who is the blood of his blood, the memory of the night of passion you shared) getting the best of him, leading him to make a much deeper commitment than he would have been willing to had you, safe and sound, phoned him after a month to announce him you were in the family way? Perhaps. After all he does have a heart, but while he doesn’t intend to ask for your hand as soon as you meet again, he knows that whatever destiny has in store for the two of you, he will never regret his promise or the choice he made a year ago.

He never could, if you keep being part of his life. So he vows, in the privacy of his heart, and barely one day later he receives an answer; by God, by destiny, or someone else, he doesn’t care, but he has to quickly put an hand to his mouth to prevent Garp from hearing his sigh of relief.

“(name) has just called me.” The Vice-Admiral says; he sounds amused, as if his conversation with you had confirmed his suspicions about the reason why Mihawk was so worried about your disappearance. Lookin for a famous swordmaker indeed! “She has lost your number, but she was able to retrieve mine through an acquaintance who works close to another Marine base and asked me to convey a message.”

Silence.

“Mihawk?”

“I am here, Vice-Admiral.” he answers, in control of his emotions once more, even though he is clutching the transponder snail receiver so hard his knuckles have turned white “What is the message?”

“Simply her number, that she has asked me to give you. Do you have a pen?”

Mihawk does, but he needs to hear the number just once to know he will remember it forever. You are all right, he keeps repeating himself, alive and if perhaps not unharmed strong enough to carry out a conversation. Relief hits him, so sudden and overwhelming it almost hurts; did she tell you where she’s been in the last year? Is she all right?, for a moment he is about to ask, before thinking better of it; he will call you as soon as he finishes with Garp, who in any case he wouldn’t confide his fears in.

“I’ll tell her about the bounty she is owed. Good evening, Vice-Admiral.” he says, before hanging up and without giving the older man a chance to reply. He is alone, as always when he is at home, and Mihawk has never been so grateful for that lack of guests or, Gods forbid, house mates, because the last thing he wants is to have someone see him in that moment.

You’re alive. That is not enough to dispel all his fears, since as far as he knows you could be deadly ill or kept prisoner somewhere, and, most importantly, he still knows nothing about your baby, but suddenly he feels able to breathe normally for the first time in ages - in a whole year, that is. I knew you hadn’t forgotten your promise; that you hadn’t forgotten about me, he thinks, still worried but feeling a smile (a real, sincere smile, something no one in the world has ever seen on his face) open on his mouth. He remains still for a moment, the memory of your kiss and the sensation of your warm, solid body in his arms still etched in his mind, and a moment later he is already dialing the number Garp gave him.

You answer immediately; as if you were waiting for him to call. (You were. Desperately, fear and longing heavy on your heart; you needed to hear his voice like a person lost in a desert needed a glass of cold water, but at the same time you knew what you needed to tell him would destroy him, like it had destroyed you.)

“Mihawk?”

“This is him.” he promptly answers; until now you have always spoken in person and it has been a year since the last time, but he would recognize you voice anywhere “(name), are you all right?”

Silence.

“Name? Please…” he insists; that last word sounds almost alien on his tongue, but he can hear the call didn't fall, and the idea of you not wanting to talk to him is too painful to bear “Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I…”

“Is our baby all right?”

He can feel you hesitating for a moment more before slowly answering: “You needn’t worry; no one has been seriously hurt.”, which sounds too and unnecessarily complex when a simple we are both all right would have sufficed, but the determination in your voice is enough to reassure him “I’m sorry, I know I had promised to call you as soon as I had been to the doctor. I swear I would have, but…”

“Have you been kidnapped?”

“How do you know? Well, you’re right; I have been kept prisoner for a year, and my transponder snail was taken from me. I got free four days ago and I got home the day before yesterday. Mihawk, I…”

“Yes?”

Silence. Again. “I think it would be better if we spoke in person.” you state in the end “I’m sorry to ask you, but my doctor says I shouldn’t move for a few days a least, and my mother is of the same mind...”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Mihawk quickly answers, perfectly aware he doesn’t even know where there is, and utterly unbothered by the issue.

“Really?”

“Of course. Give me the coordinates.”

You do, from memory, and he writes them down, just to be safe; he shouldn’t take more than a day to reach you, he is pleased to realize. “I will be there tomorrow morning at the latest.” he promises; most people would think twice before sailing at night in unknown waters, but he is not most people “How do I find you?”

“I’ll send someone to wait for you at the harbour. Mihawk?”

“Yes?”

“Were you worried for me?”

He snorts - inelegant, perhaps, but since you cannot see him…

“What do you think?” he pointedly asks, and he’s happy to hear you laugh, just for a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, (name).” he promises, and then he is the one hesitating just for a moment, before adding: “I can’t wait to meet our child.”

You say your goodbyes and hung up, quickly enough he can’t hear you burst in tears.

*****

He is sailing less than thirty minutes later, pleased to discover a favourable wind is pushing his ship in the right direction, and exactly twenty-two hours later his ship docks at the only little port of your island, in a warm, sunny morning he would consider a good sign, were he inclined to believe in that sort of things (he never has). The moment he steps on the harbour, mainly occupied by tiny fishing boats, a trio of men in livery approach him.

“Welcome to our island, sir.” the oldest respectfully tells him as they all bow in unison; he doesn’t ask for his name, Mihawk notices, nor does he mention it to make sure he’s addressing the right man “Lady (name) has sent us to meet you. Will you please follow us to the fortress?”

He does, and the brief ride in the small but elegant horse-drawn carriage gives him the opportunity to explore the place you call home. You had told him it was small, and it really is, little more than a rock in a relatively unimportant corner of the sea, but patriotism aside, he can see why you like it: the streets are large, the building well-kept, the marketplace the carriage passes next to thriving, and the flora seems to be as lush as you said it was, given the huge trees he sees in the squares and along the streets.

Still, sight-seeing is not what he has come here for, and when finally the fortress (a solid, relatively large stone building, wind-tossed flags at the top of the four corner towers and a drawbridge over a deep moat) appears in front of him, Mihawl feels his heart skip a beat, both looking forward to seeing you and at the same time fearing the state he will see you in. Such sentimentality, such an inability to put order among his feelings, is very unlike him, as well as the sort of things he has always done his best to avoid and considered an unnecessary distraction. Still, he doesn't regret those feelings; you are part of him now, an unexpected but not unwelcome state of things, and while openly discussing matters of the heart has never been easy for him, and he doesn't yet feel ready to give a name to the emotions you have elicited in him, he wants you to know, he needs you to know, he has never stopped thinking about you from the day you said goodbye...

About you, and about the child you have given him. The child, about three months old now, who he is going to meet in a few minutes.

Crossed the large double door of the fortress, the older man in livery exchanges a few words with another servant. "Lady (name) is in her quarters." he then reports "I'll bring you to her straight away, sir, unless you want to rest for a while. A room has been prepared for you."

Mihawk is not tired, but had he not slept for a week, his answer would be the same. "Bring me to her."

You like admiring the sunrise in the morning, as you prepare to begin your day, hence your quarters are east-facing. Mihawk is led to a small parlor, which might double as your study given the desk and the full bookcase on one side. A closed passage leads presumably to your bedroom, while an open double door gives way to a sun-lit terrace, where a quiet but serious conversation is taking place.

"... need to tell him. You owe him the truth, especially if you hope for your relationship to continue."

"I know that, mother. I don't want to lie to him, but... he told me he looked forward to meeting the baby... I can barely bear to think about what the doctor said, but to discuss it..."

"I know how painful it will be; for both of you. But you still have a whole life in front of you, and you need to come to terms with..."

The conversation quickly ceases when the man in livery steps on the terrace. "Pardon, my ladies. Your guest is here, lady (name)."

The terrace is a mostly empty semicircle bordered by a wrought iron parapet, the breath-taking view opening on the whole island; Mihawk doesn't even glance at it, his yellow eyes immediately drawn to the younger of the two women sat not far from him, semi-reclining on a deck-chair under a large straw umbrella, a pillow behind her back hiding a tiny but deadly machine gun.

You.

The first thing he notices is the weight you have lost. He has tried many times to imagine how your body would change because of your pregnancy, what you would look like heavy with his child; he was sure he would find you beautiful as ever, perhaps even more so. He even entertained himself wondering how it would have been to make love to you as you were visibly pregnant... and discovered the thought was not at all unpleasant.

The you in front of him couldn't be farther from those fantasies. No doubt because of the year you spent imprisoned, you are clearly underweight, your left leg, left naked by the short skirt of your dress, is braced and bandaged, a profound, overcome but persistent weakness surrounding you, as if the excellent care you are receiving at home still couldn't undo the ill treatment you have suffered.

A strong-willed, resilient woman like you would not be cowed by a slap or a skipped meal. What sort of violence and abuse did your captors have to resort to in order to break your spirit? Have you been beaten? Starved? Exposed to the weather in the coldest days of the winter? Have they... assaulted you? Whatever the truth, Mihawk suddenly wishes he could have them in front of him; after a single hour, those bastards would beg him to die quickly.

Then you smile at him, happy and relieved, and the desire for revenge is promptly forgotten - or at least put aside. "Hello, (name)."

"You came."

"You know I would have."

You share a look, brief but enough to make him feel as if the last year had been no longer than a day; he can see unmitigated joy in your eyes, and relief, and... wariness, almost as if you feared what could be said during the conversation he has come to have. Are you... afraid of him? Why? What do you have to tell him that could upset him to the point of...?

He notices, a whole minute later than he should have, that the baby is not with you, nor there is on the terrace a cot or a little bed you could have put them in. He is about to ask, when the woman sat on the chair next to you, at the other side of a small round table, stands and turns to look at him. He doesn't need to consider the evident family resemblance, nor to think back to what you have told him about your family, to realize she must be your mother: you have the same look, the same kind but piercing gaze in your like-colored eyes. "Good morning. I am lady Veressa, (name)'s mother. It is a pleasure to have you on our island."

"Thank you, my lady." Mihawk answers with a slight bow of his head; he is able to behave courteously with people of authority, whatever Garp may think "The pleasure is mine."

"(name), I will leave you with your guest. Please, do not overexert yourself."

"I won't, mother. Thank you." you answer, and smile when she bends to kiss your brow. A moment later the lady of the island has left, the man in livery behind her, leaving the two of you alone.

Neither speaks as Mihawk moves the free chair even closer to yours and sits; there are about a million questions he wants to ask, but for a minute he is content like this, simply looking at you, reassuring himself you are really there, clearly exhausted but alive, healing, and still beautiful enough to take his breath away.

"You have a ten million berries bounty to collect." he points out after a while; you, apparently expecting to hear something completely different, blink, and appear to struggle a little to understand the meaning behind those words, as if your activity as a mercenary were a long-forgotten childhood game and not the trade you have practiced since you were still a girl.

"Oh... right. I will have to call Garp again one of these days."

You smile, still nervous but happy; your hand reaches towards him, and he takes it in his, careful, as if it were made of glass.

"I have missed you, Mihawk."

"And I you." he promptly answers; he wonders if you realize how rare, and surprisingly easy, it is for him to utter those simple words. Something tells him you do "Are you well?"

"Considering everything I have been through, I think so." you answer after a moment of reflection; there is no trace of complaint in your voice, rather it is the matter of fact tone of a person who dispassionately acknowledges a situation and moves on "The doctors said I have been lucky, a few more weeks under the loving care of my jailers and I would have died. And my leg should heal perfectly, which is the thing I was most worried about."

"That is good to hear. (name)..."

"You want to know about the baby." you interrupt him, and there is something on your face he cannot name, but that makes him shiver; as if you were preparing yourself for an unpleasant chore you could not avoid. You told him no one got seriously hurt, which only partially reassured him, and he knows he won't be able to relax until he sees his child with his own eyes... "Am I right?"

"Yes. Where are they?"

*****

This is a conversation you can't avoid; your mother is right, you owe him that much and more, especially if he is to still be part of your life from now on, which you desperately wish for. Still, you would give half of your blood (not a small sacrifice, considering how much of it you have wasted in the last year) to avoid or at least to postpone it, and enjoy the quiet, comforting joy of having Mihawk close once more, after fearing for so long you would never see him again.

You breathe in and, holding tight as if preparing for a violent impact, you confess: "There is no baby. I... I had my period a week after our night together, and regularly after that, at least for a while."

You have time to count up to ten before you hear him answering; you can't look at him, and perceive he'd rather you didn't.

"I see."

"I am so sorry, Mihawk. It was my most fertile period, and we tried three times... I was so sure..."

This time he is the one interrupting you. "I know. It is not your fault." he murmurs; you can feel the emotion in his voice, without a doubt much more than he wishes you to, and that makes you feel guilty, as if you were intruding in an intimate moment "I... I guess this is good, after all. You have clearly been hurt, and taken prisoner. That is not the sort of situation you'd want to be pregnant, and to have a child, in."

You can't help but agree, and you swallow, hoping against hope you can stop talking about it and the two of you can enjoy some time together before he leaves and you can go back mourning what will never be in the privacy of your heart, but Mihawk's next words hit you like a punch in the stomach.

"Maybe... maybe we can try again." he slowly suggests; he has started caressing the back of your and with his thumb, and the intimate tone of his voice, a still serious but unmistakably sensual accent in it, is enough to make you shiver, and cry "Once you have returned to health. Our night together was... very enjoyable, I wouldn't mind doing it again, and I must confess the idea of a child has grown on me..."

You will not cry. Not in front of him, not now. Don't you dare, (name).

"I can't." you murmur miserably; you feel as if you were confessing a terrible crime, something to be ashamed of, which couldn't be farther from the truth, and this makes you angry "I... after I came back, my mother insisted the doctors carried out a complete medical examination, to make sure we knew exactly what was wrong with me health-wise; we thought it was important to leave nothing untreated. My period had stopped after a few months, no doubt because I was given very little to eat, so my women's doctor visited me, and discovered... she found out that I..."

That I can't have children, and never will. Your voice breaks before you can utter those words, but Mihawk seems to perceive them all the same, and the flash of shock and pain in his lovely yellow eyes, brief but too sudden and fierce to hide it behind his usual sangfroid, makes you feel the worst, cruelest woman of the four seas. "Mihawk, I am so sorry... I swear I didn't know..."

"I believe you. I... I am the one who is sorry, (name). I know how important it was to you."

It was, and it still is; otherwise part of you wouldn't wish you had died in the cell you had been put in. "I know, but... you just told me you had started liking the idea of being a father. Well, I'm sure there are thousand of women who..."

"No. There aren't." he curtly stops you, as if to make it clear that he considers the matter closed. The intention behind those words, that he cannot imagine, that he doesn't want, a woman who is not you as the mother of his child, should make you feel happy, and flattered, and it does, even though that is just the light of a single candle in the unending darkness of your pain.

A still bitter but peaceful silence falls on you, your hand still enclosed in Mihawk's; even now, despite the excruciating pain making you feel as if a beast were eating you from the inside, you feel comfort, and peace, in having him close.

"What will you do now?" he asks after a while, and you shrug.

"My closest relative until two years ago was a distant cousin I didn't particularly like; he died, but he has left a son, and my mother and I agreed the best thing to do would be to name him my heir. He is only six, so it is too early to know whether he is a good fit for the role, but I will ask his mother to let the boy come live with us, and we can prepare him to rule after my death. He is technically of my blood so the succession should not be contested... but honestly I don't care much at the moment. The good of this island and its people has been my first and foremost interest since I was a girl, but now... now I would wish for everything to disappear. That I could disappear."

He has never seen that part of you, dejected and fragile and hopeless like a baby in the snow, and normally you would be embarrassed to have someone you respect and whose opinion you value witness those moments, but you know Mihawk has a heart, even though few people can say they have seen it, and you trust he will not judge you.

He doesn't.

"The people who hurt you." he mentions after a while "Are they alive?"

"The man who kidnapped me is dead, as well as a few of his henchmen I had to kill when they tried to stop me from escaping. Why?" you ask, confused, but a moment later you look at him, and a tiny smile blossoms on your lips "You want to go avenge me?"

"It is what you deserve."

"You don't even know why they did it. For all you know they could have had a good reason to try and hurt me."

"I'm sure they didn't."

"It was partially my fault actually. Every mercenary knows they should guard against friends and families of their victims, and I am usually careful, but that day I had lowered my guard." you admit, still ashamed of that rookie mistake "I was returning to the Marine HQ with the head of my latest quarry, and I fell in the trap this man had set for me; I had killed his brother years ago and he wanted revenge. I thought he would have killed me, but instead he wanted to prolong my suffering. He kept me in a cell so low I couldn't even stand, he starved me, beat me, left me outside and it was so cold I thought pneumonia would kill me... he took my derringer, my favourite gun, from me and smashed it under a rock, and I swear, that was the..."

And then he kisses you. To stop you from blabbering, perhaps, or because hearing what you have gone through has made him lose control with both rage and relief; you'll never know, and in the end you don't care. He has bent over you, covering the short distance between your chairs, his hand delicately cupping your face and his lips... his cool, soft lips, both gentle and hungry, are pressed against yours, and that is enough to light the fuse, to make your heart skip several beats and moan with pleasure, the memories of your night together instantly filling your mind.

You part your lips, suddenly so hungry for him you don't even care someone could enter and see you, but before you can deepen the kiss Mihawk breaks it, gently but firmly moving away and forcing you to let the hand you had placed on the back of his head fall.

"I am sorry." he says, with the least apologetic tone the world has ever heard "I shouldn't have."

"Yes, you should have. Do you really think you need to apologise?"

"You are very weak, and hurt. The last thing you need is to exert yourself."

"Is that your medical opinion?" you promptly retort; you still feel dead inside, like you have since you learnt you are destined to remain childless, but you want him so much you can barely breathe, and that makes you bold "I will not die if you kiss me, Mihawk; nor if we sleep together once more, which I would really like."

"(Name)..." he says with a sigh, and for a moment you almost hate him; he looks, and sounds, like a patient adult dealing with an unruly child, which is frustrating and more than a little offensive.

"You told me a moment ago you would be willing to try again. I know I do not look my best right now..."

"Do you really think I care about that?" Mihawk retorts; he hasn't raised his voice, but anger is seeping in his tone, which you approve. Anything, even rage, is better than concern; anything is better than him treating you as if you were broken, even though you are "I never have. Not with you. I have never stopped wanting you since we last parted, and I still do, fully and desperately."

If there is a thing you can always count on with Mihawk, it is him being sincere. "Then won't you stay with me?" you ask, holding out your hand towards him; you have always found it degrading for a woman, for any person actually, to beg for that sort of companionship, but this is what you are doing, you are begging him to take you in his arms and make you forget, at least for a little while, and you feel no shame or embarrassment, because you know that he, a proud and severe man, will not judge you "I need you, Mihawk. Please, don't leave me."

Your crutch, that the doctor (reluctantly) gave you permission to use to move around instead than using a wheelchair, is leaning against the wall next to your deck-chair, but before you can reach for it Mihawk's arms slip behind your back and under your bent knees, and a moment later he's crossing the terrace door and then the parlour, you firmly but gently held in his arms.

"Mihawk, put me down! I can walk..."

"You clearly can't." he reasonably points out, a trace of amusement in his voice "And don't worry, you're light."

You don't remember ever being held like this since you were a very young child, and you immediately decide you like it, both because you can feel his heart beating, much faster than normal, against yours, and because the proximity allows you to kiss him, which you avidly do, your arms circling his neck. You feel nothing but desire and joy and relief as you cling to Mihawk, pouring your very soul in each kiss, not stopping even as you push your bedroom's door open to let him carry you inside.

You need him. Because you are hurt and weak and scared and he is the only one you feel able to receive comfort from, but there is more to it; he is part of you, in a way you would be unable to explain but that you cannot ignore. In the solitude of your heart, you know it to be true, and it scares you, but you are not sorry for it.

Mihawk delicately lays you down on your bed, next to the little table cluttered with medicines and bandages, mindful of your broken leg. He takes his plumed hat off, his eyes trained on you as he leaves it on a nearby chair, and then places Yoru against the nearby wall. "I thought I would never see you again." he murmurs; he doesn't elaborate, keeping silent on the thoughts and emotions that belief elicited in him. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to, but that is all right, because you can perceive what he feels and thinks all the same; looking in his eyes is enough. "I... I missed you very much."

He doesn't know how much of a treasure those words are to you; which means, you immediately decide, you'll have to show him.

"And I you."

You quickly untie the knots of your dress, but then you stop, enraptured as you observe Mihawk undressing. He is not exactly putting on a show for you, but judging from the smirk adorning his face, he is more than aware of the effect he has on you. His long coat is the first to go, then his dagger necklace, his boots, his pants and what he wears underneath. Soon he is naked as the day he was born, and he joins you on the bed, slowly advancing like a predator moving towards his next meal. "Are you ready for me, woman?" he whispers, and you smile, confident you can play his game and even beat him at it.

"Maybe you're the one who is not ready for me."

Still, your self-confidence lasts only a few seconds, until you have awkwardly slipped the lower half of your dress from under your ass and taken it off, leaving him free to observe your abused, weakened body. You wait, anxious like a young soldier being inspected by a superior officer, afraid of what you could see in his eyes.

"Don't pity me." you warn him softly as you welcome him in your embrace "I have been lucky."

Mihawk sighs, as if understanding your motives but reticent to accept them; he gently lowers you on the bed, propping himself with his elbow next to your face. "I wish I could make them all pay." he whispers, his free hand gently caressing the bruises, wounds and scars scattered on your skin, the tenderness of his touch enough to bring tears to your eyes. "More than anything else... I wish I was there to help you. To protect you. I know you can take care of yourself..."

"I clearly can't."

"You know what I mean. You saved yourself in the end, did you not? (name), I wish I could make it all go away."

He can't, not really, and you both know it; still, you can smile, as you take his face in your hands, and feel his desire pressed against your tight. "Kiss me." you answer "And hold me tight. That will be enough."

He doesn't answer, but Mihawk has always been the sort of man who lets his action speaks for him, and thank the Gods, actions is exactly what you need now. You sigh, finally relieved, as he kisses you again, your mouths chasing each other as your hands explore the heavy, warm body above yours, your single night together, by now a year ago, enough to make you remember what he liked and what gave him pleasure. Mihawk pants as he feels your fingers caress his smooth chest, lingering for a moment to tease his nipples, and then descend towards the firm roundness of his ass; you grasp at it, greedily kneeding his flesh, and his hips quake. "(name)..." he murmurs, his tone reverent and almost worshipful; you are in awe, moved and grateful you see in his eyes the same emotions that fill your heart "(name), how... how I have missed you..."

"Tell me what you want, Mihawk." you invite him; it is his comfort you crave, the passion and pleasure of your lovemaking to forget at least for a while you will never have a family of your own, but that doesn't mean you don't want him to find joy in it "I want to make you feel good."

Again, he needs no words to express his intentions. He grins before moving to lie on one side next to you, your legs interwined; you are still kissing passionately as his hand moves yours to his hard cock, that you happily caress and tease while Mihawk is greedily sucking on your neck.

"You'll leave a bruise." you laugh; you can't wait to feel him inside you, and at the same time this is enough, the intimacy of feeling him close, not to protect you or to assure you you are still valuable and whole after what was done to you, but simply to know he cares "And everyone will know what I, we, have been up to."

"Good." is Mihawk's curt reply, and a moment later he is nuzzling your cleavage, his tongue lapping at the soft flesh of your breasts. He makes sure you are looking at him before capturing your nipple in his mouth, sucking and even gently biting until you have to press an hand to your mouth, that a moment later Mihawk decisively takes off. "Don't." he orders.

"But..."

"Don't hold back. Scream if you want. Make the whole fortress hear, let your people know what their pretty lady is doing. Let all the men on this island know they have no chance."

Of all the things you could have imagined, Mihawk being possessive, even jealous, of you, would have been the last of the list. But you like it, you immediately decide, you like it a lot, so much that you lift his gaze towards yours with an hand under his chin, while the other grasps at his cock with enough force to make him quiver, and you see pure, raw pleasure explore in his gaze.

"I don't want other men." you confess; it is way too early in your relationship (assuming that he actually wants one; you know you do, and the disappointment would break your heart) for promises and commitment, but you know you'll never regret uttering those words "I only want you. All of you. Take me, Mihawk; I'm yours, whatever you want you can do it to me."

The sound Mihawk makes after hearing your words is not a moan nor a grunt, rather a growl, and when your eyes meet once more you know that he couldn't stop even if he wanted. He doesn't need to, fortunately, and you smile as you lift your hips, careful not to put your weight on your broken leg, and let him take off your panties. The moment you are finally naked in front of him, ready and so eager, you see him lick his lips as he lifts your good leg to wrap it around his hips. He kisses you once more, intense and devout and hungry, and a moment later you feel him push against you, and your body opens like the petals of a flower to welcome him inside.

The moment you are finally one, so close and intimately linked, the relief filling your body is so intense you could weep for it; you can feel his heart beat against your chest, and it is lovely, it is so amazing, because it beats jointly with yours. Mihawk's forehead rests against yours, his hand still caressing your hair.

He is smiling. "Now you're mine." he whispers, in what is both a claim and a promise; and then he starts moving.

*****

It is a good thing that he arrived in the morning, you reflect as you lazily caress Mihawk's chest, since you are free to enjoy the intimacy and closeness between you until it lasts, without having to waste time sleeping. You are lying on your back, pleasantly surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, and it is as if the world outside your bedroom had disappeared; another gun, that you chose to replace your lost derringer even though it doesn't carry the same personal value, is hidden under your pillow. You seem to remember you had some important task to carry out today, the opening of a new school or a meeting with some council member or other, but you are not sure, and for the first time in your life you don't care.

"Does your mother know about me? About us?" Mihawk asks after a while; he is lying on your right side, so as not to bump into your broken leg, and he has yet to let you go, his strong arms firmly encircling your shoulders and waist. Despite the intensity of his desire, he has been gentle with you, as you needed in your state but more than you wanted him to; still, you feel pleasantly sore, your body tired but content and satisfied as Mihawk's fervor still warms your skin.

A soft laugh escapes your lips. "Why? Would it embarass you?" you ask back after kissing his chest.

"Not at all. She didn't seem upset when she saw me, but perhaps she disapproves her daughter associating with a pirate."

You assure him that fortunately your mother has never demanded to choose who you made friends (or more) with, especially since you have become an adult. "Also, she wouldn't have the right to judge." you add pensively as you slowly turn on one side to return his embrace "Since she also fell in love with a pirate."

That also escapes your lips without you realizing; Mihawk does.

"Your father?"

"Yes. He... well, he was part of Gold Roger's crew. He was the navigator."

Mihawk's raised eyebrows suggest you have done what perhaps no one else in the world has: taken him by surprise - twice. "You are not joking?"

"Of course not. I hadn't been born yet, of course, but from what my mother told me their ship passed by our island during one of their voyages, and the captain decided to stop for a while to rest and restock provisions." you explain; many people would be excited to hear a first-hand account of a meeting with the famed King of the Pirates, but you have always been much more interested in the man who, in true pirate fashion, stole your mother's heart. "She, who at the time was the heir just like me now, was the one who went to welcome them at the harbour; she met my father, and for ten weeks they were inseparable. On the day the crew was meant to depart, she told him she was pregnant; she knew the sea was his home, and that no matter how much they cared for each other, and how amazing a father he would have been, settling down on land with her would have made him miserable. So she let him go, and they started exchanging letters. When I was little, my mother would read his to me to make me fall asleep; I never met him, but I kept his wanted poster framed in my room. Then he returned, suddenly one day."

Mihawk's fingers begin to move along your leg, tantalizing close to your crotch. "Was it after Roger had died?"

"It was. Apparently, Roger left his crew voluntarily, he wasn't captured as the Marines said; he had relinquished command to his first officer, but a few members of the crew decided to leave it. My father was among them. He didn't expect my mother and me to welcome him with open arms after seventeen years spent living as he pleased, he told us, but he had never stopped thinking and caring about us, and hoped we would give him a chance to prove it. My mother, who by then had succeded her father as ruler of the island, let him stay, with my approval, and so we had a chance to finally bond."

You don't tell him of those years. Of how you gradually got used to your father's presence in your life, where until then he had been just a picture on the wall; of how he slowly, patiently built a relationship with you, learning to know your emotions, your thoughts, your dreams and fears, and how equally little by little you came to trust him, to respect and finally to love him. Of all the things you did together, the quiet, pleasant afternoons spent fishing at the docks, your legs dangling next to his and the sun on your backs, his awe and pride as he saw how talented you were with a gun in your hand (your maternal grandfather had been the first to teach you, like his own had done with him) and capable in your recently started activity as a mercenary, and how he liked dancing with you while your mother played the piano. You don't tell him how happy you felt when he and your mother told you they had decided to pursue a relationship once more, and how proud and excited he was when you told him you were expecting.

You don't. You can't, because it hurts so much, still today, enough to feel your heart bleed. What you are able to share, although with a huge effort, is that one day, nine years ago, a merchant ship reached your island, ostensibly to exchange or sell the goods in its hold. The truth was very different.

"The ship's original crew had been massacred by a band of pirates, who had then stolen vessel and cargo to carry out the captain's plan. My father had been sure no one would recognize him from his past as a pirate; after all our island was so tiny and virtually unknown, and Gold Roger had been so famous few had ever paid attention to his men, especially one who had no special abilities and powers like him. He was wrong; one of the island's rare tourists had recognized him from his old bounty poster, and weeks later he mentioned it to his friends in a tavern. The captain of the pirate crew happened to hear."

"Did he know your father?" Mihawk asks, still holding you tight; he seems genuinely interested in your story, which does please you, but part of you regrets even starting it, spoiling the pleasant moment you were living together... and that you don't know how long will last.

"No, he didn't. The captain wasn't interested in my father personally, he just wanted to find one of Roger's men... and force him to reveal the location of the One Piece." you explain "My father told the captain he didn't know; that Roger had hidden his treasure in a place only he knew, and had brought the secret to his grave. The captain didn't listen; by then, his men had surrounded the fortress and announced we would both be killed had my mother, who had by chance been at the other side of the island when our home had been besieged, ordered the guards to force an entry. He told us he would kill both of us if my father didn't him what he wanted to know... and in the end he did. The pirate shot me, but my father attempted to shield me with his body; he took a bullet in the head for me, and he died, and then a few guards who had disobeyed orders broke into the room, and I got hit in the cross-fire. I survived, but I miscarried; and even though I had no idea, because I kept having my period as usual after that, it was then that... something must have broken inside me, preventing me from getting pregnant ever again. That day I thought I had lost almost all of my family, but I had no idea of how right I had been."

Your tale has ended; you spoke for a few minutes at most, but you feel exhausted, even more than after you had escaped from your captivity and dragged yourself back home. As you expected, discussing the loss of your father and your baby, and the fact that you are destined to never be a mother, has been an agony you would not wish on your worst enemy; last night you have cried yourself to sleep, and you thought the overwhelming, excruciating pain you felt was too much for a person to bear, and you would die from it. Now that you're able to rationally reflect on it, you know you're not going to be so fortunate: you're gonna live, potentially for decades to come, and this pain will never leave you completely.

A sigh escapes your lips. "I am sorry; this is not the sort of topic one should discuss when with... someone special." you quietly admit, and Mihawk grunts in disagreement.

"I think you and me are beyond this sort of things." he points out before kissing you once more, and despite everything, despite how dead inside you feel, the sensation of his tongue against yours is enough to make you tremble. "You didn't deserve it, (name)." Mihawk quietly adds; he can't make it all go away, no matter how dearly you both want it, but those few, apparently impersonal words matter more to you than any I am so sorry or display of sympathy "Nobody does, but you least of all."

"I agree."

You enjoy the quiet and intimacy between you for a few more minutes, sharing lazy kisses and touches that you know you have already developed an addiction for, and that you will never stop craving.

But you have to. At least for a while, because the strength you need to go on you have to find it inside you, and you can't do it if you're tempted to hold onto him.

"How long can you stay?" you murmur a moment after your hand has slipped downward to caress Mihawk's cock, tearing a satisfied moan from his mouth.

Mihawk shrugs. "I have -ah...!- no pressing duties to attend to. I can stay as long as I want." he explains; a moment, and then: "As you want."

"Oh, you're leaving me the choice?"

"This is your home, and your island. I don't want to be the sort of guest who overstays his welcome."

"You never could and you know it." you point out, and you shiver, feeling his fingers gently explore the expanse of your chest and belly; then, thinking that even the worst criminals are granted a twenty-four hours reprieve to put their affairs in order before the sentence is carried out, you propose: "What if I asked to stay until tomorrow at this hour?"

"That would be fine. Why?"

"Because I feel that if you stay longer, I won't be able to let you leave."

Mihawk reflects on your words; he doesn't seem surprised, nor particularly happy, about your proposal. "Then." he begins as he turns to cover your body with his once more; there is sadness in his yellow eyes, but even more, there is trust and warmth, and perhaps even love, even though that could be wishful thinking on your part "I say we relish the time we can spend together while it lasts. What do you say?"

You obviously agree; you take him in your arms and hold him tight, leaving everything else behind - for a little while at least.

This fic is dedicated to @alphaash99 and @skynikan. Thank you for your support, hope you like this!!

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Steven John Ward #Dracule Mihawk #Dracule Mihawk x reader #Mihawk x reader #Bellona's stuff

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minimoxha · 3 months

Text

Deadbeat dad! Toji

Summary: Norhihg, i did this in fifteen minutes idk what this is! Stay to the end for my A/N <3

Pairing: Toji/Reader , Gojo/reader. Not edited.

So you wanna try to come back now?” Looking at toji and how he looks, you were bewildered to see the man you didn’t think you’d see again standing at your doorstep with flowers that looked like they were mere inches from death. He was still a godamn cheapskate.

“Look baby, i was in a bad space and i wasn’t ready to be a father. I wanna be a father now , for gumi.”

You stood at the doorstep, staring at Toji with a mixture of surprise and hesitation. The sight of him, holding wilted flowers and expressing a sudden desire to be a father for Gumi, left you speechless. You couldn't help but feel a flood of conflicting emotions, memories of past disappointments mingling with a glimmer of hope.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered yourself and calmly replied, "Toji, it's been six years since you walked away. Six years of struggles, of raising Gumi on my own. How can I trust that you're truly ready now? Why would I even give you the option to come back?"

Toji's eyes flickered with a hint of regret as he lowered his gaze. "I know I made mistakes, and I can't change the past. But I've done a lot of soul-searching, reflecting on what I've missed out on. I realize now that being a father is more than just a title; it's about being there for our child, supporting them, and showing them love. I want to make up for lost time, for the moments I wasn't there." He didn’t even sound serious, he sounded drunk. He most likely wasn’t drunk but he sounded like he was on hard drugs.

Your mind raced, torn between the desire to protect Gumi from disappointment and the possibility of a renewed and involved father figure. Questions flooded your thoughts, and you found yourself asking, "Toji, what's different now? Why should I believe that things will be any different this time?"

Toji's voice trembled slightly as he spoke. “Baby, give me one more chance. Let me prove to you that i could love you and megumi.”

You glanced at the wilting flowers in Toji's hands, a metaphor for the fragility of your hope. But within that fragility, a glimmer of possibility began to emerge. You knew you needed to consider Gumi's well-being above all else, but perhaps there was room for growth and forgiveness.

"I need time, Toji," you finally replied, the weight of uncertainty evident in your voice. "Gumi deserves a committed and loving father. Show me, over time, that you truly mean what you say. Show me, and maybe, just maybe, we can try to build something new."

Toji nodded, understanding the gravity of your request. "I'll do whatever it takes, for Gumi and for you. I'll prove that I can be the father our child deserves and be the man that could please you.” You give him a nod and shut the door, letting your hands linger as your emotions come washing over you. You were supposed to be over Toji, having moved on after six years but the day you seen him again it seems like all your hard work in your self and raising Megumi just went down the drain.

A pair of arms wrap around your waist. “Who was that at the door?” Your fiancé said from behind. You turned around to get a good look at your white haired fiancé, Gojo holding megumi in his hands. That’s when it came to

you for why exactly you changed and left that man alone. Not only because he was broke but because of the new man who brought change in you.

You felt the familiar wrap of arms around your waist, only to realize it was your fiancé, the cocky and confident Gojo, who was holding you close. His question about the visitor at the door dripped with disdain as he asked, "Who was that at the door?"

You turned around to face Gojo, taking in his signature smug expression and the way he effortlessly held Megumi in his hands. A mix of emotions danced in your eyes as you remembered the past, and you couldn't help but notice how Gojo's distaste for Toji was evident.

"It was Toji," you replied, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

Gojo's eyes narrowed with disdain as he scoffed, "Toji, huh? Figures. The guy was nothing but a broke loser, just like I always said."

You couldn't help but sigh, knowing that Gojo's strong dislike for Toji was deeply ingrained. "It wasn't just about him being broke, Gojo. There were other reasons why I left him or why he left me.”

Gojo smirked confidently, his arrogance shining through. "Well, whatever they were, I'm glad you did. Good riddance to that sorry excuse of a man. With me, you've got someone who knows how to handle things, how to provide, and how to take care of you and our little one."

You couldn't deny the truth in his words. Gojo possessed a certain charm and charisma that had drawn you in, but his cockiness sometimes rubbed you the wrong way. "I appreciate your confidence, Gojo, but let's not forget that it takes more than material wealth to make a good partner and father."

His smirk wavered slightly, but his eyes remained determined. "I know that, babe. But you saw what Toji was like—unreliable, irresponsible. I'm the complete opposite. I'm here, I'm present, and I won't let you or Megumi down."

You couldn't deny that Gojo's presence had brought stability and support to your life, but a part of you couldn't help but feel torn. "I do appreciate everything you've brought into our lives, Gojo, but let's try not to let our personal feelings cloud our judgment. It's important for Megumi to have a healthy relationship with both of his parents, even if Toji wasn't the best at first. I just don’t know if we could trust him. "

Gojo's expression dropped slightly, a hint of understanding flickering in his eyes. "Alright, I'll try to keep my personal feelings in check. But don't forget, I'll always be the better man for you and Megumi."

You chuckled softly, a mix of exasperation and affection. "Shut up, idiot.” Gojo flashed a cocky grin, his confidence never wavering.

Idk what this is tbh i wrote this while i was on the toilet because i’ve been gone pretty long and i know i needed to upload something. I’m still alive yall! Just a bunch of life issues in the way. This will start my regular posting though! (i hope.) Lwave me some ideas in my inbox if you want to tell me what you want to see, love you guys!

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tropes-and-tales · 8 months

Text

Sweet Like Candy

Day 5: Sex pollen (Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Dub-con due to sex pollen trope; smut (PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4990

AN: This was requested by an anon with an excellent memory who remembered when I mentioned a sex pollen Carrillo piece in passing! Also, not edited. I'm sick and barely ran it through spell-check.

It’s Carrillo’s fault, this entire terrible situation.

If he hadn’t been so severe when he first met you, he could have a genial working relationship with you. You wouldn’t have been afraid of him from the start. You would have been willing to work directly with him, handed off your lab reports directly instead of filtering them through Peña and Murphy, through Trujillo.

He wouldn’t have gotten grief from Peña to try and make peace with you. He wouldn’t have gone to visit you, a play at being a softer, kinder Carrillo who perhaps smiles and says thank you for all of your exemplary work.

He wouldn’t have found himself in your lab on this day—the day you’re running tests on a separate case for the Medellín police, separate from the Search Bloc and its pursuit of Escobar. Not testing cocaine at all: a scatter of innocuous-seeming candy in your workspace. Supercoco—chewy caramel with coconut pieces folded in.

Any Colombian recognizes the green wrapper. Carrillo smiles to see it, slips a couple of pieces into his pocket when you turn away for a moment.

Only this isn’t Supercoco. It’s a version infused with the distillation of a plant found in the Amazon, then wrapped in the familiar green paper. A powerful love drug, an aphrodisiac, passed on the sly in the bars and night clubs of Medellín.

It’s Carrillo’s fault. He’d been so severe when he met you, he tries to make amends now by being casual. You stare at him as though he has two heads as he asks you about your day, how you’re settling into your apartment, if you’ve had a chance to explore the city yet.

You answer his questions with your brows furrowed. Confused. He’s hardly the same man who barked at you on your first day in Colombia. A timer in the lab goes off, and you turn to one of your complicated pieces of lab equipment to read the ticker tape being spit out of the machine.

Your back turned, he snags another piece of candy and eats it. He’s trying to be Casual Carrillo, not the flinty version of himself with a cold gaze and a grim set to his mouth. He takes a second piece, chews it, feels a million memories from his childhood resurface at the taste. But then you turn around, see what he’s eating, and your face—usually guarded and wary when he is around—turns to pure horror.

“No!” You bridge the distance between the two of you, and you’re touching him before he can even register it. Your hands are on his face, pinching the corners of his mouth, trying to force him to spit out the candy. It’s pure instinct, like a mother forcing a toddler to spit out something poisonous. You move on instinct, manhandling his face, and he moves on instinct too.

He spits out the half-chewed candy.

Which doesn’t help with the piece he already ate. The piece already in his stomach, being digested.

“Shit, rinse out your mouth,” you order him, and you dart to the sink, pour him a glass of water. You thrust it into his hand, and his heart starts to hammer at your panicky reaction. What has he eaten? Poison? Some terrible, addictive drug? Something that’ll do permanent damage to him, leave him with a weakened heart or a compromised liver? Something that’ll shave years off of his life?

“What—” he starts to ask, but you gesture at the glass, so he does as he’s told. He takes a mouthful, swishes it around. Spits it out in the sink, then does it again and again.

“It’s some sort of love drug,” you tell him once he’s done. You sag in relief against the counter. “Medellín police found a bunch of it in a bust the other day. The DEA contracts my lab out to the local force, so I’ve been running tests.”

“Love drug?” he asks, his stomach sinking. “What does that mean?”

“Tests reveal organic compounds from a plant. Like maca root, only…times a thousand.”

He swallows hard, and you catch the audible gulp, misunderstand it.

“You’re fine,” you tell him, and you gift him a rare smile. “You didn’t eat it. And anyway, there’s no long-term side effects if you had. It just makes the user really, uh, friendly.”

“How friendly?” he asks, using your cutely prudish American adjective for horny, and you give him the anecdotal evidence from the Medellín police about spontaneous orgies in local clubs, and then he tells you the bad news about how he ate a first piece before spitting out the second, and the way your eyes go wide and your mouth forms a perfect “O” of horror would make him laugh, if he weren’t so nervous about what is about to happen to him.

-----

You drive him home in his own car. There’s no point in taking him to the hospital—the only treatment is to ride it out.

It’s hard to describe the way it feels when the drug starts to affect him. Carrillo has little experience with any drugs beyond the morphine he was prescribed when he was shot and had surgery. He remembers the morphine, even years later: the warm, syrupy calm that spread through his limbs, erasing the pain of his wound.

This…is not that.

Twenty minutes. Half an hour after he eats that fucking laced candy. He feels it in his stomach first, right under his rib cage: warm, but not calm. Warm, but…alert. Aware. If the morphine put his senses to sleep, then this wakes them up.

Wakes all of his senses up, then as the warmth spreads—up into his chest, down into his gut—wakes his senses up even more. Carrillo’s senses dialed up to a thousand.

Not just smelling your delicate perfume, but smelling the soap from your laundry detergent, the shampoo you used that morning. The faintly chemical smell of your lab that clings to your hair and clothing.

Not just hearing you—your cautious questions of how he’s feeling, where you should turn next to get him home. He swears he can hear your heart beating, the pulse and slush of your blood as it moves through your body. Swears he can hear you breathing, can hear the quiet creak of your jaw as you clench it in worry.

Not just seeing you, the mousy little scientist that he managed to scare shitless her first day in Colombia. Put the fear of God in you after the last DEA scientist got caught skimming Escobar’s cocaine from the bricks confiscated by the Search Bloc. His own fault, how he barked at you that first day, and this is his fault too—not following the rules of your lab. Now he’s not himself.

Now he sees you with the drug roaring in his veins. The tight clench of your hands on the steering wheel. The worried set of your jaw, the way you study him out of the corner of your eye. He sees more, now, too: the delicate shell of your ear, the tiny pinprick in the lobe of a piercing but no earring because of your lab protocols. The way the line of your neck disappears into the neckline of your shirt, the curve as it meets your shoulder. The thin silver chain around your neck, a locket, and Carrillo wonders if you’ve got some sweetheart back home who gifted it to you before you left for South America.

The thoughts rise in his head like carbonation, rapid-fire. Usually so logical, so cool-headed: now his thoughts are gummy, sticky. He wants to lean against the seatbelt and put his mouth on your neck, follow the line of it into your shirt, then pull it aside and keep going. Tasting you. Such a sweet, mousy little thing—he wonders if you taste sweet, or if he’d taste the salt of your skin, maybe a bitter spot where you daubed perfume that morning—

“Shit.” It comes out a groan, pained. He lifts a hand and presses it over his eyes, and he feels how hot his palm is. This is bad. It’s so bad. He’s not himself; he’s losing who he is: Horacio Carrillo, the man who is always so staid…that man is fading into the background. That Horacio is going quiet, ceding control to this other Horacio who is ruled only by want, by feeling.

-----

You manage to get him home, and he is still enough of himself to thank you.

He’s also enough of himself to bark out that you need to leave: take his car and go, leave him alone.

But Carrillo never really got to know you. He put the fear of God in you that first day. You’ve been ducking him ever since. He has no way of knowing the type of person you are.

He has no way of knowing that you are the caring sort. You’re soft-hearted. You worry for people when they are hurt or sick; you check in on them. You take care of them.

He has no way of knowing that while you are brilliant at your job and largely level-headed, your heart often drives you and your brain often follows. Which is why you ignore his orders and follow him into his house: your soft heart driving you to help a person in distress, when your brilliant mind is perhaps warning you to stay away.

-----

You follow him into his house, and Carrillo is still enough of himself to try and force you to leave.

“You gotta go,” he says, and his usually-crisp English comes out slurred, slushy and rounded off with his Colombian accent. “Gotta leave.”

He curls his hands on your upper arms, pushes you backwards but not meanly. Pushes you towards the door carefully so you don’t stumble or trip, but it’s another sense dialed up to a thousand—the feel of you under his hands. The warmth of your body underneath the crisp cotton of your blouse, the way his fingertips bite into the surprisingly firm muscles there.

“If you don’t leave, m-might not be able to stop myself.” He pushes you towards the door, but already that driving want is roaring in him, and he doesn’t stop to open the door and push you through it.

He keeps it closed and pushes you against it.

He traps you between the door and his body, so close to touching you. There’s hardly any space separating you. Millimeters. Molecules. Close enough to feel the heat of your body, the magnetism the fucking drug is convincing him is there—

Carrillo stares down at you; you gaze back with those widened eyes. Nervous. As scared as you’d been that first day, and it chastens him just a bit. You probably think he’s a monster.

You take a breath, and the motion makes the locket around your neck move. It catches the light and draws his eye. Carrillo takes a hand from your shoulder and lifts the locket from where it lays against your chest. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, considering it.

“Your boyfriend give you this?” he asks.

You blink at the question, shake your head faintly. “It was my grandma’s.”

A dumb thing, but the thought of you having a grandmother—of course you have two, as most humans do—reminds him that you’re a person with an entire history. A family back home in the States. Likes and dislikes. And Carrillo knows none of it.

“You need to go,” he says in a low voice, ignoring the wave of lust that sweeps through him. “I can handle this alone.”

You shake your head again. “It was my lab. My responsibility. I can help. I can get a cold shower going and then—”

He silences you. He puts his finger over your lips, stills them. The wrong thing to do: now he knows how your mouth feels, and Carrillo grits his teeth and breathes shallow through his nose.

“If you don’t go, I’m going to want to—Dios, I already…you need to go.”

The last vestige of the sensible, stoic Carrillo wants to open the door, shove you out of it, throw the bolt. That Carrillo wants to stagger deeper into the house, alone, and strip out of his clothes. He wants to lay on the cool tiles and relieve the tension as best he can.

That Carrillo is gone. Silenced, tucked away into a corner of his mind. This Carrillo doesn’t push you away: instead, he shifts his hand, traces his finger over the plump curve of your lower lip, and your eyes widen at his touch—

This Carrillo remembers something. With his other hand, he reaches down. Into his pocket, where a few pieces of the laced candy are. The ones he pocketed on the sly and forgot.

He pulls one out. Unwraps it clumsily with one hand while the other hand remains on your mouth, stilling your words. Once it’s unwrapped, he holds it up for you to see, like a trainer teaching a dog with a treat. Then he removes his hand from you, takes a step back. It takes every single bit of his resolve to stop touching you, but he does.

He’s giving you a choice: leave, as he’s ordered you to do more than once. Or stay and join him.

In this moment, Carrillo still doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking. He knows so little about you, only knows that you avoid him, are frightened by his tough colonel of the Search Bloc routine.

There will come a time in the future when he will be able to guess, with startling accuracy, what you are thinking. He’ll know you better then. He’ll know that as mousy as you seem, you have sudden surges of bravery. Sudden moments of nerve.

That comes later. Right now, when Colonel Horacio Carrillo gives you a choice, you startle him. You don’t turn and flee.

You shift your eyes from the laced candy in his hand to his own eyes, and you seem to see something there that informs your decision.

You don’t flee. You open your mouth and allow him to lay the laced caramel onto your tongue, a perverse sort of communion. It’s one of your sudden moments of nerviness, and you never blink once, never look away from him while you chew carefully, then swallow.

*****

It’s morally grey, at best. The man is not himself.

It’s utter madness at worst.

There will come a time in the near future when he will ask why you didn’t leave. Why you ate the candy. You’ll tell him a half-truth: that it was professional curiosity, how taking the drug would feel. You’ve never tried the drugs you test in your lab; you always rely on your equipment and anecdotal evidence from those who do inject or smoke or eat the various drugs. But there is always the curious part of you, the most essential part of being a scientist, that wants to know how it feels.

Why not try it? It isn’t cocaine or heroin or LSD.

There will come a time in the further future when he will ask again, and that time, you’ll tell him the whole truth: that yes, you were curious about the drug. But more than that: you were curious about him. You were terrified of him and attracted to him in equal measure (you blamed the fact that he was usually in uniform), which made for a weird combination of emotions every time you had to deal with him. The sinking fear in your gut that he’d turn his flinty gaze on you…paired with the fluttery swooping in your gut of burgeoning infatuation.

That all comes later. Right now, there’s nothing but the sweetness of caramel lingering in your mouth, almost cloying, and Colonel Carrillo staring at you like he wants to devour you. You inch around him, move away from where you’re trapped between him and door.

You make your way deeper into his home, and you sit on his couch and wait. He follows and sits beside you, but he doesn’t touch you. He clenches his hands into fists in his lap, his knuckles white with the effort, but he doesn’t touch you.

That means something, you think. Says something about his character, even when he’s drugged.

Fifteen, twenty minutes after eating the laced candy: you’re ready to be devoured.

*****

Carrillo doesn’t know exactly how the drug works—if it affects men and women differently—but he can guess when you start to feel it.

Your face twists into an expression of concentration, as if you’re surveying how you feel. Like you’re checking in on your pulse, your breathing, your temperature. You narrow your eyes, and he wonders if you’re making mental notes that you’ll later print in your small, neat handwriting in the little notebook you keep.

Carrillo? He’s in hell. Twenty minutes of waiting for you to sink to his level, and every cell of him aches for relief. He’s not in any physical pain—whatever formula the chemists use for their so-called love drug, it’s meant to be fun, not painful. But it’s like pain, the endless want he has, the lust that’s sunk its claws deep into his gut.

The twenty minutes pass like twenty years.

Then you swipe your palms along the thighs of your jeans as if they are sweaty, and you breathe out a shaky, “holy shit,” and he knows you’re finally in the same place as him so he pounces, damned near: a graceless move, quick, that bridges the distance between the two of you. He presses himself against you, cages you against the arm of the couch, and when he bends his head to kiss you, you raise up to meet him more than halfway.

He knows it’s just the drug, but you kiss him with a passion he’s never experienced before: not with his now-ex-wife, not with the handful of girls before her. Every other kiss before pales in comparison to the heat behind your kiss now: the fierce way you slot your mouth over his, how eagerly you slide your tongue against his without an ounce of the shyness he associates with you. He can taste the sickly-sugary laced-candy, but he swears he can taste you too, and when he groans in your mouth, you answer with your own whine.

There’s only a small sliver of him that is still him, and that tiny shred of the sensible Carrillo manages to break away. You’re both tearing at each other’s clothing—your shaky hands fumbling at the buttons on his shirt, his hands tugging the hem of your blouse out of your jeans. But he breaks away with every remaining bit of his inner strength, and he gazes down at where you’re awkwardly splayed across his couch.

“Not here,” he pants. All of this will shame him when he’s sober, he thinks, but he can try to be a gentleman, can claim you on a proper bed and not on an uncomfortable couch.

He stands up, and a wave of dizziness washes through him. He staggers, and you sit up and reach out to steady him. You wrap a hand around his wrist and stare up at him. Your eyes glitter black because your pupils are so wide that the color of your irises is little more than a crescent—but he thinks he sees concern there underneath the lust.

“You okay, Colonel?” you ask, confirming his suspicions. Even now, under the influence of the drug, he’s seeing your caring nature that he’s never been privy to before. It sobers him up just enough.

Carrillo nods. He twists out of your light grip and takes your hand in his. He tugs you to your feet and feels how you sway against him too.

“N-not here,” he repeats. A fresh wave of lust courses through him, nearly knocks him to his knees like the incoming tide. “I don’t…not here, okay? C’mon.”

You nod and allow him to lead you back to his bedroom. He keeps his hold on your hand, unwilling to give up the tame touch, and when you squeeze his hand—maybe you’re nervous—he squeezes yours back in reassurance.

-----

That small, quiet voice that was sensible Carrillo is silenced the minute he gets you in the bedroom. The drug takes him over completely, and he’s almost relieved to cede all control to it. He’s always so tight-laced, so straight-edged.

This Carrillo is nothing but id: driven by desire, chasing pleasure. He feels like little more than an animal, and he finds that he likes it.

Your clothes don’t survive him. He tears at your blouse and the buttons ricochet across the room. He’ll find them for weeks afterwards; he’ll send you home in one of his plain white T-shirts the next morning, and the sight of you in such a tame outfit will make a curling wave of lust course through him, though the drug will have worked itself out of his system by then.

He tugs at the clasp of your bra, fumbles it but then unlatches it, and he pushes it off of your arms to reveal your breasts, and Carrillo sways closer to you. He touches you there first, cups the soft roundness of you, and he feels how diamond-hard your nipples are. He bends his head and puts his mouth to you—suckling, nipping, licking at you, and he feels your hand thread through his hair to hold him there. He hears the keening whine you loose, the throaty way you say his name.

Not his name. You whine out Colonel, his stupid fucking title, and he lifts his head. He stares into your dark, unblinking eyes. He reaches up a hand and grips your chin, firm but not hard, because even underneath the raging animal lust burning through him, he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Horacio,” he tells you. “Say it.”

You do, and it’s no mousy whisper. Your tongue darts out and lays a wet line on your lower lip.

“Horacio,” you reply. You say it carefully like it’s a new word for you.

“Say it again,” he demands, but you only get the first two syllables out before he’s muttering a curse at hearing his name in your mouth, the intimacy of it, and he seals his mouth over yours in a fierce kiss.

The rest of your clothes—your jeans, your panties—fall away as he strips you. There’s no art to it. No seduction, because you strip him just as fiercely. You tug at his belt and undo it, pull it from the loops of his pants with a snap as the leather whips against the air. You get him out of his uniform shirt and t-shirt underneath it but then he pushes you back against the bed and you fall, naked and gorgeous.

Horacio pounces.

There is a part of him, terribly small and far away, that worries you don’t want this. The straight-edged part of him despairs that this is just the drug, that you’ll be horrified in the morning.

His worrying will be needless. He’ll wake before you in the morning—the consequence of being in the army so long—but when you finally wake too, you’ll only be a little shy. You won’t have any regrets, and you’ll prove it to him by climbing onto him, by riding him slowly in the pre-dawn Medellín morning. And neither of you will be drugged when you do.

Now, he stretches the length of his body over yours, feels the feverish press of his skin to yours. You open your legs to him, but when he settles between your spread thighs, you hook your feet onto his pants, reach down with your hands, and clumsily try to work the rest of his clothing off of him.

“Eager,” he mutters against your mouth, and your lips are slick, swollen from how much he’s already kissed you.

“Please,” you reply. You gaze up at him, blink as if you’re trying to clear your head. “Please, Horacio.”

Then you shift the hand that is already reaching down, and you touch him—your hand slips under the low-slung elastic of his boxers, and your warm hand is on his cock, and the sudden touch makes him jump and twitch in your palm as you grasp him firmer, start stroking him.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “F-fuck, cariño.”

If he can be grateful for anything, it’s that he got dosed in your lab and managed to get home before this moment. You told him this drug was circulating though Medellín clubs and bars, and Horacio cannot imagine succumbing to this sharp, all-encompassing desire in public. He’s grateful he got you to his bed, where you have privacy.

The first time he fucks you, Horacio gets no further than freeing his cock from the confines of his pants, shoves his uniform slacks and his boxers down just enough for his aching length to spring free. You moan as you stroke him—he’s slick with pre-cum—but he breaks free from your grip and shuffles forward. He pushes forward until he’s touching your slick folds, and then he pushes into you, unable to stop himself, but your hands reach down and grasp his ass and pull him into you, and once he’s buried to the hilt, you wrap your legs around him.

The first time he fucks you, Horacio can’t manage intelligible words. Not in English, not in Spanish. He can only grunt like an animal, can only breathe harsh, ragged breaths as he thrusts into you. You’re unbearably wet, unbearably hot. It’s like fucking some tight, searing thing, and the heat is everywhere—your cunt, your bared skin, your panting mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. The heat sinks into his skin, into his tense muscles, into the very bones of him. It’s like he’s being unmade at the molecular level, broken down into base elements, and his grunts turn to snarls as he fucks you harder, deeper.

You? You take it. You take it eagerly. You wrap your legs around him. You wrap your arms around him, and even if he wanted to stop, he’d have to untangle himself from your limbs. Each jarring thrust where he’s completely buried in you makes you groan, and even you have an animal quality to the sounds he’s pulling from your perfect lips. When the crown of his cock hits the end of you, you groan, but it’s throaty—almost a growl.

A moment later, he feels a sting of fire on his back where you dig your fingernails into him. Where you scratch long lines of burning into his skin, like a brand. He’ll carry those marks for days, feel how they burn under the spray of his shower.

Then you aren’t just taking it anymore. You start to fuck back against him, lifting your hips an inch off the bed, tilting your pelvis enough to grant him more depth to you. You find his rhythm and meet him thrust for thrust, until you’re moving not as two people but one.

The first time he fucks you, Horacio has no clue how long it lasts. It goes by in a blink. It lasts for hours. It’s nowhere near long enough before he feels the burning tension at the pit of his belly snap and spill over like molten metal poured out of a crucible. He can’t even warn you that he’s about to come because it happens so quickly—a particularly deep thrust where he swears he can feel himself breeching the entrance of your womb, where you hiss in his ear some phrase he won’t remember. The tension snaps, and he breathes out your name, and he comes inside you, brands your perfect cunt with his spend.

But the feeling of him filling you must be the last bit of stimulation you need because you come a beat later too, and the sensation of your cunt rippling against him when he’s already so sensitive nearly makes him cry.

It gives you each a moment of reprieve. Horacio’s burning lust recedes just enough that he gazes down at you. He feels a sting of guilt—you’re disheveled, your hair wild and your eyes leaking tears down into your temples. Your lips are swollen as you struggle to catch your breath, and you look so gorgeously, thoroughly fucked that he leans down and kisses you gently on the corner of your mouth.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod. You reach out a gentle hand too, curl it into a loose fist and run your knuckles lightly over the side of his face. It’s an oddly sweet gesture, soft, and when Horacio tilts his head into your touch, you uncurl your fist and cup his face.

This is the moment, he will realize later, where love takes root. This simple, intimate moment between the two of you. Eye of the storm, where he kisses you sweetly and you cup his face. The love won’t blossom or fruit for a while yet, but this is where it reaches its tender shoots into him.

But the realization won’t come until later. For now, the receding tide of lust reverses, comes rushing back in. He’s still buried in you, still hard as steel, but everything is getting warm again.

“You okay?” he asks again, but he’s already pulling out a fraction, pushing back into you, his hips making small movements.

“Again, Horacio.” Your thumb strokes along his stubbled cheek, and you nod up at him. “Again, please.”

You ask so nicely. He pulls out long enough to finally strip out of his clothes, but then?

Then he obliges.

#horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo imagine #colonel horacio carrillo x reader #narcos #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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fernsnailz · 10 months

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Not sure how much meat this question has to it but if back in 2006 you were the one that spearheaded the shadow the hedgehog game, how would you have done it?

i'd want ShTH 2005 to keep the same core energy its final form ended up with, but tbh there's a lot i would have done differently lol. here's my 3 step plan for how i would have directed it previously/would direct any sort of reboot or remaster

1. TIMELOOP!!!!!!

i'm not the first person to come up with this idea and i won't be the last to talk about it, but the gist of this point is that ShTH's story makes WAY more sense when you treat it like a timeloop. you finished a story path and end up back in westopolis? great job, you're at the beginning of the timeloop again. it's a smart way to make this wack story a little more cohesive.

i would LOVE to further utilize the timeloop concept for this game because it could be a very simple addition to add flavor OR it be the core of the game's story and gameplay. small things like shadow going "hey wait, have i seen this before?" when he's going through westopolis for the third time can hint at the narrative, and once shadow realizes he's in a loop he's motivated to find EVERY path in search of the full truth. every new story path could be treated as a new game+ as shadow starts to consistently remember more from previous timeloops, carrying over certain weapons, abilities, and memories from his previous experiences.

one really cool idea i saw a while ago on here (edit: FOUND IT! i'm talking about this post) is someone's ShTH timeloop pitch where after a few resets, silver starts to show up and tells shadow to stop messing with the timeline. this continues, and eventually silver becomes a final boss of some of the paths. this idea has never left my mind since i saw it and i need to find the person that came up with it they mean so much to me

i have more timeloop thoughts but i will move on for now

2. simplify or rework the morality system and levels

this is my big gameplay critique - there is A Lot to do in ShTH and very little of it is consistently fun. i have grievances with the morality system i talked about a while ago, the gist of my opinion boiling down to "the system removes agency from shadow and the story doesn't fit within the morals you choose anyway." i'd either MASSIVELY rework the morality system to make it feel worthwhile or just throw the whole thing away. unfortunately i don't have many pitches for what to replace it with since i haven't played that many games with branching stories - maybe the story paths you go down are based on BIG story decisions shadow makes during boss battles or in cutscenes (?) like choosing which boss to fight, which characters to save, what moves or weapons to use, stuff like that. i just want the stuff that leads to branching stories to be more impactful and a little simpler.

this also applies to the levels, of which there are... a lot. and maybe there should be less? i think it would be smart to cut down or combine some of the levels, then really flesh out the ones that matter. and given the non-linear nature of ShTH, i think a version with levels more focused on exploration and combat would fit the game better than the linear mission-based gameplay of the original.

3. MORE GUN

listen man. they advertised this as the sonic game with guns and in my opinion i think they could've done better. i mostly just want a more fleshed out weapons system with upgrades, a little customization, better controls, etc. just put the merchant from resident evil 4 in there and have him accept rings and i would be happy

-------------------------

those are the big points i would personally stick to, but i do have smaller points i would consider as well, including:

make black doom seem competent

explain who the chaotix are working for and fit it into the story

no more "kill this many enemies to progress" missions. please

super shadow can have a gun now

#I LOVE YOU SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG 2005 TIMELOOP YOU MEAN SO MUCH TO ME #sonic loreposting #fernasks #long post

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brights-place · 2 months

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John Dory better come back...

*threatens you cutely 💕*

What if John dory came back to you?

Pairing: John dory X S/O

Warnings: Cursing, Fluff ending, Angst ;D

A/N: Hope you like this darling~! I love destroying fluffy things cause I ENJOY! Angst also Im sleep deprived cause I just got back from camping but hope you liked this!

- When he came back to you after he left you for years... YEARS ohoho it was such a lovely reunion :> - This man was looking around for you the whole time asking people where you were but seeing your familiar F/C hair and F/C skin along with your gorgeous outfit - The look in your eyes when he made eye contact with you he felt his heart sink the look in your e/c eyes - Witnessing the emotion-laden gaze in your e/c eyes THIS MAN! felt his heart plummet as you held eye contact before you scoffed and walked away making him feel his heart break for a moment - "(Name)" You eyed him down "John" You said with a monotone voice as he looked away and back towards you "I-" he was cut off by you "Save it" - Every time he see's you he tries to re-build your relationship wanting to see your smile but all he was met with was a look of pure annoyance - John Dory was a man of great pride and ego but it all came crashing down when he left you his amazing partner without any notice - John dory realized the mistake he made and how he hurt you and he knew he had to rebuild your relationship He was determined to win back your trust and prove that he is truly sorry and that he cares deeply for you but he can't help but feel horrible - How you make distance, how you lose any spark or smile you had with a convo because he appeared it made his heart break - Was this how you felt when he left you? heartbroken and wanting him to come back? - Despite his efforts to win you back he could still see the pain he had caused in your eyes the hurt and betrayal still evident with each interaction

- He yearned for the days when you were together, laughing, and sharing moments of pure happiness the memories of those times only amplified his guilt and made him work even harder to earn your trust again

- John Dory struggled with the weight of his actions not only had he broken your heart he had damaged the bond you both had built over time he knew he had - Time had passed and John Dory's efforts to win back your trust and rebuild your relationship had become successful surprisingly - Despite the hurt and betrayal you felt when he left you found yourself opening up to him again when he moved you out of the way of one of the pods falling off from the tree branch - When you opened up more you remembered the moments of pure happiness you had once shared together It was as if the bond between you two had been repaired slowly and this time you still took longer - It was a reminder that even after the most difficult of times there can still be a light at the end of tunnel slightly yet you still were worried - What if he left you? what if he did everything he did in the past but when he laid a hand on your shoulder you looked up to him as he kissed your cheek to soothe you

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

#fluff #headcannons #x reader #fanfic #headcanon #headcanons #john dory trolls band together #john dory trolls #john dory x reader #john dory #trolls 3 movie #trolls band together #trolls #trolls x reader #trolls 3 #enjoy #dreamworks trolls

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margotw10bis · 6 months

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can write a fic about jungkook being y/n crush where he is popular but he isn't and when he finds out about the crush he rejects her and then the next say sees her at a bar they go home together and yeah he wakes up in her bed the next morning 🙏🙏

If I get this right, Y/N has a crush on Jungkook, a popular guy while she isn't.

crush!Jungkook x reader

Genre: drabble; request; angst; smut

Words: 3.6k (I got carried away, okay? 😭 I'm sorry)

Synopsis: Confessing to your crush doesn't go as planned. You get rejected immediately... Then why is Jungkook in your bed the next day, naked?

Warnings: crying; heartbreak; alcohol consumption; unprotected sex (this is not smart, don't do that); slight hair pulling -- not edited (sorry for the mistakes guys)

Your head hurts like hell. Once again, you promise yourself to never drink again — until one of your friends asks you to go party. You growl in pain, cursing at the sunshine peaking through the open curtains. You roll around in your bed, trying to hide your face into the mattress or a pillow. You are not ready to bump into something hard and warm.

Is that…? Someone?

Jesus Christ, did you drink this much that you ended up with a stranger? You don’t see much of him, only his black hair is facing you. He is sleeping on his stomach, face turned to the other side. Your heart and your breathing stop. You urge your intoxicated brain to remember what happened yesterday. However no memories are found, only a bigger headache.

You are naked and he certainly is too. You hate yourself for drinking right now. You knew that swallowing down your sorrow with alcohol wasn’t the solution and yet, you did it. And now God is punishing you.

You try your best to delicately get out of the bed without waking up… fuck, you don’t remember his name. You stay flat on the mattress, only sliding to the side as slowly as possible. When your foot reaches the floor, you want to yell in joy but you freeze instantly when the stranger’s arm warps around you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is bad. Real bad. You turn your head very slowly, ready — or not — to discover with whom you have slept with. Your breathe hitches when you witness a familiar face. Very familiar, to be honest.

"Jungkook?!" You exclaims

The said man wakes up abruptly and he frowns in confusion at your sight.

What the fuck happened yesterday?!

‧₊˚✧

22 HOURS EARLIER

Your cheek in your palm, you are daydreaming about Jeon Jungkook. You are certainly not the only one but you can’t resist. You mean, the guy is just perfect. Perfect smile with a cute dimple, perfect doe eyes, perfect bubble nose. Perfect large shoulders, firm chest, defined abs and strong thighs. Perfect.

It is not surprising Jungkook is one of the most popular guys on campus, and it has nothing to do with him being a senior because he was just as popular when he was a freshman. His popularity is due to him being him. Good at every sports, great looks, funny. It is just not surprising at all that Jeon Jungkook is the king of college.

You can’t even count how many girls are crushing on him. You don’t resent them because you are one of them. Ever since your first year in uni, you have been crushing on him — to be honest, it isn’t too hard to do.

Feeling like it is now or never because the year is almost over and you’ll grow part ways, you have finally decided to confess. Jungkook has always been nice to you, even sometimes sat next you in class. He has never mentioned the fact that you are not part of the ‘popularity club’ — it’s not something that you are looking for either.

That is why you send him a DM on Instagram. Pretty much all students follow him, his account having more than 10k followers while, on his side, Jungkook only follows about 200 people — and you are not one of them. Anyway, you ask him to meet you after class near the coffee shop you know he loves. He agrees, your heart immediately racing in your chest.

At the end of the day, you are waiting for Jungkook. You can’t deny that you are feeling stressed and your bouncing leg is a clear sign of it. You breathe deeply, close your eyes and try to meditate a little in order to calm you down. You have already been through all kinds of scenarii in your head so what could go wrong?

Deep in thoughts, you are startled when Jungkook’s deep voice lands into your ear.

"Are you okay?"

His question is a mix of worry and amusement and his sweet smile makes your cheeks burn. You nod and clear your throat.

"You wanted to talk?" Jungkook asks gently, encouraging you to explain your invitation

It’s true that you are not one to message him a lot. Actually, you’ve never had before. But like you said, it’s now or never.

"Yeah, I, uh, wanted to tell you something" You start with an unsure voice which makes Jungkook curious

He nods for you to keep going.

"So, uh" You clear your throat again

Fuck, your hands are sweaty and your heart is beating fast. When did it get this hard to talk?

"I like you. I have been for a while to be honest and I—"

"Y/N" Jungkook cuts you off and it doesn’t seem good "I’m flattered but I’m not looking for a relationship"

Ouch. It kind of hurts. And it’s embarrassing.

"You are a nice girl but not really my type. Sorry"

Ouch number 2. It’s even more frustrating when it feels like a sentence he has said numerous times. He seems so detached, and his words automatic like a line he has rehearsed. You don’t like it, at all.

You can only nod, too embarrassed to do anything else and your throat too dry to say something. You just watch Jungkook walking away from your broken heart.

‧₊˚✧

10 HOURS EARLIER

Going to the bar seemed a good idea to drown your sorrow. And it has done the trick for a couple of hours, swallowing shots after shots. But now, you are feeling alone and pathetic, which you are to be honest. You were so dumb to confess to Jungkook. Of course, you’re not his type. He is hanging with the most beautiful and popular girls of the school for god’s sake! By clapping his fingers, he has hundreds of girls ready to strip for him. There was no way you could compete…

You are heartbroken. Truly heartbroken that the guy you have loved for four fucking years has rejected you like that. Like it was easy not to love you back. Like it was nothing to break your little heart. And that, this thought, makes you cry. You have officially reached bottom, crying alone at the bar like in a stupid romcom for a guy who doesn’t love you.

You don’t even have your dignity unspoiled because this is not a pretty crying. Big rounded tears fall down your cheeks and you loudly sob. The bartender winces at you, wondering if he should do something but he is wise enough to stay away.

What you don’t know is that Jungkook is in the very same bar as you. Holding a large glass of whiskey, he drinks in one shot, wincing at the strong burn in his throat.

"Fuck, man!" Mingyu, one of his close friends, exclaims "What are you celebrating?" He jokes

Jungkook replies with a humorless chuckle, playing with his empty glass. He is not celebrating that’s for sure. He doesn’t waste time and orders another drink and swallows it as fast as the first one. He definitely needs to get wasted tonight.

The alcohol does its work because after a third glass, Jungkook feels slightly numb. He even manages to put a smile on his face. He laughs lightly, scanning the bar but freezes when he spots you. You are alone and you swipe your face to get rid of the tears. Even with the distance, Jungkook can tell. He sighs, weirdly annoyed by the scene. Why are you such a pain in the ass? Couldn’t you stay at home if you wanted to cry? Why did you have to be here? Why did you have to show how much he hurt you?

"Fucking luck" He growls with gritted teeth and stands up to walk to you

He grows grumpy, the alcohol certainly making things harder for Jungkook.

"Go home, Y/N" He orders you with a cold tone

Your eyes lift up and Jungkook hates how they immediately brighten. Why don’t you hate him?

"Kookie!" You exclaim but you speak lazily and Jungkook gets that you are completely wasted "Come sit with me, I’m all alone!" You whine and pout while tapping on the empty seat next to you

Jungkook wonders if he should sit down. It’s probably a bad idea, yet he does it.

"What do you drink? It’s on me!" You cheerfully announce with a big — or you think because it’s actually a drunken — smile

The tattooed man sighs. How can you be crying your soul out and then, the very next second, smiling at him as if you were the happiest girl on Earth?

"Straight whisky" Jungkook mumbles and you order two to the bartender "You’re sure you want one? It’s pretty strong"

You nod frenetically.

"It’s okay! I’m happy you’re here"

"What are you doing here?" He asks with annoyance

"I was sad. You broke my heart" You confess — certainly something you wouldn’t do if you were sober "So I was sad and alone. And I didn’t want to be, so I came here"

"Are you happy and accompanied now?" He mocks

"Yes, I am" You reply nonetheless, not noticing the sarcasm in his voice

The two glasses of strong liquor are handed to you. You urge Jungkook to cheer with you, which makes him roll his eyes. What the fuck is he doing here with you? He should be with his friends, enjoying the night.

"You were mean, earlier" You say at some point "You really hurt me"

Although, there is no reproach in your tone. You are just saying what you are feeling and it’s weird for Jungkook to hear someone being this honest with him. People usually play a role around him, because they want to be like him, popular.

"Sorry" He replies with automatism because he doesn’t regret rejecting you

You shake your head horizontally.

"I’m happy now, you’re with me"

You shrug your drink and grab his big hand. It’s warm and comforting and your drunken state doesn’t allow you to notice Jungkook tensing at your gesture. However, he doesn’t move. You are drunk, so what’s the point of scolding you? And Jungkook is not that sober either.

"Will you drink with me tonight?" You ask with a pout, certainly trying to make puppy eyes

This doesn’t work but Jungkook can’t, oddly, let you alone. Maybe he feels guilty about hurting you, he doesn’t know but, anyway, he accepts and orders other shots.

As the night grows darker and the drinks more numerous, you scoot closer to Jungkook, almost sitting on his lap. You can’t speak properly anymore, and Jungkook is no better. You both have intoxicated brains. That is why you don’t understand how your mouth lands on your crush’s lips. But you don’t care because it feels good. Really good.

Jungkook cups your face and kisses you harsher. You feel aroused, that’s for sure and the alcohol in your system doesn’t prevent you from moaning loudly against his mouth.

"Fuck…" Jungkook whispers in awe at your sounds because it’s fucking sexy and he is only kissing you

He deepens the kiss, turning it into a real make out session with messy kisses, wet sounds and tongues intertwining. His hands reach down your ass, squeezing it and urging you to straddle him. It’s scandalous, that’s for sure. It’s why the bartender clears his throat and asks you not too kindly to leave.

"Let’s go to my dorm" You say between two kisses when you step outside

"Hurry up, I’m fucking hard" Jungkook bluntly announces and your cheeks — already red and hot by liquor — burn

The heated make out session doesn’t stop when you reach your room. Tongues are dancing together and palms are caressing all kinds of body parts. And soon, your filthy hands peer each other naked.

‧₊˚✧

PRESENT TIME

Shit, you did fuck with Jungkook... you think. You quickly press the sheets against your body to cover your chest. Which is ridiculous because he has already seen it all. You bury your head in your hands out of shame.

"I can’t believe it…" You mumble, more to yourself than to Jungkook "Did we… did we, you know, do it?" You gather the courage to ask

"I don’t know, I was fucking drunk" He answers with a growl due to his hangover "But there is a simple way to find out"

You tilt your head up, looking at Jungkook curiously. You then realize how good he looks right now. His black hair is messy, his face a little swollen but he is as handsome as ever. The duvet is covering his naked body up to his shoulders but you get a peak at his muscular torso. You seize the opportunity to look at his full sleeve tattoo. You get hypnotized by the inked pattern for a few seconds. He is fucking hot. And he knows it because he is casually laying on your bed, comfortable with his head resting on his palm.

"Do you feel sore down there?"

And you shake your head to say no.

"Then, we didn’t fuck. Trust me, you would still feel it if we had"

You notice a hint of cockiness in his voice and you can’t believe he is joking right now. He has broken your heart and now he is making fun of you.

"You’re kidding, right?" You tell him quite harsh — which is unusual of you

"I’m serious. I’m kind of blessed for that. Haven’t you heard the rumors?"

You surely have. Jungkook is popular, and the words of him having a big dick have spread around campus. And yeah, you were kind of curious to check if those rumors were true but you are not anymore. Jeon Jungkook broke your heart and, someway, you feel even more embarrassed that, even drunk, he didn’t find you attractive enough to sleep with you — and you were fucking naked.

"Can you please leave?" You whisper because you don’t trust your shaky voice

Jungkook nods but stares at you. He can tell your eyes are getting watery despite you looking away. It feels odd. Jungkook isn’t pleased to see you hurt, he doesn’t like it. He shouldn’t care, he means, he doesn’t know you much. Just some casual chats during class but that’s it. You’re basically strangers to each other so why does he care?

"I’m sorry"

The words escape his mouth before he can think.

You don’t really know if the remaining of alcohol in your system or something else but the moment you look at him and your eyes fall on his attractive lips, you can’t control yourself and kiss him. You are sure he is going to push you away, reject you like he did yesterday because, yeah, nothing has changed.

But Jungkook doesn’t push you away. Quite the opposite actually because he skillfully slides upon you. You moan at the touch of his hot and naked body against yours. Gosh, he feels so good. His skin is so soft, yet you can feel his strong muscles.

Your legs part to accommodate his hips between them. His length, that is hardening, brushes against your bare pussy. Jungkook’s hands caress your body: your breasts, your stomach, your thighs but finally settle on your back and neck to hold you close. You feel right in his arms, that’s what comes to his mind at present time and it shakes him a little bit.

However, you bring him out of his thoughts when you tug on his black locks, moaning against his delicious lips. And Jungkook wants to taste more of you, just like the little appetizing he had would never be enough. Nothing seems to be enough.

His mouth drifts to your throat, kissing and sucking on your thin and sensitive skin. It pushes you to wrap your legs around his torso and press his cock against your cunt. You need the friction, you are too wet, too aroused to stick to a heavy making out session. You want Jungkook, all of him.

One of your hands goes South, sneaking between your glued bodies, to find his dick. Jungkook growls against you when you start jerking him off. He is so hard and he feels so big in your hand. He was right: you would definitely be sore if you had fucked last night.

"Please, fuck me" You beg

"Shit" Jungkook curses at your filthy words that just state his own wish "Shove it in your little pussy" He orders

And you do. You grab him at the base and guide his tip at your entrance. He immediately feels your wetness and it’s so fucking hot. Jungkook captures one of your nipples with his mouth while he is pushing inside you.

You gasp and your walls clench around the intruder.

"Fuck, you’re tight" He says but his tone almost sounds like a praise

He doesn’t wait one second before settling a quick pace. You whine and whimper and moan, gripping the sheets to stay down on Earth. Fuck, Jungkook is so good. He is fucking so good. It’s better than anything you have experienced before and you wish it could never stop.

"Oh my god!" You scream when Jungkook starts drawing circles on your clit

You know you are too loud, so you cup his face and kiss him. He happily welcomes your mouth back, bitting on your lower lip to slip inside. His inked arm still securely holds you tight against him, because you would be pushed up by the force of his poundings but also because he wants to cuddle you. And this is definitely a weird thought coming from Jungkook because he doesn’t do cuddles.

"Kookie, I’m gonna come" You inform him between two kisses

He lifts up his torso but his dick strokes are hard and deep, making your tits bounce. The frown on your face — not one guided by pleasure — questions him. Why did he scoot away? You miss his heat.

"I wanna see you cum" He explains and you nod

He intertwines your fingers on each side of your head and the gesture seems too kind for the sinful act you are making right now. It’s too kind and too dangerous for your broken heart. Yet, you squeeze his big palms tighter.

Your pussy tightens too around Jungkook’s big cock and you reach your high with a broken cry of his name. Your nails dig into the back of his hand but he doesn’t even notice it.

"Fuck, you are so beautiful" He says softly while he watches in awe your face torn by pleasure

He shouldn’t say that. He shouldn’t make you more attached to him than you already are. He shouldn’t get attached to you.

As soon as you have reached down after your orgasm, your mouth opens:

"Make me cum again"

You are just perfect, Jungkook screams in his head.

He pulls out, gets a strong grip on your body and flips you around so you can lay on your stomach. Jungkook slightly lifts up your ass and enters you again. The way he is fucking you is intense. His lap slaps your ass perfectly and the sounds your clapping skins create are a clear sign of this being a good fuck.

He bites your shoulder, making you moan louder. Once again, you are gripping your sheets. Jungkook’s tattooed hand pulls on your hair so he has a better access to your neck to kiss it and mark it. You hear him growls when your pussy clenches around him.

"Fuck, you are so good" He says, not even believing how right it feels to fuck you

His free hand slides between your hot body and the mattress to reach your swollen clit and rub it. Fast. Really fast and you are losing your mind — not caring about your screams of pleasure anymore. You are surely wakening all the students on your floor.

"Kookie, I’m so close" You whine when Jungkook pinches your bud

"Cum for me, cum around my cock"

Despise his naughty words, Jungkook acts tenderly: his hand is no longer tugging harshly on your hair but cupping and caressing your cheek, his arm completely enveloping you in his embrace. You don’t have time to question it because you reach cloud nine.

Your body is shaking due to your second orgasm and your cunt is so tight that Jungkook’s cock is getting milked. He cums too, filling your pussy with his hot white cum.

You are both panting and in a sexual high because there is no way Jungkook is sweetly kissing your cheek and cuddling you. But his body feels heavy on yours so there is no way you are imagining it. Your own hands brush his forearm around your waist delicately, afraid that it’ll scare him away.

Jungkook rolls on the side, realizing that he has just fucked you. It was dumb and yet, he can’t bring himself to regret it. You look at him in silence and he can easily imagine that you are wondering why he has just fucked you if he rejected you yesterday. And you deserve an explanation.

"Listen, I’m not looking forward a relationship right now, it's not the right time"

Your heart tightens in your chest and it feels like you are brought 22 hours earlier, when you were confessing — a stupid thing that you regret now.

"I know" You say quietly "Even if you were, it could be hard. I’m moving to Seattle"

Jungkook’s eyes widen. Seattle? No way, this can’t be happening.

"I’m moving there too. That’s why I rejected you, I don’t do well with long distance relationships"

"I-It’s—" You stutter, not really knowing how to feel — even if the feeling of hope growing in your chest is hard to mistake "Cool" You finally settle for "Maybe we’ll see each other again then"

Yeah, maybe you’ll meet again. Your story might not be ending at the end of the school year after all.

------

I hope that you like it! 🩷 I didn't think that I could be this inspired but I really liked writing it! Thank you for you request and don't hesitate to send more! 🩷

#bts fanfic #bts #bts smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jjk x reader #jjk #fanfic #bangtan sonyeondan #request #jungkook request #jungkook smut #bangtan #jungkook bts #university au

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