#i think he always sits with his back against walls
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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]
in holy matriphony ch2. you may now kiss the bride!!
ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.
ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his early 30s n reader is in her late 20s
ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!
ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)
ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)
a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!
nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 (pending)
“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”
“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”
Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.
Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.
And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.
“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.
“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”
“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”
“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”
The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.
You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.
“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you, “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”
“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand.
“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!
You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.
“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”
You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”
“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing.
“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”
“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”
You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips.
“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement.
“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.
You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously.
“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”
Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation.
“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”
Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—
“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up.
Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?
“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”
“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”
“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”
“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”
“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”
You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.
“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”
You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.
“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”
The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief.
“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”
You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.
“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”
They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.
Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”
“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”
It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”
“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”
Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.
“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite.
You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.
The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.
“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”
His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.
“Okay,” he says, and quietly.
Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.
“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short.
“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”
A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”
You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”
He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.”
“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away.
You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.
“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”
The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine.
“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.
“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.
It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean.
“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.
“So, logistics,” you say.
“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug.
“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”
“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip.
“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.
“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.
Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”
You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”
“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”
“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”
“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.
“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”
“What???”
“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”
“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.
“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”
“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”
You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”
He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation.
“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.”
You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.
You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.
“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”
“Forever,” you say. To scare him.
“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively.
You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”
“More plausible.”
“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”
He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”
Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”
His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”
You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”
His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.
He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think.
“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”
“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”
“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”
You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”
“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”
While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.
And then that’s when it hits you.
How you can help pull yourself out of debt.
You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.
“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”
“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”
“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”
“A shitty catalog.”
“Did you need to specify?”
“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”
He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”
“Mhm,” you nod.
He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”
“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”
A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.
“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”
“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”
“Sure,” he easily agrees.
“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”
“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”
“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”
He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens.
“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.
Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.
She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.
“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”
You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.
“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.
Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.
“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”
“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”
You smile up at her. “You did.”
“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”
She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.
“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”
“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.
You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.
“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.
“Yes?” she asks.
“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”
“Are you my nurse?” she asks.
You breathe in deep. “Yes.”
“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”
You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”
“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”
“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.
Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.
You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.
48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl!
46’’ seven yrs. big jump
41’’ six yrs.
37’’ five yrs. my little princess
…
..
–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears.
This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.
And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.
Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.
In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.
Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.
But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.
You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?��
“Mhm,” you say.
“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”
You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”
“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it.
“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”
“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”
You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”
“You should really…get more organized.”
“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”
“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”
Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”
“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”
You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”
“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”
“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”
“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”
After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you.
“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”
You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”
“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”
You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him.
“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”
He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”
Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs.
Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from???
But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door.
He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—
“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”
You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”
“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”
“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”
He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”
“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.
“I live next door,” you remind him.
His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”
“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.
His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”
You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.
“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”
“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”
“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”
“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”
You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).
“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.
6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time
“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara.
“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.
“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”
“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”
She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too.
Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.
Well, second worst as of right now.
The worst person title was reserved for someone else.
Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by.
She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–
“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”
“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”
She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”
“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.
“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”
“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.
“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.
“But–”
“Now!!!!!”
Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles.
The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces.
Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it.
But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.
There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon.
“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.
“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.
“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.
He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail.
You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.
“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence.
“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”
“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”
His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?”
“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar.
Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”
“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”
Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.
Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.
Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.
But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated.
So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.
“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”
“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”
“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”
He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”
“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.
“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”
Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.
“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.
He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll.
“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.
“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round.
“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”
“Nope.”
He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him.
“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”
Damn it, he said it.
Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years.
But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.
“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”
His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?
“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”
“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie.
He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”
His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.
His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.
But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.
“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”
“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.
“My neighbor.”
His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”
You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”
“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”
“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”
“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”
He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”
“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”
“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?”
“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”
“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him.
“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”
You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”
“He’s in love with you?” he asks.
“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”
“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”
You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.
“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”
“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”
Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.
“I left it at home,” you mumble.
“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”
That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did.
“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store.
You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish.
Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle.
You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.
“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.
“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”
He nods. “Yes, I did.”
Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.
Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.
“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments.
“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”
“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”
You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”
His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”
“Are you…new to town?” you ask.
He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”
“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.
His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.
“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily.
His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”
You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.
Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.
The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it.
Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave.
A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.
It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.
Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again.
He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.
But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you.
He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.
You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance.
Fuck.
The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.
You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.
You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.
“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.
|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?
First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.
|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?
|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?
You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.
|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me
It takes him a whole minute to respond.
|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?
You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?
You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.
You pick your phone up again.
|| 11:41AM You: yes
It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance.
You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”
You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is.
He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more.
“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat.
“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word.
“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”
You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.
Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”
A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.
“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”
“But–”
“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.
“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.
“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”
“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs.
One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.
“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”
He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.
“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”
“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”
He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.”
“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience.
You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion.
He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.
“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”
“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up.
He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”
“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.
“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.
“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.
Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.
His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”
“Just don’t look,” you say simply.
You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.
“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.
He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”
You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease.
You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit.
He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says.
“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”
“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”
“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you.
His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.
You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.
Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome.
You must be ovulating.
No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.
Oh god.
Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?
There was simply no way.
You refuse to believe it.
You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.
“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.
“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.
“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”
You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.
“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.
“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.
“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.
You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.
“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.
He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”
Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.
“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.
“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”
“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.
Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.
Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.
Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.
You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.
“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.
“Hi Judge Jun,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”
6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jun is a 72 y/o man with a past medical history of hypertension, hypercholesterolemia, hyperglycemia, GERD, liver cirrhosis and COPD, who endorses a social history of frequent tobacco usage and occasional alcohol consumption. Patient presents to the ED with chief complaint of chest pain, onset two hours ago after he drank three bottles of beer, and—
“Much better since you took care of me last week!” he humphs, patting his stomach.
You snap out of your automatic charting that was droning on in your head on reflex from how many times Judge Jun has shown up to the ED for acute chest pain which almost always ends up just being beer-induced GERD.
“At the hospital!” you clarify, “for taking care of you at the hospital!”
The man laughs heartily from where he sits up at the raised platform bench. “Yes! And Mr. Gojo! Nice to see you as well.”
You flit your eyes to Gojo, like you know him too? He only briefly spares you a sidewards glance before looking back at Judge Jun. “Likewise, sir.”
You postulate he scammed the fuck out of the man into signing a forty-year lease on a condo in the shady part of town, and you’ll leave it at that.
“I have to say, I am a little shocked by this matrimonial partnership!” Judge Jun chimes in. “But do you both swear to enter this marriage under just circumstances? I will need verbal affirmation from you both.”
Gojo raises his hand up in the air to swear on it, and you remember that he’s possibly done this before. Y’know how people have a courtroom wedding before a real wedding, something like that. And maybe that’s why he knows to raise his hand, because you didn’t even know you were supposed to raise your hand until now.
A real wedding. Something you’ve pictured a lot in your head, and so much more different than the arrangement you find yourself in right now. And because the pain of imagining yourself tying the knot with someone is too much right now, especially when the man you thought you were going to marry stands in uniform five feet away from you and probably doesn’t even recognize the dress you’re wearing right now, you glance over to Gojo and you try to imagine what a real wedding would’ve been like for him. Since he’s done it before.
He probably had a tacky wedding, like in a barn with barrels of beer used as tables with barely flickering string lights hung across wooden planks high on a triangular ceiling. The reception and the ceremony likely happened under the same roof, because he seems like the minimalist type, more focused on the feelings behind it and all, and not the grandeur.
Or maybe he was into the grandeur. Maybe he had a wedding on a skyline penthouse in the city, wearing expensive cologne like the one he’s wearing now, and a Dior suit he got custom made because it was a once in a lifetime occasion so why not? The image becomes a little too vivid in your head now, where you can picture this woman he’s marrying too. Pretty, tall just like him, wearing a ball gown white dress. He would’ve told her she looked beautiful, too. He would’ve told her he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Vows uttered shakingly into the microphone at an altar while the sun is setting far into the sky, shimmering off of high building windows until the air is golden and it reflects off of his and his soon-to-be wife’s face. And when they’ve professed their love for one another, he grabs her by the waist and dips her in a kiss, for the perfect picture against the perfect backdrop in front of all the perfect little people because there probably was a photographer at that event, wanting to capture the moment.
You snap out of the dazed moment when a loud voice calls out your name, and in a shock, you glance back up at Judge Jun who’s looking at you with slight irritation.
“Huh?” you squeak out, and then turn to look at Gojo, who’s got a look of mild concern on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you.
“Please swear that this marriage is under just circumstances,” Judge Jun states with a cadence that indicates he’s commanded this of you multiple times already.
“Oh!” you stand up straight, “I—…I’m sorry.” You hold your hand up. “Yes, I swear this marriage is under just circumstances.” Just like Higurama had you practice. He’d be proud. Phew, the hard part was over.
The rest of the ceremony goes by in a rather fast blur, and it’s a little awkward when you both have to tell Judge Jun that you don’t have any vows to exchange at the moment when he offers the time for them, but Gojo comes up with some lie about how the real vows will be at our formal ceremony, and Judge Jun seems entirely satisfied and a little too ecstatic by the answer before allowing you two and Hana to sign the marriage certificate.
“And rings?” Judge Jun asks as he peers down through his glasses to the paper he was holding at his desk. “We can now make time for the exchange of rings.”
You’re prepared for Gojo to come up with another lie about how the real rings will be at our formal ceremony, but you see him shuffling with something in his pocket in your periphery. Hm? You glance down at his hip, and you see him pull something shiny out.
He turns to face you, and he holds his hand out to you with an up-facing palm. You blink at him and then glance down at his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then glance down his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then gl—
“Give me your hand,” he says to you, a little hushed and rushed.
“Why???” you ask, baffled.
“So I can put a ring on your finger?” he says, like it’s the most casual thing. Like getting a ring slipped onto your fourth finger is the most casual Sunday for you, when it’s something you’ve dreamt of your whole entire life.
You finally take a long hard look at the ring he’s holding in his right hand. It shimmers with every glint of light in the courtroom off of every angle, no doubtedly precisely cut diamond from a jeweler who really cares about their craft, and you swear you’ve saved a similar looking ring to one of your Pinterest wedding boards before.
You hesitantly bring your hand up and hover it over his.
“Your left hand, silly,” he tells you.
“Oh, right,” you say, and hand him your left one instead.
He holds it in his hand that is much warmer than yours, and it’s so tender, the way he gently slips the ring onto your finger. It fits with ease, perfection actually, and you can’t help raising your hand up in the air, spreading your fingers weakly as you admire the stone now sitting above your knuckle. It’s pretty.
You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as he’s halted in frame, and you glance past your hand to look at his face. You dislike him. You do. You should. He’s your annoying as fuck next-door-neighbor. So then why does your heart feel like it could burst right now?
A glimmer of silver catches your eye, and you look down at his hands as he slips a silver ring onto his left hand while facing you before he turns to face the front again, signaling the end of the ring exchange, except you didn’t get to put it on his hand. He didn’t give you the chance.
“Alright! Wonderful!” Judge Jun exclaims, whose eyesight is probably too poor to have seen that it wasn’t even a proper ring exchange. “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”
There is scattered applause across the courtroom, a few cheers as well, as you two stand in front of the court of law in holy matrimony.
Judge Jun glances at Gojo. “Well, young man, you may now kiss the bride!”
“Oh—…that—” you stutter, “that’s not necessa—”
“Okay,” Gojo says, more to affirm Judge Jun than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—
He kisses you.
He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—
And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.
What.
What.
What?
And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.
.
.
.
[end of chapter 2]
a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3
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JJK Men with a GF with a Fat Ass (NSFW-ISH)
…I’m taking a small break from drawing and I missed doing HCs. Shaddap.
Ft. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Choso
Black ! Fem Reader in Mind
CW: Twt Links!, mentions of sex, men are a bit OOC
Gojo
Gojo definitely does this to you anytime you lay on his lap. And if he finds out you’re not wearing any panties under it…welp..all plans are now cancelled
He’s a pervert and it’s your fault.
He’s never really seen women of your stature often so when you both were younger he was so BLUNT with his thoughts about your body.
“You have a very voluptuous—“
“Imma stop you right there….VO-WHO?”
“You don’t know what the word vo—-“
“No, I know. I’m confused as to why you are using that word when talking about my ass.”
Gojo is 6’6-7” , he’s a big nigga, but can he handle a big behind?
No.
No he cannot.
He constantly uses his blindfolded eyes to shamelessly watch the way your walk across the room in public. His poker face is actually impressive, but if you couldn’t see how tight his fist were in his pockets it’d prove otherwise.
He’s so hot damn childish he does this shit sometimes because he thinks your ass is perfect for playing on
“CAN YOU STOP.”
“Whhhyyyyuuuhhhhhh.”
When you wear moomoo’s or a big shirt it is his favorite
Yup.
Moomoo.
Your ass is free to move and shake to its desire and he just watches in awe. He loves you bad.
Another thing he loves doing is napping on your butt, he doesn’t sleep often, unfortunately, but he can attest that the best nap he has ever taken was in between your plush thighs and ass.
He blames his pretty little girlfriend as to why he is now an ass man.
Geto
He takes these kinda pictures with you which sometimes leads to him pulling down your underpants and massaging it with his bare hands to then licking or kissing it to then…eating…you…out…while you’re standing.
He loves watching you put on clothes.
Having to shake, jump, and wiggle yourself into some pants is actually so sexy to him.
If your butt is anything like mine and is HEAVY. He LOVES it even more , watching the way the movement in your butt and thighs to match is something Geto finds so so mesmerizing.
One thing about Geto he’s very sneaky, he’ll come up behind you to help pull up your bottoms you clearly need no help putting on, and everytime he does you can feel a slight pressure on your ass that is a verrrryyy familiar feel to a bulge.
He can’t help it, your ass is so pretty.
Sitting on his lap is a must, whether he is talking with someone in public or doing some work he needs to feel your weight on him.
The first time you sat on his lap you swore you heard a groan. When you turned to ask him if he was okay, his cheeks were very pink.
He denies it to this day, but even if he did it’s your fault because why does your ass feel so good against his pelvis?
Showers with Geto are so insufferable in the best way because once you finish cleaning yourself your long haired boyfriend can’t wait to practically grind and jump against the cool shower wall.
He definitely loves hugging you from behind, swaying you back and forth. To others it’s a cute gesture seeing such a big man hold you so close, practically dwarfing you , you only you and him know the real intention begin it was just him whispering how good you look in that dress and how badly he wants you.
Geto is such a sensual person next to nanami. Even after sex and you’re laying with him in a bliss he finds his way to continue his love by kissing and licking you down and praises of how beautiful and sexy you are even after such activities. He calls it “Cleaning you up”…little perv.
“‘Was wrong?… Embarrassed?”
“YES.”
“Good, now c’mere.”
Toji
Ass eater.🫵🏾
That’s an ass eater he eat ass🫵🏾.
Toji “Ass Eater” Fushiguro
You thought gojo was shameless? Toji is WORSE
As an ass connoisseur he prides himself on always reminding you how fine you are to him.
“You like my dress?”
“Hell yes, mama. Turn around for me.”
SWAT to the ass just to see it recoil
He definitely slaps and GRABS. It’s kinda hot though because he’ll do it anytime anywhere
For example you went with him to some horse racing game for him to make bets and got hungry so you headed to grab a few drinks and snacks. Before walking past him, his legs were spread, tooth pick in his mouth and just like clock work you feel a firm hit to your Jean covered behind.
“OOWWUH!”
“Sssh, Baby im watchin the game….what? Your ass was all in my face what else could I do?”
Whether you are a chunky girl or a skinny girl with a larger butt he don’t care he quite actually is your biggest fan.
Of course Toji being the ass eater he is almost every other night is spent just like this or sitting on his face. He never seen himself as a pleasure son kinda guy. With his one night stands he only had sex for himself, but with you of course being the first woman he finally got to love after MamaGuro he takes his time with you. It’s a slutty sight but he knows it’s exactly that can get you off before him
Toji is your new seat btw.
Not just his pretty face but his lap too.
He’s a big strong man so don’t EVER think or assume you’re too heavy for him.
Nanami
This man here.
A KING.
Freaky king but a king none the less.
He loved every part of you.
Which is what he does say and prove everytime you both are together but he does have a small little quirk about him that you aren’t sure whether or not to point it out
Most men guide their woman by putting their hand on their lower back
Nanami however does this
ESPECIALLY on date night.
Just like Geto he loves to watch you dress, but also dresses you himself
“Wear this, yes? It compliments your skin beautifully.”
“You sure it’s not, because it’s a bit tighter below the waist?”
And now hes blushing.
He’ll admit. Whenever you come and visit him during lunch to feed him a home cooked meal he hates to see you go but LOVES to watch you leave.
Especially with that sundress you wear during the spring.
Nanami definitely is another man that will practically BEG for you to sit on his face.
“It’s okay, baby honest. Use my face.”
“Kentoooo—!??”
One of his favorite ways to eat you out is like this. It was actually so embarrassing for you at first only because of his SLUTTY MOANS. Which was something you wouldn’t expect from a man like him, but you wasn’t complaining!He whined and whimpered so shamelessly inside you, you couldn’t even make eyes contact after cumming on his tongue.
Choso
Lord bless him.
He is very….confused to say the least.
He never understood the attraction of women’s part.
Of course he found YOU attractive, but that was all over until he seen your shape.
“Oh.”
“…oh?”
“You—“
You usually wore baggy clothing like him. You decided to change really quickly at his new apartment and he was watching you.
Who knew you had a BODY LIKE THAT on you
“You’re sex—cute…”
Choso isn’t necessarily a shy man, but more hesitant when it comes to touching and complimenting you…
You’ve told him time and time again he is free to touch you when he wants but you sometimes have to guide him.
Usually when he wants to grab your ass he walks DANGEROUSLY close behind you.
So a few times you take his hand and place it on your cheek. For a moment he just rubs his hand across the soft skin and then SQUEEZE.
Choso loves to kneed and rub on your ass while he licks you so usually it’s 69 or you laid to your side.
Another things he actually loves seeing you in are sweats with a small top. Your lower body being heavier than the top is so attractive and you look so squeezable he can’t help but to hug you from behind
Please. Please PUH LEASE wear thigh high socks around him the ones that go RIGHT UNDER the cup of your ass and shake it JUST A LIL in front of him.
Moans at the sight everytime
No like literally MOANS by just looking at your ass jiggle.
He doesn’t think he’s a pervert but from how he grinds and jump against your ass while you sleep says otherwise.
If yall are wondering why I didn’t really speak on backshots it js because ALL OF THEM GO FERAL DOING IT.
#black reader#gojo#gojo satoru#jjk#jjk gojo#jujutsu gojo#jjk headcanons#gojo saturo#geto#gojo x reader#jjk smut#gojo x black reader#jjk x black reader#jjk toji#gojo x y/n#toji#nanami headcanons#nanami smut#choso headcanons#Choso smut#jjk x black y/n#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu geto#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk x chubby reader#gojo smut#toji smut#geto smut#toji fushiguro#gojo x you
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Raised to Love - Max Verstappen (Dark Fic)
Words: 6,992
Summary: Drivers are shocked to find out that pretty much rookie Max Verstappen is married.
Note(s)/Warnings: This fic is DARK! Taking place between 2002-2017. There's child abduction, mentions/talks of death, mentions/talks of underage sex, mentions/talks of sex, mentions/talks of periods, dubious consent. Jos is both somehow a better and worse person in this. Sophie and Jos are still married, Victoria and all of Max’s other siblings don’t exist. Inspired by Season 4 Episode 13 of Criminal Minds.
Masterlist | Emergency Dental Fund
2002
Tears are slipping down her face and she keeps rubbing at her eyes, small whines leaving her, but they won’t stop and her mom isn’t rubbing her back, trying to get her to calm down, her dad isn’t holding her and she cries harder. She wants her mom and dad, she wants them. But they aren’t here. She’s alone and in this room that’s cold and blank and she wants them.
She hiccups, eyes hurting and her hands can’t keep rubbing, tired of doing it. Sniffling, she turns on the small bed, burying her face in the pillow, even though her mom always tells her not to do it before turning her over. The tears fall faster now. She wants her mom. She wants her dad.
And now all she can think about is them sitting in the front of the car, completely still, not responding no matter how much she shouted or kicked at the back of her dads seat. How she was pulled out of the car through the window by a firefighter and how another one was talking about how her parents were dead.
They couldn’t be dead though, because her grandparents were dead, in heaven, her dad had told her. And they had been talking to each other just a minute ago. They were going to get dinner and candy because she had been a good girl. That thought had made her curl up in the firefighter's arms, lip trembling, because she had been shouting and kicking the seat, she had been naughty.
And then when she got to the hospital, a nice nurse had given her candy despite her being bad and held her hand as another one cleaned her up. She even let her pick out a stuffed animal to have. It was okay, even though she kept asking where her parents were until another lady had come in. She had crouched down in front of and told her that her parents were dead.
She shakes her head at the memory of the lady's face and her words. She didn’t want to believe that her mom and dad were dead. But they weren’t here, they should be here. They wouldn’t ever leave her by herself, alone, and in this room.
Lifting her head slightly, she sucks in a large breath of air, the pillow soaked in her tears and warm. As she takes another breath, she doesn’t hear the sound of the door opening and shutting.
She wants to bury her face in the pillow again, but her nose hurts from it and it’s gross and wet. Turning over, sits up, her small legs going up to her chest as she presses her back against the wall. It’s then that she notices the man in the room with her.
She stiffens at the sight, eyes going wide, and the blank expression that had been on his face softens.
“Hello.”
“Hi.” She greets, voice quiet as she wraps her arms around her legs.
“You were crying. Is everything okay?”
Her bottom lip trembles and she shakes her head. “My mom and dad,” Her voice breaks. “The lady told me they're dead.”
“I’m sorry. Are you waiting for your grandparents or an aunt?”
She shakes her head.
He frowns and then he moves, sitting on the bed with her, though he is at the foot.
“What’s your name?”
Her voice is a little louder as she says it.
‘My name is Jos.”
“Hi Jos.”
He smiles. “How old are you?”
“Four.”
“I have a son that turned five recently.”
Her arms loosen around her legs. “What’s his name?”
“Max. He’s at home right now, I think, trying to convince my wife to get a puppy.”
Her eyes widen and her arms drop, legs falling away from her chest. “Do you have a puppy? I’ve always wanted one.”
“No.” He laughs and she frowns. “But I want dogs, so does my wife and Max. We just have been waiting.”
“For what?’ She asks, head cocked to the side.
Jos laughs again. “Special occasion, I suppose.”
She frowns as one of the things the lady said to her as they were in the car on the way over pops into her head. “Jos. Do you think whoever I stay with will have dogs?”
“I don’t know.”
Her frown grows. “Do you think they’d let me get a dog?”
He shakes his head, “I don’t think so.”
“Oh.” Her voice is quiet.
“But, I’m sure I could talk to Anna about you coming home with me. That would be a special occasion. You and Max could both get your own dog.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Really.”
She scrambles towards him, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, Jos!”
“Of course. Now let's get you to your new home.”
—
“Do you know who's coming today?”
Max nods, small brows furrowed together, looking so much like his father, she wants to take a picture. “My wife.”
She’s proud of the way his nose doesn’t wrinkle, no disgust clinging to his words. Max thinking girls were gross wouldn’t do.
“Papa never said, but is it the one I choose?”
Sophie smiles, remembering how Jos had shown him a bunch of girls and the way Max had seen the one and just kept looking, had easily chosen her. “Yes. Papa was able to get the one you chose.”
He smiles and she runs a hand through his hair. “Will they be here soon?”
She spares a look at the clock. “Yes. Papa had to drive a bit away, but he should be here soon. Why don’t you come and help me set up her room.”
It was pretty much already set up, but Max could rearrange some of the toys and books, place them how he’d like. She expects him to nod, eager, but he looks confused.
“But mama, if she’s my wife, why isn’t sleeping in my room?”
She coughs to hide a laugh. “You two are much too young for that, Max. And you don’t know each other yet. Maybe in a few years you two can share a room.” In ten years, maybe, she privately thinks.
“But what if I want to share a room now?”
Her eyes narrow. “Max.” His eyes drop to the floor and she sighs. “You two could have sleepovers in your room, not every night, but some nights if you’d like.”
He nods, but still doesn’t look at her. “Can I go help set up her room?”
“Of course.”
She watches fondly as Max clumsily copies things he’s seen her do when making his bed, adjusting the blankets, fluffing the pillows before he moves onto the small amount of toys she bought, not wanting to buy too many without knowing what the girl did and didn’t like.
He frowns at them before he’s darting out of the room, she thinks of calling after him, but she can hear him moving down the hallway and then into what she thinks is his room. Only a minute passes before he’s back, a stuffed animal in his grasp. Walking towards the bed, he carefully places the toy so it’s resting against the pillows and she nearly gasps seeing what it is.
“Max, that’s Leo.”
“I know.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to give her Leo. Leo’s yours.”
He shakes his head. “We’ll share. I want her to have it right now.” Her heart melts at the answer.
“Are you sure?” She double-checks.
“I’m sure.”
“Alright.”
2008
Crawling out of bed, she shivers as the cold air of her room hits her skin. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tiptoes away from her bed and to her door. One of her arms leaves her to slowly twist the knob, making sure it slowly opens. As soon as it’s open enough for her body to slip through, she does. Her feet taking an all too familiar path.
Opening the next door, she does the same as she did with hers, slipping through the tiniest gap possible before shutting it behind her. The words of the maid ring in her head now that she stands in the room. How wrong this is, how inappropriate it is, how wanton she is. She doesn’t know what wanton means, but the way she said it had made her flush, bottom lip trembling as she made herself smaller.
The reminder makes her hunch, teeth finding her lip and she wants to go back to her room, she doesn’t want to be wanton. But her room is cold and the nightmare she had is lurking in the back of her mind. And sure this room is cold too, but Max is here. And she knows if she slips under the covers with him that it will be warm and he’ll even at least wrap an arm around her if not his whole body.
A shiver hits her and she darts over to the bed, slipping under the covers.
“Flower?” Max mumbles.
“It’s me.” She says, feeling warm on the inside at the nickname he gave her six years ago when she met him.
He makes a small noise and then his whole body is curling around hers and she can’t help but sink into it, sink into him.
She tries to fall asleep, but the word wanton just rings in her mind.
“Max.” She whispers.
“Hmm.”
She twists in his arms, making them face to face. “What does wanton mean?”
“What?” His voice is full of sleep and his eyes are starting to open.
“What does wanton mean?”
His nose wrinkles, “I don't know. Why?”
“Mrs. Loeh told me I was wanton.”
“I,” he’s squinting as he looks at her. “I don’t know. I’ll ask my mom at breakfast, okay?”
She nods before pressing closer to him. “Okay. Thank you, Max.”
“Of course, Flower.”
2012
She stares in shock at the blood on the toilet paper. “Sophie!” She calls, voice nearly a shriek. She knew what this was, Sophie had told her about her body changing, getting a period, but this. This couldn’t be normal. There was so much. It was nearly bleeding through the toilet paper before she let it go.
She hears two different voices say her name, one far louder and closer than the other and she starts to see the door knob turn. “Max, no!”
The doorknob stops. “What’s wrong?”
“I need Sophie.”
“Flower, what’s going on?” The knob started to turn again.
“Please, no!” She begs and tears are starting to form in her eyes. “I’ll tell you later, I just need Sophie.”
She watches as the door knob stays paused and then hears a sigh from Max before the doorknob is released.
“Max, go to the living room.”
She breathes a sigh of relief at Sophie’s voice.
“But mama.”
“Go.”
She can hear him stomping away and can imagine the frown on his face as he curses in his mind.
A small knock sounds on the door. “Can I come in, darling?”
“Please.”
Sophie easily slips inside the bathroom, shutting the door behind her quickly. “Oh, darling. What happened?”
She looks down at where her legs are pressed together. “I,” she hiccups. “I started my period.”
“Oh darling.” And Sophie is right beside her, giving her an affection tap of the fingertip to her temple. “It’s alright. I know, it’s a bit scary, huh?”
She nods. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much blood.”
“Well, it’s probably that heavy because this is your first cycle. Mine was like that as well, but it lightened up after a few months, and birth control helps as well with that.”
Blood rushes to her cheeks at the mention of birth control. “I’m a late bloomer, aren’t I?”
“A bit.” Sophie allows. “I told you about this two years ago for a reason. I didn’t think you’d be nearly fifteen.”
“Am I okay?”
“Of course. Everyone is a bit different. If you want though, we can talk about it with the doctor. Make sure that everything is okay.”
“Please?” She asks and Sophie smiles.
“I’ll schedule it right after this. Now, let me show you again everything you're gonna need.”
She watches and listens intently as Sophie shows her everything. It’s overwhelming and she wants to cry, just lay in bed, bury her head in Max’s pillow and cry. She’s thankful when Sophie slips out of the bathroom as she still sits on the toilet. Is ever more thankful when as she begins to stand, pulling up her underwear and shorts and it’s like she can feel it wanting to drip out.
The pad in her underwear is weird, but nothing compared to the new weird sensation of feeling like she’s leaking. It makes her want to sit back on the toilet and never leave. What if she didn’t change her pad in time and bled through? The thought leaves her mortified and as she leaves the bathroom after washing her hands thoroughly, she darts into her bedroom, forgetting her promise to Max.
Laying on her bed, she makes a face, trying to find a comfortable position, everything feeling weird. Maybe she’d buy a pad or a mattress protector, maybe both with how weird this felt. It would help any mess that might happen as well if she leaked.
Rolling onto her side, she smiles at Moos. The ten-year-old dog looks back at her, head resting on her front paws. “Where’s Freckles?”
“The backyard.”
She turns, Max stands at the entrance of her room, a look she doesn’t think she’s ever seen on his face before.
“It’s later.”
Blood rushes to her face at the words, at the reminder that she promised she’d tell him what’s going on, and she has to tell him. She tells Max everything, always has. And he does the same to her. It’s why she found out when she was six that Max and her were going to get married, that he picked her. That and he was confused about her wanting to play house and how he had to play the husband because they were already husband and wife in his six-year-old mind.
She nearly smiles at the reminder that Max picked her. He’s told her a few times over the years about it. The memory is still so strong in his mind, despite it now being a decade ago. The way he had looked at a bunch of girls in an array of photos, but she immediately caught his eye, was drawn to her and the flower behind her ear.
He snaps his fingers and she can feel Moos stand up before she gets off the bed, no longer leaping in her old age. Max moves into the room, leaving the door open as Moos slips out before shutting it behind the dog.
“What happened?” He asks, approaching the bed and she cranes her neck to fully see his face.
Her face feels like it’s burning. It feels embarrassing telling Max this, about this, even though they’ve talked about far weirder and gross things. Maybe, and her eyes drop staring at the hollow of his throat as she thinks, it’s because this means they can finally have sex.
The thought alone makes her swallow, breaths turning a little shallow as she imagines it. Max and her have done a lot of fooling around since his birthday last year. He knows how to speed her heart up with just a brush of his fingers. She knows how much he loves the feeling of her boobs pressed against his chest, bare or covered. Their breaths intertwined with soft pants as they move together, at least one piece of clothing still separating them.
She’s broken away from the thoughts by a hand under her chin, drawing her face up.
“Flower.”
“I,” she pauses, eyes darting around before settling on his face when she feels his thumb and forefinger gently apply a little pressure to her chin. “I started my period.”
His brows are furrowed for a moment then his face smoothes out, mouth dropping into a ‘O’ shape, the fingers and hand under her chin disappearing.
“Are you hurting? Cramps?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It just,” and her voice is quieter than before. “It feels gross, like leaking.”
His head cocks to the right. “Even with the pad thing? Is it not working?”
“It is. I think it’s just how it can feel.”
“I’m sorry. Can I do anything?”
She glances at the empty space in the bed next to her. “Lay with me?”
He smiles, a laugh shaking his body. “Of course, flower.”
2014
“I have an F1 seat.”
“You have an F1 seat.”
The shock is so clear on his face it makes her giggle and he immediately smiles, but that shock still lingers behind it.
“Max Verstappen,” She begins, watching as his eyebrows draw together, fingers twitching before his hands settle on her hips. “Youngest F1 driver ever, youngest to score points, youngest on the podium, youngest to win a grand prix.” She doesn’t know if the last three will be true, but she hopes they will be, thinks they will be.
“You think so? I mean, it’s just a seat in Toro Russo.”
“It’s not just a seat at Toro Russo.” She laughs, feeling flushed as his hands sneak beneath her top. “It’s an F1 seat, an F1 seat that you will do amazing in. I mean, Max. There’s never been an F1 driver younger than eighteen before.” She smoothes the slight furrow between his brows with her thumb before kissing that spot. “You are going to do amazing and achieve so much.” She pecks his lips. “I’m proud of you.”
His cheeks are pink at her words, her flutters a little at him blushing because of her, like she hasn’t seen it thousands of times before.
Brushing her fingers over the apples of his cheeks, she frowns. “Maxy.”
“Hmm?”
Her fingertips trail down to his jaw. “Let me get you a skin care routine? Please.” She adds, sticking her lip out a little.
“Flower.” He sighs, his left hand moving to span across the small of her back, pressing her closer.
“Please? You know I don’t care about the acne, but you’ll be the youngest on the grid, still in the thick of it. This will help. It won’t be anything complicated, either.”
He sighs, a small smile on his face. “Okay. But promise me nothing complicated. You won’t be there to remind me how to do it.”
“Nothing complicated.” She promises, beaming. “I’ll even write up a little instruction thing for you and you can call me every time you're doing it, so we can do it together if you like.”
“Yeah? Even when I’m like eight hours behind or ahead and you're sleeping.”
“Even then.”
“Oh.” She presses up on her toes in excitement and Max’s smile widens seeing it. “I got us new sheets.”
“New ones?”
She nods.
“Can I see them?” Voice going a little low and he’s thankful that his voice doesn’t crack. She never laughed when it did, but it was still embarrassing.
Her teeth find purchase in her bottom lip for a second, before she nods. “You can see my new underwear too.” A giggle leaves her at the way he groans, hands pressing her body closer and against his bulge.
2016
Max stares at the ceiling as his dad talks to someone on the phone. This is what they wanted. They wanted him here in the Red Bull seat. Getting here this early was amazing, proving how good he was in an F1 car. And escaping the nightmare that was Carlos and his father was also a plus, even if both of them had taken to glaring at Max every time they saw him.
Max was pretty sure they were betting on him crashing out this race, costing Red Bull money, and then he’d get booted back down and Carlos would get called up. He shook his head at the thought. That wouldn’t happen. He was good, he’d prove he should be in this seat, should be here this early. Because he did. Max was talented no matter what the other drivers said, or the journalists or the legends who told him he had no business in their sport. His jaw clenches, holding back a scoff. Their sport.
It makes him more grateful to his dad and mom. They had told him, prepared him for not being liked. He was aggressive on track, abrasive off to people he didn’t know well. They knew it would make things harder and they had made sure he knew that too. He’s grateful for his wife as well and he wishes she was here now with him for his first F1 race in the big leagues.
He had wanted her there for his first race at Toro Russo, but that hadn’t been an option. But now? Now that he got promoted up, maybe, he looks at his dad considering asking him before shaking his head. His dad would never go for it. Not because she’d be too much of a distraction but because they didn’t need to deal with more media attention, Max was more than sure of that. He nearly shudders thinking of when he had arrived at the track yesterday and today.
“Max.”
He sits up, spine straight. “Is everything okay?”
His dad smiles and Max’s shoulders loosen. “Yes. I have to go and meet a friend quickly. You will stay by Christian or Helmut if you leave the garage, understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good.” He nods. “Look over the data. We don’t need you crashing out in free practice of all things.”
He dives into the data as soon as his dad leaves. A thread of curiosity is in the back of Max’s mind as he looks it over. Talking to all the mechanics and engineers, getting a feel for them, just like he knows they are getting a feel for him.
When Helmut calls him over he wonders if by friend his dad really meant a friend of Helmut's. His dad didn’t have many friends after all.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good.” Max nods. “I haven’t gotten into the car yet though.”
The older man nods, frowning like he nearly always is on race weekends. “You’ll do fine.”
“I will do my best.”
Helmut nods and Max takes the silent dismissal.
Standing towards the back of the garage, he looks at the track data displayed on one of the bigger screens. Seeing it displayed so large and clearly makes him breathe a little easier as he looks at it all. He doesn’t get to look at it long, however. The sound of his dad asking where he is breaking him away from the data and he steps out from where he had been tucked away.
His mouth opens, ready to greet his dad, but it clicks shut at the sight of her.
She smiles at him, but it’s just a bit wrong, too tight at the corners. It makes his chest ache, makes him want to snap and tell people to stop looking at her, makes him want to whisk her away so he can see his smile. “Hi Max.”
The quiet sound of her voice makes him move, striding towards her. “Flower.” He breathes just a step away from her before he brings her into his arms and she melts into him as he hides her face away from everyone else. “What are you doing here?” He asks, lips pressing to the side of her head.
“Jos got me a flight here. I couldn’t miss this race.”
His eyes flicker to his dad who's standing behind her, looking at them, easily ignoring all the eyes of the Red Bull garage on them and the whispers that are starting. “Thank you.” He murmurs and his dad nods.
He pulls away just enough to look at her, his hands now framing her waist, hers resting on his chest. He feels breathless looking at her. Dressed in some pants, a shirt that he remembers his mom buying her last year for her birthday, the shoes that match his, she’s gorgeous and he can’t help but quickly kiss her. Their lips connect for just a second, but it’s long enough for her hand to land on his cheek, for him to feel the warm metal of her wedding ring and band.
“I missed you. Missed you so much.” He tells her as soon as they are in his driver's room, alone.
She smiles at him, hands cupping his face, and he can’t help but lean into the touch, into her. Happy to see her smile, his smile. “I missed you too. How are you feeling?”
“Nervous.” He admits. “But I’m ready. I can do this. I’m ready for this.”
Her smile seems to grow. “You’ve got this.”
“Will you watch from the garage for me?”
“Will Jos be watching from there?”
He nods. “Always does.”
“Then yeah, I’ll watch from there.”
—
Daniel looks at the slip of a girl standing next to Jos, intrigued. She was young, as young as Max if not a bit younger, but more importantly she was hot. Nudging his new teammate, he tilts his head in her direction. “You never said you had a sister.”
The eighteen-year-old just looks at him and Daniel hates the way it’s somewhat unsettling. He was twenty-six, there shouldn’t be any reason for it to unsettle him. But as Daniel looks back over, he supposes most eighteen-year-olds don’t have dickhead near abusive dads that are Jos Verstappen. “I don’t have a sister.”
“Really? Hot cousin then?”
“Not my cousin either.” And before Daniel can say anything else Max is walking away from him over to his trainer.
“Alright then.” Daniel mutters to himself, eyes lingering on the girl before he goes to his own trainer.
—
“Daniel thinks you're hot.”
Blood rushes to her cheeks and the shirt in her hands falls onto the floor. “What?”
“Daniel, before we got into the car for FP1, he was asking me about you.” His face is burning with anger. “Thought you were my sister or my hot cousin.” Max scoffs.
“Oh.” Her voice sounds lost and her arms wrap around herself.
The anger softens on his face at the reaction and he wraps his arms around her from behind, exhaling when her arms loosen, hands resting on his arms, fingers stroking his skin. “You're mine.” He breathes, dipping his head to press his lips against her neck, barely resisting the urge to leave a mark.
Her breathing comes out shaky and in her next breath, his pinky finger starts to dip below the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, Max.”
—
Max is shell shocked. He’s celebrating, screaming, throwing himself into the arms of his team, but behind his helmet, he’s shocked. He had hoped for points, dreamed of a podium, but a win? A win? That had never been in his wildest dreams for this weekend.
He’s guided over to the weighing station and then the first spot, a member of the team talking to him. His hands don’t shake as he removes his helmet and gloves. They don’t shake as he removes his balaclava either. Not when he clasps a few drivers' hands. They shake as soon as he sees his flower.
She’s standing next to his dad, crying, nearly sobbing. He can tell from the pattern of her chest moving up and down. And he knows that he should be going over to get interviewed, but he ignores the team member trying to guide him, darting over to her. The people surrounding her, all wearing Red Bull shirts, cheer, patting him wherever they can reach, but he’s only focused on her. His hands enveloping her face as he kisses her.
She gasps into the kiss, her hands settling on his biceps before moving down to his wrists, fingers wrapping around them as she returns the kiss.
“You won, Max.” She’s breathless when they break apart. “You won.”
He grins at her, enjoying the shine to her eyes, the width of her smile. “I won.” It’s breathless as well, and a laugh follows it. “I won.”
“You won.” She laughs, quickly pressing another kiss to her lips before pushing him away. “Now go.”
He nods, but leans in for one more kiss before leaving her to go to the post race interviews.
The questions are a blur to him and so are his answers. Except for the final one.
“Is there anyone you want to thank?”
“The team of course. I mean really without them this wouldn’t have been possible, we hoped for a podium, for points, a seemed out of reach with how the Mercedes have been performing though. My dad and mom as well. And my girl.” As he continues he fails to see the reactions from people with those two words, my girl.
The person interviewing him’s eyes are wide, almost having stumbled back. Nearly everyone from Red Bull has their jaw on the floor. Daniel though already feeling pissed from Max winning and not him has more anger coursing through him. Because seriously? He had been eyeing her up since Friday and she was with Max apparently? Max of all people? He scowls as his eyes land on her, she is far too pretty to be with Max.
Sebastian at the weighing station let out a disbelieving laugh, adrenaline was a hell of a thing and he hoped for Verstappen’s sake that the girl he kissed didn’t take his words to heart of him calling her his girl. He’d cool down later and most likely get embarrassed by the slip. Perhaps even angry, he was the type, after all.
A few of the other drivers share looks, shaking their heads and murmuring to each other that it wasn’t going to end well. It was a hell of a thing to say after getting a win, your first win, but PR was going to be all over him after and they all winced at the thought of what statement he’d have to make and put out in the next few hours or days.
His former teammate scoffs, “bullshit.” he spits. It should have been him in that Red Bull seat if anyone was going to replace Kyvat. He and his father had banked on Max doing something stupid, crashing the car, finishing out of the points, so he could get the seat like he should, but Max just couldn’t do that. Had to have a one-off fluke of a race. And now he was claiming he had a girlfriend. Probably some sort of PR stunt to make him look better, more stable, like an adult and not a kid squeezing his way into where he shouldn’t be.
Kimi lets out a small chuckle, one that Sebastian hears but doesn’t question him on. Of course, the kid would let it slip that he had a girlfriend. He had been hoping that Max would have made it until the end of the season or even next season, but it was fine. Kimi would just have to make sure to not make another bet with Minttu, it was getting a little embarrassing how much he kept losing to her. At least Kimi considers, he didn’t let it slip that they were married.
“Well, she’s pretty, I’ll give him that.” Jenson comments, looking at the girl Max had kissed, the one that must be his girl.
Fernando chuckles. “She is jail bait.”
“And taken.” He eyes her. “I’m a bit surprised he hasn’t mentioned her at all. I didn’t even know he was seeing someone. Did you?”
The Spanish driver shrugs. “We talk about racing not personal. And yes.” He adds. “I am shocked. Mainly because of that.” He nods his head in the direction of Jos, still stern faced, though Fernando had caught a smile on his face earlier.
Jenson lets out a sharp whistle. “Yeah, that is the surprising part. Wonder what Max had to do to get his dad to agree to that.”
He shudders, “I don’t want to know.”
“Yeah, best not to think about it.”
Max lets the podium celebrations wash over him, laughing when Kimi claps him on the shoulder as they leave, murmuring his congrats. Walking back towards the cool down room, out of sight from fans and cameras, Max takes a deep breath, heart still racing inside his chest. This was unbelievable.
He follows the FIA official as they direct them through another room, this one filled with some team personnel and such and his grin widens, feet picking up their pace as he scoops her into a hug, ignoring her squeal of protest.
“Max! You’re dripping in champagne.”
He holds her tight to him, face buried in her neck. “Good. Means you can shower with me.” She doesn’t say anything to that, but he knows that he’s flustered her with his whispered words. It makes him chuckle and he puts her on her feet, keeping her close, though. “I love you.” He murmurs.
“I love you too.”
He makes them keep standing there, his face still in her neck, at least a dozen eyes on them, but he needs this. Needs to hold her, needs to breathe her in, needs to feel her against him, needs her to calm him down. He wants to stay there forever, but before anyone can interrupt them, he pulls away. Pressing a kiss to her forehead before he lets her go.
“Go wait in my driver's room, while I finish up.”
She nods, flashing him a small smile, before walking over to his trainer, who nods at him before guiding her out of the building and he knows to the Red Bull garage.
—
“Max, during your post race interview, you thanked quite a few people including and to quote you, my girl. Was that the girl you kissed today?”
Max is happy he’s already flushed from winning that they can’t see the way more blood rushes to his cheeks at the question. Red Bull had told him to expect at least one question that was personal during the conference because of the kiss, but he hadn’t been thinking it’d be so early.
“I think we have to remember,” Max’s eyebrows furrow at Sebastian speaking and he glances at the older driver. “That adrenaline is a hell of a thing. And we can’t hold something the kid says in the rush of a moment or does really against him.” Sebastian finishes before giving Max a wink, making his brows furrow more.
Was Sebastian trying to say that he didn’t mean to thank her, didn’t mean to kiss her? He can hear a few reporters mumbling, the scratch of pens against paper.
“To answer your question,” Max starts. “Yes, the girl I kissed was the one I thanked, that I called my girl. We’ve been together a while, she’s seen my whole career in karting now single-seater. She deserved thanks.”
Kimi lets out a small chuckle, leaning forward a bit to look around Max and see the puzzled expression on Sebastian's face. Served the German right for thinking that Max misspoke and acted while high on his win.
—
“No girlfriend?” Daniel asks Max as they head into debrief.
“What?”
“No girlfriend?” Daniel repeats himself. “I haven’t seen her yet. She not here?”
Max sends him an odd look, “If you mean Y/N, no. She isn’t.”
He scoffs. “Of course, I mean, Y/N. Unless you’ve got more than one girlfriend. And if that’s the case, I call dibs on Y/N.”
The younger stops in his tracks, grabbing a fistful of Daniel’s shirt and yanking, making him stop as well.
“What?” Daniel laughs. “She’s hot, pretty, whatever you want to call it.” His laughter dies when he catches sight of Max’s face.
It was the face that everyone loved to talk about. The first thing that had been brought up when it was announced that Max had gotten an F1 seat. It wasn’t his age, though that was a close second. It was the look he’d get if something didn’t go his way on track, if someone smashed into him, made a risky move. It was the face that had to have been born from all the near fucking abusive shit that Jos was rumored to have done to Max.
It was narrowed eyes, glare sitting heavy and Daniel could feel sweat gathering on the back of his neck at the sight of it. Nostrils flared, lips in a thin line, but somehow Daniel just knew that as soon as Max spoke his mouth would look like it was gathered into a snarl.
Seeing it and seeing it directed at him, reminds Daniel how all of them had joked in 2014 about how Max was going to be so scary, just scare them shitless. It had been jokes because despite the rumors they had heard, the stories they had been told, none of them really believed it. It wasn’t because Max couldn’t have been some hotshot on the track with an aggressive style, refusing to back down and winning because of it. No, it was the fact that people thought anyone of them would be scared of it, would be wary of him, that made them all laugh. And then they’d seen him in an F1 car and suddenly all those rumors and stories came rushing back to them, because fuck they have might merit in them when it came to Formula 1 after all.
Daniel has the urge to reach for his phone and call Jules’ godson, Charles, and ask how the fuck he managed to race against Max for so long and never get terrified of him, on or off track. But before his fingers can even twitch to reach for it, Max is speaking and god, he does look like he’s snarling.
“Daniel, if you mention how my wife,” The Australian driver's eyes widen and the word fuck starts bouncing around his head. “Looks hot one more time, I will crash into you, and I will take the fine, the penalty points, the promotion down, or the loss of my seat.”
“Okay.” Daniel clears his throat, the word coming out high-pitched. “Got it. I’ll stop talking.”
Max releases his shirt, fingers flexing, jaw shifting before the murderous look he had disappeared. “Good. Now let’s go, we are probably late for debrief.”
Daniel nods, silently following his teammate while the words what the fuck echo in his mind.
—
“So, Max is married.” Daniel says, as he sits with a bunch of drivers, downing a shot. “Yeah, Y/N, not his fucking girlfriend.”
“Daniel,” Jenson looks at the younger, eyebrow raised. “What exactly did you do?”
He winces, throwing another shot back and fuck he should’ve grabbed more than two. “Called her hot in front of him, again.” The last word comes out as a whisper, but the whole table hears it and they all shake their heads.
“Dude.”
“I know! But like the first time I didn’t know, alright? It was Spain, before free practice, I thought she was like his little sister or cousin. This time, I shouldn’t have done it, there happy?”
Kimi shakes his head. “I think the kerbs are going to your brain.”
Daniel scowls at the Finnish driver, but Sebastian thankfully steps in before he can tell him where to stick it.
“What happened this time? When you called her hot? Which to be fair she is.”
At Seb’s agreement, Daniel can’t help but shoot a look around, despite knowing that Max was in his hotel room and probably talking to his wife. The thought makes Daniel frown. “He, uh, he told me he’d crash into me and happily lose his seat if it came to it for crashing into me.”
The other four drivers look at him, Sebastian and Fernando looking with disbelief, while Kimi looks unsurprised, same with Jenson. “Are you sure you just called her hot?” Fernando checks.
He nods. “And pretty. I think it was pretty, hot, whatever you want to call it.”
“I don’t even want to know the context.” Kimi murmurs.
Daniel opens his mouth ready to say but gets a tap to the back of the head, making his mouth shut. “Let’s not do that tonight, alright.”
It’s near instinct to fight the words, because why not tonight, but he slumps in his seat, nodding at Jenson’s words. He didn’t have the energy for it anyway.
2017
“Max, put up a hell of a fight.”
Max’s eyebrows raise, “I didn’t know you knew my name.” He murmurs, the microphone still catching it, however.
Lewis lets out a laugh. “It’s your second win, right? Lots of pretty girls here to celebrate with tonight.”
The slight smile on his face from Daniel trying to poke at his ribs vanishes at Lewis’ words and he can hear Daniel’s sharp intake of breath, the journalists coming to life a bit. “Well, I don’t think my wife would appreciate that.” It’s deadpan, or at least he tries to make it deadpan, he didn’t actually want to make his PR officer’s life hell, but he knew there was a bit too much steel in it.
“Your what?”
Daniel leans forward, peering around Max. “Dude, where were you last year? It was all anyone was talking about at COTA.”
“You got married at COTA?”
“I got married in February 2016.”
“Aren’t you like twenty?”
Daniel peers even more around Max. “Once again, where have you been for the last year, two years?”
“Well,” a voice interrupts. “I think we can call this press conference to an end. Let Max celebrate his win and let Lewis come to terms with things.”
“Come to terms is putting it lightly.”
#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#f1 dark fic#max verstappen dark fic
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"You're late" "I know...I'm sorry."
Pairing: Sakusa x Reader
Words: 3k
Content: Sakusa falls out of love with you. You realize it too no matter how much he would like to pretend you don't. Eventually he realizes he was just scared. Hopefully he isn't too late.
a/n: I wrote this because my lovely mutual @hiraethwa asked me for it. I of course had to take the chance to write angst. As you can see I didn't stop myself and it's a bit longer than my stories usually are. I hope you guys enjoy it!
It’s almost poetic that the things that made you fall in love with someone are the same reasons you fall out of love with them. Their passion for their job turns into fights about not making time for each other. Their cleanliness turns into fights about how you don’t do the dishes properly. Them speaking their mind turns into hurtful words that neither can take back. Things that with the right communication wouldn’t be so bad. But that was another bad habit the two of you had.
Not talking to each other after getting mad. You were always the one to “fix” it though. Putting a bandaid on a broken glass never gets rid of the crack though.
Sakusa thinks these are the sorts of things that force him to take off his rose tinted glasses, ones that had turned muddy and foggy, and look at you. You leaving the dishes overnight in the sink because work was so exhausting now made him upset. He was exhausted when he got home but still managed to clean up after himself. You drooling in your sleep used to be cute but now all he can think of is how disgusting he feels.
You disgust him.
He used to let you lay up against him because your touch used to bring him comfort. Now it makes his skin crawl.
You’re not blind. You can see the way he has started to recoil when he thinks you’re going to touch him. The walls of your home have started to lose their warmth. The blankets not holding in their warmth like they used to. You shiver even when the house is set to 80. Sakusa’s cold gaze makes icicles go down your back. The same brown eyes you used to love. The same eyes that used to look at you like you hung the stars.
The hands that used to hold you now sit close to his body. The lips that used to kiss yours when he arrived home are gone. He thinks you don’t notice. He thinks that you can’t see how he forces himself to hold your hand in public. He doesn’t want his friends to see what he’s become.
A man who is no longer in love with you. You who used to be the light of his life. His friends aren’t stupid. He would like to think they are but they see what’s going on. They see as your skin turns paler. How your lips are always chapped and broken from biting on them. It’s at dinner that one of them notices the first petal.
The forsaken petals. Komori wants to write it off as just a stray petal from outside that got caught in your hair. He knows better. And so do you. You know what’s going to happen to you. You’ve started wearing hats.
It’s the petals that also spur on your next fight.
“They’re everywhere! Where do they keep coming from?” Sakusa says as he picks up another flower petal that was sitting upon the couch. “You need to stop bringing them in here from wherever you’re getting them.” He never yells but his words hit just the same. It was your fault. It wasn’t his fault that he saw what you really were. Just someone who had managed to get him to fall in love with them. That seemed like a lifetime ago. Afterall, bandaids don’t fix breaks in glass, liquid still spills.
Here was the result of using bandaids to fix things that are broken. Sakusa was still none the wiser of what was going on. You had gotten better at hiding the petals. You had begun placing them in bags. You almost had done something that would’ve been truly evil. You had almost labelled the bags “What is left of me” and left while he was at work. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave no matter how badly you needed to. You loved him.
Love really is a fickle thing. Someone who you used to spend every minute with could become a stranger to you again in less than a week. Sakusa felt like a stranger with a familiar face. The man you loved no longer loved you. You weren’t entirely sure how much longer you had left. It could be days. It could be weeks. You just knew that eventually there wouldn't be a you to come back to.
It seemed everyone but him had realized what was happening. Komori had enough of it. You still had your lunches, it was Komori who had introduced you two afterall. He was still your best friend. He still cared for you. He was sure Sakusa did too. “He just needs some sense knocked into him.” or “Give him another chance, I’ve never seen him love someone as much as he lov-loves you.” Komori had almost messed up during that sentence. He almost said ‘loved’.
He couldn’t see his best friend destroy themselves like this anymore. That night he took Sakusa out for dinner. They were going to talk about it until Sakusa realized he did still love you. He was going to realize that you were still the love of his life.
“What happened.”
“What?”
“What could they have possibly done to deserve what you’re doing to them?”
“Y/N?” He rolls his eyes and sighs. “What am I doing to them?”
“They’re dying.” Simple and to the point. “They’re dying and it’s because of you.”
He scoffs. “What are you on about? They’re perfectly fine.”
“No. They’re not. They’re dying. Why don’t you love them anymore? Tell me why.” Komori looks at Sakusa in a serious way. He would answer this question.
“I don’t know. They’re annoying. The things I used to find charming aren’t anymore. They never do the dishes, we’re always fighting and they try to ``fix” it-” he puts quotes around the world. “Taping up a broken window doesn’t mean it never broke.”
Komori shakes his head. “They annoy you? That’s what caused you to decide you don’t love them anymore? You realize it takes two people to break and fix a relationship.” Him saying that made Sakusa roll his eyes again. He looked out the window. He was starting to tune his cousin out.
Sakusa wasn’t the problem here. It was that you were too demanding. You were too much. You always wanted more. Volleyball season started up again so he couldn’t have as many dates with you. He thought you would be used to it by now. You had been fine with it for the past few years. Why the sudden change now? He thinks back.
The first year of you two being together was perfect. The two of you had communicated what you needed and what you expected. The first time he had missed a date he had texted you not even five minutes later letting you know the situation and that he would try better next time. By the third week of this happening you had learned he wasn’t able to focus on two things at once. Or more accurately he couldn’t focus on you and volleyball. That was fine. You can’t expect to be the center of his universe all the time. He always abologized for the dates he did miss. Once volleyball season was over you found that he was all yours again.
By year two you hoped it would be different. It wasn’t. Once again it started out fine. Text messages to let you know he wouldn’t be able to make it. You still weren’t upset enough to really fight about it yet though. He would bring you gifts the next day to apologize. A kiss and a sorry attached to whatever gadget he had gotten you.
By year three the gifts made you angry. He had time to go out and get a gift but not enough time to show up for one date? He was tired, you would tell yourself. It’s not you, he’s just busy. Maybe you’re lazy. Maybe you’re the problem. Maybe he just didn’t want to be around someone as needy as you. Who would to be honest? This was the year you had finally brought it up to him. A mistake.
“I can’t do this Kiyoomi.”
“Can’t do what?”
“This. I know that volleyball is important to you but I want to feel important too.” You pleaded with him.
“You are. I’m here right now aren’t I? Let’s go on a date now.” He sighed and he turned off the TV and started getting up.
It was no use. He wasn’t going to understand. You still felt like an afterthought. You didn’t think it would ever change. What was the point of it all? Maybe you should just leave. Maybe then you could find someone who would make you feel like you were enough.
This was also the year you downloaded a dating app. You couldn’t bring yourself to actually ever open it though. No matter how insignificant you felt you would never do this to him. You couldn’t live with yourself if you did this.
The app was deleted almost as quickly as it had finished downloading.
Maybe what he really needed was just more. More than you had. Someone who was able to understand his love for volleyball. That it was his love first and it would be his last as well. No matter. In a few more months he would be yours again. In a few more months he would act like nothing had ever happened. In a few more months he would apologize with gifts that made your stomach churn and with sweet words that left a bad taste in your mouth.
Year four. This year. This was the year that he hadn’t come back to you. The year he hadn’t returned to being your sweet wonderful boyfriend. You had waited until after volleyball season to plan a date but he had gotten so used to not having them that he had forgotten. He had forgotten about dinner and he had forgotten about you. He hadn’t even come home that night. You were sure he hadn’t because the dishes were still in the sink. If he had come home he would have done them and then told you off.
You waited for three hours before you got the notification. It was from one of his teammates. More specifically that they had posted to their story. You opened it and there he was. In the background drinking with the rest of them. He had left you to go drink. Something he doesn’t like to do. Something he obviously liked better than you.
Your mother had called you the next day to ask if she should start wedding preparations. You didn’t have the heart to tell her your worries. You just laughed with her and told her to hold off for a little longer. You were sure it would be soon. That’s what you told her.
Now you were dreading the message that she would have to make a different kind of preparation. A funeral. You didn’t understand how someone could do this. How he could go from caring and sweet to cold and distant so quickly. You didn’t know when you had started to feel numb instead of sad. How the cold eyes that would turn to you stopped making you shiver.
You didn’t know when you had stopped crying. At some point the tears had stopped and your breathing stopped being labored.
Maybe the change wasn’t as sudden as he originally thought. Maybe he just hadn’t noticed the change until it had already happened. How you stopped planning dates. How you stopped holding his hand as tight. Your eyes had changed. They were once so full of trust and love. Now they were dull. You still held love for him in your eyes, he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was just a joke.
He needed to rethink everything now. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He thinks about everything. Why did he start loving you in the first place?
He loved how you always surprised him. That you challenged him to be better. You didn’t let him off easy just because you liked him. Sure Komori was the one who introduced you but you were the one who chased him. It seems like you never stopped. Now he was even further away than he had started.
Nothing more than a stranger who knew your secrets. A person you loved but had changed and not in a way that included you. He thought about why he had started dating you.
Because you were good for him. At some point he softened. He allowed room in his life for another person. One who could see his ups and downs. Because around you he felt safe. He felt loved and he discovered he wanted you to feel that way around him too. He wanted to provide you with safety. He wanted you to feel loved. He wanted you to feel like you were always enough for him.
He shakes his head. Funny way of showing it. He had done nothing but put you off since that first year. You had been nothing but supportive. You had understood when he had to miss a date because of practice. Except he didn’t have to miss those dates. He chose to. Every time he missed one was of his own accord. He realized he hadn’t thought of it as important enough. He hadn’t thought of you as important enough.
How could he have been this cruel? He didn’t think of himself as cruel before this moment. He hadn’t really thought about it. He thought it was for the best that he pushed you away until you finally left. He thought it would be too much work to break it off with you from the start. He knows now that you hadn’t gone away. He had. He was the one who had started every fight. The one who hadn’t communicated his feelings and had outright ignored yours.
He thought about why he didn’t love you anymore.
Because you left dishes in the sink? Was that the best he could come up with? He knew why he decided he didn’t love you anymore. Because you made him feel. You made him afraid. You made him feel so safe that he was in a constant state of waiting for it to end.
If he pushed you away first you couldn’t do the same to him. If he decided he didn’t love you anymore it wouldn’t hurt when you did finally leave. He was scared that you would leave. He didn’t love you because he was scared you would leave. Now that it’s laid out in front of him he sees how stupid he was. He still has one more realization though.
You were dying.
Those flower petals he had gotten mad about. They weren’t just flower petals. They were the cause of your death. And from the amount of them there had been a week ago, you didn’t have much time left. Suddenly he wasn’t so calm. How could he be? The person he loved was going to die. And it was his fault. You were going to die because you thought the same thing he had. That he didn’t love you anymore.
He looked towards Komori with wide eyes. “I think I still love Y/N.”
“You think?”
Sakusa takes a breath. “I’m in love with Y/N.”
“Go tell them that before you’re too late.”
Sakusa gets up from the table and runs to get a taxi.
You’re laying in your bed. Numb. You laugh bitterly. Right up until the end you loved him. You gave him all of you. How inconsiderate of you to leave such a mess for him to pick up. The same petals that he had just gotten upset over were the petals of the same flower he had gotten you for your first date. The same flowers that started your love were going to finish them.
Sakusa was starting to get desperate. He didn’t deserve you anymore but he was going to spend the rest of his life trying to mend what he had broken if that’s what it took. You weren’t picking up your phone. “Come on. Pick up. Please, pick up.”
The phone was ringing beside you but you didn’t have the energy to reach it. You barely had the energy to keep your eyes open anymore.
Sakusa bursts through the door. His breath is uneven and rapid. He scans the room and sees you nowhere in sight. He looks down and follows the trail of flowers leading to your room. He felt like it was only your room as he rarely slept there anymore. He opens the door and races to your bedside.
He grabs your hand and tries to catch his breath. “Y/N. Please. Open your eyes. I’m so sorry.”
Nothing.
“Please. I love you. I know I don’t deserve to say that but I do. You deserve so much better than what I have given you. You deserve so much better than I can give you. But I love you. I’m sorry I was so blind before. I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you because now I know what it feels like to not have you and it made me feel so empty. I know I’m being so selfish. I don’t deserve you. You. Beautiful you who lights up every room they’re in. You who loved me even though I only kept hurting you. Please Y/N. Open your eyes. I need you. I need you and I’m sorry that I didn’t realize it sooner.” He’s crying now. He doesn’t deserve to shed tears over you because he’s the reason you’re like this. But he does. He holds your hand and he cries.
“You’re late.” A dry, broken voice calls out. His head snaps up. There are those eyes you love so much.
“I know…I’m sorry.”
“I can’t forgive you yet.”
“I know.”
“I hate you for what you did.”
“I know.”
“But I still love you. Please. Just. Love me better this time?”
“I will spend every day of the rest of my life proving that I love you. Even if you don’t fully forgive me for what I’ve done. I will love you and prove it to you everyday. I promise.”
taglist: @hiraethwa @sanaexus
masterlist
rules
#haikyuu x reader#haikyu x reader#tulip writes#hq x reader#haikyuu x y/n#sakusa x reader#sakusa kiyoomi x reader#sakusa x y/n#sakusa x gn!reader#sakusa kiyoomi x you#sakusa angst#hq angst#haikyuu angst#haikyu angst
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It was a personal issue
Based on @creativepromptsforwriting ‘s prompt “why did you never tell me”; “It was a personal issue.”; “you being in love with me kinda involves me.”
Eddie Munson x gn!reader
No trigger warning.
WC: 0.8K
You and Eddie are best friends. You have been for years. You also have been keeping a secret from him for a long time: you are in love with him. Not a simple crush no, you are head over heels in love. But you keep this information to yourself. You would rather have Eddie as a best friend than not having him in your life at all. The thing is that being around Eddie is getting harder and harder with time. You and Eddie are both touchy people, you always hug, play with each other’s fingers when you are anxious or play with each other’s hair during movie nights. Since a few months, every touch exchanged with Eddie sends a shock of electricity through your body and ignite a desire, the desire to be with him.
You currently are at Steve’s Harrington birthday party. You are currently nursing a beer, sitting right next to Eddie, your thighs touching. Eddie also casually hooked an arm around your shoulders while casually talking with Robin. You don’t even listen to whatever they are saying, too focused on Eddie’s arm around your shoulders.
“Sweetheart?” Eddie asks, waving his hand in front of your face.
“Hm?” you ask.
“Tell Robin that Eddie Van Halen is cooler than Bon Jovi.” Eddie pleads, looking at you with his puppy dog eyes.
You raise your hands in surrender. “I don’t want to be in the middle of a musical argument between you two.” You say, chuckling and knowing damn well that as much as you love Robin, if you get involved you are going to take Eddie’s side, especially with the puppy dog eyes he gave you. Robin and Eddie keep going back and forth in their little argument for a little while, and you zone out again.
Once Eddie and Robin agreed that they would never convince the other, Eddie gets up from the couch for a smoke. When Eddie gets up, but you don’t follow, as usually do, nor react, he frowns.
“Sweets?” he asks, putting his hand on your shoulder to get your attention.
“Sorry…” you tell him earnestly, shaking your head as to clear your head.
“Where d’ya go?” Eddie asks, a bit concerned.
“I was just thinking.” You answer.
When you and Eddie walk through the kitchen, you take this as an opportunity to refill your glass.
Then, Eddie and you step outside by the back door, Eddie leans against the wall before lighting his cigarette. Meanwhile, you take a sip from your drink.
“So,” Eddie starts. “What were you thinking so hard about?” he asks, always the curious one.
“Nothing interesting.” You answer, embarrassed and blushing.
“Tell me. Pretty please.” Eddie borderline begs, doing the puppy dog eyes. When he sees that you are not about to share with the class, he adds. “I am your best friend!”
You take a huge sip of your drink for courage before saying. “Promise me that no matter what I say it is not going to change things between us, promise me it won’t make you run away.”
“I promise,” Eddie says, putting a hand over his heart before adding. “Scout’s honor.”
You snort at that. “You have never been a scout!”
Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulders before saying your full name and insisting. “What was going on in that pretty little head of yours.”
You blush hard and sway from one foot to the other.
“I might…” you hesitantly start before taking a deep breath and blurting out. “I love you, Eddie.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you close your eyes, bracing for impact.
“Duh! I’m your best friend!” Eddie says, not catching the real meaning of your I love you.
You sigh, embarrassed. “No Eddie, you didn’t get it… I mean I love you more than a friend should.”
“Since when do you know?” Eddie asks, kinda shocked.
“I have been sure of it for a year.” You confess.
“Why did you never tell me?” Eddie asks.
“It was a personal issue!” you protest.
“You being in love with me kinda also involves me.” Eddie says, amused.
You chuckle at Eddie’s answer. “Yeah but I wanted to sort it out on my own before telling you.” You answer a bit embarrassed.
“Sweetheart, your love for me is not unrequited.” Eddie confesses.
“Really?” you ask, skeptical.
“Really.” Eddie breathes out, his face inching closer to yours. You both breathe heavily, so close that you can feel the other’s breath. When the tension becomes too much, your lips crashes onto Eddie’s. You both kiss passionately and make the most of it. A few hours earlier, minutes even this seemed impossible for the both of you. Even in your wildest dreams, you never thought you and Eddie would ever be more than friends. But now, even though you have not put a label on your current relationship, you know you have crossed the boundaries of friendship. There is no going back now.
Taglist:@abellmunsonmovie
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Big Soldier, Little Soldier
Summary: Everything that John has worked for to catch Makarov led to Soap in critical condition in the hospital fighting for his life and his own wife in the brink of losing her sanity after a month long kidnaping at the hands of the enemy. He failed his team but nothing hurts more than to realize that he failed his family with you as the collateral damage of it all.
Character: John Price x F!Reader (Lt. Rookie)
Word Count: 3,334
Chapter Warnings: Mention of torture and gore. Mention of death and decay. Allusion to sexual assault. Mention of trauma. Major Angst with slight comfort. Mention of injuries both physically and mentally. Minor Character deaths. PTSD. Trauma induce.
Ideas:
"Do you want me to hold you closer?"
"Is this okay?"
"Tell me to stop and we stop. I don't care what's happening. All I care about is you."
"Will you sit with me?"
requested by @azkza "anything but i love when it's become angst😙"
Song Inspo: Abbey & I Don't Smoke
Masterlist ||Series Masterlist || 500 Followers Celebration
The damp, cold air of the room presses against your shivering skin, seeping through your clothes and chilling you to the bones. The harsh fluorescent light above flickers intermittently, casting eerie shadows across the cracked concrete walls. Your wrist burn from the coarse rope binding them to the back of the chair, each knot a reminder of your powerlessness. Every breath you take was a struggle, each inhale bringing a fresh wave of pain to your bruised ribs. You try to ignore the coppery taste of blood in your mouth, the result of Makarov’s latest session to get you to admit the truth of your team’s plan.
“Tell me, Lieutenant.” His voice was low and taunting and continued to echo your mind. “What is your husband’s plan?” The sneer in his eyes were unforgettable, each word dripped with cruel intent.
You’ve managed to resist so far, clinging to the scraps of loyalty, training, and the love instilled in you. But as the day’s drags on, your resolve begins to waver. You were uncertain how much more you can truly endure.
The door slams shut behind Makarov as he leaves you alone in the suffocating silence. The dim light buzzes above, a constant, grating noise that grates on your frayed nerves. The solitude of the room is numbing, the silence more terrifying than the threats. It gives you too much time to think, to worry.
Your eyes closed and picture their faces. Your daughter, with her bright eyes and infection laughter, always running around the house with boundless energy and question you and your husband were more than happy to answer. Your son, quieter but no less adventurous even in his infancy, with his thoughtful gaze and the way he always held your hand when he was scared. You wonder if they are safe, if they know what happened to you—if your husband had made it known. You hoped they are far away from the nightmare you are trapped in, shielded from Makarov’s reach.
A tear slips down your cheeks as you think of them, your heart aching with longing and fear. You’ve always been strong for them, the one who faced danger without flinching but with a reassuring smile that kept everyone sane and calm. But now, tied to this chair in a foreign land, you feel the edges of your strength fraying. The darkness is closing in, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold it at bay.
You wonder if your husband knows. If he was actually coming for you or if his duty refused to let him do so. The thought of him, with his determination and fierce protectiveness, gives you a hint of hope. But the hope is a double-edged sword. What if he’s walking into a trap? What if Makarov’s plan extended to him and your children?
You bite down on the inside of your cheek, the pain grounding you, pulling you back from the brink of despair. You can't afford to give in. Not yet. You have to believe that they’re safe, that they’re waiting for you. You have to believe that you’ll see them again.
“Maybe this would finally make you talk, шлюха.”
You heard the man’s voice again, and the voices of various other men that came along with him, the sound of zippers being pulled down had realized the fate was sealed and you had wished for death to come for you instead of this predicament.
~
A month, it took John a month to finally locate where you were being held hostage. He wasn’t even sure if you were still alive. After what had happened to Soap, he was uncertain if Makarov would even show you mercy. But he couldn’t lose hope, not when you had your children waiting back home, looking for their mother.
“John, we can do this. You don’t need to come.”
“The fuck I don’t.” John found himself barking at Laswell.
She had no right to dictate where he can and cannot go. He needed to see with his own two eyes where you were. If you were safe or if you were dead. He will not believe a word anyone says unless he would see it with his own two eyes.
“John, we’ve almost lost, MacTavish. We can’t lose you too.” Laswell repeated but it only burned his core.
It was regret, the numbing and brutally stabbing feeling of regret that it was his fault that it had come to this. Soap was fighting for his life trying to save John during the fight with Makarov. His wife, his beautiful and brave wife, was God knows where fighting to stay alive, probably enduring the brutality of the torture that only one Makarov could dish out.
It was his fault, no one else’s.
“I’ve failed Soap and I’ve failed my wife. I cannot fail my children too.” His voice that had been strong for the past few weeks now a shell of the man he once was. “I need to be there to either find her alive or take the body home with me. Either way I need to go see if the reports are true.”
There was no stopping him. Not even Ghost or Gaz could stop him as he settled himself on the helicopter that Nikolai was flying. No one could convince him in this very moment that he was more of a liability than anything else.
The hope was still lingering in his core. You were broken for everything that you possibly could have endure but he hoped you were still there fighting and keeping yourself alive for him and for everyone that was waiting for you back home.
But all the hope slowly drained as they arrived at an abandoned safe house in the heart of Russia. The scent of blood and rot was all too palpable in the area and both Gaz and Ghost had been both on high alert for possible attacks and for John’s own sanity at this point.
“Coast is clear.” Gaz spoke as he moved forward first.
John held onto his gun tighter as the abandoned safe house became more and more disheveled the deeper they walked inside.
His eyes lingered on the things scattered around, paper works, food, clothes, all were in a disarray and apparent of no sign of life for weeks. The putrid smell of blood was still nowhere to be seen in their general vicinity.
In the bleak and silent area, a lone mumble had all three men on alert. All their attention led to them finding where the source of the sound was.
“Got eyes on a door towards a basement.”
Ghost announced and without any rhyme or reason, John had walked first opening the door much to everyone’s protest. But as the creak of the door sounded, the putrid smell intensified. A vile odor of mixed excrements had overwhelmed John, it almost had him doubling over and vomiting but he proceeded further inside.
The voices of Ghost and Gaz were momentarily placed at the back of his head as the mumbling grew louder. He walked towards the bleak hallway in the basement. The fluorescent light flickering on and off as he walked closer and closer to the lone door where the sound grew louder and louder.
“Open the door.” John ordered, all the muscles in his body had stiffened. He had always anticipated this, to finally know if you were here or not, but in this moment. At this state of decay and abandonment, he feared the worse.
He feared your state, the state of his failure and the detriment that came to you and your whole being. It was because of him that you were placed in this situation and it was because of him that he almost lost Soap.
Ghost was strong enough between the three of them to finally open the door, a quick slam of his hammer towards the locks and what he saw had him visibly sobbing.
You.
Or what was left of the women he had once loved. In front of him laid a woman fighting for your life. Blood covered the floor as much as it did the walls. Various bodies of different stages of decay scattered around you. But you, you that had both your hands and legs rope tied and your mouth gagged was moving still, shaking and quietly sobbing.
“My Love.” John couldn’t take it anymore as he approached you. You were alive, but the cost was just something he could not even fathom.
With his blade, he cut both of the ties binding you and tore off the gag muffling your words. His eyes immediately inspected your body, his eyes widening at the evident tore on your pants and blood that also painted it.
“They…didn’t do anything to me, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You whispered, voice cracked and dry. Far from the melody of your voice that everyone was so used to.
“I’m worried about you and your whole being!” He finds himself snapping for having your think so lowly of him.
He pulled you towards his chest now, his eyes continued to inspect your shaking form, the various wounds that lingered your body only had bruises to go along with it.
“I fought them off,” You whispered against his chest, weaker hand holding onto his vest. “I did everything in my power or stop them.” You began to sob again and only now did John get a good sight of your face.
How blood was dried against your mouth, sporting two black eyes, and an evident broken nose.
“I failed you.” John whispered, kissing your matted hair. “I failed you and our children.”
“John…”
“I’m so sorry, My Darling.”
~
The rescue was a blur. One moment you were in the dark, suffocating cell filled with the men you killed, the ropes cutting into your wrists, and the next you were being carried out by the strong and protective arms, John’s voice a soothing murmur in your ear, promising you it was over. The light was blinding, the noise was overwhelming, but you clung to him, your lifeline in the chaos and you blacked out after the tears have finally escaped after weeks of captivity.
Days have passed since then. Your body was healing, but your mind was another story. You find yourself in the base’s infirmary, staring at the sterile white walls, the antiseptic smell a sharp contrast to the dank, musty scent of your cell. You constantly tell yourself you’re safe, but the shadows in your mind don’t listen.
Your husband was always nearby, his presence a constant comfort and a painful reminder. You watch him from the corner of your eye, how his brow furrowed with worry, his movements careful and deliberate. He tried to hide it, but you can see the guilt in his eyes. He thinks he failed you. You want to tell him he didn’t, but the words get stuck in your throat, replaced with the memories of Makarov’s sneer, his questions, the pain. It was your fault and you failed him—and your children.
You try to push those thoughts away, but they creep back in, insidious and relentless. Sleep is a battleground. Every time you close your eyes, you’re back in that chair, back in that cell. You wake up gasping, heart pounding, the sheets tangled around you like the ropes that bound you.
If it wasn’t your husband, it was Simon that constantly visits you, his silent presence a strange comfort to you. You were now wearing his shoes, being held captive and tortured, he knew above everyone else the pain and suffering you had endured at the hands of Makarov. You appreciated his quiet understanding, even as you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. You’re afraid he’ll see through the cracks, the fear you can’t shake. You were so used to giving everyone comfort and reassurance, it was so hard to be the one given it the other way around.
Then there was Kyle, who was more direct with his approach. His concern was evident in every words, every gesture. He talks to you, encourages you to open up, but you shut him out. You can’t bear the thought of reliving it, of seeing the pity in his eyes. You’re a soldier, a mother to the team, you are supposed to be strong. But you felt anything but.
John is the hardest to face. He’s always there, his eyes searching yours, looking for a sign that you’re okay. But you’re not, and you don’t know how to tell him that. The pain in his eyes cuts deeper than any wound. You want to reach out, to reassure him, but you can’t. You’re too broken.
“Tell me to stop and we stop. I don’t care what’s happening. All I care about is you.”
It was mandated by Laswell that you had to undergo psychological evaluation and therapy for the next few weeks, but it was hard. Having to deal with your own emotions while knowing you were notified that you would be unable to see your children or see Soap in the hospital until they had deemed you mentally cleared to do so.
Your husband somehow knew that it wasn’t what you needed right now. He knew you needed him but he wasn’t ready to give himself just yet. But he was hear, present in all of your appointments—his office has become the faux therapy location so he could have a close eye on you.
“Please.” You spoke, the tears forming your eyes at the fact you couldn’t see the people you truly wanted to hold the most in your state of mind.
“Go.” With a single word from your husband, the therapist assigned to your case left the office leaving you at the mercy of your husband whose eyes you still have a hard time meeting.
In the silent of the office, you took attention to the sound outside. The booming voice of Simon as he continued on with training with the new recruits. The sound of footsteps walking outside. But amongst the silence of the office the rapid beating of your heart.
“Will you sit with me?”
You finally met his eyes as he stood in front of you, pointing at the sofa that he had installed since your arrival back.
You took a moment before nodding, following him onto the leather sofa. You allowed him to sit first, the creaking sound of the leather against your shared weathered bodies as you sat so close together but the distance was all the more evident still after what had happened to you.
“My children will be coming in a few hours.” He announced finally making your turned to look at him full for the first time in what felt like days.
“Will…will they be ready to see me like this?” You wonder, even as you had healed, you still has the bruises and wounds covering your body not a sight you would ever want your children to ever see you in.
“They know that you got hurt.” He explained. “I know it was not what the doctor or anyone higher up wanted but I want to make sure what you want is being taken into consideration first.”
You nodded knowing it would also mean you would be seeing your in-laws too—the parents you have come to have since meeting your husband. You feared what they would think in your state and knowing what goes on during kidnappings especially for someone in your field.
“Nothing matters to me in this moment but you, you need to understand that. You matter to me not just as your husband but as your Captain. Do you understand?”
You nodded wiping the tears on your eyes.
“No matter what you say, I had a hand in what happened to you. If I only made sure you had Gaz with you during the mission you wouldn’t be place in such a predicament right now, My Love.”
No matter what you say and no matter what you do, it was now a curse that fell upon the both of you. The weight of both of your decisions that day that led you to be where you are right now. A shell of your former self and a husband that knew nothing but be consumed by the guilt of what had happened to you.
“But we’ll go through this together alright? Once you’ve seen the kids and healed up your wounds, we’re going through whatever doctor or therapist we can both get ourselves signed up for and we’ll move past this…together.”
You nod.
“I don’t blame you, you know.” You finally speak. “I never blamed any of you besides Makarov and the sooner I get to see his bloody body on my feet, the sooner we can all move on from this.”
In the pain of the events that caused this much trauma, nothing would give you better joy than to finally have the man either behind bars or dead. You could care less if the man died by your hands or that hands of anyone in your team, but you knew if it came, you would be at peace once and for all.
You found yourself now on the lap of your husband, his arms gently wrapped around your waist. It was the first time in days since you’ve been in his arms, the warmth and protection that only he could give you in this time of chaos in your mind.
“Is this okay?” He asked, uncertain in his action.
“Yes please.” You whispered, nuzzling your face onto the crook of his neck. You took a deep breath of his scent, your arms slowly moved up wrapping around his broad shoulders, your head now resting on his shoulders as you looked up at him.
“Do you want me to hold you closer?” He asked, the shiver in his touch on you was felt.
“I just need you in whatever shape or form you’re willing to give me, John.” You whispered pulling yourself closer to him now as you allowed yourself to finally break down and mourn all of the things you had to endure at the hands of Makarov and his men.
All the things they had said about your team, about your husband, and about your children. All the treats that had placed the fear of God into you but you had no other choice but to stay quiet still. The last of the memories of when Makarov had no other choice but to use the lowest of the low and allowed his men to have their ways with you.
You bit anything you could bite, you’ve learned so much in that sheer moment. You learns that it doesn’t take much to bite off a man’s member off and it doesn’t take much before he dies from blood loss because of it. You’ve also learned that adrenaline was a very dangerous drug to be consumed in. How it had made you strong enough to fight most of the men off, killing without second guessing anything but weak enough to allow Makarov to slam a gun to the back of your head leaving you incapacitated enough to be once again bonded on the floor with the blood on your face and every single part of your body wounded and the corpse of all you’ve killed watching you.
You sobbed in the week that you were left in nothing but the pathetic excuse of your cell. The putrid scent of decay and blood lingering and leaving you to suffer a fate worse than death.
You were broken, but it would take more than the reassurance of your husband to finally heal from everything you’ve been through.
You wanted Makarov dead. For what he placed you through and for what he had let everyone you’ve ever cared for endured because of his own plans.
#John Price One Shots#John Price Oneshot#John Price Oneshots#john price headcanon#John Price x reader#john price x female reader#John price x wife! reader#captain price x reader#john price x reader#cod fanfic#cod x reader#cod mw x reader#captain price#call of duty#fanfic#x reader#female reader#captain john price x reader#captain john price#captain price x you#john price#john price x you#captain price x female reader#john price angst
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Why do you cry? | {SabiGiyuu}
Theme: Slight angst to fluff<3
Note: can be taken as platonic or romantic :3
-Requested ;; sabigiyuu fluff
Tags: @kitkat-moon
×××
Sabito had always been the more confident one. He was sure of himself, he was stronger, both physically and mentally. So it seemed nothing could deter him and Giyuu found himself even insecure beside his best friend, wishing he could be like that. Giyuu cried often, he wasn’t as nearly as strong or fast as Sabito, sometimes he just wanted to curl up in a ball and hide away from the world. He figured Sabito had never wanted to do this before, had never felt so alone. He was seemingly always there to comfort, not to feel anything negative. Somehow, he always was raising Giyuu’s spirits, smiling for him even in the middle of the night when he woke up to Giyuu’s crying.
So it came as a shock, of course, to find Sabito hiding in the back, his knees drawn up to his chest and face buried in his arms. For a moment, Giyuu thought he was sleeping. What else could it be? But then, upon hearing his arrival, Sabito looked up. His face was streaked with tears and his hair was messy, sticking to his forehead from sweat; the weather was increasingly warm and they had been training earlier. Immediately, a hand darted up to rub at the lavender eyes, but it was already too late. Giyuu went over and crouched in front of him, eyebrows creased with worry.
“Sabito?” He didn’t know what to say. After all, he was accustomed to being the comforted, not the comforter. “Are you… okay?” Well that was easily answered. What was he supposed to say, though?
Sabito nodded slowly, turning his head. His cheeks were flushed slightly, but from crying or embarrassment, or the heat, it was hard to tell. “Yeah. Fine,” he mumbled. His voice was hoarse and it made Giyuu wonder just how long he had been here.
“Are you sure? You don’t look that great,” Giyuu said uncertainly.
Sabito let out a breath, then composed himself, raising an eyebrow at Giyuu’s direction. “Are you saying I look horrendous? Wow, Giyuu. Rude.”
Giyuu huffed, rolling his eyes. “No! You know what I mean!”
“Yeah, okay. Is it lunch? Why’re you here?” Sabito asked, covertly trying to change the subject. It backfired on him, unfortunately, because it only served as a reminder to Giyuu as to Sabito’s state.
“I don’t think Urokodaki-sensei is done with lunch,” he said. Then paused. “Why are you here, though? Why were you crying?”
“You know, Giyuu. You don’t just ask people that when they’re upset,” Sabito said pointedly.
“But you are upset, right? What’s wrong?” Giyuu asked, settling down next to him, crossing his legs and leaning his head back against the wall.
Sabito shifted to turn his back towards Giyuu, drawing his legs down and placing his hands flat on his lap. “No reason. Should we train before the food is ready?”
Giyuu frowned and scooted over to sit in front of him again. “Sabitooo, tell me what happened! You don’t usually cry!”
“Nothing happened! I’m fine!” Sabito said. Abruptly, he stood, making Giyuu tip back. He lent him a hand and Giyuu took it, standing as well. “Let’s train, okay?”
“No! Tell me why you were crying or I’ll tell Urokodaki-sensei!” Giyuu retorted, placing his hands on his hips and trying to look stern.
Sabito bit back a smile at the sight and shook his head. “It’s nothing, Giyuu.”
“Uhm, nothing isn’t you crying for the first time in your life!” Giyuu said defiantly.
“First time…?” Sabito asked incredulously. “Damn, that’s quite an assumption.”
Giyuu’s frown deepened. “I’m going to Urokodaki-sen-”
“Okay–” Sabito interrupted. He didn’t want their mentor to know he was going off hiding and crying, although he had a hunch Urokodaki would only be worried. “Okay, fine. But seriously, it wasn’t anything. I was just sad or whatever.”
Giyuu tilted his head to the side, his arms falling. “Sad about what?”
Sabito let out a breath. “Okay, not sad? Tired? I don’t know.”
“Oh. You should sleep,” Giyuu said matter-of-factly.
A bitter smile rose on Sabito’s face and Giyuu stepped back slightly. It was strange to see him like this, and the abnormality of it sent a small panic in the ravenette’s mind.
“It’s not that easy,” Sabito said. His voice was calm, but if Giyuu focused, he could hear a hint of contained exhaustion laced between the words.
“Why? Have you been training too much? Are you sore, or something?” Giyuu asked, confused.
“No! Just, like, tired of… living? I don’t know,” Sabito repeated, running a hand through his hair. The peachy waves slumped against his forehead, as if they were tired too.
“Wha–but, but Sabito, you told me that– You said I should– But– Why would?-” Words came tumbling from Giyuu’s mouth as he cut himself off several times, not knowing what to say. Sabito? Not wanting to live? What world was he in?
Sabito shook his head. “Okay, it’s not exactly that. I’m just tired of dealing with being alive, but it’s not like I actually want to die, that’s… no. I still want to save people and everything, but the road to that is getting exhausting and I guess it just all caught up to me.”
Giyuu nodded slowly, trying to take that in. “Okay… Good. Because you have to live! I couldn’t do a thing without you.”
“Well you can’t rely on me for everything,” Sabito said, pushing him playfully.
Giyuu stumbled back, shaking his head. “No, well, I won’t! I’m not! …wait, am I? But that’s not what I mean! You still help me just by being alive and like I know you’re safe,” he explained, trying to find the words to describe it.
“Oh. Awhh, so sentimental, Giyuu,” Sabito teased, a smile grazing his lips. He reached forward, pulling Giyuu into an awkward embrace. “Love you too.”
“Eh? Sabito!” Giyuu whined. “Anyway, you don’t have to cry ‘cuz… ‘cause I’ll, uhm, always be here,” he concluded stupidly.
Sabito laughed. “Well, aren’t I the lucky one. But in all seriousness, Giyuu, I do care about you. In case you haven’t noticed.”
Giyuu smiled. “I do too.”
“Okay, good, because I would be mad if you didn’t.”
“Huh? Really?”
“No. That was a joke.”
Giyuu glared at him, trying to get out of the hug. Urokodaki appeared, his head popping up from around the corner of the house.
“Lunch is ready! And what are you two doing here?” he asked, doing a double take.
They untangled themselves from each other.
“Nothing…” Sabito said quickly. “C’mon, Giyuu. I’ll race you there.”
He darted off and Giyuu, only just registering his words, shouted after him. “SABITO! THAT’S NOT FAIR!!”
Urokodaki sighed, though he bore a smile under his mask. “Don’t run inside the house!”
His order was met with a half-hearted, muffled, “SORRY!” from inside as he made his way back to the front.
×××
« Word count: 1170 »
Ok that wasn’t necessarily mostly fluff but… shhh..
#kny#kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer#ds#fluff#gay#hashira#giyuu tomioka#sabito#sabigiyuu#sabito x giyuu#giyuu x sabito#slight angst#silly comfort#oneshot#gays#lgbtq#kny sabito#kny giyuu#younger sabigiyuu#sabigiyuu fluff#floof#fluff writing#yay#requested#idk#short..
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ahh i loved your fic about the kings + their problems!! the reverse comfort sprinkled in was just perfect <3 (these men make me so sad *sniffle*)
i would love if you could write some reverse comfort scenarios where they somehow end up crying in front of you, and you just (despite what they might be used to or fear) just hold them and comfort them and let them cry TT
you can decide who you want to write for, god knows they all need a good cry and a hug..
no pressure of coursw, and remember to takw care of yourself!! have a nice day/night :)
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ notes ; tysm!!! there are a bunch of requests very similar to this one, so I'll use your request for it!! <333
pt.1 of 'the kings + their problems
𝖩𝖨𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦 𝖪𝖶𝖠𝖪 - Jichang may initially resist comfort, feeling that as a leader he shouldn't show weakness. He's used to being strong and in control. But as you simply hold him and let him cry, he slowly allows himself to be vulnerable. Through his tears, he expresses feeling overwhelmed by the weight of responsibility and the need to always put on a brave face. Allowing himself to be comforted helps him release pent-up emotions and makes him feel less alone.
You sat across from Jichang as he sat there in silence, his head in his hands. Jihan and Jibeom had decided to pull a stupid prank on him by not responding to him for over six days, and he had been scared thinking something had happened to them.
"Jichang," you said softly, "they were just playing around, I don’t know wh–"
You stopped, noticing his shoulders start to shake. A quiet sob escaped him, muffled by his hands. Your heart ached seeing him like this, he was usually so calm and composed.
You moved to sit beside him, gently placing a hand on his back. "Hey," you murmured, "it's okay. They're safe. Everything's alright."
Jichang shook his head, still not looking up. "I thought... I thought something had happened to them. I was so scared." His voice was thick with tears, barely above a whisper.
You wrapped your arm around his arm, pulling him closer to you. "I know. It's a terrible feeling. But they're okay, I promise."
He leaned into you, finally lifting his head. His face was streaked with tears, his eyes red and puffy. "I feel so stupid," he choked out. "Getting this upset over a prank."
You shook your head, reaching out to wipe away his tears. "It's not stupid. You care about them, and you were worried. That's normal."
Jichang's lower lip trembled as fresh tears spilled over as you pulled him fully into your arms, letting him bury his face in your shoulder, rubbing his back soothingly. "It's okay…"
He clung to you, his body shaking with sobs. You held him tightly, providing a safe space for him to let go of the fear and stress and responsibility he always carried.
"I was so scared," he repeated, his voice muffled against your shirt. "I thought I'd failed them. Failed as a leader, as a brother."
"You could never fail them," you assured him. "You care so much, Jichang. It's okay to be scared sometimes. It means you love them."
He held onto you like a lifeline as he cried, letting out all the pent-up emotions. You stayed there, a steady presence, whispering reassurances and just letting him feel.
In that moment of vulnerability, he found comfort and strength in your presence. He wasn't alone. With you, he could be human. With you, he was safe.
𝖲𝖤𝖮𝖭𝖦𝖩𝖨 𝖸𝖴𝖪 - Seongji might feel ashamed and angry at himself for crying, seeing it as a sign of weakness unbefitting his tough persona. He tries to pull away at first, embarrassed to be seen in a vulnerable state. But as you continue to offer gentle comfort, he begrudgingly accepts it. He admits in a rare moment of openness that he's terrified of being seen as weak or incapable, having built walls to protect himself. Being held makes him feel safe enough to let his guard down for once.
You were in Seongji's room, quietly cleaning up the scattered medication that he had spilled. He was hidden away, but you could feel his presence, the tense silence heavy in the air. As you picked up each pill one by one, you heard a soft, choked sound. You looked over to see Seongji fighting back tears as he watched you.
You stood slowly, the pills forgotten. "Seongji," you said softly, approaching him cautiously.
He turned away, trying to hide his face as the tears began to cascade down his cheeks. "Don't," he choked out. "Don't look at me."
But you couldn't just leave him like this. You knelt down beside him with a frown, "What's going on?"
He shook his head, a sob catching in his throat. "I can't... I can't do this anymore. I'm so tired."
Your heart ached for him. You had known he was struggling, but you hadn't realized just how much.
"I'm so tired," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "And so scared..."
You slipped next to him, being mindful not to invade his space. "Why are you scared, Seongji?" you asked gently.
He took a shuddering breath, his gaze fixed on the floor. "The kids, Cheonliang, you... he's going to take everything from me."
"Seongji," you said softly, your heart breaking for him. You couldn't help but reach out, placing a hand on his arm. He flinched but didn't pull away. "Seongji, listen to me. He is wrong. You are enough, more than enough. And he can't take away the things that truly matter."
Seongji finally looked at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But what if he does? What if I lose everything?"
You moved closer, slowly, giving him time to move away if he wanted. When he didn't, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "You won't lose me," you told him firmly. "No matter what happens, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
A sob caught in his throat. "I'm so scared of being alone," he confessed, his voice breaking.
You pulled him into your arms, and this time, he didn't resist. He melted into your embrace, his body shaking as he finally let himself cry. "You're not alone, Seongji," you murmured, rubbing his back soothingly. "You have me. You have Cheonliang. You have the kids. We're your family."
He cried harder at that, clinging to you like a lifeline. "I don't know how to do this," he gasped out between sobs. "I don't know how to let people in."
You held him tighter, resting your cheek on the top of his head. "You're doing it right now," you told him softly. "You're letting me in. And I'm so proud of you for that."
He sniffled, burrowing further into your embrace. "What if I mess it up? What if I push you away?"
"Then I'll come back," you said simply. "I'll always come back, Seongji. Because I care about you. Because you're worth it."
He pulled back slightly, searching your face as if looking for any sign of deception. When he found none, fresh tears spilled over. "Thank you," he whispered. "For being here. For... for loving me."
You smiled softly, wiping away his tears with gentle fingers. "Always," you promised. "You're stuck with me, Seongji Yuk. In good times and bad. I'm not going anywhere."
𝖳𝖠𝖤𝖲𝖮𝖮 𝖬𝖠 - Taesoo would likely feel uncomfortable crying in front of someone, not wanting to burden others with his problems. He apologizes repeatedly even as he can't stop the flow of tears. As you hold him and assure him it's okay, he hesitantly relaxes into the comfort. He confesses to feeling guilty for being selfish by accepting care and worrying he's being an inconvenience. Reassurance from you helps him start to believe that he deserves care too.
You walked into the bedroom, concerned that Taesoo had been gone for too long. There he sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, lost in misery and unaware of your entrance.
"Taesoo?" you called softly.
His head snapped up, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said quickly, wiping his face. "I didn't hear you come in."
You frowned and stepped closer. "What's wrong?"
He shook his head, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing. I'm fine."
But a tear escaped, rolling down his cheek. He furiously wiped it away, averting his gaze. "I'm sorry," he said again, voice thick. "I didn't mean to... I don't want to bother you with this."
Saddened by how much he held back, you sat beside him, gently rubbing his back. "You're not bothering me, Taesoo. I care about you. I want to be here for you."
His lower lip trembled as more tears spilled over. "I'm sorry," he whispered repeatedly, a broken record.
You pulled him into an embrace, and he went willingly, still apologizing. "It's okay," you murmured, rubbing his back soothingly.
He shook his head against your shoulder, tears soaking your shirt. "I shouldn't... I shouldn't burden you like this. I'm being selfish."
You held him tighter. "Well, I guess I'm selfish too."
"It's different," Taesoo retorted.
"How is it different?"
Quiet for a moment, his sobs gradually quieted to sniffles. "I feel guilty," he confessed softly. "Guilty for taking up your time, for being an inconvenience."
You pulled back slightly, cupping his face. He averted his gaze, ashamed, but you waited until he met your eyes. "You are never an inconvenience," you told him firmly. "Caring for you, being here for you... it's not a burden. It's a privilege."
Fresh tears of relief, of gratitude, welled in his eyes. "Do you really mean that?" he asked, voice small.
You smiled softly, wiping his tears with your thumbs. "Of course. Taesoo, you deserve care. You deserve love. You deserve to be held when you're hurting."
A shuddering breath escaped him as he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for being here. For... for caring."
You wrapped your arms around him again. "Always," you promised. "I'll always be here, Taesoo. Whenever you need me."
He relaxed into your embrace, finally allowing himself to be comforted, to be cared for - a foreign but welcome feeling. For the first time in a long while, he felt safe. Loved.
"I'm sorry for being such a mess," he mumbled into your shoulder.
You chuckled softly, kissing his temple. "You're not a mess. And I love every part of you, even the messy parts."
He pulled back, searching your face. Whatever he found made fresh tears spring to his eyes, but this time he smiled. "I love you too," he said softly. "More than I know how to say."
Smiling, you leaned in to kiss him gently. "Then don't say it - show me instead."
Taesoo's eyes shone with tenderness as he cupped your face, kissing you deeply. You melted into his embrace, relishing his warmth, his closeness after such vulnerability. Slowly, almost reverently, he laid you back on the bed without breaking the kiss.
—The Rest Is To Your Imagination—
𝖩𝖠𝖤𝖦𝖸𝖤𝖮𝖭 𝖭𝖠 - Jaegyeon may seem unsure how to react to being comforted at first, torn between wanting to maintain his image and craving care. He's not used to being on the receiving end of comfort. But as you simply hold him without judgment, he allows himself to cry freely, expressing a need to always be perfect that leaves him fearful of failing. Being held makes him feel accepted as he is, flaws and all.
The news of Seongji's death hit everyone hard, but surprisingly Jaegyeon seemed the most affected. From what you knew, your boyfriend wasn't one to make friends - acquaintances sure, but actual friends?
That wasn't like Jaegyeon at all. You never realized how much he truly respected Seongji until now. You knew he had a better relationship with Seongji compared to the other kings, but you would've expected the others to be in the position you now saw your boyfriend in.
You approached him quietly and slowly, trying to gauge if he was okay with you being near. He looked up, eyes red and puffy. "I should have been there," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I should have stayed with him after he lost his fingers."
You sat down beside him with a small sigh. "Jaegyeon, you can't blame yourself. Seongji was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions."
Jaegyeon shook his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. "But he wasn't at full power anymore. I knew that, and I still left him. If I had stayed..."
You took his hand, squeezing it gently. "You all knew that, but each one of you had your own responsibilities. Cheonliang was his, and Incheon yours." You paused, letting him take it in before continuing. "Besides, if you had stayed, Seongji might have felt offended, like you didn't believe in his ability to handle things on his own."
Jaegyeon was quiet for a moment, considering your words. "Maybe," he conceded. "But I can't help but feel like I failed him. Like I should have done more."
You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "It's natural to have regrets, to question the 'what ifs'. But we can't change the past, Jaegyeon. All we can do is honor Seongji's memory and carry on his legacy."
Jaegyeon leaned into your embrace, his shoulders shaking as he finally allowed himself to cry. You held him tightly, providing a safe space for his grief.
"I miss him," Jaegyeon murmured. "Surprisingly. Never would I have thought I would ever say that."
You rubbed his back soothingly as a chuckle escaped you. "That hurts my feelings. I've never heard you say you miss me," you pouted.
"You're always with me," Jaegyeon said as he pushed you fully onto the couch, burying his face in your neck.
"Not by choice," you whispered in amusement before wincing slightly. "Ouch! Did you just bite me?"
Jaegyeon nodded against your shoulder, his tears gradually subsiding. "Yes," he said shamelessly, pulling back to wipe his face. "I heard that."
Your eye twitched before you tried to kick him, but Jaegyeon just managed a small smile as he caught your leg.
You glared at Jaegyeon, but there was no real heat behind it as he simply smirked and kept a firm grip on your leg. Realizing you were stuck, you huffed and crossed your arms over your chest.
"You're impossible," you grumbled, feigning annoyance.
Jaegyeon's smirk melted into a softer smile as he released your leg and shifted closer, wrapping his arms around you. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your comforting scent.
"Maybe," he murmured against your skin, "but you love me anyway."
You rolled your eyes, but couldn't fight the fond smile that tugged at your lips as you brought a hand up to card through his hair. Jaegyeon let out a contented sigh, pressing closer.
The two of you stayed like that for a while, finding solace in each other's embrace. The grief was still there, an ache in Jaegyeon's chest, but with you by his side, it felt...bearable. Manageable.
𝖦𝖮𝖭𝖦𝖲𝖤𝖮𝖡 𝖩𝖨 - Gongseob might worry he's being weak and childish for crying, even as he can't help but lean into the comfort of being held. He admits through tears that he feels he always has to be this ‘person’ and can't show sadness or pain. Being able to cry without being mocked or scolded comes as a relief. The simple comfort with no strings attached allows him a safe space to release hurt and be genuine.
You made your way through your newly bought temple, inspecting every nook and cranny while making notes here and there. Gongseob trailed behind you, his steps labored as he maneuvered on his crutches.
"Man, it's going to take a lot of work to get this place in shape," you commented, glancing around at the dusty shelves and cracked tiles.
Gongseob grunted in response, the effort of walking clearly straining him. An uncomfortable silence hung between you two.
It had been weeks since the incident with James Lee, where Gongseob lost his leg after having a building dropped on him. He had insisted he was fine, putting up a brave front as always. "I'm tougher than I look, you know," he'd joked with a forced grin.
But you knew him too well to fully believe that facade. The pain and trauma of such an event didn't just disappear with a few jokes.
You didn't want to press him, though. Gongseob would open up when he was ready. For now, you focused on getting the temple in order.
"Gongseob, why don't you rest for a bit?" you suggested, gesturing to a raised platform. "I can handle the rest of the inspection."
He shook his head stubbornly. "I'm fine. Don't need to sit around like some cripple."
A small frown tugged at your lips. "Can you not–" you sighed taking a moment. "It's about pacing yourself while you heal. Please, just take a break."
Gongseob opened his mouth, likely to protest further, but you fixed him with a pointed look. He deflated with a sigh.
"Fine. But I'm not just going to laze around," he muttered, already making his labored way towards the platform.
You nodded reluctantly. "Alright. I'll be back to check on you soon."
With that, you continued your inspection, mentally cataloging areas that needed repair or renovation. The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself going back glancing over at Gongseob's still form every so often.
Finally, you completed your rounds and turned to head back to him. "There's a couple of broken shelves that need to be replaced. We can look into that next..." Your voice trailed off as you took in the scene before you.
Gongseob was in the exact same position you had left him, perched on the edge of the platform. But now, his shoulders were shaking, and tears streamed silently down his face.
You were by his side in an instant. "Gongseob? What's wrong?"
He flinched at the sound of your voice, quickly swiping at his eyes. "N-Nothing. I'm fine."
But the waver in his voice told a different story. You settled down beside him, close but not crowding his space.
"Gongseob," you urged gently. "Please, don't shut me out again."
Gongseob was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the crutches leaning against the platform. When he finally spoke, his words were thick with unshed tears.
"I'm useless now," he whispered, anguish clear in his tone.
Your heart clenched before you pulled him against your side. "You are not useless, Gongseob," you said firmly. "Losing your leg doesn't change who you are or how much you mean to me."
He shook his head, a choked sound escaping him. "But I'm broken now. Weak. I can't even walk without these stupid things." He gestured angrily at the crutches.
"You're not weak," you countered. "You survived having a building dropped on you. That takes incredible strength, strength that I can only dream of having."
“And you won’t need those forever.”
Gongseob was quiet for a moment, processing your words. Then, slowly, he leaned further into your embrace, fresh tears spilling over.
"I don’t want to be a burden, I don’t want to hold you back," he admitted in a small voice.
You tightened your arm around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You could never be a burden, my love. And you'll never hold me back, because we're a team, remember? We do this together, one step at a time."
A watery chuckle escaped him at your pun, and you smiled softly, relieved to see a hint of his usual humor shining through.
He searched your face for a long moment before crumbling against you as you held him close.
When his tears finally subsided, he pulled back, looking almost sheepish. "Sorry for the bitchin’," he said, managing a weak smile.
You shook your head, brushing away the lingering moisture on his cheeks. "Never apologize for being honest with your emotions, Gongseob. That's what I'm here for - to be your safe space."
He leaned into your touch with a contented sigh. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Lucky for you, you'll never have to find out," you said with a grin.
Gongseob laughed, the sound warm and genuine. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. "Thank you," he murmured against your mouth.
You kissed him again, deeper this time. "You’re welcome," you say when you finally broke apart.
One step at a time, one day at a time.
#lookism#lookism headcanons#lookism x reader#lookism x male reader#lookism manhwa#lookism webtoon#kwak jichang#seongji yuk#taesoo ma#jaegyeon na#gongseob ji#james lee
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"I'm home." Satoru announced as soon as he stepped inside the apartment. It wasn't the usual cheerful voice, since he must have had a particularily hard day. It was long past midnight but he knew you could never sleep until he got home, so he always let you know from the front door.
Too tired to bend over and take his shoes off properly, he only pushed them away from his feet by the heel and abandoned them there, right in front of the door.
"Wait a second, honey!" Satoru smiled as he walked in the spacious livingroom, the wall in front of him entirely made of glass. The night city was this peaceful thanks to him, who took care of three special grade curses today, one after the other. A mellow feeling of pride bloomed in his heart, although his body and his mind were exhausted.
Satoru landed on the couch loudly, his head leaning on the curved back of the sofa. The world surrounding him was even harsher on his eyes now that he was tired, but at home he could relax, at last.
"Aren't you coming to greet your amazing husband?" His voice echoed in the empty livingroom. The lights were off, only a warm lighted lamp in the corner of the room turned on. The silence was so comforting. He took his blindfold off as he waited for you, sky blue eyes brighter than the weak lamp light.
"Hi handsome." You greeted him as you came from the bedroom, freshly out of the shower, wearing the expensive set of baby blue satin pajamas he had bought for you. It consisted of a spaghetti strap short gown and a robe, both of them having soft white lace sown at the hems.
"Ooh. I have such good taste." He said as he raised his eyes to look at you, a smile forming on his lips at your sight. It was the first time you were wearing them. Last monday, he had come back from a week long mission in another city, holding a pretty bag saying he missed you so much he had bought everything that reminded him of you.
"The lace is itchy though, I don't think I can sleep in them." You said, still spinning around once in front of him to show off your fit before sitting in his lap, your arms around his neck.
"I was talking about my taste in women, actually." His hands found your hips quickly and he hummed in approval when his fingers felt the soft fabric.
Now that you were so close to him you could see, you could feel how tired he was. How weak his grip was on your hips, how heavy his eyelids, how sensitive his eyes. But the most telling aspect of his fatigue was his silence. Satoru was usually loud and playful, even if he came back to you at dawn. But his words were scarce now, as soft lines formed between his frowned brows, eyes vulnerable to every little information surrounding him.
"You can keep the blindfold on, you know." Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, your fingers buried in his white hair.
"Naaah."
It was almost unbelievable that this spoiled toddler who was burying his face in the crook of your neck was the strongest jujutsu sorcerer everyone was relying on. Satoru took a deep breath, your familiar smell helping him relax a little more.
"Toru..." You hummed as your fingers gently massaged the back of his neck. He whimpered lowly, encouraging you to keep going. "If it's easier for you to wear the blindfold you can wear it, I don't mind."
You once made the mistake of complaining that he would keep his eyes covered even at home with you sometimes. A selfish and unconsiderate tought of yours that you let out without pondering much on why he felt the need to lessen the burden on his senses at all times by wearing a blindfold. Anyhow, he stopped covering his eyes in your presence.
"I want to see my pretty girl clearly." He argued, although he looked for some relief by pressing his eyes closed against your skin, his lips close to your collarbone.
"You can't see me anyway, silly." You giggled. His hands were now shut into fists grabbing your night gown as he pulled you closer, and you embraced him as tightly as you could. "Don't you want to lay down?" You asked after a few short minutes of silence. Only when he didn't answer you noticed his deep, even breaths. He had fallen asleep. "Satoru." You called out his name softly, one hand of yours rubbing his back, trying to wake him up as gently as possible. If you could, you would have put him in your pocket and took him to bed yourself.
"Hmm?" He hummed as he rubbed his eyes against your skin.
"Let's get you to bed, baby." He sighed, a loud sigh that signaled disappointment. "You can't sleep here. Come on." You tried to break away from his embrace, have him put the last drop of effort into walking to the bedroom, but he only held you tightly as if you were his teddy bear.
"Five more minutes." He whined.
"You'll fall asleep again..." Before you could finish your argument, he pulled you to the side to lay down on the couch. One of his legs placed on top of yours, his arms around your body as his face was now buried in your chest. He was completely at peace with you in his arms. You sighed as you shifted under his grip. Luckily it was warm enough to sleep without a blanket, although the couch wasn't the most comfortable spot and the lace at the hems of your pajamas was itchy. Still, you pressed a soft kiss on the crown of his head and closed your eyes, falling asleep in no time. The sun was rising over the city.
a/n: i miss him so much fr
divider: @dollywons
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru#gojo satoru imagine#jjk#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujustu kaisen
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joongoo x reader (friends to lovers trope) friendly late night drive turned into *cough cough* late night quality love time ?
Thank you in advance !
Goo x Reader | The Car Ride
Disclaimer | fem!reader | Fingering | P in V | Sort of Choking |
wc|2k
Note: My first request and post!! Wooo. I hope you like it! More of a moody/serious goo than a psychotic goo in this one <3
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅──────•
(This man is so fine)
18+ MDNI |
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You hadn’t meant for that unpleasant feeling to start crawling its way up your arms, through your veins and into your heart. Goo had always just been a friend, and only a friend. It had been hard enough as it was to even become an important, friendly, figure in his life. You weren’t one of his secret friends, you were just you.
You were somebody who’d wormed your way into his chaotic life, bringing peace and calm against the clashing frenzy inside his head. You were the sweet to his unveiled bitter, his person against the becomingly fragile smile across his lips.
Yet, you buried those feelings, stashing them away into the darkest pits of your consciousness, and slammed the door shut as to never let them return to the surface. He may treat you better than his secret friends, and yes, you were worthy enough in your fighting prowess, but what right did you have to put those feelings onto him?
He was a magnificent lunatic, and you, well you were just you.
“Watch-you thinking about?” a voice drawled from your ear, the feathery brush of their hair prickling at your cheek. Peeking down, you take notice of the bright array of blond, your thoughts receding as you snapped back to reality.
“Nothing,” you murmured, eyes trailing across the newly acquired scratch above his eyebrow. He’d been much more agitated lately. Samuel had simply informed you that he’d been itching for a fight, but you knew better. You knew whatever this mood he was in wasn’t from wanting to fight, but you couldn’t quite figure out what was actually bothering him.
“What’s on your mind?” you countered, a single eyebrow raised as you peek over, eyes clashing with his. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t doing anything. It wasn’t usual for him to act serious, to avoid the front he so avidly put on.
His eyes seemed almost tired; his lips pulled down tightly into a scowl as he gazed upon your face. “Just Gun being Gun,” he states simply. You were surprised that’d been all the damage Gun had left on Goo. They were equals, through and through.
“Didn’t leave much of a scratch, did he?” you pondered, back leaning against the concrete wall- except that wall was Goo, and he was as still as a board behind you, his left arm slowly wrapping around your waist. “It wasn’t a… serious fight.”
You raised a brow, “Obviously,” You drawled. His breath tickled your neck, his arm squeezing your waist as he forcefully moved you forward, towards his Porsche. “Where are we going?” You asked, head tilted in confusion. He levelled you with his eyes, “My place.”
You shrugged, used to sitting by him on the sofa while he screamed at the game or show on the TV screen. Sliding into the passenger seat, you watched Goo through the corner of your eye, peeking as he started the engine and drove you both away.
“Are you sure you’re good?” You blurt out, eyeing his non-existent smile. It seemed like it’d been eons since you’d last seen him smile; fake or real. His held tilted towards you, eyeing you with a spark of… something in his eyes. “I’ll call a few girls over after you’ve left.”
Ouch. You couldn’t deny that it hadn’t hurt. The fact that he’d never be the type to sleep with someone like you, let alone be loyal. It really, really hurt, as if a hot poker had seared through your heart, demolishing the tiny box of him in there, crumbling it like ash and burrowing it away like a simple, forgotten memory.
It made you angry. Really, really angry. You felt the devil on your shoulder grow, fuming and steaming and spitting in fury. How dare he. How dare I still have these stupid feelings.
“Sure,” you smirked falsely, finger tapping your temple. “I can call over one of the guys to take me home. Maybe stay the night too, if they want,” You pondered, eyes flying to the roof of the car in mock thought.
His hands clenching tightly against the wheel didn’t go unnoticed, and the deep glare in his eyes- you couldn’t say it didn’t surprise you. “Will you now?” He ground out. You nodded, picking up your phone. “I’ll call one of them now, in advance. Makes life easier, and all.”
You were really going to do this. You were really going to make a point by potentially sleeping with someone else to potentially get at him. You were just friends.
Opening up your contacts, you let out a startled yelp as the phone was wrenched from your hands, watching with wide eyes as Goo discards it somewhere on the floor in front of the back seats. “Wha-” you startled, eyes widening as Goo’s lips slammed roughly onto your own.
You couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t help but to melt into his passionate, hard kiss. His tongue licked at the seem of your own, demanding entrance. You deny him, stubborn to a fault as you tried to remain with just a little power.
That plan went awry once his teeth nibbled on your bottom lip, mouth parting with a gasp. At the opportunity, his tongue slid up against your own, battling and winning in dominance.
You let out a yelp when he dragged you over to the driver’s side, your knees on either side of him as he settled your core over the hard bulge in his suit pants. Are we really going to do this?
His lips meshed with your own, as he grinded you against his thickening length. Yes, yes, we are.
Your hands reached for his suit jacket, groaning as Goo pulled away from your mouth. His smile- his smug smile- was aimed directly at you, his eyes narrowed with lust as he ripped his suit jacket from his body. Smashing your lips against his once more, your hands pulling at his shirt buttons.
Annoyed at the slow progress, you rip the shirt, buttons flying everywhere as your hands run down his shoulders, down to his pecs. “Eager, are we?” he chuckled against your lips, eyes darkening as your hands ran over his abs, dipping closer and closer to the waist of his suit pants. “Says you,” you whispered breathlessly, arms reaching for the hem of your t-shirt as you pull it over your head.
Goo groaned, his length swelling even further at the sight of your red lacy bra. His hands reached for your back, unclasping the material as your boobs bounced free. His lips left your own as he reached over to take a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud as you let out a small moan.
You ground harder against his clothed cock, head thrown back at the stimulation against your clit, while Goo switched to sucking and nipping your other neglected nipple. Reaching for his waistband, you tugged his suit pants down his legs. You couldn’t help but widen your eyes at the sight of his engorged, clothed cock. If it had already looked this big now, how would it look free?
How would it even fit?
Goo smirked, reaching for your shorts and tugging them down your legs. “Don’t worry, it’ll fit.” Your mouths clashed together once more, while Goo discarded both your undergarments. You were right, his Cock was huge.
His hand reached down to your core, his finger dipping into the wet channel of your cunt. “Soaking for me, aren’t you?” he chuckled, squelching sounds filling the car as his finger dipped in and out of your hole. Little sighs and moans escaped your lips at the building pressure in your gut, eyes rolling back as he added a second and third finger.
His thumb circled your clit slowly, dragging out your pleasure as you moaned, moving your head to lie against his neck, arms wrapped loosely against his shoulders as his fingers tortured you. Just as you were on the cusp of pleasure, his fingers left your cunt.
“Suck,” He demanded as he brought his fingers to your mouth. You obeyed, lips wrapping around his digits, swirling your tongue around them as you tasted your own juices. Leaving them with a pop, you looked down at his lust filled gaze. “You’ll come on my cock, baby, not my fingers.”
Leaning over him, his hands held the sides of your waist as you lowered your cunt onto his cock, your walls stretching to accommodate his large size. A loud moan escaped your lips as he bottomed out inside of you, the tinge of pain at your cervix only adding to your pleasure.
Using his hands around your waist, he bounced you up and down his cock, his hips slapping to meet your thighs. Loud squelching filled the air alongside your loud moans and the little grunts of pleasure escaping Goo’s throat.
One of his hands moved up to wrap around your throat, not to squeeze, but to run his thumb up and down the pulse in your neck, letting you know that your life was in his hands.
I’d let you destroy me if you wanted to.
He seemed to have read the thoughts flushing like light speed through your head, his gaze softening slightly, looking at you like he’d never looked at another. This was what made it so hard to burry those feelings so deep inside of you. He’d never looked nor treated any other like he does you. But why? Why does he treat me so?
His hips hammered up faster and faster into your cunt, juices running down his thick length as he brought you to levels of pleasure you didn’t know were possible. His hand tightened against your throat, lips smashing against yours as his hips slammed and slammed into yours, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sheer pleasure bolting through your veins.
His cock nicked and prodded at every sensitive spot inside your channel, rubbing and squelching against the sides of your cunt. His hips moved to piston deeper into your own, angling so far inside of you until he’d started to brush your cervix with almost every thrust. The pain courses your pleasure to higher levels, the noises escaping your throat becoming more and more obscene with every thrust.
“You like that, don’t you,” Goo crooned into your ear, his hand slapping your ass as his cock thrusted into your cunt over and over. “You like me filling your needy cunt with my cock. No other man would ever be able to make you react like I do,” He snarled, hips becoming rougher and faster as he cackles at your deranged, pleasure filled moans.
“I’ll ruin you for every other man. Ruin you so bad that the only choice you’ll have is to come back to me, so I can fuck the thoughts of them out of your head.” His dark chuckle reverberates through your entire being, your clit brushing his pelvis with every single thrust. “That right. I’ll make you my pleasure filled girl every single time you bounce on my cock.”
You could feel the tightening of your gut, the burning in your veins as the pleasure wrought you higher and higher, as if you’d flown above the clouds. “You wanted to know what was wrong with me? It was you, all long it was you,” he laughed cruelly. “You are mine; you were always mine. Since I let you into my life. You were never going to be my friend, you silly girl. You were mine.”
You let out a scream as an orgasm rushed through you at his words, at the words you’ve been begging and praying to hear since you first entered his home, since the first time you sat with him on his sofa and watched anime.
He groaned as your walls tightened around him at your finish. “You were always mine, Goo,” You whispered into his ear. “Since the beginning. Touch any other girl but me and i'll skewer this cock we both seem to love so much,” You murmured into his ear, smirking as his own orgasm rocked through him at your words, his cum filling you.
He pulled away from you, his genuine, cheeky smile flashing up at you. “You are mine and I am yours,” he crooned, his head reaching for your neck so he could bite down and suckle on your skin.
Mine, forever.
#lookism#kim joongoo#lookism joongoo#goo x reader#park jonggun#lookism jonggun#smut#fanfiction#x reader#fem reader#female reader#samuel seo#lookism x reader
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god sometimes i think a little too hard about how vyncent's never had a break from foghting for his fucking life. he grew up on Hell Danger Kill You Always World and got thrown into the most dangerous possible profession at the ripe age of 19. He went from survival mode 24/7 to child soldier. oh my gof. i need s ome water.
#🎲jrwi🎲#🔮talking tag🔮#🎃og post🎃#jrwi#prime defenders#vyncent sol#i think he always sits with his back against walls#hes always facing towards doorways#he jumps at any and every noise#he locks every door#he has food in his room and a knife under his pillow#he wakes up so fast and fully#god.........
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Possessive!Gojo who makes you wear his jersey when you go to parties at his fraternity after games, openly admiring the way you dwarf inside his clothes. He leans forward on the edge of the bed to get a better look, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes raking over every inch of you from head to toe.
"Toru, it's too big," you pout, checking out your reflection in the floor-length mirror on his closet door. “I look silly.”
The tent growing in his sweats says otherwise—all the blood in his body rushing from one head to the other just from seeing two things that are his coexisting—and he gives you another once-over, thinking of several ways to describe you, silly not being one of them.
"You’re so pretty, baby.” He swears he’s a little drunk from the sight of you, but he means it.
Possessive!Gojo who pushes you up against the door inside the locker room before a game—slightly jealous from the guys looking at you as they filed out into the hall, and equally turned on because he knows they can’t have you—telling you he can't play with a hard-on before he's pressing into you from behind.
He can feel your tummy quivering under his hand where he holds you close, feels how his cock is carving its way inside of you, and you both moan when he presses down lightly. It makes him dizzy how tight and small you are; pulsing, wet, and swollen-soft velvet that gives every time he buries himself into you.
"You gonna hold all of my cum in this cute cunt until after the game, y-yeah?" he sucks the question into your neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll lick it out of you afterward. Just keep it warm for me, ’kay?”
You answer him with a high-pitched whine as you clench down hard around him, cumming with a muffled scream against his palm and nearly pushing him out of your warm, fluttering heat.
Possessive!Gojo makes sure to stuff his cum back into your drooling cunt with two thick fingers, curling them into your front wall to pull another soft orgasm out of you—just a little more, ah, there you go, always so good for me—before he helps you fix your panties to trap it there.
His arms wrap around you before he presses a tender kiss to your temple. “Don’t forget to cheer for me.”
Possessive!Gojo whose smirk from watching you squirm in the stands, melts into a glare when a guy takes the empty seat beside you, sitting almost too close for his liking.
“Stop staring at your girlfriend and hit the fucking puck already,” Sukuna grumbles, leaning against his stick.
Possessive!Gojo who makes sure to fuck you in the backseat of his car afterward with the windows cracked in hopes that the guy from the stands would walk by to you moaning Gojo’s name, and he eats you out just like he promised—bending you over the center console, smiling to himself at how shy and squirmy you get—only to fill you up again.
Possessive!Gojo who pouts whenever Nanami manages to steal your attention with something sciency and nerdy (something entirely up your alley) whenever you come over on weeknights.
“That’s so neat, Nanami,” you smile, hearts practically in your eyes as you listen to him talk about his latest research. “Maybe I can stop by the lab and check it out sometime.”
Possessive!Gojo who doesn’t miss the way Nanami’s ears turn a shade of red from your praise—color high in his cheeks—how he gives a sheepish smile whenever you talk to him.
“Toru,” you say, finally bringing your soft, pretty gaze on him again. “Are you even studying?”
Yeah, he is, but something else entirely, he thinks as he watches how your shorts hug your ass while you walk around the house’s common room—and he’s not the only one staring.
Possessive!Gojo who slaps your thigh, making you jolt in his lap. "Did I tell you to stop, huh, baby?"
You shake your head, biting your lip and avoiding the pair of eyes watching both of you (intently) from across the room—especially you—a quiet observer as you slowly sink onto your boyfriend’s cock while Nanami thrusts his own into his fist.
"Ah, fuck—b-but–"
Your words break off into a choked moan when Gojo thrusts his hips up underneath you, pressed as deep inside as he can get, and when he looks down, he swears he can see the imprint of himself pressing against your stomach.
"Tell me what I said,” he says through gritted teeth as he starts bouncing you, the couch continuing its steady squeaking under your knees.
Possessive!Gojo who can tell that it's hard for you to concentrate with the way his cock moves inside you, and you’re unable to answer with anything other than babbling nonsense. He decides to take mercy on you and stops to grind you in his lap instead.
He kisses your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can get his mouth on. "I said, don't stop until you cum, and you’re going to let Nanami see how fucking pretty you look when you do."
The next sound out of your mouth is a squeal when he holds your inner thighs to keep you open as he thrusts up into you again and again—letting Nanami see what can never be his.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “So good for me. Go on, show him how my good girl takes cock.”
Possessive!Gojo who locks eyes with Nanami just as he’s about to cum, burying his groans of pleasure into your neck as white-hot sparks shudder up his spine and heat pools in his gut.
Mine, he tries to say, but Gojo thinks his frat brother gets it when Gojo’s the one cumming inside you and Nanami’s spilling all over his fist.
Masterlist
#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami smut#.things i write#sorry if you're seeing this again#i had to repost#anime smut#jjk drabbles#jjk fic
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i think yuji has a thing for spoiled, bratty girls. the ones with borderline bad attitudes, who roll their eyes more than they smile, and scowl and huff when things don’t go their way.
sure, it can be annoying sometimes, but you’re never like that for long, not with him at least. you try, but all he has to do is wrap those steel arms around you and gush about how pretty you are, how he loves you so much, how much he missed seeing you and then you’re like putty in his hands.
you’re sweet, bashful, doting, clingy, glued to his side and rubbing yourself against him like some baby kitten. it’s cute, you’re cute, and he’s head over heels for you.
but like all things, that doesn’t last long either. your moods are fickle, changing at the drop of a hat, and your little outbursts can be explosive, sometimes offensive. yuji usually lets you get your frustrations out, lets you rant and rave while he sits and listens, and then when you’re all tuckered out he’s dragging you into his embrace and whispering comforting words into your skin followed by sweet kisses.
sukuna always tells him how soft he is when he does that - she’ll never respect you if you keep letting her off like that, he says. put her in her fucking place, he hisses. back in my era, the only time a woman opened her mouth around me was to suck my cock, he reminisces.
but yuji isn’t like sukuna, he doesn’t need to do those things to get you back how he likes you most, sweet and soft and eager for his love..but sometimes you really try his patience, so he figured he could do something, nothing close to the cruel things sukuna had suggested, but something to let you know that you couldn’t just do and say whatever you wanted all the time.
he figured he’d take something away from you, like you’d do with a misbehaving child, something that you loved and couldn’t get enough of, no matter how much he gave it to you.
his cock, obviously.
“yuji!” he’s had you like this for a while, your stomach flush against his bedroom wall as he forces you to stand while he squats behind you. you’re dressed in a little skirt and an equally as little top, no panties in sight. the skirt is hiked up around your hips, and he swallows past the lump in his throat as he thrusts the pink dildo into your drooling cunt once again, his ears twitching at the lewd squelch that sounds.
your thighs tremble, knees buckling, and he lets his free hand come down against your ass, his lips soothing the sting after when you let out a whimper. “m’sorry,” he mumbles against your skin, “but you have to stand up straight for me, baby.”
“mm-nn,” you shake your head, and yuji tsks, wrist pulling back to slide the dildo out until only the top remains, and then he’s quickly slamming back in, lips still peppering kisses along the curve of your ass. “ah! i want you, yuji. i wanna feel you..”
“you don’t get my cock until you start being nice to me.” he builds up a steady pace, his breathing ragged as he listens to the squelching coming from your cunt. needing to see it and not just hear it, he pulls his head back, marveling at the way your pussy grips onto the silicone, your slick coating the shaft along with his fingers. “such a pretty pussy for such a mean girl.”
“s-shut up!” he sees you clench, feels the resistance when he goes to push the silicone cock back into you, and he practically salivates as he watches a fresh wave of slick ooze down the shaft.
“see? so mean to me… i shouldn’t play with your pussy at all.” he slips the dildo out of you, jaw going slack as he watches your hole clench around nothing, your desperate protests and pleas falling on death ears. there’s a string of your arousal dripping down between your trembling thighs, and yuji swipes it up with his finger before pushing it into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he groans around the digit.
“please, yuji, m’sorry! i-i’ll be nice, i promise!” you plead and cry, and yuji knows you’re only thinking with your pussy right now, that overwhelming urge to come clouding your mind. you’ll be fussing at him by the end of the night if he gives in, he’s sure of it, but he’s not a mean man. how’s he supposed to tell you no when you beg for him like that? when your pussy weeps for him like this?
he can’t.
it only takes a second for him to free his own cock from his pants, replacing the dildo with the real thing, and he moans loud and guttural when he slips inside, your hot cunt wrapping around him like a vice. “fuck, baby.” his pelvis grinds into the fat of your ass, his hands pinning yours against the wall above your head as he thrusts in and out of you. “you feel so good.”
“yuji,” you keen, and he knows you and your body well enough to know that you’re milliseconds away from coming.
“you gonna come?” he breathes in your ear, low and raspy, and you weakly nod, his name leaving your lips like a chant, and the muscles in his thighs and calves flex as he bends at the knee to fuck you at a slightly different angle, tip of his cock pushing into that spot that always leaves you a babbling, sniffling mess. “go ahead and come, baby. make a mess.”
that’s all the encouragement you need before you’re creaming around his cock, pussy clenching and fluttering around him as declarations of love tumble free from your lips, and he wonders how long it’ll take for you to change your tune this time.
#yuji x reader#jjk smut#++ yuji#IM ILL#MY BFFFF#i have 10 million thoughts about him and will probs only write like 7 at most v.v#++ yuji/brat
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listen ok so i made some good jokes yesterday about Lestat having an onlyfans but i am back today with a new essay and this one is entitled
Why The Invention Of Social Media Is Going to Permanently Save Loustat's Fucking Marriage
come on this journey with me.
ok so on one hand we have Louis, who does not like to leave the house except when he absolutely fucking has to and even then he resents it. my man wants to be at home with a book 100% of the time and he's so fucking valid for that. When he leaves the house, bad things happen to him. He has learned this and honestly i can't fault his evidence. it sucks out there. it truly incredibly sucks out there.
the problem is that sometimes he is married to lestat, who starts clawing at the walls if people aren't paying attention to him for 12 consecutive seconds, and being Out Of The House is the best place for him to go foraging for People To Pay Attention To Him. my man once had a rock star career the way that some people get addicted to meth brewed in a trashcan in someone's garage. Louis, through no fault of his own, is simply not capable of filling this psychological need no matter how hard he tries, except he should not even HAVE to try like that, because no one can do it, because Lestat is fucked up and like wasn't hugged enough as a child or something
this imbalance in their relationship is the core source of all their marital problems since day 1: THIS man's idea of a good time is chilling on the sofa in silence and maybe staring contemplatively at the wall for a while, and THIS man starts self-destructing at a truly astonishing rate if no one is making eye contact with him. If you make Louis go outside and socialize with people, he's miserable and sulking and whining about "are we done can we go home". If you make Lestat sit in silence in a chair for five minutes he starts crying and claiming that No One Has Ever Loved Him, Ever, Ever, And No One Understands Him, And He Hates Everyone In This House and He Is Being Actively Neglected And Cruelly Mistreated Right Now And No One Even Bothers To Feel Sorry For Him, This Is BASICALLY Domestic Violence Against Him Personally, If Only Anyone Knew About The Quiet Hidden Tragedies Of An Unhappy Marriage, and then he breaks some furniture and a window and isn't seen again for six weeks and comes back like "you will not believe what just happened, i [checks notes] met Merlin and also a dragon who gave me three wishes, brb i'm going to write another book about it :))))"
all you fucking have to do to fix their problems is to hand Lestat a cellphone and say the words "do you know about social media? you can say whatever shit you want and there's always someone awake in some time zone to talk to you." Suddenly Lestat is now very interested in sitting quietly on the couch, Lounging Alluringly and posting thirst traps on instagram and finally getting emotional fulfillment from all the likes and comments of "omg???? omg this is the hottest man alive". he does not have to leave the house anymore to get his attention meth. His yawning abyss of neediness is being fulfilled by having parasocial relationships with millions of strangers online who all think he's sexy and don't have to experience how fucking awful he is up close. he can flirt pointlessly with 200 people at once which is FINALLY ENOUGH FLIRTATIONS FOR HIM TO SATISFACTORILY JUGGLE
Meanwhile Louis is 3 feet away, vaguely reflecting to himself that HE is feeling all emotionally fulfilled because they're spending this great Quality Time together in perfect silence while he reads his book and Lestat plays on his cellular telephone and only OCCASIONALLY giggles to himself or says "louis which of these photos do you think is sexier, the one with four buttons undone or the one with five buttons undone" Louis is feeling like his Opinion is being Valued, Louis feels like he is being Consulted on Matters that are Important To Lestat. He has opinions about the photographs. It is not that much trouble to be interrupted from staring philosophically at the wall to spend five seconds looking at a photograph and then saying "that one". Finally he is experiencing Cozy Domesticity. he is so horny about it. lestat is surprised and bewildered about the sudden sharp increase in the amount of sex he is now getting but before he can make any vaguely mean comments about it (bc he's confused and vaguely defensive and worried that it's going to stop out of nowhere and he doesn't know any other interpersonal skills for expressing a thought) his phone pings about how he's just broken 5 million followers on instagram and he totally forgets to even mention the sex thing, which means that he continues getting the sex instead of inciting an argument about the sex and going through his 800th divorce from Louis
all their friends are extremely confused when a whole month, and then six months, and then a year goes by without another Loud Divorce happening and no one crashing through their front door like "I HAVE TO SLEEP IN YOUR GUEST COFFIN FOR THE NEXT MONTH, HE IS INTOLERABLE". They are worried. they are concerned. what is going on over there. are they both dead. no, they can't both be dead, Lestat just posted another tiktok of him sucking on his own fingers, which he would not be doing if Louis were dead. there is an ecosystem collapse happening in the groupchat and it's because the main Drama Vectors have been neutralized
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louder and louder
getting you to get loud hc’s feat. lyney, neuvillette, alhaitham and cyno
warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, fingering (lyney), praise (lyney +neuvillette), exhibitionism (neuvillette), creampie (neuvillette), dacryphilia (neuvillette, cyno), face-sitting (alhaitham), cunnilingus (alhaitham), toys (cyno), masturbation (cyno), overstimulation (cyno),
High on the adrenaline of completing a performance at the Opera Epiclese, as soon as he comes home to you a grin is plastered on the magician's face. Humming, his hands take your own twirling you throughout the room slowly guiding you to the bedroom as he kicks the door close with a soft thud.
His lips captured yours in a passionate kiss, hands resting on your cheek nibbling your bottom lip with fervor.
“Someone’s happy,” you hummed, letting Lyney’s skillful hands lift off the layers of your nightgown until you were bare for him. He chuckled, capturing your lips once more and leans his weight against your own—bottoms tumbling gently on the plush bed.
“What can I say, ma souris? I can’t end a night such as this without a grand enforce,” he cooed back. He laid above you, hand trailing up the curves along your leg before resting on your inner thigh. As he cups your cunt, a soft breath is emitted from your lips causing his grin to widen. He feels you grinding against his palm, your arousal beginning to smear against it.
“Eager, are we?” he cooed once more, pressing his lips against your neck, nibbling down at the sensitive skin. “I guess I have been neglecting you recently, hm?”
His thumb brushed against your clit, causing your hips to involuntary buck—trying to get any bit of friction you could from Lyney. He blew his warm breath into your ear, causing you to shiver toying with the nub as he felt his appendage begin to coat in your slick. Two fingers slowly sank themselves into you, pumping at a slow pace while Lyney’s peppered his lips against your neck.
Lyney needed to hear your voice louder, he needed those soft whines of his name to stretch louder as if it was a roar of joyful noise at one of his shows. His cock strained against his tight pants, grinding itself against your leg.
“More..more…let me see you reach the heavens, mon cœur!” Lyney groaned out, pumping deeper inside of you. His fingers continuously brushed against your gummy walls, your high climbing further and further as your mouth finally opened, voice calling out your lover’s name. You squirmed underneath him as he tried to hold down your waist—his pace still relentlessly as the sinful squelching noise echoed in the melody with your voice.
“You have such a lovely voice. I hope to hear it even more tonight…!”
It’s been a long time since Neuvillette seemed puzzled by humans. It seemed this day in age, their nature seemed odd and contradictory in nature and this aspect leaned over towards his lover as well. He had always read stories of couples yelling their names in absolute pleasure when joining as one, yet whenever Neuvillette seemed to bed you—you seemed not to act like that.
He didn’t think he was bad at sex by any means, he had experience before after all and valued your pleasure over it. But because of that, he feared you weren’t being all that pleasured at all by him. He’d have to change that.
So here you were, in the ungodly hours at night bend over Neuvillette’s desk. You bit you shaky lips, feeling his heavy cock drag against your sensitive walls as his strokes reached deeper and deeper inside of you. The desk rattled to the pace of his thrust, his nails covered in leather, digging into the globe of your ass to spread you out wider.
Slick dribbled down on the marble ground, as he began to grunt loudly—brow furrowed as his frustrations grew.
“Why do you not want to moan for me? All I want to have is your voice echoing throughout these halls,” he grunted, pressing his lips deep in your ear. You bit you lip further before gasping, feelings Neuvillette softly clutch your groan. He could feel your pulse rapidly beat against his hand.
“I-It’s too embarrassing,” you choked out, feeling him grunt against and lay his upper half down on the desk allowing his cock to plunge even deeper inside of you. A mix of pleasure and pain swirled throughout your core as his tips nudged against your cervix.
“Please..mon amour…let me hear you say my name,” he begged in a low voice causing you to shiver. You hesitantly stopped biting your lips as your nails dug into the desk, rising in pitch as you called out the chief justice’s name repeatedly.
“That’s it…that’s it. You’re doing so well for me,” he grunted. Your walls fluttered against his cock as he began to get to Neuvillette, cock pulsating and desperate to release. His grip on your ass lifted, snaking it around to rub tight circles on your clit. Your whines rang out as you finally reached your peak, warming Neuvillette’s heart to the fullest as tears pricked your eyes.
His lips soaked up your salty tears as his hips soon faltered, thick ropes of cum spurting itself inside of you. Globs soon leaked out, joining your arousal on the once pristine floors as Neuvillette tried to catch his breath.
“...I hope to hear more of this side of you in the future.”
Alhaitham was also fairly quiet in bed. Besides his grunts and an occasional low moan of your name, he didn’t find himself being loud in showing you his love in the bedroom. This seemed to irk you so when you brought it up with him, he replied back you were no different—thus, a silent challenge between which one was right was soon immense, who could get the other to moan the loudest.
Your hips covered against his tanned face, eyes teal and orange eyes flickered up in amusement.
“You can back out now before you embarrass yourself,” he stated. You scoffed in response as he shrugged. You need to learn to give him a little more credit when knowing just how to make your body tick.
His large hands rested on your waist, before pushing you down so your cunt was against his mouth. You grinded your lips and bit your lip to prevent any noises from leaking out but that became harder feeling Alhaitham dart out his tongue, flattening it against your clit. Your legs shook as his tongue swiped against your slick, nudging firmly against the nub as one of his hands crept up and squeezed your ass.
His lower mouth was completely coated in your arousal, dripping down his chin and lower cheeks, but his fervor lapping you up did not stop once. He popped the bundle of nerves between his lips, sucking roughly at the nub as pleasure shot throughout your body, a low moan escaping your lips.
His lips curled up in a slight smirk before opening his mouth to let your clit go once more, before flickering it back and forth before sucking it once more. Your nails dug into your thighs, hips grinding themselves against his face.
“Al-Al-Alhaitham,” you sputtered out, walls clamping down on nothing as you frail on top of him, reaching your peak. His cheeks were read as he took big breaths, swiping his tongue against the slick that clung onto his lips.
“It would seem my hypothesis was correct. Now, what exactly should be my reward?”
Cyno was a bit more insecure than he liked to let on, especially when it came to his relationship with you. He often needed some reassurance, whether he asked for it directly or not. So, often times when he bedded you, he needed to hear your voice loud and echoing throughout the large deserts of Sumeru —to signal he was doing a good job pleasuring you.
But when times you didn’t seem to be loud enough for his taste, a bit of a sadistic streak would come out of him.
His scarlet eyes narrowed at the toys vibrating themselves inside of you, hardened cock throbbing in his tight grip. A new mechanism had just gone on the market from Fontaine, and with his savings he managed to buy it to try it out on an occasion he saw fit. Tears pricked your eyes as your body squirmed, hips lifting up trying to reach your high before the toy would stop moving—edging you in a maddening cycle.
You cursed and whined, shifting your hips desperate for the feeling to return again until it finally did, at a much slower ministration this time. Cyno pumped his cock lazily, pressing down against the prominent veins that lined it.
“When I finally cum…I’ll let you as well. I see that as only fair right?” Cyno murmured, pressing a chaste kiss against your sweaty forehead. You give him a soft glare before the toy’s vibration raises once more, causing a loud moan to escape your lips.
Cyno smiled, bucking his hips at the excitement of finally hearing your voice.
“Perhaps if you sounded like that last time when I pleaded with you, you wouldn’t be punished like this,” Cyno chuckled, pressing another kiss on their lips. Your voice raised octaves as the general grunted, shutting his eyes as his cock throbbed in pleasure.
“Cyno! Cyno!” you croaked out, as he bit his lips in responses. He didn’t know why your voice had such a spell on him, but here he was unraveling, cums of cum shooting out and resting on your stomach and chest.
He sighed, slightly ashamed of himself for giving in so quickly as he finally let the toy give you the high you’ve been so desperate for.
Cyno wrapped his arms around you, staring down at your tired form.
“You're a dick, you know that,” you muttered. Cyno chuckled before resting his head against yours.
“I’m just a man hopelessly in love with the way you call out your name. I’m not ashamed of that.”
#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact smut#genshin x reader#genshin smut#lyney x reader#lyney smut#neuvillette x reader#neuvillette smut#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham smut#cyno x reader#cyno smut
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simon ‘sweet talking’ riley who knows exactly what to say to get you back in his bed :(
c/w: nothing really, implications of smut but nothing graphic, arguments, fluff kinda
not even in a toxic way. he just knows exactly how to make your knees turn to mush with that thick manc timbre of his. the silent treatment never lasts long against him
just imagine, it’s date night. you two haven’t had any alone time in forever since he’s just so busy with work. you get all dolled up for him. went to the salon and got your hair and nails done, bought a new dress and everything
just for him to not notice any of it when you come downstairs, your hopeful smile dropping when he just presses a kiss to the side of your head and guides you out the front door
this put you in a sour mood at dinner, which in turn led to an argument which then lead to you two going home early. the shouting match carried on for a few hours until all the fight had been drained from your bones. instead a bitter and melancholy silence hangs on the walls of your shared house
you were both in the bedroom now, simon sat on the edge of the bed, a beer in one hand and his head resting in the other. his once prim appeared now dishevelled and stressed. he hears you shuffling around and peers his head around to watch you
it’s almost methodically how you undo your appearance. hands deftly unclasping your necklace and putting it back in your jewellery box. you sit down on the foot of the bed, unbuckling your heels but leaving them strewn on the floor before slipping off your dress
he watches as the black fabric slips from your shoulders and pools at your feet. he doesn’t miss the new lingerie set you must’ve worn for the special occasion. he lets out a sigh, putting his beer down and walking over to you
you stop what you’re doing when you feel his arms wrap around you from behind, a frown pulling at your lips when he buries his face into the crook of your neck,
“ya look beautiful, lovie…” he hums, one of his fingers slipping ever so slightly under the waistband of your panties. you wriggle in his tight hold but he doesn’t let up
“stop, simon…” you whine but he ignores you, pressing kisses to the nape of your neck instead
“ya’think I didn’t notice all this?” he coos, “how you got all prettied up for me tonight? new hair and dress and everything…”
he gently sways you from side to side, breathing in the scent of your perfume. you let out a content sigh, your earlier frown still present on your face
“I know I acted like a wanker, love. lemme make it up to ya. show my pretty wife jus’ how much I love her. want all the neighbours to know just how stunning I think you are…” he continues and you hate how he always has this affect on you, can never keep you mad at him
he leans his head around to place a few soft pecks to your lips. you don’t miss the smirk that spreads across his face when you lean up to deepen the kiss :(
#mw2#cod mw2#ghost#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#bluecollar!simon#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost simon riley#simon riley smut#simon ghost x reader
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