#this one was also an Emotional one for me
Text
translation
Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.
(Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)
5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.
Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.
Katican.
Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.
When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.
Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.
But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.
You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.
When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.
“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”
“You speak Avgin,” you argue.
“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”
“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”
Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.
You understand him well enough to know that.
“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”
You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.
“I’ll teach you my language as well?”
“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.
You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”
Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.
He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.
“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.
“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.
He hums. “Just one?”
“One per day.”
“Three.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Well, I am a businessman.”
You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.
“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”
“Deal.”
Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.
It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.
Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.
He regrets it almost immediately.
When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.
“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.
“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”
Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?
But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.
There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.
There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.
Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.
Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.
Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.
But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.
When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.
“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.
You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”
“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”
You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”
You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”
“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”
After all, he is the only Avgin left.
It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.
But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.
“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”
Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.
Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.
But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—
SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT
SPEAKERS: 0
STATUS: Extinct
END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE
The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.
He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.
So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.
“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.
“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.
“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”
“You've just reminded me how.”
“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.
“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.
“No, that's so boring.”
“Then let's do your language.”
You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.
“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.
“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”
“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”
You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.
“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”
You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”
And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.
And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.
But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.
SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT
SPEAKERS: 2
STATUS: Endangered.
SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE
NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.
He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—
As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.
His throat locks up.
“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”
He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.
“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”
“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”
He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”
“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”
Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.
“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.
It's a feeling he has to kill.
“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”
This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.
The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.
If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?
“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”
You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.
Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.
You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.
But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—
Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.
(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.
It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.
But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.
Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.
His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.
Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.
In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.
Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.
In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.
And he has you. Finally, he has you.
He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)
.
.
.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.
You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.
So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.
The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.
This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.
It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.
Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.
I'm sorry for always leaving you.
I'm sorry for making you cry.
I can't bear the thought of losing you.
Freedom would be too lonely without you.
I don't want to hurt you anymore.
I don't want to lie to you anymore.
I missed you.
I want you.
I need you.
I love you.
end
afterword
#aventurine x reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#x reader#hsr smut#aventurine smut#lol it isnt really smut but it is nsft i suppose#nsft#yueshuo.fics
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BLOOD FEUDS, ANCIENT AND MODERN | RYOMEN SUKUNA.
✮ tags ; no curses au, blood incest, use of honorifics (oji-san) abuse (mostly verbal / emotional), classism, grooming / generally predatory behavior, large age gaps (20+ yrs), blood feuds, imbalanced power dynamics, white collar crime, afab + fem!niece!reader, uncle sukuna, the word rape used in text, non/dubcon (not noncon necessarily), fingering, petnames (little one, kid, little lamb), thigh-fucking, and other things, very horrible and gross sukuna behavior 18+
this is very dark and it deals BRIEFLY with sukuna being very predatory to reader when she's UNDERAGE / young. nothing explicit happens WHILE she is underage, but sukuna does leer at reader and it is mentioned. please proceed with caution !!!
PLEASE HEED THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED!!!
✮ wc ; 10.3k (???????????)
✮ a/n ; thank you vic @saintshigaraki for always indulging my nonsense and also tomfoolery. kissing you.
i'll be honest lads this one got away from me BAD jksdfhjs. i think its interesting at least.I KNOW THE TAGS ARE WICKED but i promise its like. kind of sexy at least.
also yes the title is from the rdr2 soundtrack shhh
✮ synopsis ; blood is thicker than water. resentment, you think, is thicker than both.
Bastard.
An intimately familiar title, lacking tooth and effect. It's meaning eroded with time and usage - and a moniker you've wielded proudly for as long as you can remember. You don't recall much of your life before it became part of you.
The daughter born of wedlock. Bastard daughter. The only remaining stain to your family's reputation aside from your late father.
Your mother often tells you that you were her hardest child to birth. When you were littler it was a story relayed to you with affection, and but now it's with such bitter hatred you can feel it lodged in your throat.
The most important element is the predestination in it. You came into the world kicking and screaming, throat hoarse and violent. From birth, you knew you were half-forged with bad blood and came into the world trying to be absolved of it. It's shaped your life, your relationships, everything about you.
The other half of your DNA, the good half, is from your father. Before you were a bastard, you were your parents' only child. Your father was a good man. The best you know. An average, humble man. From a generation of other working class men with a tough job in construction. Your best memories come from when he was still alive.
A quiet life, untainted by the residual bitterness of your mothers heritage. You lived away from it, outside of it. The mother in your memories from back then seem like a dream now, some mirage from long ago - disinterested in anything but you and your father. Your mama and papa. Your father took good care of you both, and your mother loved him madly.
You lived as a normal family in a small apartment just outside of Gifu for the first seven years of your life. You attended a small local school and had friends with crooked teeth and messy hair.
Your childhood was mostly happy if you break it up into pieces like that. Blissfully uneventful.
There's a concise break of change of what your life was versus what became of it. Your fathers death the splinter in the wood, separating the two halves.
The worst of your childhood, of course, came in your fathers passing. Not just because of the loss, but what it made of your life. His funeral welcomed people of all walks of life with the most notable absence of your elusive mothers side of the family.
Another old memory you have with your mother is looking at her face during your fathers wake. The deep darkness of her eyes, sunken in and hollow. The first time you ever found her terrifying instead of comforting. While the world mourned your father, your mother—you think—mourned her life.
Forced into single motherhood with no prospects and no career, your mother decided it was best for the both of you to return home.
You think the worst of your life started there.
Your mother's side of the family has never welcomed you with open arms. You wouldn't come to know why until much later. You were a child then. There's no way you could've known about feuds that deep.
The only thing you knew was that you were hated vehemently, and nothing could change that.
Your grandmother's estate was always frightening to you in your childhood. You've yet to grow out of that feeling despite living there for the last fifteen years. It's remained unchanged since you moved in and the lights in the hall never seems bright enough. Jade green painted walls and white tile floors. Some rooms have classically Japanese flooring and heirloom paintings from the Heian era. Others modernized with sterile whites and grays and house plants that add no life to it at all. Stretched wide with tens of rooms, and easy for a child to get lost in.
A sinking abyss. A terrible place. A dark labyrinth. Anxiety inducing to even think about now. No place for a child your size or your age.
The best way to describe your childhood after your father died was cold. Removed from your life in the suburbs and placed among other rich kids, you became overtly self-conscious of the differences between you and them. Them being anyone who grew up wealthy and your other extended family. You were constantly reminded of your place as the bastard child. Later learning how your mother left her fiance many years ago for your father, your poor and worthless father.
(You theorize any warmth that your mother had for you was buried in your dead dads casket. Living there, among them, made sure she'd never find it again.)
Your mother is the most complicated part of your life. You don't have a time for when she gave up on raising you. There was a year when she tried, you think. For the most part, you lived in that house utterly alone.
At first that abandonment was miserable (as it would be to any child, certainly) but a time came where you were glad you saw so little of her.
Your mother, who you had once loved and thought highly of, became a pitiful prey animal in the four walls of your grandmother's house. Small and anxious and utterly hateful. A bunny born with some cosmic knowledge and horrific understanding that its destiny is to become food for a wolf. Viciousness between her siblings, no doubt fostered by your grandparents and their establishment, tore apart the aspects of her your father mended and ruined her. You were too little to stop it.
Blood feuds that ran bone-chillingly deep plagued most of the interactions with your extended family for as long as you've been a part of them. Your mother has exactly four siblings. Two sisters between her with her as the middle daughter, and two brothers. One of which is estranged so completely you don't know his name.
And the other being your Uncle Sukuna.
Your hatred for your aunts and their children came to you rather naturally. For every gala and ball and charity fund your worthless bloodline ever raised, came catty arguments and verbal abuse from the shallow mouths of your beloved cousins. You had nothing to prove to anyone in that house. You were detested since your birth and your grandparents made no small effort to show you through as much neglect and verbal lashing as they could get away with.
Rotten girl. Cursed daughter. You're the reason your mother is like this. You're the reason she is miserable. You should've been buried with your father.
Compared to the experience of your grandfather ripping into you at age ten for simply being alive, your cousin's commentary on you was remarkably uninteresting. You resented them for being nuisances, though, with the exception of maybe one who bucked it out of that place as soon as they could. Just like you planned too.
For a long time, Sukuna wasn't around enough to have a real presence in your consciousness. You tried not to think of your extended family more than you had too. You got used to not knowing about your relatives living there, but there was no one so elusive as him.
It was as if, increasingly, you heard whispers of his name at everything you were forced to attend.
The first time you ever meet your Uncle, you're freshly sixteen. It's the birthday party your mother throws for you each year in an effort to show how close the two of you are to the rest of your relatives.
The first time you see Sukuna in person, the only thing on your mind is how much he stands out from the rest of your relatives. He's a head taller than the tallest person there, and he's...bigger. He's not clean or neat, scruff lining his chin. Old, dark eyes. Visible tattoos that reek of disgraced son and hardly of prodigy.
At sixteen, you understood intimately what your family considered to be gold standard. Your uncle was antithetical to it. His very existence a paradox to the ideas you've had been hammered into you for years. Dyed hair, piercings, tattoos - his suit jacket undone to expose his chest. Lacking respect and formality and dignity.
He was a lot like you. You got that impression, somehow.
When your eyes met with your uncles for the first time, you had your second fully formed thought about him.
Dangerous. Like an alarm. Like a ringing bell, throbbing through your skull and pulsing through your teeth. Some part of you just knew that he was a very dangerous man. Not just a wealthy one.
The first conversation you ever had with your uncle proves to be the most significant. Brief, yet - tonal in all ways. The gold standard for how he viewed you. How he would view you.
How he would treat you.
("So you're the new brat,"
Your uncle is an imposing man. You are sixteen and slightly tipsy, which is the least horrible thing you could be since your other cousin is coked out in the bathroom upstairs. You sway, staring at him. You think that's disrespectful.
He's the kind of man who might kill you for that. Might hit you. But you don't find it in yourself to challenge your defiance when you're far from sober and even father form happy. You lean your weight to one side and hum.
"New bastard," You correct him, and take another sip of the flute of champagne in your hand. "My worthless fathers, worthless daughter."
Sukuna pauses, his eyes widening before his lips break out into a grin. You wonder if it's because you're drunk. You think he's staring at you. Your eyes are too blurry to tell but you think he's gazing down the low dip of your top. At the curve of your chest. Leering at the body you've yet to even grow into.
"Tenacious," Your uncle says, and takes a long drink of his sake. You stare at the edge of his glass, carmine eyes gazing so deeply at you - you think you'll throw up. "You're your mothers daughter. Through and through.")
The night of your sixteenth birthday, your uncle announced he'd be opening a business venture in Tokyo. All this time he'd been doing work overseas, but seeing family helped finalized his decision. You remember the look on his face when he announced it. Remembered his eyes searching on you through the crowd as he held the mic up to his lips. How he named you the main reason, one conversation and he grew so fond of his little niece. That you were a clever girl, and that even though he hadn't known you long - he was sure you'd go so far.
Happy Birthday to you, little lamb.
You remember best the feeling afterwards. How the crowd went nearly silent. Hundreds of eyes darting your way in seas of strangers. All the attention people hadn’t paid suddenly mattering, all the congratulations. You remember how they crowded you and how your uncle came to your rescue with a cheeky grin and air of nonchalance.
You remember feeling sick. You remember the chill creeping up your spine, bile in your throat - all wet eyes and nausea.
Your uncle is a dangerous man. And you, the uninteresting bastard daughter, had caught his full attention.
The next four years of your life would pass so slowly, you often wondered during them, if you died that night and you'd live through these days as punishment for the crime of existing.
A little after your birthday, your uncle moved back to Japan permanently - in a residence not far from your grandmother's estate. He became a permanent fixture in your life. Many things came with that reality, none of them being especially pleasant.
You learn three things in the four years you spend with your uncle in your life.
The first is that your uncle is more powerful than you can really understand.
Through conversations at your kitchen table about his escapades abroad, you learn nothing of the work he actually does. Only what it involves, who it involves - foreign governments and people much more powerful than your family. Your uncle has ties to the Gojo family, and the Zenins'. Your time here teaches you that they make up two halves of private militarized arms and they work domestically and internationally. The only thing you need to know about them is they are filthy rich, richer than your own family and twice as corrupt.
And Sukuna works with them. Knows them rather intimately, from the pictures you've seen of Sukuna and Gojo Satoru drinking together - two prodigal sons with silver spoons and unsettling demeanors.
The second thing you learn is that your uncle's power and influence extend past all borders and include your grandparents and relatives. In the years he'd been away from home, he's garnered a formidable reputation. You never cared to notice it before, but it's all you can see now. Every arrogant, vapid relative you have the displeasure of calling family sees your uncle as some sort of king. The golden ticket to grandparents approval. A wishing well for all their hopes and dreams - so long as they appease him.
They fawn over him. Sukuna knows it. But they're all so busy trying to get on his good side they never catch his subtleties. Never seem to notice the cold sarcasm and biting edge to his questions. They pander and peacock to him constantly, but not one of them has sense enough to understand him a little deeper. Except you, incidentally. That's part of your problem
The third thing you learn about your uncle is that he takes pleasure in your cleverness no one in your life has since.... who knows? Since your father died, you think.
And you are clever. A head smarter than the rest of your family and a try-hard in all aspects. You graduated highschool top of your class and got scholarships into better schools. It was never about proving your worth of course, but about survival. You wanted away from this place, and the only way to cut your ties completely is to carve a life for yourself. Academia, education, using your name to make connections - you've been working silently on it since you were in middle school.
The only person who'd ever noticed your accomplishments was Sukuna. In between his work, he'd visit you in your room. You grew close in one sense of the word. It was a secret kept between you - but Sukuna often reminded you of it. That he saw you for who you were when no one else did. That his interest in you exceeds your own understanding, and it'd be in your best interest to remember that.
Some half-way between threats and affection, for four years - your uncle remained at your side. Uneasy as you were, he'd never try to advance on you while you were still in highschool. Some part of you knew he wasn't above it. Rather his interest hinged on getting to know you.
Your uncle is above all things manipulative.
Rather he preferred to keep you on your toes during the duration of your time together. To get close but not too close. To get to know each other openly. Your uncle made sure everyone in your family knew of his fondness for you. He'd keep you close to his side or follow you around, always in public places with a million eyes. He'd whisper to you, laughed and asked questions.
You hated being the center of attention, so Sukuna turned it on you any chance he got. It made it hard for you to refuse him, but mostly it made it hard to go under the radar without his protection. It made it hard for your relatives to insult and berate you.
You hated it. You hated accepting his kindness, because you know your uncle well enough to know that everything in the world came with a cost. And that this protection is little more than luxury, promised to you as long as you played nice.
And you always did play nice. But you were cautious. Never alone too long in the same room. Never somewhere too late. Never drunk, never high. Always within distance of a door. Sukuna was a dangerous man, and you may be a bastard but you're no fool.
It'd work for years. You evaded any real alone time with him for years. Years.
Until earlier this year where your mother had made arrangements for you to spend the summer with your dear old Uncle - in his villa, far from the safety of Japan's main island.
In the years of your uncle's favoritism towards you, no one has been more pleased than your mother. You've come to hate her for it. Your relationship hasn't been good in years and for her to suddenly attempt to be your mother again felt like a mockery.
(It mostly felt like a betrayal. You didn't think she could betray you a second time after she all but abandoned you the minute she stepped foot in that house.
Like something possessing the corpse of the mama in your dreams, your seething hatred towards her started then you think.)
You'd spent years indifferent to her, but it was this change that made you hate her down to your bones. You were furious about the decision. Furious she didn't bother asking, furious about all of it.
About everything.
An entire summer alone with the man you know to be most dangerous to you. You wouldn't put it past Sukuna, to plan this around you - but it didn't make it any less frustrating.
("You'll be going with your uncle," Your mother says, hardly listening to you. There's a baby on her hip, your half-brother and a vacant look in her eyes. You feel your jaw tighten. "We've already made plans. Your stepfather,"
"Your husband." You correct. Your mother gives you a tight-lipped smile.
"We are going on a family vacation. Your grandparents wouldn't tolerate you here alone , so you're going and that's final."
"I don't need to live with you," You seethe, fighting the urge to grab her and punch her. You've never been violent. Your mother makes you homicidal. "I can find my own fucking place, I'm twenty I don't need-"
She slams something. Your half-brother makes watery eyes. She stares at you distantly, righteously angry. Whether she's earned that anger or not, it makes your mood worse. .
"This is the least you could for me. For us." She hisses, turning around. You think of killing her. "For all the shit you put me through."
"What I put you through? Fuck you," You admit, your throat burning like a star falling through the atmosphere. Then, through a shaky breath"There's something off about him, mom. Do you understand what I'm fucking saying? Where you're sending me?
Three expressions pass over her face. The ghost of grief, some kind of solace and then more vacancy. She swallows, turns around to keep folding baby clothes. Her voice trembles. She knows she's sending you to your doom. Knows what waits for you as soon as you go.
"You're going. We need this." She says, and still doesn't turn to look at you. Her voice is so frigid it doesn't sound like hers anymore. "That's final."
You shouldn't be shocked by it anymore, but it doesn't make it easier.
You slam the door on your wait out. You hope their plane crashes on the way there.)
You tried your best to worm your way out of the situation before the semester closed out. But Sukuna, three steps ahead of you at all times, made sure that wasn't possible. Your uncle owned a villa out on an island, private - and the bags had already been packed. You'll like it there, he assured you so many times, it's comfortable. There's a good view and the kids in the place will remind you of the kids you grew up with.
(It's hard not to notice the ways in which Sukuna tempts you into wanting to go. Though there's nothing, truly, that could make the experience a pleasant one - it's posed to appeal to you. A place to remind you of your childhood. You try not to think about it.)
Despite your protests, despite your vehement frustration - there was nothing you could do but go. If you didn't go with Sukuna, it'd be enduring 3 months alone with your grandparents. You could try to crash with friends but the friends you've made so far wouldn't dream of being so polite and you dare not think of burdening your childhood friends with your family problems. They deal with enough as is.
The last option was running away. You're desperate enough to entertain it. You do, several times - considering what the worst outcome could be. All scenarios end with Sukuna coming to find you, because he's crazy and connected like that. Even if he's deliberate in not displaying those parts of himself, you know his apathy to be a facade.
You know him well. He knows you well. It feels like a competition to see who can outsmart the other that you were forced into with no say.
So, come the end of your third year of college - a driver picks you up right as your finals are finished to take you to the airport. A private jet, a nauseating display of wealth just for your uncle to torment you with you're sure.
On the plane ride to a small island on the coast of Japan, you think to yourself that all gods in the world must've abandoned you before you were ever born.
__
The first few weeks of your stay in the island of Nii-jima prove to be uneventful.
For a small island, it's still governed through something related to Tokyo. It's not the city or even the country, some quiet and relaxing in between. There are people here who've lived for generations and others who are only touring. Your uncle's villa though, is far from all life - and a few miles out from a beach.
You can hardly understand what a single man needs such a big house for. There's staff there too, though less than at your grandparents place which you're grateful for. You've met six of eight, two of them people who take care of the yards and garden.
Sato-san is the woman you see most often. The one cook Sukuna has and the woman who's been working longest. She is kindhearted and sturdy, often bringing her grandchildren with her. She's quiet and motherly - and so warm you're unsure of how to behave around her. Your uncle is seemingly fond of her which is saying a lot. She speaks highly of him.
It's been so long since you've experienced something like maternal warmth, you're awkward around her. You try to not be too attached, try not to be fond of anything in this house because you know something horrible and dormant lies within it and you do not want to stay. Don't even want to entertain the idea of staying.
But Sato-san is good to you, with wrinkles and sunspots and a bright laugh. Her grandchildren are so well-behaved you wonder about how they were raised. A girl about seven and a boy about four, always quiet and inattentive. You've grown fond of them too, despite how bad you normally are with children. They're easy to be around.
You're frustrated mainly because you don't hate being here. The people are kind and welcoming and everyone locally is pleasant and good. You've been in the city too long, with insane people too long, and everything feels refreshing. The bus here is free and you can be at the beach whenever you like. You've made friends here - organically, with no strings attached. .
For the first time in your twenty years of living, you even have a guy you think is cute. It seems small, but back home everyone knows who you are. You've never had a relationship work out for one reason or another, but here? Here no one knows you, and the boy you meet at the beach with his friends is just a boy.
You don't want to like being here, but you do - and you don't want Sukuna to come back and he will. Nothing ever works out for you.
The worst of your luck you think builds on the edge of that thought.
You come home tonight doing a lot of things you would not normally.
For one, you've gotten yourself drunk. The reason being the cute boy aforementioned invited you down to the beach with his friend. You justified going thinking if you were going to be miserable all summer - a single good memory wouldn't kill you.
You had fun. Your swimsuit is underneath your short skimpy clothes, and you sat in his lap and made-out with him all evening. Got to pretend you were a normal girl and you got to kiss for the first time. You still reek of alcohol and his cheap cologne. Blissfully uneventful.
When you stumble into the foyer of the house with blurry vision and hear the T.V. playing, you know it instinctively that peace is going to be short-lived. You know that your uncle is home, and that he was waiting for you.
All the hairs on your neck raise. A shift in the atmosphere makes it hard to think clearly. Your lungs barely get enough oxygen in them to keep you upright. You think of leaving. You think of running up marble stairs to your room in hopes he won't catch you.
"Brat," Is yelled from the living room. Right, as if you'd ever get so lucky. You jump in your skin. "You home?"
Your stomach churns. You feel sick.
"Come to the living room."
You go obediently when Sukuna calls you, trying not to stumble over your two feet.You don’t think there’s more options than fearful compliance.
Your uncle is watching Scarface on the big flatscreen on the TV. The subtitles are on in Japanese though you don't think he needs them. He only barely turns his head to look at you, his interest piqued when he sees what you're wearing.
You feel sixteen again, self-conscious of your body and womanhood. He hides it even less than he did the first time - the leering. He notices your skimpy shorts and top, the bottom of your bikini. And he grins, and stares but doesn't say anything.
"Oh?" He says, calm and casual, glancing back at the T.V. "Finally went and had some fun did you? Thought all that studying turned you into a bookish little shut-in permanently."
You don't say anything, arm clutching your other self-consciously.
"Did you need something?"
He snickers, low and predatory. "Come on. You're here to spend time with me so let's spend time together."
You don’t bother asking where he’s been for the last few weeks. Your gut churns, feet heavy as they drag you to the far end of the couch. Sukuna stares as you sit hesitantly. You have no doubt he's going to make you move, but he's kind enough to leave you alone for now.
"Have fun on your..." He gives you another knowing look then laughs. "Outing?"
You aren't sure how to respond. "Just drank with some friends."
"Friends," He mimics, feeling the words out in his mouth. "The kind of friends that smudge the lipstick off your mouth, huh brat?"
You flush suddenly, embarrassed - and Sukuna barks a laugh. You don't know what he's expecting you to say there so you opt for nothing.
"Sorry," Is the only thing you can manage. Placating. He lets out a puff of air through his nose and relaxes further. There's an air to him, of nonchalance, that unsettles you more than if he was angry or unpleasant. Your throat bobs.
"You're a big girl now," He comments - sleazy and indignant. His indecency towards you, about you glints like a star. A sharp canine and piercing red eyes examine you from his peripherals. "Now that you're showing off it's only natural boys flock to you, hm?"
You can't explain the way this comment makes you feel. So much said with so little. The gap between is and has always been miles wide except sometimes it's not. Your uncle is unusual. Cold-blooded, manipulative, ruthless. There's no warmth in him in a comfortable, loving way.
There's even less of a normal relationship between you.
But you both exist in this space with... similar awareness. Of the world. Of yourselves. There's a conscious intelligence to him that's reflected in you - that you are both fractured parts of your grandparents bloodline in two separate bodies. That self-awareness affords him a presence. In your mind. In your fear.
You are undoubtedly related. Sukuna revels in that.
It’s rare to see that kind of awareness in your family. You’ve never felt threatened by people dumber than you, even if they had more power or money. Vapid and shallow and useless - there’d never been anything that could win you on. It might sound cocky, but it’s true. It’s been true.
It’s why Sukuna frightens you. He has everything, but above all - he’s smart. And hard for you to read.
You swallow, shakily - your eyes looking down at your hands. In a profoundly long beat of silence, the movie plays. A fair bit of gunshots echo through the loud speaker and they startle you.
"You scared? Come sit closer, then." He tells you, less than asks you.
You stand and sit next to him, still a distance away. Sukuna remains unmoving. You don't know what to do with yourself.The silence seems to stretch for miles and minutes. Sukuna just watches the T.V. and stares at his phone - occasionally answering messages. You stay like that for a long time.
"Need a smoke," He says, and it's not really directed at you. "Maybe later. Wouldn't wanna make you sick."
"People smoke around me all the time."
"Do you smoke?"
You shake your head, too tipsy to lie. He laughs at that. "Not even weed?"
You don't bother mentioning legality, you both know it doesn't matter between your lineage.
"Don't like the taste."
"How interesting. What a straight-edge kid. Most I've seen you get is drunk and this is the drunkest I've ever seen you. Still sober enough to talk clearly though."
"I just drink socially,"
"Ohh," He says, and then grins a little sharper. "A little shot of courage to fuck that little college boy then?"
This makes you jolt. "We didn't fuck—"
"No?" He looks genuinely surprised at this, though it's mild. "Poor kid must've wanted too if you came around him wearing that. Unless he came in his pants soon as you sat on him. Boys that age do stuff like that,"
The comment about his age reminds you of how old your uncle really is, and something in your chest flares hot.
"It wasn't that either—I've never-"
He cuts you off. "You're a virgin?"
You flush, stopping yourself from answering and he laughs.
"Ohhh, that's good. Very good," He grins, so genuinely pleased it makes you shiver. "I like virgins. Easy to please."
"That's—It wasn't for you."
For the first time in your relationship, Sukuna bridges the gap between you. He sits up and forward, his hand finding the bare skin of your knee. He rests it there, his thumb circling the flesh.
"Don't touch me," You hiss. Sukuna tightens his grip, but not threateningly. He turns to look at you that time, and you can't help but look back.
There's something in his degeneracy that horrifies you. It's fondness, you think. Genuine fondness.
"You sure?" He licks his teeth in a way that reminds you of a wolf. But not one that's starving. There's no desperation in his actions, but a self-assurance. Wolves don't often survive alone, but Sukuna has. And he hungers with the confidence of a predator who has killed all that stand before him. That's never been told no to what he wants to eat.
Your heart stops. Your voice a low whisper. "Stop,"
"You say that but you came in the house looking all desperate for sex and approval. You always look like that. Have for a little longer than what's normal for a girl your age,"
"I don't look like that!"
"You would've fucked that little college twerp if you stayed wouldn't you? Nothing wrong with honesty, brat."
Before you have a chance to understand what goes on around you, Sukuna changes position. You've never gotten a chance to feel and experience how strong he is - not like the way he's manhandling you now. You gasp at the arm around your waist and back. He pins you to the couch in a swift motion, not sure how he's done it, the alcohol making you dizzy.
Sukuna has never crossed the boundary with you like this before. Your heart is thumping loud, beating against your ribs. The source of it eludes you. If it's fear or discomfort or some other thing entirely causing such noice.
There's a certain blase in his attitude that makes you forget momentarily about the taboo and gives way just to the tension between you. You feel it for the first time with his body pressed against you, all hot and heavy. He smells of cologne, but it lacks the acidity cheap ones tend to have. There’s strong hints of cigarettes and aftershave accompanying it. Appearance wise, he has lines in his face like a man in his forties.
You don't know what's wrong with you. With a relationship so fucked up from the start, you thought crossing this line would feel different. You think you want to throw up, but you're completely calm.
You want to be disgusted. You want to thrash and kick and scream and fight. You squirm away from him, the threads of what's left of your moral conscience urging you to do so. Like a last ditch effort to keep you sane.
But there's just. Something. Something so inevitable about it that your heart doesn't beat at all. The panic itself feels hollow in nature. You are a rotted log and Sukuna has ripped the soft wood out of you with relative ease. But you’ve been that way for a long time, and nothing hurts. Not really.
It's relieving in the worst way.
"Get away from me,” You whisper again with noticeably less fight. Sukuna looks at you bright-eyed.
"You're a good kid," He says. The genuine praise knocks the air out of your lungs. That disgusts you more than anything else happening between you so far. "Interesting. A lot brighter than the other kids in our family."
Our family. You wince. .
"Stop, this is—" You don't know what word to use. He's your uncle and you're his niece and he's been gazing at you like this for god knows how fucking long. "Stop."
"You've got something going on behind your eyes at least, even if you're still just a wet-nosed and angry little housecat," He says, staring down at you. He's so imposing. His facial hair and his various tattoos. Everything about him, down to his bones. "But I can't tear my eyes away from you at the same time. You know that?."
You do know that. You cast your gaze away.
"I applaud how cautious you've been. But it didn't make a difference in the end. You know that too, right?"
You don't say anything.
"Clever little lamb you are, indeed. I like that about you." He hums, leaning down closer to you. His face is inches from yours. "You should be smart enough to know how this ends. But you know, you've been so entertaining to me this whole time I feel like I should at least be a little nice. So I'll offer you something. A deal of sorts, we can even write it on paper."
This catches your interest and he knows it does. He knows. You’re cut from the same cloth. And this place has made you lose your character, just like it always does. So if it means your survival and sanity or your morals, one comes before the other.
He grins at you.
"Come stay with me. Here in Nii-jima and back at my estate at home. I'll take care of your expenses and whatever else. I have better connections than the old hag," He says, leaning down even closer to you. You can smell him. He's intoxicating "You can be away from everything. I'll even let you have boyfriends and girlfriends over. You can throw sleepovers. I don't care. You can do whatever you want."
"What's in it for you?"
You can feel his knee press up against your cunt through your shorts and you gasp, hand going up to his shoulder. "This. Been thinking about this tight little cunt for a while now. You'd have to be at my beck and call. We'd be the closest uncle and niece in all of Japan," He snickers.
You wince at the reminder. You hate yourself for considering it. "Why me? There are plenty of women who are dying to fuck you."
He scoffs a little.
"Once we get you a little farther from the trenches kid, you might start to understand me. Wealth, fortune, fame - all of it's fucking boring. I came back to Japan prepared to leave again but you made me stay. Not much more to it than that."
"You're fucking your blood-niece out of curiosity? Your sister's daughter?"
"My sister never did anything good with her life except marrying your father and making you." Sukuna says, and laughs lightly. You hate how validated it makes you feel. Your skin crawls. "I'll have to thank her for it. She'll be pleased.
You make a face at him, uncertainty. Apprehension. Fear. Frustration. Everything you’ve been compartmentalizing comes bubbling to the surface and making your head feel weighted with lead. You want to kill everyone and everything including him. You want to run away from this place. You want to go home, though you don’t know where that would be anymore. They demolished your old apartment years ago.
You think spending a few years getting fucked and used might be less miserable than the suffocation of living with your mother and your baby brother and your grandparents. How much abuse you’ve endured already vs. what awaits you when their true heir starts to walk and talk horrifies you.
You look at him.
“You’re horrible.”
“Tell me something new.”
“I hate you. I don’t…want this. Any of this. I want to go home.”
You’re just venting. Really. You’ve made the choice already.
“Has there ever been a time where it’s been about what you want? I doubt it. But if you stay with me, appease my wishes for a while, well,” He laughs confidently. “You’ll get something, at least. Better than what you have.”
“The contract. Are you serious about that?”
He laughs at you. “Sure. If it makes you feel better, you can draft it and I’ll just have my lawyer sign. Bring your defenses. Whatever. Don’t really care as long as I get what I want.”
“And that’s me?”
“Seems like it,”
You purse your lips. It seems like a rash decision to make in the moment, but truthfully your heads never felt so clear. Even with the alcohol.
“...Fine.”
Sukuna hums when you agree. It feels anti-climatic somehow. Not that he’s not expecting your yes but that you’ve come to accept it so easily. It’s not like this takes away from the coercion, from the awful feeling of being violated. Sukuna was going to rape you whether you liked it or not. This way, at least, you get something out of it. This way it’s something you choose. Something tangible results from your inevitable doom - the fate your mother damned you to.
It affords you some plausible deniability too. In truth, you’re afraid for yourself. You’re afraid of what will happen when he finally does cross the line completely. You’re afraid you’re going to accept it, that it’s going to feel pleasurable, that years of repressing yourself will come back to make sure you never return to normalcy.
What will become of you when Sukuna has his way with you? Will you become a more apathetic version of yourself? Is it possible? Will you sober and feel like scrubbing your skin clean in the shower?
The worst outcome, you think, is nothing so horrible happening. The worst outcome is knowing you’ve fallen far enough for none of it matters at all.
Sukuna grins down at you. “What a well-behaved niece I have. Good girl. You’ll do well living with me.”
You make a displeased face at him, but your breath catches in your lungs soon after. Your uncle leans in to kiss you and you close your eyes trying to get away from it. But it’s true that your body has been burning up from the inside since you came back home - a dull throbbing between your legs turning you all kinds of stupid.
When Sukuna kisses you - your first thought is that he’s unexpectedly gentle.
You didn’t think he’d care about kissing to begin with. In your head you thought he’d tug off your shorts brutishly and fuck you without any prep. You were readying yourself for tears and pain, for screaming and crying - the sharp sobs of your own voice piercing your ears.
A gentle press of lips startles you from your drunk haze. You can feel the scruff of Sukuna’s face on your own, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. The taste of cigarettes and something else mildly smokey fill your mouth and make you dizzy. Sukuna tastes like kissing a man - or what you might’ve imagined that to be like. Not a boy, but a man. You feel his strength, your hands splaying at the base of his neck and feeling the faded undercut of his neck, the texture of his dyed hair. His weight shadows you, his strength making you feel fluttery.
He doesn’t tease you all during the kiss like you’re expecting. Nothing goes the way you expect. He kisses you in slow, short pecks and escalates to his tongue dipping against your lips - a little added element to his deep kisses. He kisses like he’s been doing it for longer than you have, with experience and finesse. You’re all but too conscious of everything little thing. About the sounds you make, about knowing when to breathe, about trying not to get wrapped up in the pleasant euphoria.
All you can think about is how good he is at it. Effortlessly good. You think part of you latches onto it to avoid thinking about what’s happening. Denial feels pleasurable at least.
You kiss like that for so long, your lips have swollen - sticky with spit and saliva. Sukuna has a self-satisfied smirk on his face when he pulls away from you, laughing at the flush in your expression.
You hit him lightly, looking away from his face.
“It’s a wonder you’ve kept your virginity,” He says, chuckling. “A kiss and a dirty old man like me could’ve taken it from you.”
“Shut up,” Your reply is weak. He laughs against your mouth, and you can’t get over the intimacy of it. You hope you’re deluding yourself but then he kisses the corner of your mouth. Hot, warm air tickles against your jaw and neck when he presses his lips there too and suddenly it occurs to you how real it is.
You don’t think your uncle is capable of warmth or love or anything that doesn’t come from coercion. But fondness. Maybe fondness.
He spends more time doing that than what’s comfortable. Relishes the feeling of you in his arms, his bulge grinding against your clothed cunt but not forcefully. Just with enough pressure to make you gasp once in a while when you don’t have a mind to fight it.
“I won’t take your virginity tonight,” He says declaratively. It surprises you. “You’ve got three months with me. It’d be boring. I’ll give you something else.” He looks at you then, then grins impishly. “What do you want?”
Your eyes widen, suddenly unsure of yourself. You push away, brought back to reality by the questions.
“How would I know?”
He blinks at you. “I know you said you were a virgin, but did you really mean in everything?”
You pout at him all of a sudden. “So what. I didn’t have that kind of time.”
Sukuna barks a laugh.
“Huh. I thought you were a goody two-shoes out of necessity but you really don’t do a damn thing in that house. Not even a boyfriend to do hand stuff with?”
“Ugh. No, alright? I don’t have time for that kind of thing like I just said.”
He laughs a little breathless, sitting up for a minute. You’re wondering what it means for you. Sukuna pulls you up along with him. He sits down again with his legs spread before looking at you. He pulls you into his lap with relative ease, until you’re half-way pressed into him with your legs over his thighs. You stare at him, feeling more exposed in this position. You get a closer view of his neck tattoo, realizing how far down his back it must go. You go to ask him what he’s doing - but he’s undressing you before you can.
Confident, large hands trapeze down your back as he finds the end of your overwear and pulls it off - leaving you in the microkini you wore to the beach. It barely covers your nipples. You made the choice to wear it, yet seeing Sukuna examine it so closely leaves you wallowing and regretful. Still, he’s silent as he does something similar with your jean-shorts. A hand lifting your legs up enough to roll the cheap, denim shorts and discard them right on the marble floors.
You’re still half-way over his lap - sitting on his thighs but you’re naked now.
You feel yourself growing self-conscious. Never mind that it’s the first time anyone’s seen you this naked, who exactly you’re showing it to makes you want to throw up. He stares for so long you wonder what he’s thinking, a lazy grin splitting his face. A hand nudges your thighs apart, moving your leg to give Sukuna more access to you. With an arm around your waist, his hand cups your cunt, rubbing it softly. You shift nervously. His thumb moves then, rests at the hood of your clit, pulling up to look closer at it. You hold back any noise as he examines you, bent pointer of the opposite hand brushing over the hair on your skin with a laugh.
“Unexpectedly, it’s pretty,” He says and your eyes shoot wide open. “Good job brat.”
“What are you,” You pant, your breath hitching as you close your eyes.”staring so much for it?”
“It’s mine to stare at.”
You don’t think of your uncle as particularly possessive. It’s more like he believes in that so much, so unshakingly nothing else could be true. You wonder if there’s more to it. He didn’t seem angry even after you told him about seeing a boy.
But comparing the two, Sukuna outclasses him in all ways that it should matter. He must be confident about that.
He spreads your thighs a little further. You’re half tucked into his side now - an arm around the back of his neck and shoulders. Sukuna ducks down a little, nudging his nose against your neck and scraping his teeth lightly against your throat. He doesn’t do much other than… touch you. Not directly. His other hand, the one not secured around your waist, rubs at your pussy but not in an attempt to pleasure you. It’s exploratory and intimate. He’s just touching you in a way that’s making you restless. And the angle he’s bent down, the proximity gives you a better view of him. From the side where you sit in his lap, you can see the tattoo again.
You shudder then, pussy suddenly clenching in a way that leaves you ashamed. Your uncle notices, though he doesn’t look up.
“Thought of something, brat?”
“No.” You deny, vehemently. He spanks your pussy but not hard. You jolt in reply, a shock traveling up your spine.
“C’mon now,” He hums, predatory. “Don’t lie. That’s not fun.”
“Y-your tattoo,” You say, suddenly feeling the influence of alcohol in a way you hadn’t all evening. “It’s…big.”
“Into bad boys or something, kid?”
You frown. “You look like a yakuza.”
This makes him laugh, more genuinely than you’ve ever seen him laugh. “Getting warmer, I guess.”
You don’t say anything to that. Instead spurred by the sudden confidence. “Why aren’t you…touching me?”
He looks at you surprised then tilts his head. “Is that what you want?
“I don’t want any of this but it,” You squirm again. “Feels weird.”
“Sounds like you want something, at least. Go on, tell your oji-san what you want.”
You scrunch your nose up at him, a familiar feeling of disgusting flitting through you. It fades as quickly as it comes.
“I’ve never put a-anything inside,” You admit, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“That so,” He hums. His middle finger slides down the wet seam of your cunt as you tell him this. You nod but you don’t think he’s really listening. His hand is warm, and big - and his fingers are thicker than yours. One of yours may as well make two of his, no end to how imposing he is. You don’t protest as he starts to touch you. You simply take a deep breath, holding onto him a little tighter.
With your head turned towards him, Sukuna leans in again to kiss you. It’s deep from the beginning this time, and a little rougher. He bites lightly on your lower lips as his middle finger dips down towards your sex. Your insides are throbbing, hot and wet as you feel some friction. It’s the first time anyone else has ever held you in your life, every touched you directly like this. Against your will, your body is sensitive to the stimulus. Everywhere he touches you goes alight, and the kiss makes your tummy flutter. A tender feeling of want spreads you open, tears you apart right in front of him.
With parted lips and a heavy head, you kiss him as his middle finger dips down low enough to penetrate you. A soft gasp pulls from your throat.
It doesn’t feel unpleasant.
“I thought it was going to hurt more.” You admit, feeling him inside of you. It’s a new sensation but it’s not bad.
“It shouldn’t hurt if you’re aroused enough. And wet enough. You seem to be both.”
You frown at him, face pinching. It’s washed away quickly by the sensation of him pushing deeper. It’s hard to describe it as anything other than feeling something inside of you. Deep in a place you didn’t think it could go. You shake a little, trying to get adjusted. Sukuna does it carefully, slowly - thrusting in even strokes and keeping you focused on kissing so you’re not too conscious of it.
He’s not thoughtful, not really - but you can tell that he’s going slower for your sake and that makes your heart stammer uncomfortably. The last word you’d ever use for him is kind but he’s not being horrible and it’s unsettling you.
Once one finger goes in and out smoothly, your uncle starts to add another. You feel it that time, the stretch of it - gasping hard at the sudden sensation. Your breath catches in your lungs, hand clutching at his shoulder for purchase. He pulls away from your mouth, his breath near your ear.
“Easy, little one. Give it a minute.”
“It feels different. It’s,” You can’t form the words as two fingers penetrate you in full, slowly being eased inside of you until Sukuna is knuckle deep. Your breath hitches. “Not like it hurts.”
“It’ll feel good in a second.” He says assuredly, voice smooth and raspy against your ear. You feel combative at his confidence, but then a minute passes of him rubbing along your insides and something strikes against you like lightning. You pause, blinking confused as Sukuna laughs. “There it is,”
“There what is?”
“C’mon kid, I know you’re too busy with school but you don’t know something so basic about your own body?”
“What is it, oh.”
His other hand toys with your clit, rubbing it in slow circular motions as he gauges your reaction to the touch. You jolt from the sudden pleasure, getting used to it slowly. You didn’t realize how badly it was throbbing to be touched until he does it in full. Your mouth dries up immediately. Little shocks of electricity spark up through you as his hands go full in on your body. The combined pleasure starts to uptick, something building slowly but surely. It goes from not feeling like much to feeling like something. Feeling physical.
Your mouth drops open in sudden shock, eyes lidded as you moan unabashedly - unable to keep the sound at bay. You own a vibrator, use to cum quick and hard just to curb the feeling. You’ve had orgasms on your own but nothing has ever felt like this before. It’s undeniably satiating, mimics the feeling of eating something and nearly making yourself sick on it. You go slack-jawed, your nerves on fire.
Two fingers curled against your silken walls and another two toying at the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs leaves little room in your brain to think. The only thing your body seems to remember is how to moan and whine - make these pathetic little noises you’ve never heard in your life. You didn’t even know you could make. Oddly enough, Sukuna is quiet through it. He makes grunts and little affirmatives but he’s mostly silent. You mostly hear the sound of your own voice.
The sound of your own wetness. You can feel the sticky sensation of your arousal but you can hear it even better. It’s lewd to listen too, wet smacks mixing with the pathetic bleats of your voice make you feel hot all over. Skin prickling with heat and sensation.
“I knew you were sensitive but haah. If I would’ve fucked you today, you would have cried.”
The thought drifts idly by about his cock and your whole lower half reacts to it by going weak. It aches just thinking about anything bigger or longer entering you than his fingers.
“Figure an insolent little kid like you isn’t much of a crybaby. I’m sure I can make you one.”
You don’t even think about asking what he means.
“Feels,” You make a gasping noise, body suddenly going tense. “Hngh, fuck. Feels so good, holy fuck.”
He groans a little. “I’m being too nice to you. I really should be balls deep in your cunt already and I’m not. You gonna cum for me, huh brat?”
You nod your head dumbly, unable to retort. To think of anything but the sensation washing over you.”Go on. Do it. Cum for your perverted oji-san.”
Something about the depravity of it sets your mind numb. Your body goes tight, every nerve firing off at once as you grip onto his shoulder and let the feeling of euphoria wash over you. Your whole body is so stimulated it’s numbing. The feeling of pleasure crashes into you, leaves your spine arching - mouth dropped open and nearly screaming. Your sanity melts, fades off completely and your brain feels like it’s gone empty. You close your eyes so hard little splashes of white show up in your vision, like you’re seeing T.V. static.
You think you scream. You don’t know. You just know that you’re cumming, hard, just from his hands and you’re terrified of what else he’s good at. You don’t think it boils down to sensitivity as the waves of your first orgasm ripple through your body.
You lay in his arms, sweaty and limp. Your vision is blurry with tears as you open them to look at him. Sukuna is rubbing your side, taking his fingers into his mouth. You look at him surprised as he does. He grins.
“Tastes good, kid.”
You flush. “Shut up.”
“Don’t think I’m done with you quite yet.”
Sukuna guides your hand to his pants, over his bulge. You gasp a little at it. His size through clothes is astounding to you.
“I’m not so generous to leave with nothing, you know.” He pats your thigh, moving you from his lap. “I’ve got a better idea than trying to teach you anything today, so try to hold still.”
You don’t know what he’s talking about until he guides you on the floor. You’re confused until you feel him position you - facing towards the couch with your knees spread on the floor. In doggy, you realize a little too late, your upper-half supported by the couch cushion. You feel more confused than you felt a moment ago.
Sukuna positions himself behind you. You can’t see him, but you can hear the soft rustle of his clothes moving as he stands on his knees behind you. More than that, you can feel his cock resting on your bare ass. You gasp, feeling the weight and size slide against your curves. Sukuna does a breathy little laugh at your reaction. He’s huge.
“Don’t cry kid. I told you I wasn’t gonna put it in tonight and I meant that,” He hums. His hands come to your hips, all of a sudden pushing them together. “Push your thighs together as tight as you can.”
You listen to him. You can do it with some effort despite how weak your body feels. You lean forward on the couch for support, bringing your knees together and pressing your thighs. You don’t understand what it’s for until something hard pressing along your spine moves down the curve of your ass. You gasp aloud as his thick cock pushes between your thighs, tip catching against your swollen clit. Your whole body is covered in goosebumps. Sukuna moans low in his throat, resting his head on your shoulder.
“Fuck, that’s it.” He hums, sounding pleased. “Keep them tight for me, alright girl? Try to at least.”
Sukuna is wordless as he grips your hips, your flesh dimpling under his bruising grip. You're silent, your voice threatening to spill again as you try your best to listen to him. You keep yourself tight and firm, your hands gripping the couch cushions as Sukuna pushes his cock between the fat of your thighs and starts a pace.
The angle makes you gasp, body feeling weak at the way it touches your clit with each bump. Sukuna doesn’t hold back at all. You’re not being penetrated but the weight behind each of his thrusts makes you feel like you’re being fucked. The bruising sensation of skin against skin - the hard muscles of his own legs smacking against the softness of your thighs.
Most embarrassing is the way the position makes you conscious of your uncle's cock. You knew he was huge before, but the way he’s thrusting. Where it reaches when he does thrust makes your throat feel nearly tight. You can’t stop thinking about the fact it’ll be inside you. You can’t imagine taking it in your hands - the girth and length of it fucking impossible. And he wants to fuck you with it? Take your virginity?
He’ll stretch you so open if he does. You can barely think of it fitting in you. When you do, your whole body shudders in a horrible and pathetic way - a new wave of arousal striking a strange chord. As he bumps and ruts against your clit and your mind fills with such lewd images, a new wave of lust starts to pour through you.
It’s unhelped by the feeling of Sukuna’s cock - getting so close. The throbbing with each thrust and the low, throaty groans he keeps vocalizing against your ear. All of it proves to be too much for you. It shocks you when you feel yourself grow hot all over again. Not even being touched directly and so soon after your first - a mere few minutes.
And you find yourself with all your muscles tight, your hand reaching back for Sukuna as you plant your face against the cushions and let him fuck hard between your thighs. You feel incoherent, stupid and so fucking horny. You’ve never experienced it. You can’t think of what to moan, so you choose his name.
This makes him laugh as he bends over you, his teeth biting your shoulder blades.
“Gonna cum again from this brat? Aren’t you fucking easy? Come on, cum with me. Just like that, take it. Fuck, that’s it. Good. Good girl.”
It’s the last bit of tension that pushes you over the edge, whether you care to admit it. Your voice breaks as a second orgasm washes through you - more intense but much shorter than the first and you nearly fall limp. You only barely manage to hold yourself up as your uncle keeps thrusting relentlessly.
You can feel him twitch hard between your thighs when his orgasm finally hits. You shake as you feel him squish the tip between your thighs - hot ropes of cum spurting against the swollen mound of your cunt and dripping down your thighs as he finishes. He smacks your ass as he finishes, making you yelp. Your whole body is rife with exhaustion, finally coming down from high-highs and low-lows.
“We’re gonna have a lot of fun together for the next few months kid,” He says, almost affection in his words. You’re too exhausted to reply, looking at him over your shoulder. “Let’s get along and do our best.”
“You’re a sick-fuck, oji-san.”
“And you’re a whole lot like me, aren’t you kid?.”
#sukuna x reader#jjk x reader#sukuna smut#jjk smut#writing tag#dark content cw#incest cw#dubcon cw#abuse cw#grooming cw#<- kind of sort of not really hes just gross.#THIS HAS SO MANY TRIGGER TAGS .. SORRY
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new boyfriend rin would never ever, under any circumstance, admit that he likes the pet names you call him. well… unless you would stop doing it. (also me pushing the bffs to lovers pipeline)
You must be upset with him, Rin is convinced so. It’s the only logical and sensible explanation behind this unusual behavior.
And he's going mad about it. Itoshi Rin is going mad any second now if he can't get to the bottom of this, he’s certainly convinced.
Every instinct screamed that your recent behavior was a reaction to something he'd done, but what? Was it the late replies to your text messages? No, you knew he was at practice and you told him you didn’t mind. Was it about the souvenir he brought back home to you from Paris? Sure, you teased him about its impracticality, but nothing that warranted this icy distance.
Or maybe it was something he said now? It must be, right? Everything boils down to his reckless poor choice of words, he supposes.
Slowly, Rin approached you by the couch you’re seated in. With your attention preoccupied by the selection of shows you’re browsing, you settled on looking at him briefly through your peripheral vision. Amused by how he’s slightly tiptoeing around, you let out a half-suppressed laugh to yourself.
He looks like a cat sometimes, you thought from the sight. And acts like one too. Like a big black cat who would hiss at you if you looked at him funny, or one that would bite your hand if you stopped petting him to sleep. Funny how Rin could be like that too.
The moment Rin settles into the plush comfort of the couch, he gazes at you through lowered lashes, trying to read the play of emotions on your face, if there’s any.
There’s nothing worth noting, and he doesn’t know if that should assure or bother him.
“Are we… alright?” he drawled.
What the fuck. He did not just sound like that.
He did not just ask that and sounded like an anxious pathetic wet cat who just had a new home waiting for its owner’s permission over anything (highly specific because he’s a bit dramatic). Just what kind of loser have you reduced him into, really.
Oblivious of the internal turmoil in Rin’s mind, you turn to him, “Hmm? Yeah? Why’d you ask?”
“Nothing,” he grumbled. It’s enough that he already humiliated himself for the way he asked if the two of you were cool— doing it again by exposing himself that he thinks you’re mad plainly because he hadn’t heard you call him a pet name (like you always do) would be mortification in its final form.
“Okay, Rin.”
That’s it. This needs to end. Forget humiliation. He would rather choose to feel pathetic over any day than continue with this charade.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Why would you think that?” you asked back instantly, shocked and extremely confused because of your boyfriend’s question. You’re literally just looking for a movie the two of you can watch— how is that any indication of being mad at him?
“Just answer the question,” he fumed, impatience settling on the furrow of his brows.
You said in the beginning of your relationship that you didn’t appreciate the silent treatment and guessing games, so don’t you think it’s hypocritical of you to do the same to him? (You’re not, but he just doesn’t know that.)
“I’m not mad at you, Rin.”
“You so are!”
“I am not! But you, yelling and instigating it are making me right now!” you countered, voice hinted with irritation, “What is your problem, Rin?”
There it is again. Rin rose from the couch to face your sitting form, as if standing would better prove his point. “See? You’re calling me Rin!” he blurted.
“Well, maybe because it’s your name?!”
“Not to you, it’s not!”
A beat of surprised silence. Until your lips grew to such a wide smile that made Rin physically feel his heart melting.
Yet, in Rin’s true fashion, he’ll never let you know how much air you knock out of him because of your beaming smile. Instead, he’ll say something along the snarky lines of, “Stop smiling like that.”
“Did my big bad grumpy Rinnie here thought we’re on a fight because I hadn’t call him baby?” you ask, purposely stressing out the words to disarm him more.
With a feigned exasperation, he comments, “I forgot how annoying you are.”
“And I forgot how childish you can get sometimes,” you countered.
“I’m not childish.”
“You don’t mind me calling you Rin then?”
Rin rolled his eyes at you, but you know better than to put meaning to it. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you. With a swift tug, Rin pulled you closer, closing the distance between you effortlessly. His arm found its way around your waist, drawing you snugly against his chest.
“But I don’t see why you need to…” Maybe he could be a bit childish.
“I thought you didn’t like it,” you shyly muttered, drawing shapes in his arm. “The pet names, I mean,” you clarified, sensing the confused look he’s probably giving you behind.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He is baby. He is Rinnie. Fucking hell, that’s so loser of him to even voice it out in his own mind.
“What? You call me by my name!” you defensively pointed out.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t like your nicknames of me,” he mumbled, the words barely audible.
The pet names— they were more than what they served. It was important to him more than what he would admit.
They were a secret language, a way you marked him as yours. A reminder that he wasn't just Rin anymore— just your friend.
He was now something more, something special.
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Besides… I love your name,” he whispered, his voice velvet against your hair.
It’s tender— no, it makes him tender. Saying your name has been the softest, kindest, and most tender way he’s used his words for.
Maybe it’s a little pathetic, feeling this undone by a name. But then it’s you.
It was your name— a name he could whisper with adoration, a name that belonged only to him to claim.
You melt to his words, leaning deeper into his chest. A contented sigh escaped your lips, the sound swallowed by the warmth of his embrace.
Looking up at him, your eyes held a softness he often found himself getting lost in, “I love your name too, but I also like calling you pet names. Is it okay?”
“Whatever you decide.” He’s yours, either way.
note. this is basically rin being "my nameeee is whatever you decideeeee and i'm just gonna call you mineeee i'm insane but i'm your baby!!!!" yeah that song basically.
#☁️ my ode to you#i have more drabbles like this i am fucking insane about him#itoshi rin x reader#itoshi rin#itoshi rin fluff#itoshi rin x y/n#blue lock x reader#blue lock imagines#blue lock fluff#bllk x reader#bllk imagines#rin itoshi x reader#rin itoshi
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Forever yours.
⤿ Satoru Gojo × reader
Summary, The only reason why you even agreed to marry him was for your father. Now you wish you could go back in time and reject the offer.
Warning/ tags; angst, profanity, smoking, cursing, smut, cheating, mean gojo,
Genre; angst, cheating, infidelity, jik, Gojou × reader
Notes: the tag-list is open if you'd like to be mentioned everytime i update just send me a message also sorry any of the spelling errors.
9k words
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It had been a few months since then, going to your honeymoon on July, and now it was November with Thanksgiving just around the corner. The autumn leaves were turning shades of red, orange, and yellow, reminding you of the honeymoon you and your spouse had taken just a few months ago.
Despite the fact that you and Satoru had been married for quite some time now, your relationship seemed to be stuck in a rut. He continued to ignore you, never joining you for dinner or spending time with you in the large mansion you had moved into. It was as if nothing had changed between the two of you.
You couldn't help but feel anxious and nervous as you waited for the results. It had been a rollercoaster of emotions for the past few months, with Satoru's constant reminders and tracking of your ovulation and periods. Now, all you could do was wait for the pregnancy test to give you the answer you were desperately hoping for, or dreading.
The anxiety and fear of a potential pregnancy weighed heavily on your mind as you waited for the results. You couldn't help but think about how your life would change if the test turned out positive. Would you be ready for motherhood? Would Satoru be ready to become a father? You hated to admit it but deep down you were hoping for a negative result.
As you stared at the calendar, your eyes scanned over the days until they finally landed on one that stood out to you. "Most likely to get pregnant." The bright red letters seemed to jump off the page, catching your attention and bringing back vivid memories.
You remembered that day so clearly - coming home from a family party with Satoru, feeling hurt and insulted by his words and actions, yet still unable to resist him when he made love to you. It was a painful reminder of the complicated and toxic dynamic between the two of you.
Despite spending a significant amount of time with him, you couldn't help but feel like there was a lack of connection between the two of you. There were days when it seemed like he was just tolerating your presence, and on other days, he would completely ignore you. Your hands would often tremble in his presence, and you couldn't understand why. Perhaps it was the feeling of uncertainty and unease that he brought to the table, leaving you with an unsettling feeling whenever you were around him.
The thought of Satoru being the father of your child filled you with dread and anxiety. You couldn't help but feel sick to your stomach, unsure if it was from the potential pregnancy or the overwhelming emotions you were experiencing.
The idea of bringing a child into a world of parents who despised each other was overwhelming and you couldn't help but question if this was really the best option for you and your child.
There was one major secret you hadn’t told your husband. Most of the women in your family, including your mother, had suffered from fertility issues. Your mother had experienced three miscarriages, and it was a common occurrence for babies in your family to not make it past the first trimester of pregnancy.
The fear of not being able to have a child of your own consumed your every thought. You were too afraid to go for testing and receive a definitive answer. Your mind raced with all the possible outcomes and you couldn't sit still, pacing back and forth from your room.
The thumps of your sole foot could be heard, a physical manifestation of your anxiety. You were so anxious, you wanted to scream and rip out your hair in frustration.
Once, only once in your life you had actually went to go test your fertility. Once you had gotten the results back you were too afraid to look at them. At the time Toji was still your boyfriend, he had reassured you that he didn’t care if you were infertile or not because all he cared was that he had you.
So you did what most people would do, you threw the dumb envelope away and never thought about it since. But yet the thought came to mind now. How would satoru react about this?
Your mind wandered to the contract you had signed with him. It was a business marriage, a union of convenience. You had no love for each other, no emotional connection. The only thing you could provide for him was your body, your uterus, and the ability to bear his child.
You were nothing but a means to an end, a tool in his pursuit of success. You ran your fingers through your hair, feeling trapped and suffocated in this loveless arrangement. Suddenly, the loud sound of your alarm going off startled you out of your thoughts, reminding you of the reality you were living in.
Your hand trembled as you slowly walked towards your drawer, where the pregnancy test awaited. Your heart practically jumping out of your chest with each step. You hated to admit it, but you really did hope the test would come back negative.
The thought of being pregnant at this point in your life was terrifying. You reached for the test, your hand shaking as you turned it over to look at the result. For a moment, the whole world seemed to stop moving. It was like those dramatic scenes in a movie when a character finds out something life-changing.
You held your breath as you stared at the small window, waiting for the result to appear.
You let out a deep sigh of relief, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at the negative test in your hand. The weight of anxiety and fear lifted off your shoulders, and for a brief moment, you felt a sense of pure joy and happiness.
You couldn't believe you had finally received the answer you had been hoping for. Suddenly, the urge to celebrate overwhelmed you, and you wanted nothing more than to jump up and down in excitement.
But as you were about to do so, your bedroom door flew open, and your tall, white-haired husband stormed in, his expensive Christian Louboutin shoes making a loud thumping noise on the hardwood floor. Immediately, your celebration came to an end as you braced yourself for whatever was about to come.
Your husband stood before you, unbuttoning the sleeves of his immaculate white dress shirt, his expression unreadable. You knew that something was wrong, and your moment of relief was quickly replaced with a sense of dread.
You felt a wave of panic wash over you as you hastily shoved the pregnancy test into one of your drawers. Turning around, you put on a smile and walked towards your husband, helping him out of his suit and hanging it neatly in your closet.
Your heart sank as you noticed the stained red lipstick on the neckline of his suit. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as you remembered that Jiyuu was one of his representatives in his business. You forced a smile and asked, "How was work?" trying to hide your true emotions.
You pursed your lips, a hint of disappointment evident on your face. "It was good," he said, noticing your reaction as you hung the suit up.
You silently walked back towards the room, Satoru was shirtless, rummaging through his closet for a shirt to wear. You couldn't help but admire his toned physique and the way his muscles flexed as he searched for a shirt.
Your mind wandered, imagining what it would feel like to run your hands over his chest. You quickly shook the thought from your mind, reminding yourself that he care for you.
"That's nice," you said with a small smile, feeling a twinge of nervousness as you bit the inside of your cheek.
You knew you shouldn't be pushing his buttons, let alone asking about his lover, but you just couldn't take it anymore. The anxious nights of awaiting his arrival, only to have him come home late or not at all, were taking a toll on you.
There were days where you couldn't even sleep without him by your side, and the constant worry and doubt were consuming your thoughts.
Yet, you couldn't stop yourself from asking about his whereabouts and who he was with, hoping for some reassurance or closure. But each time, the conversation just ended in more frustration and heartache.
“Satoru?” You felt a pang of jealousy and anger as you watched Satoru dress himself, trying to hide the evidence of his infidelity. His back, strong and toned from his workouts, was a reminder of how attractive he was to other women.
You couldn't help but notice the hickies on his neck, the scent of Burberry her perfume lingering in the air, and the red lipstick stains on his collar. You were tired of pretending not to see these signs of his unfaithfulness, but you couldn't bring yourself to confront him about it.
You hated how he made you feel insecure and unworthy, but you couldn't seem to walk away from him either. The constant inner turmoil was draining and exhausting, but you were willing to endure it for a chance to be with him.
He hummed, turning to face you. You felt the anger bubbling up inside of you as you looked at him, his casual demeanor and nonchalant attitude driving you insane. “Are you still seeing Jiyuu?” Your fists clenched at your sides as you resisted the urge to lash out at him.
His nonchalant attitude towards your feelings only added fuel to the fire, making you want to punch him even more. You could feel the hurt and betrayal in your gaze as you looked at him.
With a defeated sigh, his words stung as he spoke, "There's no reason for me to lie anymore. Jiyuu, she's the woman I love. Not you." His tone was harsh and final as he turned and walked away, leaving you to process the heart-wrenching truth.
The realization that you were not the one he loved, despite all your efforts, was a hard pill to swallow.
You followed him, feeling a surge of anger and betrayal. You couldn't believe he was with her again. He always seemed to have an excuse, whether it was work or hanging out with friends, but you knew the truth.
Your gut told you that he was always with her, and the evidence was becoming harder to ignore. You couldn't understand why he would continue to lie and break your trust.
"Stop pretending you care, stop trying to love me Y/N. All you're going to do is make things worse," he said with a resigned sigh. You were taken aback by his words, feeling like you had been punched in the gut.
You wanted to break down and cry, but you knew it would only push him away further. You couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to be comforted by him, to have him hold you and tell you everything would be okay.
But deep down, you knew that would never happen.
"Please," he began, his voice filled with hesitation as he turned to walk away from you once again. The irony was not lost on you - it seemed that everyone in your life had a tendency to walk away from you. Whether it was a friend, a family member, or a romantic partner, it always ended the same way.
You hated the feeling of begging and appearing so desperate. It made you feel small and unworthy, especially when you had to plead with your own husband. "Please Satoru, we're married. Can't you spare some time for me?" you would say, hoping for a glimmer of attention or affection.
The man's long, veiny hand ran through his shock of white hair as he licked his lips, his face coming dangerously close to yours. You could feel his hot breath on your skin as he spoke. "Fine," he growled. "My friends are going to a cabin this weekend." The intensity of his gaze made you feel uneasy.
Your eyes glimmered, a cabin. You always wanted to go to a cabin, one with snow. “Just me and you?” He nodded before slamming the door.
Why?
Why did the world have to be so cruel to you?
As you walked along the coastline, you could feel a gentle caress on your skin as the warm sand touched your feet. The grainy texture of the sand added a dimension of realism that heightened your sensory experience. The sensation of moving through the fine-grained sand was both soothing and invigorating, evoking a sense of tranquility and connection with the natural world.
The sand beneath your feet had a texture that was both soft and coarse. It felt comfortable as it massaged the soles of your feet, but it also provided a sturdy base that supported you as you walked.
He stood there, his hair flowing gently in the wind. The gusty breeze rushed through his face, causing his eyes to flutter slightly.
"Toji?" you called out, your voice filled with a mixture of excitement and concern.
Toji's face lit up when he saw you, a smile spreading across his face. He took a few steps towards you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection.
"Hey," he said, his voice echoing in the silence of the open field.
You ran to him, throwing your hands behind his neck, holding him so tight you felt his heartbeat through his chest. The feeling of his warm embrace brought tears to your eyes as you realized how much you had missed him. In that moment, nothing else mattered except being in his arms and feeling his love.
what did you do to deserve this?
A shiver ran down your spine as his hand gently touched your cheek, his forehead pressed against yours. You couldn't help but get lost in his intense gaze, his dark blue eyes seeming to look into the depths of your soul.
It felt so real.
"I love you," he whispered, his voice full of emotion as he looked at you with such tenderness. His hands, rough from years of hard work, gently caressed your skin, making your heart swell with love for him. Tears formed in your eyes as you realized how much you wanted this life with him, full of love and happiness.
The thought of him moving on and finding someone else to share his life with was unbearable. It was as if a part of you was being ripped away. His touch, his kiss, his presence - it all felt like home to you.
You couldn't imagine anyone else taking your place by his side. You wanted to be the one to spend forever with him, to grow old together and experience all of life's ups and downs by his side. The thought of someone else filling that role was too painful to even consider. You couldn't let him go. He was your soulmate, your other half.
Tears fell down, knowing that one day you would never find someone who loved and cherished you as much as you loved and cherished him.
"You have to let me go Y/N." He pulled away from you. There it was that stupid geniune smile he always gave you. You broke down sobbing on his chest as he held you.
Why did your brain have to do this to you?
He cupped your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. "I promise you, I'll always love you." You shook your head, unable to accept his words
"I don't want to lose you," you cried. "I can't imagine my life without you." He gently wiped away your tears, his expression filled with sadness.
"I know, but it's for the best," he said softly. You didn't want to let him go, but you knew deep down that he was right. You hugged him tighter, trying to hold onto the moment for as long as you could.
"Toji, before I go," You said the sunset casting a golden light on his perfect face. You couldn't help but admire him, even in this bittersweet moment.
"Why couldn't you just stop the wedding?" Your voice cracked as you asked the question, tears welling up in your eyes. "Why didn't you just run away with me?" You couldn't understand why he didn't choose you, why he couldn't see that you were meant to be together.
Your heart ached at the thought of being Satoru's wife instead of his, but you couldn't bring yourself to say it out loud. The pain was too much to bear.
With a heavy heart, he looked at you with a bittersweet smile, gently tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "Y/N, I knew I couldn't stop the wedding because deep down, I know I'll never be able to provide for you as well as he can."
He continued to look at you with a mixture of sadness and love, knowing that he had to let you go. "But I promise to always be there for you, no matter what. You deserve all the happiness in the world and I hope he can give that to you." With one last gentle touch, he turned and walked away, leaving you to contemplate his bittersweet words.
You stood there, his touch still lingering on your skin. The memories of your time together flooded back, each one stinging like a fresh wound. As you watched him walk away, you couldn't help but feel a sense of loss and regret. You whispered, "We almost had it all," knowing that things could have been different if only you had made different choices. But now, as he disappeared from your sight, you knew it was too late.
You were so in love with Toji, and it wasn't just because he was there to heal your heart after the previous relationship left it shattered. It was because he was your true love, the one who knew you better than anyone else. Every morning, he would hold you tightly, cherishing the sight of your bare face and your plump lips.
Even with morning breath, he didn't care because being with you was all that mattered to him. He would always be there to hold you, to kiss you tenderly, and to remind you of just how much you mean to him. Every moment with him felt like a dream come true, and you couldn't imagine your life without him.
However, things quickly changed when you met your now current husband. The arranged marriage ruined everything for you and Toji, destroying the perfect life you had imagined since you first started dating. The apartment, the cat, and the financial stability were all gone, along with the hope of a future together. Now, you are left with a broken heart and shattered dreams..
As you stood frozen on the beach, you could feel your heart shatter into a million pieces. You wanted to scream his name, to beg him to stay, but your voice was lost in the overwhelming pain and shock. With a loud thump, your knees hit the sand, the impact almost jolting you out of your trance.
Your hands instinctively gripped the fabric of your skirt, as if trying to cling onto some sense of stability. And as the tears fell from your eyes, you could feel the weight of your heartache slowly drip down your face.
You awoke, tears streaming down your face. You stared at the laces of your boots. The sound of the wind blowing waking you up. The trip to the cabin was at least 4 hours.
The pounding headache that had not been present when you woke up this morning was now throbbing behind your eyes, making it difficult to focus on anything else.
You were dressed to impress, wearing black flared pants that accentuated your legs, paired with your favorite Chanel boots that added a touch of luxury to your outfit. Your tight red turtle neck hugged your figure perfectly, highlighting your curves in all the right places.
Satoru, on the other hand, opted for a more comfortable yet classy look. He wore a cozy sweater, with a long white t-shirt peeking out underneath. His blue Dickies pants were held up by a stylish Gucci belt.
Your muscles ached from sitting in the same position for hours on end. As you shifted in your seat, you could feel the soreness spreading through your body, making it hard to focus on anything else. Satoru’s black Tucker jacket was stretched on your thighs. Nervously you began to play with the collar.
You wanted to get up and stretch, but the stern expression on Satoru's face made you think twice. You could tell he was deep in thought and didn't want to be disturbed, so you pursed your lips and remained silent.
You couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if things were different. In another universe, perhaps you and Satoru could have a great relationship. Maybe you could even be more than just friends. You couldn't deny the fact that Satoru was incredibly attractive, with his charm and poise only adding to his perfection.
You checked your phone, clicking on the small button for it to turn on. Great, no service. You threw it back inside your purse before looking out the window. The snow continuously falling down as you made your way to your cabin.
Maybe in another life, he had met his true love and they lived a happy life together. Perhaps you both could have had fulfilling relationships with your own partners, instead of being stuck in an unhappy marriage.
As you caught sight of the cabin nestled in the woods, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Multiple cars, all of them expensive models, were parked in the front, giving you a sense of security.
You sat up straighter in your seat, mentally preparing yourself for the meeting ahead, and gathered all your belongings as Satoru expertly parked the car next to a sleek and luxurious Rolls-Royce.
As you stepped out of the car, the cold air nipped at your exposed skin. You shivered and pulled your coat tighter around you, grateful for the warmth it provided.
Satoru, noticing your discomfort, immediately came over to you and took his jacket from your hands, gently putting it on. You smiled gratefully at him as he wrapped his arm around your waist, leading you towards your destination.
As Satoru closed the car door, he reached for your hand, intertwining his long fingers with yours. You felt a sense of security and warmth flood through you as you admired the beauty of the cabin. The snow falling gently around the roof added to the picturesque scene, making it even more enchanting.
"Satoru!" You instantly recognized the voice of the woman. Her long, brown hair swayed as she made her way towards the two of you, a bright smile on her face.
The woman embraced Satoru, pulling him close in a warm hug. As she stepped back, you recognized her as the lady from the party in Santorini. "I'm so glad you could make it," she said with a smile, gesturing for you both to come inside.
"It's freezing out here." You could see her breath in the cold winter air, her words serving as a reminder of the chilly weather outside.
The only thing different about her was the baby bump she was missing. Satoru, with his long and lean figure, walked alongside you as you made your way towards the entrance. His height was quite impressive, making you feel small in comparison. As Shoko beckoned you to join her inside, you eagerly followed, not wanting to waste any time.
As you entered the warm, bustling room, you took a moment to take in the scene. The majority of the guests from the party were already here, chatting and laughing with each other.
You quickly removed your boots, shaking off the snow and placed them by the door. Your feet were cold, so you grabbed your trusty pair of uggs and slipped them on, feeling the warmth and comfort immediately.
As you and Satoru walked inside, you couldn't help but notice the stares of everyone around you. Many of them were his friends, who you had met during your time together. One of them, feeling sympathetic, offered to take your luggage to your room for you.
You gratefully handed it over, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to you in that moment. You gave him a smile and a word of thanks before turning back to Satoru.
You found yourself comfortably seated on the plush couch. Everyone seemed to be engaged in conversations, their voices blending together in a pleasant symphony. From the couch, you had a clear view of the room, filled with warm lighting and cozy furnishings.
"So Shoko, where exactly is the baby?" Satoru inquired, removing his jacket and draping it over your lap. As he did so, you couldn't help but notice his veiny hands, a common feature of his. He placed his hand on your thigh, the veins popping out even more prominently.
"Hes sleeping but once hes awake your one of the first people he’ll meet," she said with a smile. She got up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen.
Satoru felt a sudden jolt as a hand was placed on his shoulder, causing him to snap his neck in surprise to see who it was. His eyes widened as he recognized the person standing behind him - Geto.
His friend “Getou” was tall, towering over most people he encountered. His long black hair was usually tied back in a ponytail, but today it hung loosely around his face. He was dressed in all black, a black sweatshirt and matching black pants that seemed to be a staple in his wardrobe.
However, his appearance was overshadowed by the noticeable dark circles under his eyes, hinting at the fact that he was having trouble sleeping. He looked tired and worn out, as if he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Feeling a sense of loneliness, you watched as Satoru quickly got up and left, seemingly forgetting about your existence. As you sat alone, people stopped by to ask about your well-being and how your marriage was going, but it was something you had grown accustomed to.
The constant inquiries and reminders of your failed marriage only added to the feeling of isolation and heartache.
"Y/N!" Surprisingly, you instantly recognized that voice as your college friend. Your heart warmed as you turned to face her, a huge smile spreading across your face. It had been years since you last saw each other, but it felt like no time had passed at all.
As you saw your old friend, "Utahime?", you couldn't help but break into a wide smile. Your cheeks began to hurt from the sheer joy and excitement of seeing her again after so long. You practically jumped into her arms, hugging her tightly.
The familiar scent of her Coco Chanel perfume filled your nostrils, bringing back a flood of memories from your college days together.
"It's been so long!" she exclaimed, her voice full of genuine surprise and delight. She quickly pulled you into a tight embrace, her hands gripping the sides of your arms. "What brings you here?" she asked with a smile.
"I'm actually married now," you replied, a mixture of happiness and nervousness bubbling inside of you.
Her eyes lit up with that familiar look she always gave you, a look that made you feel seen and loved. It was as if no time had passed between the two of you, and you couldn't help but feel grateful to have her in your life.
"It's amazing how life can surprise us," she said as she motioned for you to join her outside. You sat down on the chairs, huddled together by the warm fire. Looking at the stars, she continued, "Out of all the people I met in college, I never would have guessed that you would be the one to settle down so early. You were always the adventurous type, ready to take on the world."
She smiled at you, "But I guess love has a way of changing us, doesn't it?" You smiled back, grateful for her understanding and support. As the fire crackled and the night grew darker, you shared stories and laughs. grateful for the unexpected turn your life had taken.
You talked for what seemed like hours on end, catching up with her felt like a fairytale. She shared all the exciting details of her life over the past few years, including graduating college and finding her dream job.
"So here I am, personally, as a Gynecologist," Utahime said, looking at shoko, who was gently rocking her baby back and forth, who looked up at you with interest.
"And Shoko here is an endocrinologist," she continued, gesturing towards her. “We both have specialized medical knowledge, but in different areas of expertise.”
Shoko got up from her seat and decided to sit next to you and Utahime. "Is that so? I'm so glad everything turned out to be good for you," you said, smiling warmly at Utahime. As you looked at her, you noticed a shift in her facial features. Her previously tense and worried expression had transformed into one of relief and contentment.
As you saw her for the first time in years, you couldn't help but notice the changes in her appearance. Her face had matured, no longer the round and soft baby face you remembered. Instead, she now had a more stern and defined structure, giving her a sense of authority and experience.
Despite the visible scar on her face, she seemed to radiate a glow that only added to her beauty.
The woman spoke softly, her voice filled with genuine concern. "I know how much you and Satoru have been wanting to have a baby," she said, leaning in closer. "As a gynecologist, I have some tips and advice that could help you both. And if you ever need any check-ups or consultations, you are more than welcome to come to my office." Her warm smile and the flickering light from the fire highlighted the purple strands in her hair, making her seem almost ethereal.
"Well, that's the thing," you said, looking at Shoko. "You're an endocrinologist, right?” Shoko nodded, her focus shifting to wrapping her newborn baby in a warmer blanket.
You were nervous and hesitant to ask, but you needed to know. "They're the ones who specialize in hormones," you said, your voice shaky. "Do you also specialize in infertility?" You raised an eyebrow, trying to gauge their reaction.
Utahime and Shoko exchanged a concerned look before turning back to you. Their expressions were serious as they nodded their heads in confirmation. You let out a sigh of relief, grateful that you had found doctors who could help you with your fertility struggles.
"Yes, why? Are you having trouble getting pregnant?" she asked, tilting her head in concern. The fire crackled loudly, each second passing by filled with tension and worry.
"My family has a history of hormone imbalances and fertility problems, and I wanted to get tested to see if I may have inherited these issues. Plus, it would be reassuring to get tested by someone I know and trust," you explained to your friend.
As you spoke, her expression softened and she absentmindedly played with her baby's chubby hands while listening. Her support and understanding made you feel more at ease about the situation.
“Absolutely, you know what. I’ll send Satoru my info-“ you quickly interrupted her.
"No no no," you pleaded, "he cannot know about this. Please." You looked away from her piercing stare, feeling ashamed and afraid that she might go and tell your husband. The secret you were keeping was eating away at you, and the thought of your husband finding out was unbearable.
“Of course, you’re my friend after all. Here,” She grabbed her purse.
"Can you hold him for just a moment?" She asked, handing you her baby. You couldn't resist the urge to reach out and take the little bundle into your arms. He immediately stared at you, his dark brown eyes searching your face curiously.
You couldn't help but smile at the adorable little face looking up at you. "He's so cute," you commented, and the mother beamed with pride. "Thank you, I'm glad you think so. He seems to like you," she replied, noticing how her baby was now reaching out towards you.
You couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and connection with the little one in your arms, even though you had just met. It was a small moment, but it brought a smile to your face and warmed your heart.
As the baby's chubby hands grasped onto your finger and their big eyes looked up at you in innocent wonder, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and joy.
You found yourself gently playing with the baby, making silly faces and noises that made them giggle and coo. In that moment, all your worries and troubles seemed to fade away, replaced by the pure happiness of being in the presence of a child.
As you held the baby in your arms, you couldn't help but think about the possibility of being infertile. The thought of not being able to have a child of your own was heartbreaking. However, in this moment, with the chubby-cheeked baby in your arms, all those worries faded away.
You brought the baby closer, feeling his soft breaths against your skin. As he began playing with your hair, you couldn't help but admire him. He was a spitting image of Shoko, with her almond-shaped eyes and button nose, but he also had features that definitely resembled Geto, like his pale skin and black hair.
“Here you go,” As you thanked the kind woman, she handed you a small card with the name and address of her clinic. You quickly stuffed it into your pants pocket, grateful for the potential help it may offer in the future.
"You know," she said with a playful grin, "if you like him so much you can keep him." She joked, giggling at the face you made. You couldn't help but laugh along with her, knowing she was just teasing you.
"I think I'll pass," you replied, still smiling. "I'd rather just borrow him every once in a while." She rolled her eyes, but her smile never faltered.
The glass door slid open, revealing Satoru and Geto standing on the other side with bottles of beer in their hands. As soon as your husband laid eyes on you and the baby in your arms, his gaze immediately turned to you with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"I'm just kidding Y/N," Shoko said with a laugh, getting up from her seat as the baby started to cry. "Well, that's my cue to give him to his father." She walked over to Satoru and Geto, who were deep in conversation and cracking jokes.
You couldn't help but smile as you heard Satoru's deep and attractive laugh, something you didn't get to hear often. "Looks like I'll have to leave the baby duties to you two," Shoko teased, handing the baby over to Satoru. "But seriously, thank you both for all your help." Satoru and Geto both nodded, Satoru’s face softening as he held the baby in his arms.
"My back is killing me," Shoko groaned, raising her arms above her head as she walked back towards you and Utahime. "I need to relax my muscles," she added, letting out a loud yawn.
"There's a Jacuzzi, you know..." Utahime said with a sly grin, standing up and flipping on the back lights. The entire back area was aluminized, giving it a sleek and futuristic look.
"Wow, this is amazing!" exclaimed Shoko stepping closer to get a better look at the Jacuzzi.
"Right? It's perfect for those cold winter nights," Utahime replied with a playful wink.
You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment as you looked at the huge jacuzzi on the back deck of the vacation rental.
The bubbles were constantly popping and rising to the surface, making it look so inviting. However, you realized that you had forgotten to pack a bathing suit, and there was nothing remotely close to one in your luggage.
You cursed yourself for not double-checking your packing list and felt frustrated that you wouldn't be able to enjoy the relaxing hot tub.
"Well, I'm going up to get my bathing suit because I definitely need to relax in the jacuzzi," shoko said with a frown.
You politely said your goodbyes and slipped away unnoticed into the cabin. As you entered, the cozy atmosphere of the rustic cabin embraced you, providing a welcome respite from the chilly evening air.
The soft glow of the fireplace and the gentle sound of crackling wood immediately put you at ease. You couldn't help but notice the other guests lost in their own thoughts, some reading by the fire, others playing board games at the kitchen table.
Exhaustion finally caught up to you and you let out a tired yawn, rubbing your eyes as you made your way to your room. The warm and comfortable bed awaited you, promising a peaceful night's rest.
The door opened with a small creek, the wodden floor echoing each step you took. You practically stripped yourself off your clothes. Grabbing one of your cozy night gowns you smoothly slid it on.
As you entered the room, the old wooden door creaked open, the sound echoing through the quiet space. The familiar scent of the room enveloped you, bringing a sense of comfort and relaxation.
With each step, the wooden floorboards groaned under your weight. Finally reaching your closet, you couldn't wait to change into something more comfortable. As you stripped off your clothes, you felt the tension of the day slowly dissipate.
Your hand reached for your favorite night gown, the soft fabric sliding smoothly over your skin as you slipped it on, instantly feeling at ease in your own home.
As you settled into the plush queen bed, you couldn't help but notice how dim the room was with the lights off. It was the perfect ambiance for a good night's sleep, and you were grateful for the extra blankets you packed.
The hotel's blankets were thin and barely provided any warmth, but luckily you came prepared. You closed your eyes and let the softness of the bed and the coziness of the blankets lull you into a peaceful slumber.
Satoru didn’t know if it was the alcohol in his system that made him do this or the fact that he genuinely wanted you.
Before getting drunk, he spent the whole night with Getous baby, rocking and playing with him. As he watched you hold the child, he couldn't help but feel a strange flutter in his stomach. Maybe it was the way your hair fell into place, or the pure joy he saw in your face as you interacted with the baby. He couldn't explain this feeling, but it was undeniable. It was in that moment that he realized he was falling for you, and it scared him.
Despite his dislike for alcohol, he found himself in an inebriated state, stumbling up the stairs to your room. He was usually a responsible and controlled individual, but today was different. He was grateful that his phone had little to no service, freeing him from the constant barrage of messages from Jiyuu.
He felt a sense of relief and freedom from her constant demands for his time and attention. However, deep down, he knew that this temporary escape would only lead to more problems in the long run.
He finally made it to the room, carefully navigating his way in the dark. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he stumbled on nothing but air, making sure not to trip over any obstacles in his path. Once he reached his destination, he quickly took off his shoes and closed the restroom door behind him. As he fumbled for the light switch, he could feel the familiar sting of bright light hitting his eyes. He took a moment to recompose his vision before continuing what he was doing.
As he stood in front of the bathroom sink, he turned on the cold water, the sound of it filling the room. He ran his fingers through the water, feeling its coolness against his skin. Taking a deep breath, he momentarily splashed his face with the water, feeling its refreshing touch. He then leaned in closer to the mirror, studying his reflection and the emotions that played across his face.
"Well fuck, I look like shit," he muttered to himself as he caught a glimpse of his tired reflection in the mirror. He had barely gotten any sleep nowadays, the bags under his eyes a testament to his hectic schedule.
Spending most of his nights either working his ass off or going over to Jiyuu's house and well, fucking her brains out. He couldn't deny that the physical release helped him relax and forget about his stress for a little while, but it was taking a toll on his appearance and overall well-being.
Thats all that seemed to happen in his life. Jiyuu would call him late at night for her needs, never once asking him how he was doing. Everything was rough with her, the sex was always aggressive and the kisses were forceful.
Even their relationship was characterized by constant arguments and tension. Every time he tried to talk to her about his feelings, she would brush him off and turn the conversation back to herself. It was clear that she only cared about her own needs and desires, leaving him feeling used and unfulfilled.
He couldn't believe it. As he walked into the bathroom, he saw his toothbrush already in the cup next to the sink. A wave of annoyance washed over him. "Of course," he scoffed, "the perfect little wife you were had to also pack the miserable husband things." But as he thought about it more, he realized that this small act was just another reminder of how much his wife cared for him.
You always made sure he had everything he needed, even if it was just a toothbrush.
As he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, he couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt wash over him. He knew he had treated you poorly, but in his mind, you were the reason for his strained relationship with Jiyuu. He loved her deeply, and the thought of losing her was unbearable.
Without another thought, he turned off the lights and closed the bathroom door, not caring about the freezing temperatures outside. Stripping off his shirt, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he had made a mistake, but he was too stubborn to admit it.
As he gazed at you, the soft glow of the moon enhanced your features, making your skin look radiant and your hair appear to shimmer. The gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed added to your allure, making him wonder how someone could look so effortlessly beautiful even in sleep.
He couldn't help but feel a pull towards you, admiring the peaceful expression on your face and the way your body seemed to fit perfectly into the bed. It was almost as if you were made for this moment, and he couldn't resist the urge to reach out and touch you, feeling the warmth of your skin and the gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath his fingertips.
Despite the late hour, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, captivated by the tranquil and alluring image you presented.
The moonlight cascaded over your exposed shoulders and collarbone, highlighting the curves and contours of your body. The strap of your nightgown had slipped off one shoulder, revealing more of your smooth, glowing skin. As he climbed into bed with you, he couldn't help but feel a rush of desire and anticipation. You eagerly wrapped your arms around Satoru, pulling him closer as the warmth of his body enveloped you.
He didn’t know why but here he was rock hard at just staring at your face.
He couldnt resist it anymore, slowly he placed his hand on top of your ass messaging the soft muscle.
Maybe it was the alcohol that made him want to fuck you so bad right now, or it was finally him excepting the fact that you were undeniably beautiful.
However, in this moment, his desire for you was too strong. He couldn't resist the temptation any longer. As he gently shook you, he knew he shouldn't be doing this, but he couldn't help himself. Satoru was usually calm and collected, never crossing boundaries with women.
Despite his loyalty to Jiyuu, he had been intimate with other partners in the past. But right now, none of that mattered. All he wanted was you.
Yeah they were attractive and good at sex but yet he never found himself waking them up just to put his cock inside of them.
“mmm,” you opened your eyes, your lips pinker than ever. In this moment Satoru couldn’t sworn that look alone made him cum.
"Shit, can I fuck you?" You were startled to say the least, but a part of you couldn't deny that you wanted this. Raising an eyebrow, you couldn't even form a coherent response before you felt Satoru's lips hungrily press against yours. His hands tangled in your hair as he deepened the kiss, sending shivers down your spine.
You couldn't help but moan in response, your body betraying your initial shock. Satoru pulled away, a smirk on his lips as he whispered, "I'll take that as a yes." And in that moment, you could practically feel your knees buckle.
Satoru guided his hands across your body, exploring every inch and leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. As he pulled you into another heated kiss, his lips moved with a fiery passion against yours. His hands trailed down to your lower back, giving a gentle squeeze that sent shivers down your spine.
You couldn't help but moan as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth. His touch was electric, igniting a fire within you that you couldn't resist.
You could feel your panties getting more wet by the second. His strong hands gripping your body.
"Satoru," you gasped as he continued to trail kisses down your neck, his hands roaming over your body.
"I can't get enough of you," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. "I want more," he growled, his lips finding yours again as he deepened the kiss.
"Me too," you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The two of you were lost in the heat of the moment, unable to resist each other any longer.
As his long fingers trailed down your body, they eventually made their way to your panties. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with each passing second, the anticipation of what was to come sending shivers down your spine.
He couldn't help but smirk as he saw just how drenched your panties were, a clear indication of how much you wanted him. Without hesitation, he moved the side of your panties and began to circle his thumb around your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.
You couldn't help but arch your back as his cold thumb made contact with your sensitive folds, the sensation only adding to the intense arousal you were feeling.
"You're so wet for me,"Satoru murmured, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he slid two fingers inside of you. Your pussy clenched around them, pleasure coursing through your body.
"Shit Toru.." you moaned, unable to contain yourself as his fingers expertly hit all the right spots. "You have to be quiet," he reminded you, his deep husky voice sending shivers down your spine. His lips found yours, silencing any further noises as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you.
The intensity of his touch and the forbidden nature of the situation only added to your arousal.
Satoru couldn’t deny his attraction towards you, the way you squeezed your eye shut when you were about to cum or the way your eyebrows creased each time he fucked you harder.
"You think I didn't notice you with the baby?" You opened your eyes, struggling to make eye contact with your husband as he continued to finger you.
He pulled his obnoxiously long fingers out of your drenching wet cunt and gave you a wicked smile. "Since you want to pretend to be a mommy so bad, I'll make you one." He unbuckled his pants, his hard cock practically twitching with excitement as he stared down at your pussy.
You couldn't help but feel a little nervous as he positioned himself between your legs. He rubbed his hard long cock on your entrance, biting your lip you moaned as he slowly began to enter you.
"God, you feel so good," he grunted, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "You're gonna be such a hot mommy," he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine
He began to fuck you, the sound of the bed squeaking and your skin slapping together filled the room. His toned abs flexed every time he entered you, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. You felt like you were on cloud 9, completely lost in the moment.
His strong hands gripped your waist tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust into you with a powerful force. Each time his cock filled you, it made you go crazy with ecstasy. You couldn't help but moan and whimper in pleasure as he took you with such intensity.
His dick twitched inside of your pussy, your walls clenching each time he slid in and out of you. "You're so big, Toru," you moaned, your eyes brimming with tears of pleasure. He was so huge, and you loved every inch of him.
His white hair was stuck to his sweaty forehead as he continued to fuck you, his body glistening with sweat. Suddenly, he grabbed one of your legs and swung it over his shoulder, changing the angle and hitting a spot inside of you that made you see stars.
He groaned, making eye contact with you and admiring how beautiful you looked taking in his huge dick. You could feel his cock twitching inside of you, signaling that he was getting close to his release.
"Mmm, babe….your tits are getting so…big," Satoru groaned as he squeezed and massaged your breasts, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. You moaned in response, your hands running through his hair as he trailed wet kisses down your neck.
"I can't wait to see how big they'll get when you're pregnant," he whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin. You arched your back, pressing your body closer to his as he continued to thrust into you with increasing fervor.
"Fuck, Mmm…Satoru," you gasped, the pleasure building inside you.
He chuckled darkly, his hand slipping down to your abdomen. "Just imagine how sexy you'll look with my baby growing inside you," he said, his voice low and husky with desire.
You whimpered as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, your body trembling with pleasure. "Please, Satoru, I need you to cum in me" you begged, your nails digging into his back.
He gave a feral growl in response, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he neared his release. "You're mine, baby," he grunted, his eyes locked on yours. "And I'm gonna make you a mommy." With one final, powerful thrust, he spilled inside you, sending you both over the edge into blissful ecstasy.
His hot semen filled your pussy, your legs twitching before he got off you and layed next to you.
Despite the numerous times you and your husband have had sex, this particular time felt different.
For the first time, there was a real sense of intimacy and connection between the two of you.
ps: had to cut this chapter short but i ended up changing the angsty part for chap 5, gotta give my girl y/n a break for whats about to come…
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Astrology observations
⊱┈──╌❊╌──┈⊰᯽⊱ :⊰᯽⊱┈──╌❊╌──┈⊰ :
I have collected and put some of my notes together to share here with everyone. I hope they’re relatable or you find them interesting.
I have Pluto in the 3rd house and am always fidgeting with my fingers and picking at my lips. It’s a habit that won’t stop help!!!
Virgo risings come off as sweet and naive and you’ll feel the compulsive need to tell them all of your secrets,be warned you don’t want them as your enemy they have Gemini Mc they’ll tarnish your reputation
Virgo rising talk too loudly and they don’t realise it. They have a problem of ghosting people that want to have one on one conversation with them thus being called rude or snobbish
Virgo risings are overly sexualised and it’s usually with random people that they never expected they’ll sleep with. They also can’t make eye contact with people when talking
Had a classmate with Mercury in Aquarius he wrote notes very fast. We liked to copy his notes and he didn’t make grammatical errors
Juno in Aquarius might have a dislike for marriage or traditional relationships.
It’s so often talked about how Pisces are delusional since they’re ruled by Neptune. But, actually Leo is the most delusional since they’re exalted in Neptune. (Tell me I’m wrong.)
Sagittarius moons are always passionate about some cause related to society eg. politics, lgbtq+ etc.
Sun in the 11th house probably don’t like to expose themselves publicly, that’s why they tend to make friends online. (12th house sun can be this way too.)
9th house stellium can indicate not relating to their birthplace or where they were raised.
Saturn in Gemini = your thoughts are holding you back.
Saturn in Leo = your ego is holding you back.
Saturn in Scorpio = your secrets are holding you back.
Mars in Aquarius have explosive tempers, remember that Aquarius is ruled by Uranus, the unstable planet par excellence.
Capricorn’s love language is all but touch. Most of them don’t like much physical contact.
Lilith square sun is a common placement in those people with abusive fathers/deeply wounded ego.
Mars conjuct MC or in the 10th house can experience others being intimidated by them for no reason. And others can get jealous whenever they achieve anything.
Opposite/sister sign ascendants can actually look strikingly similar in terms of physical appearance. (I.e; Capricorn rising and Cancer risings)
Capricorns can repress their emotions because every time they express their emotions they are antagonized. People will find a way to blame them for feeling-someway, somehow. Cancer is in their 7th-house of open enemies.
Aries moons can be very defensive. Any Aries placements seem to be overly self protective.
Lilith in the 2nd house can be an over indulgent placement.
Pisces moons have soft-spoken voices.
Chart ruler in 1st people are so in control of their own lives. I’ve always considered this a “manifestation” placement.
Chiron in the 11th house can have difficulty making friends.
Mercury in the 12th house can easily manifest whatever they speak.
Ruler of the 11th and the 5th house in the 3rd makes for someone who can easily imitate other peoples voices.
Mercury in 1st house say things that are totally out of concept. They tend to talk about themselves a lot too. (Mercury= communication and 1H= self)
Saturn in the 5th house likes historical genres, movies or documentaries.
The first born in the family can often share the same moon sign as one their parents.
Mercury dominant like the English subject and are good at dictations
The color pink has a strong connection to lunar energy. Moon in the 1st house, Cancer rising, or Cancer placements can like a lot of pink.
Gemini moons have some of the best sense of humor. They’re very witty and creative.
Pluto or Uranus in the 4th house can indicate feeling like the “black sheep” of the family.
The house your moon is in can show what area of life is the most unstable or changeable for you.
Moon in Pisces is the most sensitive placement.
I know many Aquarius moons who were all into photography or film at some point in their lives, tech seems to be a hobby of theirs and they are very tech savvy.
Those are all of my observations! please comment on any you related to or are curious about, I’d love to read them. Bye for now.
#art#astro notes#astro observations#astrology#astrology compatibility#astrology notes#astrology observations#astrology signs#birth chart#gaming#kpop aesthetic#kpop#kpop icons#kpop moodboard#kpop smut#bts#horoscope#zodiac signs#zodiac#natal chart#aesthetic#nail art#photography#fyp#lgbtq
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So mick or max
Heat/rut
Reader having been waiting for it and purposely flirting with others people to trigger it
(Driver doesn't Wang to mate cause he has seen how much in pain a human can be if mated to a wolf)
Now that has been thrownxoit the window
Reader being fucked seven ways to sunday, being mates cuaee they are literally begging for it 🫠👹👹
Throw ib some breeding kink and a worried driver afterwards and it is 👌🫶
I LOVE YOU
Hope you feel better 🫶🫶🫶
ILYYYYYY and I went with Max bc I don't write mick lol - also I haven't written abo in maybe three years so I'm a little rusty but damn I've missed it.
Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, smut, oral (fem!receiving), p in v, biting, hickies, breeding kink
Max could have killed her. Not literally, he loved her too much to let his instincts take over like that. Well, his instincts would have told him to protect her.
The way she was giggling with Daniel and hanging off of his arm, Max let the growl rip from his throat. How dare she even think about touching another Alpha.
But it wasn't her fault. She couldn't understand the surge of emotions he was feeling when she was so utterly human. But she was his human.
She turned to Max, batted her pretty eyelashes at him and walked away from Daniel. Max released a breath, but he didnt have long to stay calm. Because then she was walking towards Charles.
He may have been a Beta, but he shouldn't have been scenting her like that. What the fuck was he doing, pressing his nose against her neck like that? If only Max had the guts to claim her, Charles wouldn't dare.
When she made a move towards Esteban, a Beta Max didn't particularly like, he growl and grabbed a hold of her, practically throwing her over his shoulder like a ragdoll.
"Max!" She squeaked, almost excitedly. If she was like him, she would have been able to feel his anger. But she was too human for that.
Max carried her to his drivers room, not caring about the others around him. The world knew about his mate, since he simply couldn't stay away from her.
Once in his drivers room, Max set her down. "What do you think you're doing?" He growled, sticking his nose into her neck and scenting her. She smelt like Daniel and Charles, and he hated it.
The laughing and giggles had stopped as he stared down at her with his steely blue eyes. No, she had become almost sheepish under the stare of the big bad wolf. "I, uh, I heard that jealousy can trigger a rut," she mumbled under her breath.
"Liefde," he said through a groan, nosing at the spot where the mark of his claim over her should be. "Why on earth would you want to do that?"
She pouted at him as he pulled away. "You always say you race better after a rut."
Max let out a laugh, one that reverberated through his chest. "Can you let me get through this race weekend first? And then maybe it will come about naturally."
She knew what he meant. Triggering his rut now would stop him from racing all together. There would be no way to remove him from the bed, remove him from her cunt. Trigger his rut now and he wouldn't stop until his seed filled her belly.
She'd been through one rut with Max before. It was more intense than anything She'd ever been through before. But she loved it. Max, though, he'd been panicking, worried he'd been hurting her through his muddied brain.
She let him get through the weekend. Wore his shirt, his hat, made sure she smelt like him before he raced.
Of course, he won. Maybe it was his desperation to get back to her.
The moment he crossed the finish line, she was in his arms, kissing him the moment he took off his helmet. A win always meant sex, plus his rut was definitely coming.
Max couldn't wait to be done with all the usual formalities. The interviews, the podiums, the meeting with the team. He was irritable, desperate to get to where she was waiting in his hotel room.
As soon as he was done with everything, he made this way back to the hotel. He was rushing, desperate to get back to her.
If all of his flirting with Max's pack mates didn't trigger his rut, seeing her sitting on his bed in the prettiest little negligee certainly did. Maybe it was the smell of her that had a growl leaving his lips and his eyes flashing as he stared down at her.
Immediately he was tenting his pants. She just looked so goddamn pretty, he couldn't get enough. Immediately he pressed his lips to her own. For two seconds, it was sweet.
But then Max had taken over completely, his tongue in her mouth, lips bruising against her own. He moved his lips to her neck and began kissing down the right side. He paid special attention to where her mating mark should have been. But Max wouldn't give her that mark, not until he had a clear mind.
He didn't notice that his hips were grinding against her own. But she was whining as he did, gripping his shoulders.
If Max had more control over his own body, he would have pulled back, would have told her to get out and to let him take care of it on his own. But, in that moment, all he wanted was his girl.
She whined out his name as her fingers reached down to try and pull off his jeans. But the way he was holding her, she was unable to get a good grip. "Need you," she cried through a whine, hands returning to her hair.
Through his muddied mind, Max managed to understand her. Maybe it was because he was feeling the exact same thing. He popped the button on his jeans expertly (his gaming had left him with incredibly skilled fingers) and pulled down the zipper.
But he didn't free himself, not yet. First, he needed to taste her.
His fingers pulled up the material of her negligee, bunching it around her hips. The noise pulled from his lips was inhuman as his lips met the skin of her thigh. God, he loved it, loved noises she made as his lips got closer and closer.
The feel of his tongue running through her folds shouldn't have come as a surprise. But she still released a gasp. "All mine," he said against, the vibrations of his words sending a shiver through his body.
As he sucked at her clit, his fingers moved to penetrate her, the squelching sounds obscene as they filled the room. Her hips rolled against him, riding his fingers Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging and pulling. She cried out his name and he grunted.
Her movements were desperate and frantic as she chased her own release. Max had stopped moving his fingers, lips still working as he let her work herself on his fingers.
But Max didn't let her come undone. He pulled away from her, eyes flashing as he freed himself from his jeans. He pulled her close, holding her legs up to her chest. He pressed his nose against her neck and inhaled.
As his cock pushed through her folds, he pressed kisses against her neck. If he could have said anything other than 'mine' as he rutted against her, he would have told her he loved her.
He set a bruising pace as she felt his teeth against her neck. She couldn't say anything other than his name, leaving her lips like a prayer. He rolled his hips against her own again and again, the pace he set animalistic and bruising.
It didn't take long until she came undone beneath him, body shaking as her legs clamped around his middle. Incoherent babbles left her lips as Max kept going, gripping her so fucking tight.
"Gonna fill you up," he said between grunts. "Gonna breed you until you're full of my babies."
His teeth sank into the skin of her shoulder, not hard enough to break it, as he came. His hips stilled, but he didn't pull out, body half laying against her own.
When Max finally pulled out of her, he laid beside her and touched that spot on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, liefde," he whispered, fingers brushing the hickies and marks littering her skin.
The few minutes he had of clarity before he was ready to go again was spent cuddling. He was going to fill her over and over again for the next few days and, if she wasn't on birth control, there was no way she would have been coming out of this rut not pregnant.
#max verstappen#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen smut#max verstappen x reader smut#mv1#mv1 imagine#mv1 x reader#mv33#mv33 imagine#mv33 x reader#f1#formula one#f1 imagine#formula 1#f1 x reader#formula one imagine#formula one x reader#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#abo au#a/b/o au#abo!f1
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i hope this is appropriate to ask: what do you think of the members receiving oral? like the reader has some kind of oral fixation
Oh, bunny, what a naughty little girl you are. But then, we all have that, don't we? A little oral fixation. And here's how I see it.
Ateez and oral sex Part I
Holy Bibly version
Mingi: He loves it when you sucking his cock or when his tongue licks your cunt in equal measure, but it all depends on what mood he is in. It's always the same passionate and maybe a little rude, whether he's choking you with his dick, shoving it deep down your throat until you gag and start drooling all over it, or you're choking him with your pussy, sitting on his face as he eats you up like there's no tomorrow.
When you give him a blowjob, 9 times out of 10, it's always deep throat. He loves to see how hard you try to get his thick cock all the way into your mouth. He gets a kick out of the way your tight throat contracts around his length as you start to swallow. The kind of guy who makes sure he slaps his dick on your tongue before he puts it in your mouth. He also loves it when it's dirty and wet—the more slobber runs down his dick, the louder his moans become, developing into low growls. Mingi also has a lot of fun fucking your throat with your head hanging over the edge of the bed. He'll make sure he's got his hand around your throat to feel it bulging as he slides in and out. I think Mingi likes to come on your face and smear the cum all over your cheeks and lips, after which he will be sure to lick it off and pull you into a deep, slow kiss. His rudeness is due to the fact that he is very emotional and passionate; it is difficult for him to control his impulses. Mingi is also a very possessive guy, and he likes to show it during sex.
You can read about how Mingi gets drunk on pussy here 💟
Wooyoung: He definitely prefers eating pussy to blowjobs, but he'll never say no if you offer it to him. Another passionate lover, but unlike Mingi, he will be more gentle and, I think, emotionally dependent. He likes slow emotional sex, but at some point he may lose it and start fucking you roughly into the mattress.
Woo likes it when you look into his eyes and when your lips slide along the length of his dick. His gaze is so intense and focused that you want to close your eyes to avoid it. He will throw his head back and roll his eyes as he feels your lips close on the head of his cock. Super loud, especially when you start to lick his length, paying particular attention to the bulging veins on his cock. "Yeah, baby, that's it." Moaning and swearing as you take his dick all the way in your mouth. His hands tangle in your hair, tugging at the strands from time to time, making you moan and sending vibrations around his pulsing length. Sometimes he pulls your head away from his dick to kiss you, licking your mouth sweetly with his tongue and feeling the taste of him on your tongue. It may be disgusting, but he doesn't care. He loves coming into your mouth and watching you swallow his cum. "Show me, sweetheart," and you obey, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue so he can see that you swallowed every last drop of his cum.
As soon as he cum it will be your turn to squirm under his tongue, and damn, it will go on for hours. As I said, I think Woo enjoys giving pleasure to his partner more than receiving it—the way you moan his name as his tongue slides between your sensitive folds or the way your fingers get tangled in his hair as his plump lips wrap around your sensitive clitor, literally driving him crazy. He just wants to worship you with everything that he has, no matter where it is, when it is, or who sees it. It's also a very possessive act for him—Wooyoung is the only one who can kiss your pussy. This will definitely make him even more dedicated and passionate about his desire to eat you out.
Yunho: He makes me feel more like a receiver than a giver. Of course he doesn't mind sticking his tongue up your pussy, but for him, it's more of a warm-up than a full-fledged sexual act like with Wooyoung or some of the other members. He'd rather finger-fuck you and make you cum several times before he fucks your brains out thoroughly. I'm also of the opinion that he has a lot of fun fucking you if you're sensitive after multiple orgasms. But let's get back to blowjob.
Slow and deep—this is how he likes it. Yunho wants to see you crying as his whole massive cock goes down your throat until his heavy balls rest against your chin. Unlike other members, Yunho will be in complete control of the whole process, forbidding you to touch him. For him, there is nothing more pleasurable than to see you choking on his dick and gurggling and drooling as your nose rests against the warm, smooth skin of his pubis. He will pull your hair into a ponytail with one hand and wrap the other around your throat so he can feel how deep he is fucking you. With him, size training will take on a whole new meaning. He will moan low and softly as you swallow around his hot, thick length, and you could swear that he is going to enter you even deeper so that the head of his dick, swollen, and wet pre-cum is pushed into your oesophagus. Yunho never rushes you, first letting you slide his dick with your lips until it is wet and slippery from a mixture of your saliva and his pre-cum, then rubbing his reddened head against your tongue several times before slowly beginning to push his thick girth into your waiting mouth. Feeling the walls of your throat contract and flutter around his cock, as they tries to push it out of you will make him cum profusely, painting the walls of your larynx milky white.
Yunho would also love to finger-fuck your mouth, watching your tongue lick and wrap around his long appendages. He will definitely want to collect the sperm that pours out of your used pussy with his fingers, and he will order you to clean it up with your tongue. The sight of you carefully licking the cum from his fingers will get him all excited all over again, and the whole process will start all over again. One thing is for sure: sex with Yunho will never be in a hurry.
San: The ultimate prince of pleasure lives and breathes for your pleasure but also loves to be pampered by your attention. San loves getting a blowjob as well as eating your pussy. When you fuck, it can go on for hours and hours with full-blown orgasms from oral sex. San, like Yunho, is very interested in his partner's increased sensitivity after orgasm. So he will probably bring you to orgasm several times with his mouth and fingers before he really fucks you. 1000% super-emotional deep sex. He will fuck you roughly or gently; it doesn't matter; it will go on for hours and hours.
He likes it better when you focus your attention on the head of his dick—licking, kissing, sucking it like candy—rather than the deep throat, for example. But that doesn't mean he'll mind if you swallow his dick right down to the base. Endless praise: "My angel, you are doing so well." "Damn Chagiya, I love you so much." "That's it, kitty; lick it again; it's so damn good." San is quite sensitive, so he will let out a loud moan and roll his eyes as he tangles his fingers in your hair and guides your head. He also loves it when you give him a wet, dirty kiss on his thick length and run your tongue along the soft, velvety skin at the base of his cock. Bonus if you pay special attention to his balls by sucking or licking them with your tongue. The closer he gets to his orgasm, the louder he moans, and the more he regains control and starts to fuck your mouth. This type of man is going to put his hand on your head and stroke your skin with his thumbs as his cock slides in and out of your mouth. Usually he will come into your mouth and force you to swallow his cum, but he also likes to have his cum smeared all over your hands as you bring him to an orgasm by jerking his cock.
He is very industrious and passionate when he eats you. He leaves lots of kisses and hickeys on the inside of your thigh before licking your pussy, sliding his tongue between the wet, silky folds. He definitely enjoys sucking on your labia, and overall, San is more of a pussy kisser than a mediocre licker. He rubs your clit with his thumb while his tongue gently slides into your hole, catching the moisture that pours out of you. "Princess, you are so sweet." "I could eat you for days, my angel, and it wouldn't be enough." "I want to feel your taste on my tongue forever." San throws your legs over his shoulders as he eats you, literally burying himself in your cunt. He almost purrs with pleasure when he hears you moaning his name and burying your fingers in his hair, pressing his face even closer to your pussy. He will be very happy to die between your legs, suffocated by your pussy. He will make you cum at least three times on his tongue before he fucks you. San will lick up every last drop before pulling you into a kiss. "I want you to taste yourself, my love.".
#ateez smut#kpop smut#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#ateez fanfic#atz smut#smut#seonghwa smut#hongjoong smut#san smut#yunho smut#mingi smut#jongho smut#wooyoung smut#yeosang smut#seonghwa x reader#hongjoong x reader#mingi x reader#san x reader#wooyoung x reader#yunho x reader#jongho x reader#yeosang x reader#ateez unholy hours#park seonghwa smut#ateez fanfiction#ateez scenarios#ateez hard thoughts#ateez hard hours
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ohhh i may have an idea for your polyamorous thing, what about the reader trying to soft launch her relationship with carlando but people keep thinking they’re just a group of very close friends or they think that she is only dating one of them and the other is just their friend so she gets tired of people not taking the hint and just ends up hard launching? maybe at a grand prix weekend?
captions ⋆ carlando smau
pairing: carlando x reader
summary: carlos, lando and you had been dating and soft launching each other for almost two years, and carlos just got bored of people thinking you're just friends.
warnings: some suggestive comments
a/n: not the biggest fan of lando EXCEPT when carlos is around so i loved doing this so much. also, it's my first smau, pls tell me what you guys think about it <3
masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd
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yourusername spent a few days watching this two drive in circles very fast (+ kiki)
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user1 NEW CARLANDO PHOTO JUST POSTED
user2 thank u y/n for feeding us with all this carlando content
landonorris dry ass caption
yourusername at least i post you you dumbass
user1 never beating couple allegations
user3 carlos must be so tired of third wheeling them
user4 THAT IS THE CUTEST DOG I'VE EVER SEEN
francisca.cgomes i'll never forgive you for naming your dog almost like me
yourusername it's my love language ok
landonorris you could've named it lando or smth
yourusername i'll change her name to nowins 💋
landonorris wait wat
carlossainz55 👑
landonorris ok i'll correct myself THIS is dry
carlossainz55 you muppet
yourusername at least he comments good things ??
user5 their friendship is top tier
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user1 here before y/n
user2 NOT LANDO SOFT LAUNCHING CARLOS
user3 i'm dying
user4 i don't wanna start something but that aren't lando's arms in the third picture
user5 it scares me that you can recognize lando's arms...
user6 girl go touch some grass
yourusername and i'm the one getting called dry
landonorris i didn't want you to feel bad bout you're boring caption 💛
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yourusername you guys could've win at least
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landonorris isn't a podium not enough for you?
yourusername no
landonorris yeah idc what you think
yourusername THEN WHY U ASK i'm changing to red bull they'll give me more emotional stability
maxverstappen1 please stay there i don't want to have lando in the garage looking for you
user1 cute cute cute friendship
user2 call me crazy but...
user3 but WHAT GIRL?
user2 lando soft launching carlos and posting the picture of y/n with another boy (definitely carlos), and them posting each other anytime they can
user4 girl they're just friends
user5 yeah they've been knowing each other for a long time, they're just very close
carlossainz55 our biggest supporter 💛💛
yourusername always 💛
user2 OUR biggest supporter? them using the same heart lando used in a previous post?
user6 paranoid
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carlossainz55 💛💛💛
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user1 WAIT OMFG
user2 CARLOS HARD LAUNCHING LANDO AND Y/N I TOLD U GUYS
user3 they're all dating?
user4 isn't that obvious
yourusername cute dog
carlossainz55 Hermosa we talked about calling Lando our dog
landonorris she meant kiki you muppet
yourusername no i actually meant you baby
user4 y/n won the game with this two
user5 now i know how true jealousy feels like
yourusername my pretty boyss 💛
carlossainz55 🥰🥰
landonorris dream rides 🤩
yourusername lan-
carlossainz55 I'm going to ban Lando from this app
user3 LANDO LMAOOOO
user6 CARLOS AND KIKI ARE THE CUTEST AHGDJKJHFSA
charlesleclerc so happy for you guys
user7 charles approves
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yourusername your dream girl's dream boys
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carlossainz55 First
landonorris he's so obsessed
carlossainz55 Yeah
landonorris now THAT is a good caption
francisca.cgomes ok cutiess
danielricciardo Y/N blink twice if you need help
landonorris shut the fuck up she's totally fine with us
yourusername save me pls
user2 does she even have a job?
landonorris serving cunt?
carlossainz55 Being the most beautiful woman in the world?
yourusername i'm a publicist but yeah mostly what they said
user3 you're so iconic for this
#f1#formula 1#f1 fanfic#f1 fluff#noraverse 🫧#formula 1 one shot#f1 x oc#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 x female reader#f1 fic#f1 imagine#carlos sainz#lando norris#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz one shot#carlos sainz jr#carlos sainz imagine#smau#f1 smau#carlos sainz smau#carlos sainz x you#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#carlos sainz x y/n#ln4#ln4 x reader#ln4 imagine
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hii uhh, i had a little idea that id like to share if thats ok, it might be quite triggering tho so be warned ‼️
a sinner demon reader thats based on a teddy bear, because theyre too soft and mushy personality-wise, and they ended up in hell due to being suicidal. like their whole body is covered in stitches thats supposed to be a metaphor for sh scars
do whatever u want with that info, u can even ignore it if u like, have a nice day ❤️
Hazbin Hotel Cast with a Teddy Bear!Sinner Reader
Includes: Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Niffty, Sir. Pentious, Cherri Bomb, Alastor.
A/N: this is such an interesting idea! I’m going based on my own experiences as someone like this, along with research. I appreciate you for trusting me with this <3 I definitely WILL make a p2!! Might write for this sinner more tbh I loved writing them!! I thought you meant a child and I wrote that I’m so sorry 😭
Charlie Morningstar
She truly didn’t understand why you were in hell.
You are such a sweetheart! She adores you.
When you showed up to the hotel one day, without clothes and covered in stitches, she was immediately worried.
She took you in and washed you up as best as she could.
You were like a child! Why were you even here?
She was happy that you wanted to be redeemed, however.
She became a mother figure to you.
You go to her when you’re sad and you hug her frequently.
She traces your scars sometimes and you two share a silent moment together.
A silent moment of understanding.
She loves picking you up and holding you!
She hugs you like you’re an actual teddy bear.
She’s the one you go to for emotional things.
She’s good at comforting you. She somehow knows what you wanna hear at all times.
Vaggie
She became a secondary mother figure to you.
She was Charlie’s girlfriend, so of course she was.
She understood your situation and was pissed heaven casted a sweetie like you because of your lowest point.
She’s the more levelheaded one.
She’s the one who gives you advice and stuff like that. While Charlie is the more emotionally supportive one, Vaggie is the more mature and steady one.
She also traces your scars. Even if you don’t like them, she tells you you’re beautiful no matter what.
When you told her more of your story, she almost cried.
A child feeling this way broke her to pieces. Especially since you were so soft.
Other than the sad stuff, she loves cuddling you.
You, her, and Charlie sometimes have cuddle sessions with you in the middle because you’re so warm + soft + squishy.
She would kill anyone for you. You’re just so adorable!
She tries to teach you to fight but gives up when you don’t want to hurt anyone.
Angel Dust
Honestly, he saw himself in you.
A lost, scared, and lonely child. You didn’t know the cruelties of the world, aside from those cruelties in your mind.
He tries his best to comfort you. He’s not the best with words, but he’s always there for you.
He calls you sugar bear! He loves you to death.
He would go to the ends of hell for you.
He treats you like he wished to be when he was the same way.
You two share a lot of similarities, so you bond well.
He nearly cried when you told him your stitches were scars from sh.
He embraces you any time he can.
He tries to be the parental figure he needed so you can have a better life, somewhere no one would judge you.
Husk
He’s stubborn, like a dad. He acts like one too.
A hardheaded, yet sweet dad.
He’s like the father you never had. Or did have. Whichever.
He’s the bartender, so he knew how to comfort.
But when you told him your story, he almost broke.
You two definitely sing some sort of song together. Maybe Angel or Vaggie joins.
He cuddles you and hides you with his wings.
If you give him baby doe eyes, he might just take you on a flight.
Husk is SUPER protective over you. He’s very similar to Vaggie in a way when it comes to protection.
He gives you good advice but he still hides behind his tough guy exterior.
He doesn’t understand why you’re down here, even if you tell him. You’re so sweet!
Either way, he adores you.
He loves patting your head and messing with your fuzzy ears.
Might even boop your nose once or twice.
Late night talks.
He probably talked you down from trying to commit again.
Niffty
Another tiny person! Yay!
You’re not a bad boy. She may be a psycho, but she would never call you bad.
Actually, she did once and felt bad once you cried.
She likes to hang out with you since you’re both tiny!
She cuddles and hugs you like you’re her stuffed animal.
Bug killers! Even if you don’t wanna kill bugs, she’s dragging you along anyways.
She tries to hide her needle from you since Husk told her what your stitches meant.
Alastor has to babysit both of you basically.
You and her do almost everything together! You’re best friends!
She sneaks into the kitchen and grabs you both snacks so you can watch a movie.
She makes you sleep in her bed sometimes so she can cuddle you.
Sir. Pentious
He’s a dad. Or, he was.
He treats you like he wishes he treated his son before he passed.
He acts like your father. An awkward father, but he still tries.
He also protects you.
Expect him to curl his tail around you and cuddle you when you’re sad.
He literally cried when you told him your story.
He tells you anytime he can that it’s not your fault. Your stitches are still beautiful.
Best girl dad ever.
Buys you anything he wants, even if he’s broke. (Except sharp things)
He teaches you some things about inventing!
You made him a little metal flower and he was so overjoyed. He took it with him everywhere.
He still remembers you, even if he’s in Heaven now.
Cherri Bomb
Chaotic auntie energy.
She would do ANYTHING for you.
She picks you up and places you on her hip like a baby.
She loves your ears! She also adores how sweet you are.
She wouldn’t admit it, but you’re the cutest thing she’s ever seen.
Even if you tell her your story, she wouldn’t see you differently. You’re a child, a child who went through so much.
Hangouts with her and Angel are a MUST.
They try to avoid doing the normal around you and focus on fun time.
She took you with her when she had a territorial fight one time and you almost cried.
She felt so bad that she bought you anything you wanted for a week.
She did anything you wanted to do, even if Husk or someone else said no to you.
Basically, if you wanted something, you went to her.
Alastor
He’s not one to like kids, really.
He was, however, kinder to you.
He did anything to protect you.
He was like your insane uncle.
He was the one who taught you how to use your abilities. Maybe to help you, or to manipulate you when you grow.
He made you jambalaya once and it became your favorite dish to share with him!
He introduced you to radio and he was happy that you loved it.
He started bringing you to his studio whenever he did a radio show.
He took you to an overlord meeting once. That’s how you met Rosie.
He pats your head like a dog lol.
Don’t expect him to be emotionally available. But he will be there to have fun sometimes.
#hazbin hotel x reader#helluva boss x reader#hazbin hotel#helluva boss#charlie x reader#hazbin charlie#charlie morningstar#vaggie x reader#vaggie#angel dust x reader#hazbin hotel angel dust#angel dust#husk x reader#hazbin hotel husk#husk hazbin hotel#niffty x reader#niffty#nifty hazbin hotel#nifty#hazbin nifty#sir pentious x reader#sir pentious#cherri bomb#cherri bomb x reader#hazbin alastor#alastor x reader#alastor#teddy bear#Teddy bear reader#sinner reader
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man laios and toshiro's/shuro's dynamic is incredibly compelling to me on multiple levels
when you look at them, you can see the cultural and personal barriers that drive almost every single aspect of their relationship, both positively and negatively. laios is incredibly outspoken and driven by his passions, which he expresses freely even in the face of annoyance and/or criticism- he's allowed to be as authentically himself as he pleases, and it's this drive that allows him and the others to survive as long as they have, especially due to the fact that these passions and interests are intertwined with his skills as a dungeon diver. toshiro, in contrast, is incredibly reserved, not only due to his eastern upbringing but also his status as nobility- a combo of cultures that both demand that one save face, to avoid conflict at any cost, even at the expense of one's own feelings and individuality. this, in turn, has made toshiro the perfect samurai, as he's politely-spoken, agreeable, and an honorable, skilled man. both are also incredibly devoted to falin on different levels, having come to accomplish the same mission of her rescue despite drifting apart from the party.
on the flipside, it's these same strengths that cause them to clash- laios is outspoken but unable to truly decipher the emotions of others, leading to a lot of false assumptions and frustration from those who interact with him. toshiro is stoic but to the point of complacency, leading to a aggressively neutral disposition that's ushered by the needs and wants of others, rather than himself. neither man truly knows where they stand with the people important to them in their lives, and hold the ones that they do know how they feel with a fierce admiration expressed in ways that aren't always traditional.
in the end, they both share a growing feeling of isolation from other people that comes to a head when they meet again in the depths of the dungeon, and they both have different ways of coping with the frustrations that arise, seeing the other as only the things they have seen face to face.
it's laios' ability to express himself emotionally without consequence that sparks jealousy in toshiro, leading to a physical fight born out of miscommunication and envy. while toshiro is a driving force in the conflict, it should be noted that the actual fight is started by laios, breaking the dam of indirect communication through force. nothing is more direct than a slap to the face, and it's only after they start hitting each other that toshiro's true feelings come to light.
however, at the end of it all, toshiro is the one who stops torturing himself, listening to laios and giving him the bell, allowing laios and his party entrance into his homeland should they need it, and ultimately giving him support in his mission to defeat the dungeon mage, albeit in his own way. despite it all, they're still good friends with a conflict that boiled over, but came out the other end with a slightly better understanding of each other. the fight was painful for both of them, but it was a necessity for their dynamic to improve, and for them to be made aware of their faults and improve as individuals as well.
but also, if you think about it, their dynamic is literally just this
#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#laios touden#laios dungeon meshi#toshiro nakamoto#shuro#shuro dungeon meshi#character analysis#anyways toshiro haters with surface level takes get the hell off my lawn boy#i hope you know this entire character analysis was born out of the realization that i'd seen this dynamic before in a different light#and i thought. man. what is the funniest comparison i could make here rn. and i'm still right abt it btw#oh yeah also of course the autism read is still there#as an autistic person myself they don't read at all like neurotypical v autism. they read a LOT more like autism v autism#you know how people with autism either get along REALLY well with other people with autism or repel each other with a force#yeah they're basically that. to me#reading toshiro as autistic with the immigrant lens btw makes him even more compelling to read that way#but that is an analysis for another time#man i missed writing these#dungeon meshi spoilers
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girl who has suffered more than alll-mer
(ID in alt text)
#fear and hunger#fear and hunger termina#fear and hunger 2#samarie fear and hunger#fear and hunger samarie#samarie#doodles#mine#so hard to tag for a mononymic character. girl get a last name. domek is right there#these are the three samarie emotions: yearning radiating and Abject Misery#she also gets an emotional support mini-rina. it's what she would have wanted#took a 5-hour crash course in funger bc i saw marina's moonscorched. ended up feeling so strongly for samarie i had to exorcise it thru art#you can't put a pathetic sopping wet shaking unhinged little creature in front of me and expect me not to itch to treat her kindly for the#first time ever in her life#poor little unloved lamb let me keep you and coddle you and cover you in blood. let me give you one good day like a mouse soon to be fed to#a pet snake. let me feed you to the snake regardless.#anyway. the psychic attacks i've been fielding bc of samarina have been relentless. can unwell teen girls stop reflecting my life circa#junior high school. thanks
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helen ; chapter five
be seeing you
Si vis pacem, para bellum.
Or, the choice.
series masterlist | my masterlist
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship, sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, tess cameo, childhood/religious trauma, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST, bamf miller bros, smut, fingering, joel is an emotional munch, shower sex, unprotected PIV, handjob, male whimpering, conflicting emotions, orgasms aplenty, Big Angst and Big Sad but also Big Epiphanies, ambiguous ending, i'm getting emotional writing these tags, it feels so final, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika
word count: ~ 9.3k
a/n: hi, friends. i can't believe we're already at the end of the main story, and tbh if i think about it too much i'll probably cry. i want to thank @cavillscurls for beta reading this chapter as always and giving me the guidance and support i need. we'll have an epilogue after this chapter, so there's still more to look forward to, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy and thank you so so much for reading. xoxo
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Her eyes are so sad, you think, stepping back to take in the full scope of the canvas. It’s doused in paint from corner to corner, still wet to the touch, the woman and her lover intertwined so thoroughly that it’s difficult to tell where they both end. It’s in shades of glum blue and flecks of angry red and brown where his eye watches you. But it’s her eyes that cannot lift to meet yours. It’s her lashes that fan across her cheeks as she casts her gaze toward the bottom edge where the canvas is wrapped taut around the wood.
The sun will soon rise, but you haven’t slept. The contours of the sky are washed in a haze of greys and pale blues and light pink and the air smells warm, heavy—a storm about to roll in. The clouds on the horizon are thick with a blackening rage. You sit in the alcove by the window and put your temple to the cool glass. You yawn. Joel does not come back.
“Do you think it's true,” you asked him one night, your head on his chest, hand on his heart, “that art makes nothing happen?”
Joel, drawing shapes on your back, dozing off in the golden light of the sunrise, frowned. “Someone tell you that?”
“It's something my art teacher used to say,” you told him. “No matter how much it moves people, it doesn't do anything.”
“Your art teacher sounds like a fuckin’ downer.”
You laughed, hiking your thigh up over his hip and playfully biting his jaw. “So it's bullshit?”
“I think,” said Joel, tucking his chin to kiss the top of your head, “that your art makes people feel. It brings ‘em together. It's important because it's yours.”
You propped your head up on his chest and threaded your fingers through his too-long hair, overdue for a trim. A curl draped over his forehead, his beard patchy and soft under the pads of your fingers. “Sometimes I wonder why you chose me,” you said. “I wonder why the universe brought you to me.”
Joel shook his head, guiding his rough, callused fingers up your arm, curling them around your wrist, gently prodding your veins. “Wasn't the universe,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t a choice. I was yours the second I saw you. So, I guess it's your fault.”
You just rolled your eyes and kissed him, mouth to smiling mouth.
Your paintings may be yours, made with life and energy and colour, but when they are finished, they don’t move. They are stagnant as a heavy rock beneath a cliffside, washed over and over again by the cresting waves, its salt stolen for the water, eternal damnation to a fate of non-movement. And sometimes an artist will walk under the cliff, shove their easel into the fleshy ground the way a man erects his country’s flag in the earth he has stolen, and paint the rock. The artist is moved by the breathtaking colours of the shore and the way the wind flutters through the grass. But the rock does not budge. It never will.
Your art will never erupt from the boundaries of the canvas and tell you what it means. The lovers in your painting will not tear open their mouths like the seams holding a wound together. They will not tell you what they want, need, crave. They are you, and that is what you hate—because dimpled flesh and lustful fingers and the press of his mouth to her throat cannot tell you what you’re supposed to do.
You had become complacent in his love for you. You had let him press his worn hands to your body and pull your soul out through his mouth and you had been a wife, while all the time there was a stranger who occupied his heart, a spirit in an abandoned body. All the time, he'd been haunted. And although you had loved him, your love had not been enough to exorcise the guilt and trauma, pecking at him, an eagle at his liver.
Crossing the room and sitting back down in front of the easel, you press your fingers to the corner of the canvas. The paint is cool to the touch, and you leave behind fingerprints where your signature should be. Pulling your hand back, you examine the accumulation of colour, the blues and reds swirling into the deep purple of a bruise, the bodies on a canvas that may only ever mean something to you, and you wonder, Is this all I am? A cautionary tale, a love lost? A fucking footnote at the end of a clause that reads: “See, for example, the one who never loved deeply enough to make it count”?
You bring your hand to your face to wipe away the tears beneath your eyes and blink hard at the sting, realising you’ve smeared paint across your cheekbones.
In the bathroom, you scrub furiously, the cloying scent of it clinging to your throat and your tear ducts, washing away the evidence of their entwined bodies, their love, your pain.
Once, you tried to get Joel to paint. You sat behind him on your bench, your legs bracketing his hips, your paintbrush in his hand.
“I don’t know where to start,” he said.
Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. “There’s no rulebook.”
He tried to turn his head and kiss you, but you nipped his ear in reproach. “Remember when you took me out driving at the airstrip because you wanted me to feel the road? Think of this like feeling the canvas. Go on, cowboy. Make nothing happen.”
Joel’s painting still hangs over your shared bed. The intruders never found it, or never cared enough to destroy it. It’s a candle, just a candle, its lines imprecise, the paint unevenly applied in places, the shine of the flame more orange than yellow. But it’s a painting, so the candle always burns. He titled it Love.
The pain still sits low in your chest, pulling down your heart as if tied to it by a string. But Joel is still out there, fighting his way back to you, the way he always has, always will. You look down at your left hand, clutching the edge of the marble vanity, and decide to clean your wedding ring.
“I’m sorry, brother,” says Tommy, turning the gun on Joel.
“What the fuck are you doing?” growls Joel, struggling against his bonds. The clip rattles faintly in his brother’s hand as a tremor courses through him.
“He’s following my orders,” says Cabrera, clapping his hand down on Tommy’s shoulder. “Fascinating what a man will do when he must consider his family’s well-being.”
Joel sucks on his teeth, his eyes not once leaving his brother.
“It's my son,” Tommy says through his teeth. “It's Maria. If I don't do this—”
“Yeah? You gonna kill me, Tommy? Is that why your hand’s shakin’?”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” his brother snaps. “You think I want to do this? I gotta save my family, Joel. You know what that's like.”
“All I’ve done for you,” says Joel, his hands curling into fists behind his back, “and you put a bullet in my head?”
“Not just your head, Joel,” says Cabrera. “When we're done with you, we’ll take your pretty girl as payment for my son’s life.”
Joel growls like a dog, blood roaring in his ears. “Kill me yourself, you goddamned coward. Kill me yourself and don’t you mention my wife again, or I swear to Christ—”
“You take His name in vain a lot for a nonbeliever,” says Cabrera, pulling his sleeves through his coat and setting his teeth as he looks toward Tommy once more. “Do it.”
“Yeah, brother,” Joel says darkly, “do it.”
Tommy nods once, planting his foot and pivoting. Five distinct sounds of handguns cocking echo throughout the warehouse as Tommy points the barrel between Manuel Cabrera’s eyes.
“Now that I’ve got a gun to your head,” he says evenly, “you can go ahead and pull that contract.”
Joel at last twists his wrists free of the ropes that bind them and shucks down the sleeves of his jacket to rub the raw skin. Not one soul does a goddamn thing to stop him as he rises to his feet. His chest heaves, his open lungs coarse and wet with a brittle rage, his exposed heart throbbing red, transparent as the stained glass windows of the church.
God does not tolerate anger, said the Sisters, again and again, bringing down the whip across his back. Sinew and bone and skin peeling back to lay bare some tender part of him they sought to rot out. Put your energy into His worship.
Slowly, Cabrera lifts his hands, sneering. “Your wife,” he warns, “and your unborn son—”
“Are family,” says Tommy. “Just like my brother. Now tell your guys to put down their guns and I won't kill you where you stand.”
Joel joins Tommy at his side. “Took you long enough,” he says under his breath.
“Got held up,” he says. “Your wife’s a good artist.”
“Yeah, whatever. You bring me a gun?”
“I’m sure you can find one yourself.”
“Jesus, Tommy. I’m too old for this.” Joel turns to Cabrera and glares at the same stubborn arrogance that once gleamed in his son’s eye. “You pull the contract, and I’ll leave for good.”
Cabrera’s laugh weans out in the air like rings of smoke. “You think you can really leave, Joel? You think that there won't be consequences for what you've done to my son?”
“Yeah,” says Joel, “I think I’ll take my chances.”
“And you?” Cabrera’s lip curls up at Tommy, whose gun no longer wavers in his grasp. “I promised your wife and child security. You’re willing to throw that away?”
“My wife and child are safe because I don’t take deals from men like you,” says Tommy. “You trusted a Miller to turn on his own blood, Manuel. That was stupid. Now pull the contract.”
“So this is your great suicide mission.” Cabrera smiles, a man who knows he has lost or a man who still expects not to. “A man who has seen Hell does not willingly descend back into its depths—not unless he likes the taste.”
Joel feels the corner of his mouth twitch, a wound on his cheek reopening. “Maybe I do,” he says plainly. “Maybe it’ll taste even better when I take you down with me.”
The gleam in Cabrera’s eye shifts as his gaze flickers behind Tommy. Night has since descended, and yet the predator’s eye glints in anticipation of the hunt. Joel turns and shoves his brother out of the way—just as the shot rings out.
He hears Tommy’s breath punch out of him as they both hit the concrete hard. Joel tears the handgun from his brother’s grasp and puts a bullet between each of the two men behind them. He rolls behind one of the hulking bodies and holds up his weight as a shield against the incoming bullets. Tommy takes the dead man’s gun and fires at the remaining three assailants. Only one shot misses, but Joel sends his brother a look anyway and finishes the job.
“Rusty,” grunts Tommy, pushing himself to his feet.
Joel grimaces as he accepts his brother’s outstretched hand, his wrists bleeding from the relentless rub of the ropes. “He ran,” he says, grinding his teeth. “Goddamn coward. Just like his son.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome, by the way,” says Tommy, giving Joel the dead man’s gun and snatching back his own. “Saved your ass.”
“And he got away.” Joel kicks his chair, and the clattering echo of metal reverberates like a choir off the cavernous walls. His hands flex, open, closed, open, closed, until they make tight fists and he can see nothing but red and the silver moon mocking him through the broken windows high above.
“Joel…”
For a moment, he hears the young boy his brother once was, whispering across their shared bedroom to him in the middle of the night when they were both meant to be asleep.
Joel… Are we going to be okay?
“I gotta finish it, Tommy,” he says quietly, his hands shaking loose. Parts of him bite and sting, touched by new and old wounds alike, and he wants to come crawling home to you. He wants to curl into your side and wash away the blood in your cleansing pool, daisy and honeysuckle, some faraway field where you are the warden, where he knocks on the door to be let in, to be gathered, covered in white, buried, unearthed.
“Was he right?” asks Tommy. “Do you… enjoy this?”
Joel casts his eyes toward the ground, his trembling hand, the gleaming band on his ring finger, his skin speckled with blood but the metal pristine. “I don’t know,” he says.
This is who you are, Cabrera would tell him. The Sisters: Your place is here, under God, under His word. And God Himself, silent as the air, the ringing in his ears only ever quieted by the soft brush of your knuckle across his cheek, the whisper of My Joel in his ear.
“Think hard on it,” says Tommy, “because you may like it, but you’ve gotta consider if your revenge is worth more than what you’ve already got. And if you choose wrong, Joel, you’re gonna lose no matter what.”
A figure leans stone-still against the wall by the hotel room door, the gleam of a blade in the soft light the only indication that it is not a mere shadow.
“Hey, kid,” says the apparition.
Joel nods in greeting. “Tess. Could get in trouble with that knife out in the open.”
“You expect me to keep your girl safe with just my fists?”
“You make it sound like you couldn’t.” Tess snorts, and Joel places fifteen gold coins in her waiting palm. “I appreciate you doing this.”
Tess peels away from the wall. “You and your brother are paying me good money to babysit a door. I think I can live without the thanks.”
“Still,” he says, “you did us a solid.”
Tess, who itches at the prospect of gratitude as much as any other gun-for-hire, shrugs. “Everyone’s saying you’re coming back. That true?”
“Just visiting,” says Joel. “On my way out soon.”
Tess flips one of the coins and turns it over and over across her knuckles, evidence of a restless energy that’s always made Joel’s eye twitch. “One way or another, huh?” she says.
“One way or another.” He shakes her hand and watches her retreat down the hall, still twirling the godforsaken coin, before he turns toward the door. Joel presses his forehead briefly to the cool wood and turns the key to seek the field that awaits him.
A key rustles in the door and Joel steps through, closing it gently behind him. Judging by the quiet click of the lock, he expects you to be asleep, but you jolt upright from your seat in the alcove and cross the room toward him.
He meets you halfway, his right hand flexing at his side. You inspect him: the gash on his cheek, the bruise on his jaw, the blood splattered on his white shirt. He makes no footfalls as he walks but you can hear every stride like thunder between your ears. You feel his hand at the back of your neck, cool from the night air, rough as the underside of a shark’s belly.
The moment coils taut between you as your hand reaches up to grab the lapel of his jacket, and he smells of iron, cologne, Joel, some paint. Maybe that smell is you, stuck underneath your fingernails, embedded in your blood. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe you could never help but fall, maybe it never mattered anyway, and you’re already snipping the final thread, unwinding the spool, and kissing Joel Miller like it’s the first time.
He let out a small groan, tasting the first drop of water in a drought, steadying you with his arm around your waist, his hand cradling your head. He’s gentle, exploratory, careful not to jostle, to shock you out of it. You feel his heartbeat thud, strong, calm, steady behind his clothing and skin and muscle, and your body caves.
It’s coming home, you realise, your arms snaking around his neck, fingers tousling the messy curls on his head. It's the warm press of his hand to your spine where it begins to curve inward. It's a soft mouth, a plush lower lip, made for slow mornings and black coffee, for the aching release of a thumb pressing deep into a muscle knot, a wound. Old aches soothed in the space where bodies meet, beginning to colour the slate-grey world.
It’s the exchange of gasping breaths when you pull apart, his mouth still vaguely chasing yours, opposite charge.
You hold him tighter, swallowing the lump in your throat, your hands squeezing his shoulders. "Are you…"
Joel inclines his head. "Yeah."
"Did he..."
"Yeah."
Need pulses. Supernova. Bright as the moment of obliteration. "Can you—"
He nods vigorously. "Yeah."
Joel’s kisses are like raindrops: velvet-soft to the touch—his hands bringing the hem of your shirt up over your head, his fingertips scorching, branding, grazing the supple swells of your breasts—before the crescendo roars in your ears and he loses himself to the storm. He always does.
There is nothing reserved about the way he shows his love. Lightning crackles across your skin where he touches you, baring you to him, his lips making a map of you, mouthing at your jaw, your throat. You hear yourself hum at the press of his lips to the spot beneath your ear, detaching from your own body, absconding with the pleasure of being close to him and leaving the fucking world behind.
Joel staggers forward so he can press you to the wall and begins to sink to his knees. Your breath catches as he pulls down your ratty bottoms, your cotton panties, his mouth burning into your hips and your belly and the ring on your finger.
“Joel,” you say brokenly as he clutches your fingers. Tears prickle, pressure building behind your nose, and he shakes his head, unfurling your palm like a bud in bloom and kissing its heel. Wordlessly, you watch him, your eyes shuttering, blood singing.
Don't hurt me again.
He understands even though the words cannot come alive on your tongue. He squeezes your hips, his thumbs dumpling your flesh, his forehead falling to your belly.
“I’m yours,” he says. “I’m whatever you want.”
Your legs haven't forgotten the way they part so easily for him, one thigh on his shoulder, opening the core of you to his waiting mouth. His lips part, his tongue wetting them, glistening, and your stomach tightens at the sight of his eyes so black.
You could easily cower. His hands are stained with blood. His knuckles are split. But your terror has become an arid thing, no kindling to burn, no oil to ignite. Watching him now, as eager to please as he always has been or maybe more so, on his knees like a supplicant, the hairs on your arms do not rise in apprehension. Your body does not squirm in fear. You see a broad horizon, the sun outside spilling its golden blood over the city, and you see all of him in a way you never did before.
He’s Joel, who grew up in darkness, lashed and beaten for not believing in a false god. He’s a man who has lied and killed and yet he is no liar, no killer. He holds you as he always has, your body liquid in his hands, your mouth proclaiming the word he will follow. You're the truth he's always told.
It still unsettles you to see the dark eclipse that warm brown, to watch his desire consume the hypnotic shapes in his irises, and wonder if that cavernous black was the last thing so many men saw before he snuffed out their lives. But there's nothing of the death shudder in the way you guide your fingers through his hair and beg him—
“Please.”
He brings his mouth to your core and parts your folds with his thumbs, slowly gliding his warm, wet tongue through your slit. You die a hundred little deaths in the split-second of that first touch, that first agony.
You sigh, your head thudding against the wall as he licks through you, his hands holding your hips in place, keeping you from writhing. Joel flicks his tongue over the sensitive pearl of your clit, the pleasure searing, and you tug at his curls to push him away even as you cry out, More, please, please. God, I need more.
He obeys you as easily as breathing, though you suspect he can barely hear your pleas, opening his mouth and flattening his hot tongue to your clit. You gasp, your core pulling taut, your eyes locking with his as the muscle undulates over, over, and over again.
“Oh,” you whimper, your hips bucking to meet his face. He groans, his mouth working your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking. You cry out, your leg kicking, the sounds of the world muffled in his stifling closeness. Your thighs begin to ache, tensing and relaxing a hundred times over in the throes of his attention.
And his fingers are gliding across your hip, seeking the warmth between your legs. You gasp his name, your hips flexing, as he collects your wetness on two fingers.
“Let me in, baby,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your puffy clit. It relaxes you enough to welcome the press of his fingers inside you, sinking to the knuckle, curling up against the spot he would know in his sleep.
You whine, your body keening toward him, tugging his face back toward your pussy. He obliges with a quiet moan, and you think he needs this just as badly.
The obscene squelch of his fingers inside you rings in your ears as he licks and sucks at your clit, his free hand grabbing desperately at your ass to keep you fixed to him. You’re crying, “Yesyesyes, Joel, please—fuck, that's it,” the pleasure stuck in the grooves of your brain. Absentmindedly, you reach for his hand and clasp it tight, your engagement ring digging into his palm. He holds you with the same fervour as he coaxes you higher, his face buried in your pussy. He grunts and groans like it's his own pleasure he seeks, his battered knuckles stinging.
“Joel… Joel, oh, I’m…”
He knows, of course, from the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his head, the relentless crushing of his fingers in your own, your body tightening for him, cavitating, unwinding—
You come with a shout, your throat raw, writhing in his grasp as he keeps sucking, keeps licking, rubbing, pressing. You're dizzy by the time your head lolls to the side, your muscles twitching, eyes glazed, and Joel is there, pulling his fingers out just to place them on his tongue and swallow you down.
Your breath rattles through your lungs. Joel presses his lips to your inner thigh, beard soaked in your arousal, moustache glistening. His mouth soothes your sore muscles and your eyes begin to droop.
“You need a shower,” you say, your tongue like lead in your mouth. You gently pass your thumb over a cut on his cheek and frown. “You're all bloody.”
He nuzzles his face against your thigh, inhaling you. “I know.”
“You were gone so long.” Your voice quivers, pressure prickling behind the bridge of your nose. “I thought…”
Joel rises to his feet, his hands cradling your face. “I’m all right,” he says. “I’m here, and I’m safe, and I’m so goddamn sorry.”
You shake your head, pressing your lips together so the sob will not escape. Tracing his face with your fingers, broken in places, healing in others, you see the echo of a boy who didn't know his place in the world. You see the haunt of days gone by. A ghost still occupies the cage of his ribs.
“I think you should tell the little boy that still lives here,” you say, putting your hand on his chest. “Tell him he’s alive. Tell him that he made it.”
Joel lowers his head, watching the way your fingers splay over his heart. He puts his hand on yours and pushes, and you feel the strong thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat.
“He knows.”
You lean forward and put your mouth to his temple. “Shower, Joel,” comes your whisper in his ear.
He nods, wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you into the bathroom. The water hits you both true, scalding, the drain circled with red. He’s naked, his back to you as he sets his hair and lets his wounds bleed what they need to.
You lift your hands and trail them down his broad shoulders, your forehead dropping between his shoulder blades where your name is inked into his back. Joel’s muscles idly flex, his palm flat against the shower wall. His body shudders when you press your lips to the name on his back.
Wordlessly, you bring your arms around him, caressing his side, careful of the new bruises. Your other hand drops to his steel-hard cock and you begin to slowly stroke him. The noise that wrenches free from his throat is half pleasure, half agony, his hips bucking into your fist. You bump your nose against his back, your years-old sign to Just relax, and Joel hides his face in his bicep as you work your hand over him.
“G—fuck,” he grunts. “Goddamn… honey, I—”
You squeeze him at the base and twist your hand up and down the length of him, the weight warm and heavy, your thumb coaxing out a bead of precum. Your cheek is warm on his back, your arm struggling to reach around the width of him, your chest humming at the sound of his gruff moans.
“Let me…” He cuts himself off as you speed up your strokes, and you can feel his abdomen tense. “Fuck, let me make you feel good. Shit… let me…”
“Joel,” you say, “for once, stop trying to be my hero.”
His head falls back and you press your lips to his throat, nibbling the sensitive spot behind his ear: the old scar, that tiny circle, that hairless patch. He groans your name, and you’re smiling despite yourself, your mouth curling against his warm, tender skin.
“Inside me,” you whisper, the pace of your fingers over his length slowing to a crawl. “Remind me how it feels.”
He turns his head to look into your eyes, his lashes dewy, blinking hard to flick away the water, brow furrowed. His moustache bristles as his lips part in a question he does not (or maybe cannot) articulate, and you’re fractured into pieces by the intricate curve of his nose, the freckles on his jaw, the silver strands in his beard. A rough hand cups the back of your neck and another takes you by the waist, and you’re flattened to the wall, your hand braced on the glass next to you as he kisses you deeply.
Consuming, heady, warm—you give in, your hands avoiding the delicate skin of his wrists where he’s been bound, helpless. Sighing softly into his mouth, you let his kiss humble the part of you that still needs the walls you’ve built from the marrow of your anger. It circles the drain, lead-filled paint, as you remember under his hands how it feels to live.
You reach between your bodies, your leg wrapping around his waist, and slide the head of his cock through your weeping slit. Joel sucks in air through his teeth, the water lashing his back like a whip, and he surges forward, grasping you by the waist and sinking his cock into your tight hole.
You cry out his name, burying your face in his throat and baring your teeth. Your name leaves his mouth in kind, an apparition, sounds you barely recognise anymore. As you take him inside you, the memory of who you were with him pounds at your ribcage, begging to be let out. And you covet them, selfish as you are now for fucking him this way, needy and impatient, your fingers tugging his wet locks.
You see no point in scooping out the marrow; there is still sweetness stuck to the bones of your old life with him. Instead, you coat your teeth in this, the slow drag of his cock, the depths he reaches so easily, so knowingly. His fingers prod the bruised flesh of your hurt and yet you still guide him inside. You still pull his hair and kiss his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs and you still let him hold you close enough to splinter.
He’s grabbing fistfuls of your ass and sucking on your throat, his thrusts sloppy as he tries to hold back, to make you come first, but you tighten, clenching down on him, making his groans pitch up into whines.
“Joel,” you gasp, your needy fingers prickling his scalp where you pull his hair. His teeth graze your throat and you want him to bite, you want him to sink in deep, you want his jaws to latch onto your skin. You want him never to leave again.
He comes hard. His hips buck, pushing so deep he disappears into your body, and you see the blues, browns, reds of your painting as he empties all he has left inside you.
Panting, he drops his head to your breast, his open mouth still scattering weak, worn kisses over your skin. Your lungs expand under his palms, fingers stuck in the grooves between your ribs, his body an offshoot of yours, not the other way around. In the ringing afterlife of your pleasure, you vaguely feel him mouthing words you cannot hear. You run your fingers through his hair and enjoy the battering of the scorching water as it melts you both into one.
Later, in the sticky, humid silence of the bathroom, steam still swirling around your heads, fogging the glass, you trim Joel’s hair.
"Do you ever get scared?" you ask him, the shhhick of the scissors gliding across a chunk of his hair. "Do you ever go out on a job and think to yourself, What if I slip? What if this is it?"
Joel huffs. "It's not so much about myself as making sure the other guy goes down first."
“I think I’d be scared.” You twirl a lock of hair around your finger and let it fall over his forehead. “I don’t think I’d be able to look into someone’s eyes and take their life.”
He casts his eyes to his lap, flicking off some hair from his thigh. “One time, I thought it was over. I wasn’t quite seventeen yet, runnin’ drugs for some gangster. He sent me to El Sauzal to discreetly transport a couple kilos out of the city; someone had snitched and he didn’t want any rival gangs to find his stash. But the people there, they… They didn’t know any better. There were mothers, kids. Innocent people, y’know? Just strays. I decided I’d come back for ‘em.”
Your stomach twists. “What happened?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I was too late. By the time I got back, the whole goddamn city was on fire. The people were either dead in the streets or close to it. They didn’t do anythin’ wrong. They didn’t ask for any of it. But they were weaker, slower. I couldn’t walk ten feet without seein’ some kid wrapped up his mother’s arms, burned to a fucking crisp. So, I came back with weapons, marched into the gang’s territory, and I killed ‘em all.”
Days ago, you’d be afraid of the man whose back warms your belly where you stand just behind him. You would hesitate to reach out and put your hand on his shoulder the way you do now. But you curl your fingers over the muscled curve of his arm and his head falls back against you, spidering open, his gooey molten centre bared for you.
Joel. Just Joel.
“Did you see the painting?” you ask him quietly.
“I see everything you do,” he says. “It's beautiful, baby.”
You drop your gaze from his face in the mirror and set down the scissors on the vanity. “I can't pretend to understand what you've been through, Joel, and that makes things even harder. All I've ever wanted is to love you, to take your pain, and all this time there's been so much I never even knew about. And I’m sorry.”
Joel’s hand comes to cover yours, clasping your fingers. They’re warm, rough, but you do not sense the phantom blood. “If I’d told you from the beginning,” he says, “maybe I never would've hurt you in the first place. All those years I thought I was protecting you from myself, I was hurting you—the one thing I swore I would never fuckin’ do.”
“Joel…”
“Baby, don't apologise to me,” he says firmly, putting his lips to your knuckles. “Never apologise to me. And don't you let me off easy.”
“Have I ever?” you say with a halfhearted smile.
“Yeah,” he says, “the day you let me marry you.”
You scoff. “Oh, please. Wedding planning was hell on earth for you.”
“Just because I didn't like the photographer—”
“You didn't not like the photographer, Joel. You wanted to draw and quarter the photographer.”
He huffs like an angry dog, frowning at you in the mirror. “He kept puttin’ his goddamn hands on you.”
You laugh, brushing your thumb over the patch in his beard to indicate you're finished. “He was posing us, cowboy.”
Joel rises to his feet and closes the scissors away inside the drawer. “Posin’ you, sure.”
“He was afraid to touch you. Probably thought you’d take off his hand. And the pictures turned out great.”
“Yeah,” he says, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Way the sunlight caught in your hair, your eyes… I don't know. Beautiful.”
He was so shy the first time you kissed him. Cheeks flushed, eyes cast toward the ground, the wind ruffling his curls where it blew over the water. He was made in an artist’s image, you thought that night, the details pored over like paperwork, the sparkle in his eyes something the painter covets. But the portrait has never wilted in the years you've known him. It's grown older, sure, but it is not old. He's still shy sometimes; he still looks down when he smiles, and he still turns his cheek when you tell him he's beautiful.
“Do you…” He rubs his palms over his thighs, looking up at you through his lashes. “Do you wish you could go back?”
It's your turn to sit. You drop into his chair, your arms curling over the back of the seat, and watch him on his journey to his knees. “I don't know, Joel,” you tell him. “I think about that day and part of me wants the magic of it back. I want the breeze and the sun and the white canopy and I want you sliding this ring on my finger. But knowing what I know now…”
“You wouldn't have married me,” he says like it's the only answer. His eyes are wet and sad and they sparkle so bright in the day.
“I wish I’d known,” you say plainly, bringing his hand to your cheek and resting it over the cool wedding band. “I wish you would have told me everything. I wish you didn't make me question your love, even for a second. I wish you could have spared me all this anger I have—all this pain.”
He’s stone-still, a figure in a portrait, and you brush your fingers across his cheek. “But killing isn't what you are, Joel. It’s what you do. And I’m so tired of being angry.”
You say it fiercely, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth, your throat tightening. You swipe your thumbs under your eyes and meet your husband’s eye. “I love you more than my anger and my hurt have room for. And if I can love you this hard, if I can feel all this pain and still be that same girl who fell for the guy from the restaurant, then I can let myself get hurt all over again.”
Joel shakes his head, cupping your face in his hands as his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, baby…”
“I know it's never been an easy marriage,” you say, your voice breaking, “and I’m always travelling, and I know that I can get snippy and we bicker, but I wouldn't go back to that day, Joel, because I wouldn't change anything. Even if I have to feel all of this again, I wouldn't take it all back.”
His inhale shudders through him and your heart lurches out of your chest. “I don’t deserve that,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek, catching a tear that falls. “I’ve hurt you too much to ever be worthy of what you've given me, sweetheart. I ain't a good man, or even a decent one. But fuck, if I can be good for you, I’ll pray to whatever God they want me to. I’ll scrape my knees and put my hands together and fake it ‘til I’m someone you want. I swear it, baby.”
“Joel.” You gently pry his hands away. “The life you've lived, the things you've been through… I can't change any of it. I can't be what you need all the time, and fuck, I want to be. I do, Joel. But this life is something you have to figure out yourself. Nobody should force you to believe in something that's only ever caused you pain.”
He never told you about the tattoo; you had to find it yourself. Shucking the hem of his shirt up over his head, two weeks separating the last time you’d been able to indulge in his body, you trailed your fingers up his back and paused at the sound of him hissing through his teeth.
“Easy, cowboy,” you cooed. “Are you all right?”
Wordlessly, he turned, taking your hand and lifting it to the reddish skin around the black ink. You gasped, your fingers jolting backward as if struck by a feeler of lightning.
“Joel,” you said tremulously, “please don't tell me you were drunk and this was an impulse decision.”
“Guys in the Marines would get tattoos that meant somethin’ to them. Easier to carry around with you when you're away.” Joel met your gaze again, your tearful eyes, and brought your knuckles to his mouth. “Tell me you want it gone, and it's gone.”
You shook your head, a laugh snaking past the lump in your throat. “Selfishly, I think it’s very sexy.”
He chuckled, kissing the breath from your lungs.
The memory is heavy in your stomach. It's something you'll have to roll around in your mouth a thousand times before the taste begins to dissolve.
“I need time, Joel,” you tell him. “I need to wrap my head around things. I… I can't be the girl you want right now.”
Joel brushes his thumb over your chin. “You have always been the girl I want,” he says. “If you need time, you have it. If you need a warm body, you have it. I’m whoever you want me to be. And if it ain't a husband, then… then that's okay. But I can’t promise you that I won't stop tryin’ to get my wife back. That’s not who I am.”
You sniffle, twirling the ring on his finger. “You’ll get sick of it. The waiting.”
He smiles so softly that you can feel a bud begin to bloom in the core of you, nourished by the way he keeps his hand on your thigh, absently rubbing the sore muscles there. “I waited my whole life for someone like you to come along—someone who could give me the purpose I’d been lookin’ for. I can wait another lifetime. I can wait a thousand.”
“You’ll resent me. You’ll start to hate me.” You don't know why it comes pouring out of you, but the gates are brittle wood and they snapped in the torrent. “I’m an angry drunk. I smell like paint half the time. I travel for work.”
Joel just studies your face, some inexplicable calm etching out the agony. “You take your coffee with milk and sugar and you can't stand it black, but you make it that way for me anyway. You sleep until noon when you're jet lagged and I sit up in bed just to watch you dream. You lie in my arms on the couch at home and ask me about my day even when you're noddin’ off. You dreamed about love when you were a little girl, the way it happens in books. You told me in your wedding vows that you'd found it with me. You think I could resent a girl like that?”
He smiles like it hurts and heals all at once, like it's a foregone conclusion, like you were meant to be loved by him.
“Time doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I know the girl I see in front of me now. Time won't change how much I love her.”
Flipping through the list of potential venues, Joel tucked into your side, you said, “We’ll have an outdoor ceremony. No churches.”
“Baby, I won't burst into flames if I step inside a church.” Joel playfully flicked his tongue over your nipple, obscured by his T-shirt. “Tommy, on the other hand… things he's done…”
You laughed, gently pushing at his head. “No churches,” you said again. “I don't care how much more we’ll have to pay or travel to get around it. You're my husband. You're my comfort, and I want to be what's comfortable for you. Understood?”
He looked up at you, his lips parted as if on the precipice of speech. You beamed, bringing his face to yours and kissing him deeply.
“But if the wind knocks over the gazebo, you're not getting your dick inside me on our wedding night,” you said against his mouth. Joel shook his head, yanking you on top of him and tearing the shirt from your body. Your binder landed with a flutter of loose pages to the floor.
“You didn't kill Cabrera.”
Joel lowers his eyes. “No. He got away.”
“So there's still a contract on your head.”
“For now.”
“So,” you say with a sigh, crossing the room and digging through your bag, “you have to go.”
“I have to go,” he echoes, following you like a shadow. “No matter what… I’m finishing it. Tonight.”
You pull the switchblade from your bag, open Joel’s fist, and place the cool wood hilt in his palm.
“Goddammit, Tommy,” he says under his breath. “He shouldn't have…”
“But he did,” you say. “He said I should be the one to have it. I think it should be yours.”
He curls his fingers over the hilt and flicks open the blade. It's light, but it seems to weigh him down. You rest your hand over his.
“Do what you need to do.”
He drops his forehead to yours and closes his eyes, soaking in this final breath exchanged between your silent bodies, dipping his fingers in the sanctified waters and coming out unscalded.
Bill calls Joel not a moment after he steps onto the street outside the Continental.
“That's a heavy price on your head.”
“Yeah, Bill, I know.” He breathes in the cool air, like cigarette smoke, his nostrils stinging. Trash and a new, fresh breeze carried into the city. Nothing that stays here ever thrives. “Stayed alive so far.”
“So I hear,” grunts the Manager, “and leaving behind a hell of a lot of cleanup.”
“I won't stick you with the check,” says Joel. “It's my business.”
“I don't conduct business inside this hotel,” says Bill, “which is why I won't tell you that a certain helicopter at a certain helipad is refuelling as we speak.”
Joel smirks, flicking out his cuff to check the time. “Any reason why you aren't tellin’ me this?”
“I like you, Joel. Despite myself.”
Silent, he waits for more.
“Besides,” Bill continues, “we live and die by honour. And you've saved my ass more than once.”
Joel snorts. “Which time are you thankin’ me for?”
“Just take my goddamn advice and leave this world. For good this time.”
“I will,” says Joel. “One way or another. Thanks, Bill.”
High above the ground, sitting in the alcove by the window, you watch storm clouds gather over the city, darkening the sky, the sun, and your Joel, so far away, slouching calmly toward whatever end he will choose.
It's raining.
The first time you kissed him, a downpour suddenly swept up the both of you and you'd scrambled underneath a bridge by the water. You both laughed until your ribs were sore, holding hands as you ran, a soaking wet playbill above each of your heads for cover.
“At least the show was good,” you shouted over the roar of the rainfall.
Joel was mesmerised into stillness by the colours of the traffic lights in your eyes, how they shifted over the planes of your face. Starting to think like an artist, you'd tease, and he'd lean into it, a planet circling its sun.
“It was all right,” he said, taking the playbill from your hand. “You could catch a cold. We should get a cab.”
“Always my hero.” You grinned up at him, your eyes scanning his face in that particular way they did, as if ingesting the sight of him to later put the lines to a canvas. “Did you have a good time, Joel? I mean, really. You won't offend me.”
He grimaced. “I, uh… well, see, I’m not the best judge, and… I guess—”
“Joel.”
There was a gleam in your eyes that could have been amusement or could have been hunger. He doesn't remember. He only saw you tilt your chin and lower your eyes to his mouth, to that one place the Sisters always called vulgar, obscene, a place meant only for His word—
“Can I kiss you, Joel Miller, or will you keep being all heroic?”
It was soft, gentle, exploratory. Your mouth opened his like a wound, setting the scorching blade of your lips to the gash, staunching the blood. You healed and burned him, one hand on his back beneath his jacket, the other cupping his face. It reminded him of the statue that lived in the theatre underneath the church where all the boys and girls trained. An angel cast in white marble, cradling the face of Saint Eustace. The statue was chipped where his eye was meant to be.
He remembers the way he shuddered when you touched him like that. He remembers the chill that started in his feet and crept up his spine. Something like coming alive, settling back into his own body—no longer a spirit haunting the shell of a home but a man.
You pulled back, but Joel curled his hand around the back of your neck and kissed you again, deeper, maybe a little too eager, too inexperienced—but you gasped, fingers curling in his hair, your body curving into his. Your noses bumped when you separated, and he remembers laughing.
The rain is nothing like that night. It's the lash of a whip across his face, seeping colour from the world instead of infusing it with light and movement. The water by the docks slaps against the concrete and boats rock and groan against their mooring. The lights of the city are distant now.
Joel steps out of the car.
He marches toward his target, cocking the pistol in his hand, and calls out a name. It gets lost in the roll of thunder across the sky and lodges in his chest.
Cabrera waits on the landing pad, looking wraithlike in a long black coat and a pair of leather gloves. His pilot fuels the helicopter nearby. Neither of them hear Joel’s voice in the air. The rising sun is what gives him away—or maybe the gunshot, as he lifts his arm and pulls the trigger.
It does not pierce flesh. It ricochets off one of the rotor blades. He had aimed slightly to the left.
The pilot scampers off into hiding, but the slash of the bullet through the rainfall is enough to get the attention Joel wants. Cabrera reaches inside the lining of his jacket and fires a single shot. Joel can feel it tear through skin and muscle, but it doesn't hurt.
“Joel,” greets Cabrera.
“Manuel.”
His chest heaves, his jacket soaked through, the cold sinking bone-deep.
“Let's finish this.”
The glimmer in those depthless black eyes is the panther at the hunt, relentless in its hunger, licking its chops at the sight of a challenge. For all the coward’s blood in his veins, it still pulses at the prospect of winning.
“Like men,” says Cabrera, tossing his gun aside at the same time Joel does. “With honour. No more guns.”
And it's laughable: the thought that there is any honour left in a world like this. A world where children are beaten and lashed and trained to hold a weapon too big for their hands. A world that burns villages, butchers families, and still claims that without rules, we live with the animals.
A world as unruly as this cannot be ruled. He never truly considered it until he saw the sad gleam in your eye, felt the empathetic touch of your hand on his face, and began to realise that maybe he should be furious.
But because he already knows he's going to win, Joel lets his opponent land the first blow.
The blood is tangy, near-sweet, as he swipes his forearm over his mouth and smears crimson on his shirtsleeve. It tingles faintly on his lips and crackles, warm as the melt from a late-winter snow. He feels it settle in the grooves of his palms, the hairs of his beard. He’s drowning in it.
Cabrera hits hard, but he’s slow. He’ll take five punches in the time it takes to wind up for one. Joel brings his arm up to block the next and delivers a blow to the sternum with his knee as his opponent’s guard drops. Wide open, Cabrera stumbles a few steps back, choking down the telltale wheeze of being winded. Joel marches forward, relentless in his crusade, grasping him by the scruff of his neck, teeth bared like a mad wild dog, and bears his skull down on the side of the railing. Around them, the wind howls and lashes at his clothes, but he still hears the pained scream as if it were poured into his ears.
Cabrera drops to his knees, and Joel grabs him again, bashing his head repeatedly against the steel bar, the lapel of an Italian leather coat bunching between his fingers, tainted by rainwater and the fist of the man who's come to take his life.
And fuck, Joel wants to make it last.
But there's a knife in his opponent’s hand, conjured from the darkness of his coat pocket, and Joel must release him to avoid the lethal slash of the blade. Blinking blood and lashing rain from his eyes, the man lunges with a snarl, and Joel recovers from his lost victory, stopping him with his fingers curled around his opponent’s wrist. He brings his hand to the crook of Cabrera’s elbow and uses his leverage to snap the bone.
Yowling, Cabrera drops to his haunches, the knife clattering to the ground. Joel, chest heaving, stands over him, flexing his fingers as he readies his fist for the killing blow.
His name leaves Cabrera’s bloodied mouth, accompanied by a mouthful of crimson-tainted saliva spat on the ground at Joel’s feet.
“Joel…” He lifts his head, cradling his broken arm, and sneers. There’s a chilling glow of satisfaction in it. “Did you get your perfect life, Joel? Do you really think you’ve won? It won’t ever stop. Not after you’ve killed me, not after you’ve killed all of them. Is that what you’re going to do? Kill them all?”
He could. He has done far worse. He has spilled blood for gold coins and superficial alliances and someone else's revenge. He has stalked, stolen, lied, killed, and he could finish this now, so easily, with the flick of a blade.
But the song of death does not call to him now.
For so long he had trudged, unmoored, through heavy crimson blood. Like pulling at the seams of velvet, he'd sewn more lives into the sea of red and he never looked behind him to see the souls trying to pull him down at the ankles. He didn't know purpose until he saw the way the candlelight flickered in your eyes, until he tilted his head to the side and realised your smile was a new kind of beautiful from each angle.
The rain sticks to his lashes and he thinks of an old song of prayer the Sisters used to chant. He remembers curling his fingers around one of the rosaries that hung from the large cross in the cathedral and wincing in anticipation. He thought he would burn—that the metal would leave a red stain on his palm. It never did.
Maybe that's why he never believed. Surely, if there was a God, Joel Miller would have burned by now.
He thinks of shopping for furniture and date nights and lazy mornings, tangled in bedsheets. Your mouth, smiling against his, whispering I love you across the breakfast table. Dancing—or swaying, more like—under the kitchen light. Loving easily, never feeling as if he must grab hold of the cross and burn himself upon it just to feel.
Joel turns the switchblade in his hand, lurches forward, and plunges the knife into Cabrera’s chest.
There is no noise but a faint gurgle from his mouth, his hand weakly rising to grasp the hilt. Joel drops to his knees and fishes Cabrera’s cell phone from his pocket.
“The blade is stuck in your aorta,” he says. “If you pull it out, you’ll bleed out and die.” He puts the rain-slick screen in front of Cabrera’s face. “Pull the contract.”
A few feeble taps are all it takes, and Joel Miller is no longer a target. His name glares back at him on the screen, from two million to nothing, not the boogeyman any longer but something akin to a civilian. Joel tosses the phone into the water and turns to leave.
“See you in hell, Joel,” Cabrera chokes, still grasping the shiny wooden hilt of the blade.
He barely hauls himself into the car, which chokes to a rumbling start. There's blood seeping through his shirt where Cabrera shot him, and his fingers shake as they pull away from the wound, the red so bright, so alive. Joel grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.
If there’s a God, he thinks, I hope you fucking hear me now.
Tell me that we don’t get what we deserve. Because there is nothing I deserve in this world if I cannot keep what I’ve found.
His fingers trembling, smearing blood across the screen, he makes a call.
And your voice on the line, soft, sticky with sleep, whispering his name—just his name: Joel?—is what wrenches the first sob from his throat.
Joel, you say, like it means something, like it's precious. A jewel pressed from dusty black coal. Come back to me. Come home.
So he does.
#fic: helen#kiwisbell's fics#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#the last of us#the last of us hbo#tlou fic#joel miller angst#joel miller au#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fic#john wick au
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god-tier sydcarmy fics
no one asked but i'm suddenly overcome with gratitude that fic writers just drop these gems for FREE. we are so lucky. these are the ones i constantly reread because they make me feel so much.
all of these are rated M or E because if they ain't fuckin, i ain't reading.
five times at a simmer; once boiling over by seh28
my kink? emotional intimacy. that's what these two need more than any bullshit stars. this fic serves it up like it's a floor donut and i'm carmy straight up eating that shit.
friends, partners, and intimates by sashafiercer
i'm always here for it when syd gives carmy what he deserves. and i'm DEFINITELY here for it when the dialogue between the two is so on point it gives me whiplash. written by an all time 🐐.
forget about your house of cards by minecrafter42
i love reading about how carmy can't get it together in sydney's presence. this fic presents their dynamic so viscerally that the slow burn is more like a slow simmer. i needed a cigarette after i finished this one.
temper, temper by malariamonsters
have you ever read anything so beautiful it made you cry? yeah, this fic. it's at the top of the tag for a reason because it captures carmy's consuming love for syd so perfectly. i want to live inside this fic.
child with a child pretending by emilybrontay
sydney has a baby before she starts working at the beef, and carmy knows what bluey is. i'm done. i am very picky when it comes to stories set in sydney's POV (my girl is a complex masterpiece, you better get her right), and this is one of the greatest, most thoughtful.
Mise En Place by badcircuit
love fics that present syd and carmy as partners in every sense of the word. beautifully written, hot as fuck. another one that gets syd right. again, i take portrayals of my girl so seriously and this one is gorg.
Take Care by oysterknife
oh boy. this one literally came out last week but i already read it upwards of 10 times. i will read anything oysterknife writes but GODDAMN. this one changed my brain chemistry with the emotional intimacy between the two. i love longing and yearning and this one is like a masterclass in it. the literary references made me kick my feet and giggle. as a brooklyn girlie, THIS is the nyc i wanna see: flushing, crown heights, greenpoint minus the condos, shitting on the residents of murray hill, i want it all. also the ending made me sob. not joking.
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If your sibling is a rogue then make the best of it
I would like to think that Jason is very Hondo Onakha about kidnapping, very dramatic, fairly polite/chill to the one he kidnapped, minimal trauma, very professional overall but also very theatrical. Out of anyone in Gotham to have as your kidnapper, Jason aka the Red Hood is by far the very best person.
ALL of Jason's family whether they be legal, biological, emotional, or honorary, will absolutely try to convince Jason to kidnap them to get them out of some stupid civilian event. Whether or not Jason will go along with it will depend on several factors such as:
Does this benefit Bruce and get him out of a boring civilian event too? Then so sorry, you're just going to have to suffer!
How busy is Jason at the moment? Because being a drug lord and vigilante is actually pretty time consuming and kidnapping can be a lot of work for potentially very little gain.
What does Jason get out of it? Yes money is all well and good but Jason is rich by his own merits and can just steal from Bruce whenever, there's got to be more to it!
When is the last time Jason has kidnapped this sibling? He can't do it too often or it gets less effective. He has a reputation to maintain after all!
It may also depend on which sib is asking and what they need to be "saved" from.
Dick asks to be kidnapped from a bachelor auction charity? Ha! No chance, sorry Dickie! He will be there though and take pictures and laugh. (And also join all the other siblings who are stalking Dick and the winner of the auction in the event the winner wasn't one of the Bats or an invited member of the JL or Titans using Bruce's money) Dick asking to be kidnapped from a gala or some opening night of trendy place he's at to maintain civilian status? Maybe but the bribe has to be considerable. And it cannot benefit Bruce. Dick's normal bribes consist of taking some tedious part of an investigation over for Jason or getting intel from JL databases for Jason and the Outlaws.
Cass? Anytime and always, favorite sister who can beat him up has special kidnapping privileges, though they did stop for a very long time when some weirdos put out the theory that the Red Hood was in love with Gotham's Princess. (idk if Cass is considered Gotham's Princess in any version of canon but she is to me) Cass does still repay Jason in the form of Black Bat keeping an eye on Jason's territory when he's out of Gotham for any significant length of time.
Tim? He does owe the kid for several incidents and Tim normally doesn't abusive the privilege so he'd probably do it but there does have to be some sort of bribe for appearances sake. Tim usually gets Jason to agree in exchange for pictures of Batman tripping over his cape or in some other ridiculous position. Bonus in Jason's mind if Tim requests a kidnapping when Bruce is off world or otherwise occupied, therefore giving Brucie Wayne's reputation a hit. However if Tim wants to be kidnapped from something where Bruce is also suffering as Brucie, Tim is SOL (Tim might get revenge by getting Kon to wear Red Hood gear and "kidnap" Tim from the event if Jason refused. Kon will do it because Tim asked and also I would like to think that Kon isn't too fond of the guy who beat his best friend/boyfriend nearly to death and will mess with him if given the chance) Since kidnapping normally interferes with things that Tim wants to do however, he may instead bribe Jason to not kidnap a sibling that has asked to be kidnapped. Jason usually obliges this no kidnapping request.
Barbara? Sorry, no, he doesn't want to stress the Commissioner like that. He will, however, kidnap other people for her if she asks.
Stephanie? No Stephanie, he doesn't care what you offer, he's not kidnapping you so you can avoid your finals! Stephanie has, however, worn various wigs and been various hostages who died at the hands of the Hood in order to maintain his reputation. She gets paid in baked goods for her service.
Damian? Damian considered the idea ridiculous and proclaimed he'd never stoop so low and he would carry out his duties no matter how onerous! Damian then had to go to a Gotham gala. Damian is trying very hard to figure out a suitable bribe to get the Red Hood to kidnap him often enough that Bruce will be forced to keep Damian away from galas because of the ongoing security threat. So far it hasn't worked because Damian is very bad at bribing Jason, Jason thinks Damian forced to interact with normal people is funny, and Tim is successfully bribing Jason to ignore Damian's bribery attempts. The Red Hood has "kidnapped" Damian once, as a treat, when he thought the kid was looking particularly down about something.
Duke? Duke has yet to be made to attend any society gatherings as the solo Wayne (normally that falls to Bruce, Dick, or Tim) and can usually be spotted hanging out with Cass by the snack table at any gala or trendy event. He's not at Cass's level of reading body language but he's pretty darn good and he and Cass have reached a new level of being able to avoid annoying rich people while at parties. Duke is Cass's favorite gala buddy. Duke hasn't felt the need to ask Jason to kidnap him yet but Jason will allow the first one to be free of charge, no questions asked. After that Duke hasn't figured out suitable bribes for Jason but has realized that all of his siblings are hyper competitive and that Jason would absolutely wager a kidnapping in a competition or for a bet.
Alfred? If Alfred asked then Jason would without any caveat. Alfred will not ask however but might ask on behalf of someone else and Jason will comply.
Bruce? Jason just laughs. And if someone else is planning on kidnapping Brucie Wayne from a particularly boring business meeting or gala? Jason will actively thwart the kidnapping to force Bruce to continue to deal with social activity.
Jason usually splits a portion of the ransom money into bonuses for his goons since their original job outline is drug dealer/enforcer/mobster and not kidnapper. If they're going to get major felonies on their records, better make it financially worth it. All of Jason's goons are masked during any kidnapping event. The rest of the ransom money goes towards a charity of Jason's choosing.
Jason has also kidnapped people who are not his family or family adjacent. Barbara thought her dad could use a vacation at one point but he didn't have the PTO for it so Barbara had the Red Hood kidnap him. James Gordon experienced the weirdest kidnapping of his life that included some of the best food he'd ever eaten, an extremely soft bed, his pile of books that were on his reading list, and access to the sports games he'd meant to watch. The ransom was successfully paid after he had a week to relax. Gordon was then, as per protocol, allowed time to relax after his "harrowing" event. Barbara forced him to take the time. Strangely enough, some politicians who had been giving the Commissioner a hard time were suddenly very quiet when James Gordon came back, well rested, well fed, and ready to get back to the grind. It, of course, had nothing to do with the very polite emails with pictures attached that they all received while the Commissioner was very publicly out of the way.
Oliver Queen, when he was visiting Gotham, was kidnapped by the Red Hood. He was released after the ransom was paid and specifically he was released back in Star City. Mr. Queen was unavailable for comment after the incident but some sources say that he was cursing bats for some reason.
Lois Lane found herself kidnapped by Red Hood and ransomed by the Daily Planet while Superman was off world. Lois Lane returned safely to Metropolis and published a shocking expose on Luthor's latest scheme. Her sources for the article remain a secret.
Bruce is very grumpy about the whole thing, not just because Jason won't help his poor father get out of the stupid social event, but also because Jason being technically a rogue like this makes it very hard for him to successfully argue that Jason should let himself regain legal living status.
#bruce wayne#batman#tim drake#batfamily#jason todd#dick grayson#damian wayne#gotham#stephanie brown#batfam#duke thomas#damian wayne al ghul#cassandra wayne#red hood#brucie wayne#barbara gordon#alfred pennyworth#selina kyle#timkon#kon el kent#conner kent#tim is my favorite#but he wouldn't be the only one that jason kidnaps#james gordon#lois lane#oliver queen
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Hi! Which are your favorite bagginshield fics?
I haven't been reading fic lately, so I might forget a lot of them, but:
my talented friend McManatea didn't write often but every time I think of a "complicated old uncle love" fic that makes my heart twinge I think of hers: Come To My Own Hearthstone
my talented friend Yubi wrote this saga of a fic, and I always talk about it with my friends because I think it's so logical, so fucking cool, and makes me emotional: Azhâr
my talented friend Kitty wrote so many fun AUs, and my favorite series was the Satyr one, obviously: In which the Dwarves are Satyrs, because Reasons but I often also think about the lesbian Selkie one! It's so unique: The Selkie
my talented friend mithrilbikini wrote so many cool rarer pair fics, I know it's not bagginshield, but I often remember this one with Bilbo/Nori: Unexpected (but Not Unwelcome) and also check out their other posts on AO3, they're centered on their professional illustrations. All bangers.
the talented HildyJ first had control of my brain with their amazing Oak and Mistletoe, but I remember reeling with every new setting and fic, and I'm sure you'll find yourself a treasure trove in their bagginshield works!
the talented Margo_Kim still has my ass on lock with their beautiful Homesick, I always remember waiting for the next chapters and the absolute joy the ending was.
the talented Northerntrash always had such an absolute hold on mythology fic, but it's absurd how their modern AUs or canon timing AUs would also kill your ass: For This, Of Seasons
I really need to go back in and read some more! Do you guys have some good recs? :D
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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you welcome your boyfriend back to the country with a surprise party, just as the clock is ticking to say goodbye again. the big day is almost here and enlistment brings couples either one of two things: a ring or a breakup.
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish)
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), infidelity, foul language, substance use, underage drinking, mentions of the covid-19 pandemic, sexually suggestive content
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. the series is told in non-chronological order. note that the main character is a member of a fictional idol group. more warnings may be added as the story is written. join the taglist here!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤm.list | next
you say, "i don't understand, " and i say, "i know you don't"
we thought a cure would come through in time, now i fear it won't
TODAY’S TOP HEADLINE: bts’ rm, jimin, taehyung and jungkook set to enlist in the coming weeks!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤautumn 2023
the confrontation
when it rained, it poured and you felt like you haven't seen even a glimpse of the sun in ages. there was a nagging feeling in your gut that it was too far gone, but like everything else for the past ten years, you swallowed it down and swept it under the rug. bad feelings didn’t exist in your relationship. that was the unspoken rule. yet, it was growing more and more difficult to mask the disappointment in your eyes or the frown fighting your lips. today marked the worst of your attempts.
seoul was unusually calm tonight and it scared you. when you moved to the city ages ago to begin your journey as an idol trainee, it was nothing but intimidating for your meek, pre-teen self. eventually, over time, your love for the city bloomed and it was truthfully because of jungkook. once young teenagers that arrived to seoul alone, you found solace in each other and embraced the change as one. he made you fall in love with seoul the same way he made you fall in love with him. dates, nightclubs, late night adventures, and years worth of moments within the city limits.
however, the streets were as hushed as you were, as you gripped your steering wheel like a robot.
the decision had been long made and you knew it was going to come around at some point, so there was no use in fighting it. after going without seeing your boyfriend for months, it should have been nothing but pure excitement.
“you’re awfully quiet,” murmured jungkook, glancing over at you from the passenger seat.
you were already annoyed to begin with, when he mentioned that he was going to have a driver pick him up from the airport, instead of asking for you. it felt like he didn’t even expect to have you waiting for him, considering the two of you had been apart due to his time working in the united states. you thought he’d be insisting for you to be the first person he saw once he came back. these frustrations were on top of several other things, which you’d been dreading to confront for even longer of a time.
and then, there was also the velvet box you spotted in the background of one of your facetime calls. you didn’t bring it up, but it was living in your mind everyday since. with jungkook’s big day fast approaching, there were a lot of conflicting ideas in your head.
you shrugged. “i’ve been filming long hours. not getting that much sleep.”
the look jungkook gave you read that he knew that you weren’t being a hundred percent honest, but he didn’t say anything. his eyes returned to being fixated on his phone.
after over ten years of knowing each other, you and jungkook could see through each other like glass. the only problem was that nobody ever wanted to speak up. you feared the glaring possibility of other buried conflict dating further back into the relationship because of this dynamic.
you didn’t think you deserved the blame for the tension in the air. there were several things in your mind, but jungkook wasn’t exactly a person who could easily mask their emotions. something was off with him, too, and you needed to figure out what it was. you could only hope for the best case scenario because otherwise, it was going to be your worst nightmare. there was no situation you could fathom where his behaviour was a result of an in between.
keeping your voice casual, you asked, “who are you texting?”
“my mom.”
you held back a sigh - jungkook was never particularly keen on involving you with his family. though you’d been together since he was sixteen, you always felt like he kept you an arm’s reach away from that part of your life and you never understood why.
“oh. tell her i say hi,” you said and he hummed in response.
whilst you weren’t in a talkative mood, it wasn’t like jungkook was doing anything to keep the conversation flowing either. you guys obviously texted and called during his time away, but the present atmosphere was awkward, like there was nothing to talk about after his grand return. you hugged and kissed at the airport, asked how his flight was, and that was that. driving him felt like a business endeavour, rather than welcoming your long-term partner back to the country.
after a few minutes, jungkook finally looked up from his phone. upon peering out the window, he grew confused and turned to you.
he questioned, “where are we going? the apartment is in the other direction.”
“just wait,” you assured, forcing a small smile. “take off your hoodie and put on what i have for you in the backseat.”
there was a shopping bag sitting behind jungkook’s seat and he reluctantly reached over, revealing a silk ysl shirt that you picked up that very afternoon. sighing, he did as you asked and made the change. you didn’t care to look over at your boyfriend’s shirtless body, too irritated at the curtness of the conversation.
you just wanted to get to the destination, the heavy silence becoming too much for you. there wasn’t even music on. you found yourself focusing too much on it, as you finally pulled up to the infamous hotel azure. somehow tucked away in the busy songpa district, it is unassuming to the civilian eye, but a well-known name amongst the circles of south korea’s entertainment industry. you didn’t “make it” in entertainment until you attended a party at hotel azure.
jungkook shifted in his seat. “what is this?” his tone was demanding, which immediately put you off. “the plan was to go home.”
to be fair, the last time that the two of you were at the azure hotel, jungkook wound up with a bloody nose after getting into it with an not-to-be-named yg idol at one of jackson wang’s wild parties. you weren’t even sure what happened yourself, bleary eyed for the majority of the night with several substances in your body. hotel azure was for idols at the top of the world with everything to lose, a favourite place of yours around 2018. it was now a place that you actively tried to avoid, but made an exception for the special occasion.
“calm down,” you shot back, not letting him get away with the voice he used. “just wait, i said.”
“i’m tired, y/n,” jungkook pleaded, as you stopped the car for the valet to take.
you ignored him - it wasn’t like it was up to you - and unbuckled your seatbelt, not waiting a second for jungkook.
not only did you pick up your boyfriend from the airport, you also spent hours meticulously preparing your appearance for the night. it didn’t seem like jungkook noticed, other than at the airport, when he questioned why you were wearing high heels.
you never wore heels unless you were working, but that changed when you met jungkook. he loved it when you wore heels and by the time your respective trainee debts were paid, made it a point. you bought platforms with the anticipation of how your boyfriend would go crazy over them. jungkook gifted you designer jimmy choos and pradas whenever you guys got into a fight. it made you feel your prettiest and he showered you with compliments every time.
now, he looked at you oddly for it, like you were doing too much.
jungkook eventually gave up and followed you in without a word, watching you take off your trench coat to reveal a stunning baby pink two-piece dress. the colour glittered under the low lighting of the hotel lobby and the corset accentuated your curves in all the right aways. except, he still did not say a word. this made you frown.
you handed off your coat to an employee and jungkook did the same. the lobby was empty, but you and jungkook knew exactly where to go, making a beeline for the elevator and pressing the button to move up to the penthouse suite.
“why didn’t you warn me about this?” he grumbled under his breath, adjusting his shirt in the mirror.
because that’s how surprise parties work, you wanted to reply. unfortunately, this was not a surprise party that you wanted to celebrate, so you didn’t even try to keep jungkook excited. you were both quiet, irritable, and only wanted to go home.
you said, “this is the part where i cover your eyes and lead you out.”
jungkook complied and you placed your perfectly manicured hands over his line of vision. other than sharing a hug and kiss earlier, this was the closest you’d physically gotten to your boyfriend in months. your hands were cold and you were close enough that he could hear your breathing - all too uncomfortable.
the elevator dinged and you nudged jungkook to step forward. the penthouse’s lights were off, but you could make out the shuffling of feet from behind the kitchen counter. it looked like everything was set up and pristine. then, in just a beat, the entire room lit up and you removed your hands from jungkook’s eyes.
“SURPRISE!”
the floor rumbled, voices roaring and bodies popping out from different places - behind pillars, couches and the bar. jungkook’s eyes brightened in a way that you had yet to see since reuniting with him earlier and it made your heart sink. you hadn’t realized how dull his demeanour was around you until something else actually made him smile.
his closest friends and family gathered in the penthouse and there was a large, golden banner that hung from the walls that said “welcome back jungkook!” the other wall was decorated with another banner, but this one said “good luck rm, v, jimin and jungkook!”
jungkook’s older brother was the first one that enveloped him into a bear hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him, then his mom. this was followed by the remainder of his band mates that managed to make the party. you awkwardly stood off to the side, a wide smile plastered on your face to mask your despondence. it seemed like jungkook’s exhaustion only existed when he was sitting in a car with you, as his laughter echoed throughout the room.
you caught jungkook’s eye and he already knew how you were feeling. while he exchanged words with other friends, it was namjoon who pulled you to the side.
“hey. you guys did a really great job with the party,” you started, looking around.
the penthouse of the azure hotel was a thing of beauty, with ceiling high windows that looked over the lights of seoul. everything shone and glimmered - the city skyline, the perfect marble floors, the expensive liquor bottles, and hell, even the perfect teeth of the myriad of a-list south korean celebrities gracing this exclusive party. there wasn’t a wrong way to ever throw a party there, but the group made an extra effort to make jungkook’s homecoming a special one.
jungkook was swarmed by several people, all asking about his time in america and how exciting it was. those were the words you used to describe it for him, too, when you sent him off months ago. you watched him take shots with mingyu and eunwoo.
namjoon shook his head, “no, no. this wouldn’t be possible without you,” he said and then glanced at jungkook, “and i’m sure he knows it, too.”
the boys, despite it also serving as a goodbye party before their enlistments, had been helping you plan the surprise for weeks leading up to jungkook’s arrival. it was one of the longest times jungkook had been apart from them and from the country in general, so they wanted to make it extra special. though you were the main mastermind behind the gathering, you initially didn’t want to do it at all.
“yeah, i hope so,” you replied, as you poured yourself a glass of white wine. “you guys all deserve it.”
over the years, jungkook’s band mates slowly became some of your friends, as well. it was somber goodbye for you in all kinds of ways. everyone was preparing to send them off with good luck and high spirits.
the boys were also preparing in their own way. you noticed that taehyung and jimin’s girlfriends were missing from the party, which only confirmed your speculations.
“it was just bound to happen,” said a voice.
it was taehyung who joined you and namjoon in a quiet circle at the corner of the living room. all of the boys looked a little bit sad, despite the celebratory atmosphere, but you read a different kind of story in taehyung’s eyes.
he smiled with a hint of gloom. “you’re looking around for her, right?”
as a fellow idol and also a girlfriend to a member of one of the biggest groups in the world, taehyung’s girlfriend grew to become one of your close confidants in the past few years. you guys were polite before, but this connection created a specific bond that couldn’t be understood by anyone else. however, you hadn’t heard from her in a few days and with her absence at taehyung’s goodbye party, you put two and two together.
to his side, namjoon clapped a hand on his friend’s back. “sorry, man.”
“i hope it was cordial,” you mustered up, ignoring the growing heaviness at the pit of your stomach. you could only hope you weren’t next.
taehyung replied. “she understood, but she wasn’t happy. regardless,” he sighed, “we’re still so young. her career is just blowing up even more, i feel like i’d only be holding her back.”
that was the way it went. when enlistment rolled around for most couples, it was either breaking up or a ring. you looked at your feet, not knowing what to say.
“jimin also told me that he broke things off with - “
a loud yelp squeaked from taehyung, who was abruptly jabbed in the side with namjoon’s elbow. the latter cleared his throat and you recognized that look. namjoon only made that face when he pulled the leader card and needed to put someone in their place. you figured that your worries were transparent to those around you.
namjoon cleared his throat. “not in a chatty mood?”
while you greeted people during the set-up of the party, you realized that you had yet to actually try socializing. things were awkward with jungkook’s parents, who you long suspected didn’t approve of you for various reasons. in general, most people were interested in chatting with the boys, which you didn’t mind. it was a gathering to send them off, after all.
“not really. you guys should go mingle with your friends,” you said, taking another sip of your wine. “it’s your party.”
“i hope i’m not overstepping, but did you and jungkook get in a fight?” taehyung asked.
you blinked slowly. “no. does it seem like it?”
“just seems like he’s nervous about something,” he commented and you noticed namjoon glare at him once more, as if to shut up.
for the first time that night, you felt a glimmer of mixed feelings that left you wondering. why would he be nervous? the big visual forming in your mind was a diamond ring. you and jungkook had contemplated marriage in the past year, but it was also the source of many arguments. you weren’t even sure you wanted to get married now, but your mother had been getting into your ear about you getting older. then, there were your respective companies who lost their shit at the idea. but, what really mattered, was jungkook’s opinion. he seemed to wave it off or change the topic at every opportunity, so your hopes for a ring lived in the back of your mind.
despite this, taehyung was right. jungkook looked nervous. he’d been irritated at being dragged to his surprise party - you wondered if it was delusional enough to believe that he had plans for the two of you, instead.
for the rest of the night, you continued to keep to yourself. you weren’t lying when you told jungkook you were tired, but you were determined to stay as long as you could and pretend that you and jungkook weren’t stealing mysterious glances at each other for the entire evening. it was obvious and only made you anxious.
a few hours later and the party only grew in numbers and in noise. you thought you lost him in the crowd, until you left to refill your nth drink and found him talking to his cousin.
the two were smiling and laughing, as his cousin appeared to be showing jungkook pictures on his phone. you assumed it was her newborn daughter - she gave birth just two months before her fiance was to be discharged and now that he was back, the wedding was just around the corner. you remembered jungkook telling you that she was proposed to on the day of his enlistment.
jungkook caught your eye and he immediately looked away - what the hell was that? he even turned slightly and you couldn’t read his lips. something was going on. you watched him shove his hands in his pockets and you swore you saw the shape of a small square inside.
eventually, you grew tired of the tension in the air and the music began to make your head pound. the longer you thought about your partner, the greater your anxieties grew. there was a chance you even just although it was late in the year and a fresh sheet of snow adorned the streets of seoul, you decided it was best to step out into the balcony to take some time to breathe.
nobody else was there, thankfully, and you let out a shiver when you stepped out. the peppermint air dispelled the haze in your head and in your heart, as taking a deep breath was the greatest relief you felt all night. though your muscles remained tense and you knew you wouldn’t last out in the cold, the balcony was a welcome change.
you weren’t sure how long you were outside when the door creaked open and just by the footsteps alone, you knew who it was.
“your guests will miss you,” you said, not even looking behind you.
at this point, you were hugging yourself to stop shivering. a rustle later and you felt a thick blanket drape over your shoulders, the wool of its make completely enveloping you with much needed warmth. you relaxed your shoulders, but couldn’t look jungkook in the eyes.
“something’s wrong. tell me.”
jungkook’s wine stained lips were pulled into a frown and although he hid it well when he was chatting away with his friends and family, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. he sniffled a few times and you knew why, but you decided to bite your tongue. it was his party and he was an adult who could celebrate whatever way he wanted. it was also clear that neither of you had the energy to argue. instead, to his surprise, you raised an arm and gestured for him to come closer.
he sidestepped towards you and although you were shorter, let you wrap some of the blanket around him. his cold arm snaked around your waist and you tensed up again at his touch.
you continued to look out into the skyline. “i was going to say the same for you.”
“i’m really thankful for the party, love,” he ignored your question and pressed a kiss against your temple.
you mumbled under your breath, “it wasn’t easy." this was the first time all night that you were comfortable enough to physically touch jungkook and you suspected alcohol played a role in relieving the tension between you two, but it was always going to be easy to fall right back into routine.
and just like that, you felt a stinging sensation in your eyes. tears welled up and blurred your vision, which only made you turn your head away further from your boyfriend. he caught this immediately, his instincts nothing but natural when it came to you, and pulled you right into his chest.
the sound that came out of your mouth sounded nothing like you. the sob was desperate and helpless. it was akin to a toddler who couldn’t do anything by themselves. your voice cracked with each body-shaking sob and you didn’t have the guts to conceal it. your head was buried into jungkook’s new shirt, ruining it, but he only stroked your hair and wrapped the blanket tighter around the two of you.
“it’s okay. . .” jungkook cooed and for what seemed like the first time in a while, he sounded like himself.
it wasn’t like jungkook had undergone a drastic change from his time in america, but it was a gradual shift that you felt over a longer period of time. you attributed to the fact that you were no longer teenagers and things weren’t going to be the same as it did ten, even five years ago. that was what you told yourself, but you weren’t sure why you still held on to the old jungkook you knew.
in that moment, he sounded like the fifteen year old boy you met in a convenience store again. he sounded like the jungkook who wrote you disgusting love songs that were horrible, but you adored anyway. he sounded like the man who you talked about children and a big house and an annoying dog with.
as you found the bravery to finally pull away from jungkook’s comforting embrace, you looked up and saw that future in his eyes. his features softened, but he looked sad. your heart sank once again.
“you’re not just crying because i’m enlisting, are you?” he finally spoke, just above a whisper. his tone was certain, barely a question - after ten years together, jungkook knew you better than you knew yourself.
you froze. there was nothing else you could do but shut your eyes tight, pretending that this wasn’t really happening.
after a beat, you found your voice. “listen. . .we both know what happens after a man enlists. look at taehyung and jimin. look at your cousin.”
over the years, you and jungkook had gone through hell and back. you thought the worst day of your life was when dispatch leaked the news that you were dating five years ago, but you were able to recover. you thought it was the worst day of your life when your breakup was witnessed by the entire world, but you were able to recover. you even thought the worst day of your life was when word got out that you and jungkook got back together, effectively proving that you were weak and were the type of girl to crawl back to her ex. you recovered then, as well.
at the second part of your sentence, you felt jungkook physically tense up.
“is that why you’ve been acting weird lately?” he replied.
you don’t know where it came from, but something triggered a spark of anger in you. still, with a tear stained face and a runny nose, you opened your eyes and met his. this was not something you would be able to recover from.
you said, “it hasn’t just been lately, jungkook. you know exactly what’s on my mind, we’ve been talking - “
“ - and you know what my answer has been, baby. you know what kind of position i’m in,” he interrupted, breaking apart from your hold and the blanket he brought for you.
he wasn’t wrong. you did know what kind of position he was in. one of the biggest stars in the world and he had everything to lose, especially with the anxieties looming in the air for him and the rest of his group. every one of them were on their toes as soon as their enlistment dates were finalized, fearing their fade from the spotlight. you and the rest of the world knew that it was bullshit, that the bts was going to be forgotten just because they were going into the military for a few years.
marriage would surely ruin that further, right?
you said, “and you know what position i’m in.”
the careless joys of your early twenties had come and gone, which left you at the mercy of your mother’s constant talks about marriage. not just her, but other family members and even some of your friends. after all, you and jungkook had been together for ten years and you were pushing thirty sooner or later.
you also had your own fears in regard to your career. jungkook once laughed when you expressed your worries about the public no longer finding you young and pretty, but it was a real fear. most girl groups didn’t last more than a few years. many of your contemporaries had long said goodbye to their idol persona and went their separate ways from their band for a new life. you were considered a lucky one to remain with your group and maintain relevance, but for how long? was it time for you to finally settle down? you weren’t granted the same longevity as jungkook’s renowned group and you weren’t bitter about it, but nervous.
snowflakes began to fall once again and as one fell on your eyelashes, you noticed jungkook’s jaw clench.
“we’ve talked about this,” he said and you knew your wandering thoughts about a potential proposal were too good to be true.
you began, “look, i know that things are different for people like us. . “ but, things were changing. in recent years, you watched several of your peers get married and have children without losing their spot in the limelight.
“y/n. . .what made you think i changed my mind?” jungkook sighed, pacing back and forth to calm himself down.
“i just thought. . .”
“i’m sorry, but i wasn’t going to propose before my enlistment.” this time, jungkook’s frustrations melted away and there was genuine sadness in his voice.
he stepped closer to you and put his hands on your waist. you didn’t know what to say. you really had been pretending that his strange behaviour was because of a hope that seemed impossible now.
you took a deep breath. “you never said no. you made it seem like you were considering it.”
that was what silenced jungkook. it was true, there was never an outright refusal from jungkook. he would say things that implied he would talk to his company again or “with time” it would come. he gave you just enough reassurance, but never confirmation.
continuing, you said, “and you even indulged in keeping the fantasy alive with me. you’re sick for talking about honeymoon destinations with me and suggesting songs we could dance to.”
“hey. i’ve said time ands time again that there is no future where you aren’t by my side,” jungkook tried getting you to look at him, but every time he moved, you turned away.
there was no reason for you to make eye contact. you felt like a fool and if you met his eyes, you knew you would just burst into tears again. then, you thought about your conversation earlier with your friends and your vision became wet again.
“were you planning to break up with me before you enlisted?”
“what? no,” he responded, but you weren’t convinced.
you responded, “it was going to be inevitable, wasn’t it? like jimin and taehyung. you were going to be done with me.”
this time, jungkook forced you to look at him by the chin and your shoulders dropped. there was a crease in between his eyebrows that you don’t remember seeing even just a year ago. he looked more tired than he did as a rookie with barely survivable living standards.
“time really goes by, huh?” you murmured, fighting to keep your voice stable.
“we were never going to break up, love,” jungkook maintained.
still, his words didn’t penetrate further than surface level. you were left numb and the chill of winter in seoul had nothing to do with it. you wished that someone would just call jungkook away, but the party inside continued on without him.
“you bought a ring. i saw it when we video called.”
jungkook’s lips parted. you knew it. you knew you weren’t losing your mind. over the last ten years, you made some crazy accusations for all kinds of reasons. this time was different and you saw it on his face.
even after what seemed like forever, jungkook couldn’t find words to say. the longer he waited to speak, the faster your heart began to race.
he rubbed his temples and finally, he spoke. jungkook spoke and you immediately dropped the blanket he brought for you, dashing right back inside. you walked past every single attendee and ignored the few that cried out your name. you didn’t care what it looked like. you just knew you had to get out of there.
jungkook said there was a ring. he began to open his mouth and explain further, especially when he read the horrified expression on your face, but you wanted no part in it. there was no room for you to think about what that meant. you only saw red.
you weren’t sure why you wanted a proposal so badly. you knew you didn’t care that much about what your mother wanted and getting married was no solution to the prospects of a dying career. you were second guessing if your wishes for a wedding were even genuine.
on the other hand, maybe you intended for the wedding to be a solution to a dying relationship.
LATEST NEWS: hybe dismisses reports that bts’ jungkook and S.IREN’s nova are engaged, seeking legal action against gossip website that went viral for spreading the false rumour
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