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Corpse Groom - G.S.
Synopsis. Till déath do you part…or does it when a déathly error leads your newly-wedded husband to be from beyond the gráve?
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, CÓRPSE BRIDE!AU, arranged marriages, period-typical mísogyny, Naoya is awful, accidental marriage, ángst, major character(s) déath, HAPPY ENDING, talks of déath, kníves, poíson, reíncarnation, Gojo YEARNS, he loves you sm I cried, hándjobs, fíngering, spítting, cúmplay, BRÉEDING, creampíes, mentions of having kids, pússydrúnk Gojo, overstím, oraI (fem rec.), pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.7k (ohoho)
A/N. K!nktober isn’t over until I had to make a rewrite of my favorite Halloween movie mhm <3
“Mother, I refuse-”
“Nonsense, child!”
That sharp snap! of your mother’s feathered fan is loud enough that the whole carriage rattles on its hinges, creaking you noisily to what seemed like your very doom.
You gulp when she’s tilting her head down as far as her best, high-collared gown would allow, eyes narrowing. “The Zenin’s are the only nobles left in this wretched town, and I will not have my daughter marrying some commoner.”
The unsteady cobblestone pathway jostles you in your cushioned seat ever-so-slightly, a pertinent little reminder of that fact.
In the deafening silence, your father pipes up - ever-the-pacifist, “Now now, why don’t we all calm down, especially before such a glorious wedding.” But his words wither out into nothing but a whisper in the simmering tension. “Like your mother said, dear, the Zenin’s are a good family, with a uh-” Coughing nervously, “-good son. We just want you to be taken care of.”
As if that was the only thing.
But there was no use arguing.
Facing back to the gray window with a sigh, and you can only whisper. “I’d rather die than marry Naoya Zenin.”
---
“With this hand-”
“Louder.”
“With this-”
“More passionate.”
“With this damn hand-”
“Not a threat.” The older woman in front of you wrings her satin gloves, turning towards your fuming parents with a tone that matches their expression. “Honestly, I know that you new money people find it hard to adjust but this is our special tradition! My poor baby Naoya is going to be heartbroken tomorrow.”
Dutchess Zenin had a cruel sort of beauty to her, high cheekbones, and cutting eyes that picked apart every fray at your dress - the spitting image of her son.
And her “poor baby Naoya” was currently finding it impossible to hide his smirk. Swiping away invisible dust from the velvety-clad shoulder of his overpriced suit, he sets down his wine bottle from the vows.
“Don’t be too harsh, mother.” Naoya’s smooth voice comes out in a dangerous purr, and you jolt when one of his strong arms slither around your waist. Possessive. “After all, it’s this one’s face that’s what’s important.”
God, if it weren’t for your parents’ pointed looks you would have shoved this overly-perfumed bastard away from you and bolted through those high doors faster than you could say “I do.”
The Naoya Estate was as beautiful as its occupants could never be, brutal, looming architecture intended to make you feel smaller than you were. All those high cemented pillars, plush furniture, and gleaming chandeliers spoke of exactly what your parents wanted - power.
It wasn’t the sort of home you’d like to call your own, but then again, you didn’t have any choice in the matter.
“My deepest apologies on behalf of my daughter, madam-” your mother’s gritting out the words, painted lips curling ever-so-slightly towards the end with a bitter taste. “-or should I say, co-mother-in-law? Ah, come now, we might as well be family already, right?”
“Sure.” Dutchess Naoya turns, arching a needle brow. “Might as well, thanks to your family assets- if your daughter doesn’t make a joke of the vows, that is.”
The wisened officiary standing at the altar nods solemnly towards you. “Do you even want to get married tomorrow, young lady?” No, you want to answer, but bite back. “Zenin house traditions dictate that the mark of a good wife is one to follow the vows to its every syllable.”
You wince - and your features sting where they’d been perfectly stretched into a plastic smile. Your next words come out small, strangled in a way that makes your future husband smile. “I apologize, I know how important these vows are, and I’ll- I’ll do better next time.”
“Good.”
With a click of Dutchess Zenin’s fingers, a hushed, swirling piano melody fills the hall once more.
Your wedding ballad.
Something that Naoya had prattled on and on about being an esteemed tradition in the Zenin household, a tender tune to accompany their sacred vows. Modeled after the long-lost royalty of this kingdom, and this was the closest you’d get to a taste of it.
It was your one initiation into power - saying those sweet, special promises - and the one thing you found impossible to get right.
“-for I will be your wine.”
Shit.
You didn’t even realize that Naoya had polished off his own vows, before you jolt at the hefty weight of wine being poured into your cup.
And you could practically feel the burning stare of every eye in the room. Watching. Waiting.
You’re fighting against your intricate corset to gulp in a deep inhale of the stale, thickening air. Clearing your throat ever-so-slightly, you raise the hand holding onto his wedding ring. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Y-your cup will never empty-” Fingers tightening around the silver goblet in your other, your breath hitches at the bile rising to your throat already. “-for I will be your- your uh- wine.”
In the corner of your vision, you could spot Naoya’s smug smirk already. You could hear his tiny “As if you have any other choice.”
You knew what he was thinking.
That whisper is enough to make your jaw grind, your hand clench in a way you’d been taught by your mother not to - in a way that she’d unfortunately forgotten to tell you was for the cup’s sake, rather than your own.
Because it only takes one harsh squeeze before it just bursts.
Red, red wine trickling all down your wrist, splattering onto the gauzy curve of your gown - but more importantly, onto Naoya’s crisp suit.
It bleeds through the velvet in thick smears, seeping into the fabric as if catching on fire. Only staining further and further with each second he’s flailing frantically to wipe it off.
“Shit- My apologies- oh, shit-” you’re gasping, but there’s no one paying enough attention to tell you off for your unlady-like profanity right now. Body moving before your mind, you snatch some of the officiary’s papers from him, “Wait, it will only get worse- let me-”
Only to forget what was in your hands.
Honestly, if this was any other time you would have laughed watching the rest of the wine nestled safely in your cup come gushing down onto whatever was left of his unmarred suit - every single inch.
It’s chaos.
Then it’s silence.
Every single breathing being in the room can only watch as the last few crimson droplets drip! drip! drip! onto Naoya Zenin’s lapels.
Wordlessly, you look to the aghast officiary, your stony-faced parents, and finally, your gaping fiancé. You’re the first to speak - to hold back your chuckles, more like. “I- I cannot apologize enough…”
“You- you witch! This was on purpose, wasn’t it? Do you know how much this custom suit cost? How it was worn by the late highness himself.” Naoya’s screeching, voice shrill. Pointing a finger accusingly at you, it would be menacing if it wasn’t for the big, fat droplets of red dripping from his angry features. More of a drenched cat than the gentleman he pretends to be. “Remember that I’m doing you a favor by marrying you-”
You cross your arms, struggling to keep composure. “I shall reimburse-”
“-and acting all haughty as if you were from the royal family itself.” he’s frantic, mouth running a mile a minute. Tugging at his wet strands, “And my hair, oh my beautiful beautiful hair-”
“I shall reimburse the emotional damages, too!”
Dutchess Zenin tackles her son into a soothing embrace you find almost comical, granting you with a venomous glare that you were sure if looks could kill, she’d be lowering you into your grave and waltzing over it with Naoya already.
Simpering, “It’s quite alright my poor boy, this wedding cannot take place! We can find another-”
“No no no- no, I still want to marry her-” His greedy eyes sweep your trembling figure up and down, “Doesn’t matter if she’s an unfit wife, I’ll fix her up-” You’re quirking a brow, “Swear I’ll marry her and fix her up into-”
THUD!
You’re throwing the cup remaining in your hand as hard as you can, hitting Naoya right in the bullseye of his chest. And as soon as the air leaves his lungs, they leave yours too - in a stubborn, infuriated hiss, “Well, I’d never marry a spoiled, pompous brat like you.”
And with a flick of the stray beads of wine on your fingers at his face for good measure, you lift your heavy skirts as scandalously far as they’d travel to dart out of the door.
Out of the winding corridors.
Out of the Zenin Estate.
Ignoring every call of your name, every arm reaching out for you - urgently following your feet wherever they took you. Honestly, you’re so busy gasping in deep lungfuls of the cool, fall air embracing you that you’re half-surprised you only crash into a few people on the streets.
Again. And again. And again and again, yet never stopping. Afraid of being followed by Naoya. Or even worse - your parents.
You barely even slow down until your tailored shoes crunch against gray snow, eyes taking in lines upon lines of towering trees in front of you. Tall, towering. Weaving their branches with the sky - ominous, almost, against the steadily darkening night creeping its way in.
The forest, you’re realizing with a gasp. Have you really come this far?
Taking a glimpse over your shoulder at the twinkling lights of the town in the distance, you think of the vows that were waiting for you, and the town rumors you’d definitely sparked. Well, a walk to cool off wouldn’t hurt…
And despite wanting to relax, your thoughts only churn with each step. Replaying the scenes from earlier over and over and-
“And your cup will always- fuck- they probably think I’m such a fool.” you’re spitting, kicking at a pile of snow. “Fuck Naoya and his vows, fuck that stupid wine, should’ve shoved it up his-”
Just then, a sudden gust of fall air puffs up against your ear, sending goosebumps careening down every bit of your exposed skin. You shudder sharply, hands shovelling for warmth inside your gown’s pockets, “Ugh, today’s such a horrible-” Only to cut yourself off with a gasp- “This is…”
You feel for that metallic cold again, hastily pulling out that solid, silvery ring. Meant for Naoya Zenin.
Admittedly gorgeous, an intricate band with a delicate sapphire embedded in its middle. Your mother had spent months tracking down the best jeweler in the country to forge a ring that even the Zenin’s would be impressed with.
Fit for a king.
You scoff, “An unfit wife, my ass. It’s not even that difficult.”
Still feeling highly insulted, and only slightly embarrassed for it, you clear your throat. Speaking clearly into the stiff air, “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” Determinedly you stride your way into the middle of a slight clearing, “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”
Grasping a stray branch, you mock lighting the altar candles. “With this candle, I will light your way in the darkness.”
Before setting down on one knee - customary for the groom, yet feeling so right when you gaze down at a tree root sticking up from the blanket of snow. Poised like the prettiest of fingers at the foot of a towering oak.
“With this ring,” You’re sliding it down easily as you would have to onto the man you hated the most. “I ask you to be mine.”
.
.
.
You don’t expect the sudden shift.
You don’t expect the wind to pick up, you don’t expect for a murder of crows to materialize from the midnight darkness and crowd on a tree right behind you. Letting the tree root slip from your fingers, you whirl around - what- a storm?
But before you can think of any answers, that withered branch shoots further out of the ground. Barely giving you a split-second to jump backwards before cupping your cheek, gently.
And you could’ve sworn that one twig glides across your cheek - just the way one’s thumb would have. Like the softest of lovers.
Gasping in fear, you fall backwards, splaying out into the uncomfortably bone-chilling snow below.
You can only watch as the tree root twitches once. Twice. And your ears thunder with the high-pitched howls of the wind, and a sudden, booming bang! bang! bang!
Shit.
Your eyes widen, it was coming from under the ground.
The ground that was splitting open before your very eyes.
Wider. And wider. Like something was baring itself before you. Something was clawing all the way from hell, that tree root only surging up, up, upwards in a long, limb-like fashion. Branching out into five fingers that dig their way into the ground. Hard.
And if you didn’t think you were about to faint from just this - you were definitely on the verge of it when the fingers lead their way into a forearm, a shoulder. Miles upon miles of skin - a person, towering above you, silhouetted by moonlight.
He looks at you with sapphire eyes. Close.
A man.
Beautiful.
Whispering, “I do.” Nose to cold nose, thick white lashes fluttering shut. “You may now kiss the groom.”
---
You’re barely half-awake when you realize that that was probably the strangest dream you’ve had in your life.
Groaning, you rub blearily at your eyes - yet, through the bursts of stars and pounding flashes of headaches, all you can think about is him and his chilling lips on yours.
Soft, like a leaving lover.
Even in your most feverish of dreams, you’d never conjured up anyone so ethereal. Tall, powerful despite the almost-sickly air about him, and the deep circles underneath his gleaming eyes.
But so gorgeous - sorrowfully so.
The image burned permanently into your mind, like your most favorite of memories. Every tiny detail down from the almost-blinding reflection of the moon against his cloudy hair, to how that illuminated his soft smile - that tiny dimple at the corner of his pert, pretty mouth.
You remember how he wore a wedding suit, the kind that nobles these days wouldn’t dare touch with a six foot sword with how it looked centuries out of fashion. Stark white, with fine silver detailing down the velvety fabric for you to admire.
How ironic, somehow, the thought made you sad.
But most of all, you especially remember the way he looked at you.
Just like he was right now.
“Ah!”
“Now that’s not usually the reaction I- fuck!”
He was real. So painfully real.
And clutching his face where you’d claimed a swat at one of high cheekbones.
“Ouch, my wife has a real good arm on her, huh?” Blinking back the haziness in your eyes, you catch sight of that same summer blue gaze, eyes crinkled slightly at the ends. Tender, despite being attacked by you less than a minute after gaining consciousness. “Though, I love a strong woman.”
“New arrival! Looks like we got ourselves a breather-”
“Looks like she fainted, is she alright? You know we can’t keep her long-”
“Can I touch her? Looks so soft~”
White - white fills your vision, too-late are you realizing that you’re being pressed into the soft coat of his chest. Inching you away from a hulking, four-armed creature, he mutters, “She’s my wife, you curse.”
“What-” It takes you a few more seconds to finally find your voice. In those moments you look up to take in his boyishly pretty features - about your age. Human, had it not been for that otherworldly faint blue pallor. “Is this a joke? Where am-”
Choking on your words as you take a sweeping look around the - tavern? Realm? It looked like the very same one in your own town, except bright. Musical. Everything that your home wasn’t. Finding faces you could never imagine looking at you - some beautiful, some mere skeletons, all taken out of your wildest dreams.
And all dead, it hits you with a jolt.
Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt safer in his arms.
“Something wrong, my love?”
You pinch yourself, “I need questions- now.”
“You mean answers.” One from the pub crowd scoffs - a towering man, handsome. He’d look ever-so-ordinary if it wasn’t for the completely skeletal arm on his left side. And of course, that same death-like serenity. “Honestly, Gojo, you picked an airhead or what?”
The man that still held you - Gojo, you assume - whines in protest, “Shut up, Toji. I’d always love her regardless- and she said her vows so perfectly.”
“I did…” you breathe.
Shit.
Shit shit shit- you did.
Cocking your head, you ask. “Who are you?”
He’s rolling his eyes, gifting you a crooked grin of pearly whites. “Your husband, obviously?”
And before you can pinch yourself again to make sure you weren’t dreaming, and that last time was a fluke - or perhaps smack him again - Gojo shows off one slender hand. Naoya Zenin’s ring adorned proudly across his ring finger. Your ring. With your vows.
“So…” you let out a giggle of still disbelief. “You’re the tree-”
“Not quite but-”
“Oh! I love this story- could make a skeleton cry.”
“Heh, yeah yeah sing it, king of curses.”
“Please don’t.”
“You see, welcome to the Land of the Dead, doll.” A man with pink hair sets down his drink to throw one of his four arms around your shoulder, much to Gojo’s chagrin. Words dripping with taunt, “N’ lemme tell you the story of our lovely corpse groom.”
You’re dragged along through the crowded, eerily lit tavern, everyone jostling each other to better get a look at you. Poking and prodding, some even gasping at the feeling of your thundering pulse.
He hums, “Here we have a pompous prince known miles around-” And you could tell him and Gojo had already known each other long, with how he was toying with the other man. “-fell hard and fast for a cute lil’ peasant girl much like yourself-”
“Sukuna, stop it.” Gojo grits, jaw clenched.
“-but, alas. When dear ol’ dad the king said ‘no’, he jus’ couldn’t cope. So our dear lovers came up with a plan to elope-”
You’re thrust into the arms of an attractive blond man, almost half of his entire face held together with stitches and bone. Heaving out a sigh in a way you could very much feel akin to, “Meeting up late at night is always a stupid plan, even with all the wine and riches for the road. You might not need much when you have love, but you never know what’s lurking. And, well, on that dark night, our prince here paid the price.” When you look back at the white-haired man his eyes seemed significantly softer, if that was even possible.
Toji’s the one by your side this time, “Poof! Dropped dead as dust waiting for his dear girl, no evidence, no body, no bride. What a crybaby he was when he arrived. Didn’t even want to stay here-”
“-because then he made a promise to wait upstairs.” Another man - with such gorgeous, long hair makes himself known this time. Forehead littered in strange stitches, as if it’d been opened and fixed many, many times. “And waited and waited asleep for one hundred years to this day until out of the blue, you came along, sweetness. The lovely bride, to our corpse groom.”
You.
And Gojo looks at you like he can’t look away.
Lone, standing there with his arms open as the story tapers out. Waiting.
Until you came along.
---
“HERE YE, HERE YE…FUTURE BRIDE OF ZENIN HOUSE SEEN LURKING IN THE FOREST WITH A MYSTERY MAN– now for the weather…”
“What?” your mother hisses at the bellows of the local newsman, well, rumor-spreader, more like. But he’s never been more useful than now. Sneaking an urgent glance at the stunned Dutchess Zenin by her side, she elbows your father, “We come outside to search for our daughter only to hear this? How could we let this-”
“Maybe it’s a ah- slow news day?”
They’re interrupted by a sudden, sharp clearing of one’s throat - dripping with the distinct tone of condescension that only a member of the Zenin family could possess. “We are one bride short for the wedding tomorrow. What a scandal!”
“Ah!” she’s gasping. Waving her hands frantically, “W-we promise we’ll find her before the wedding-”
“You better.”
“No.” Naoya Zenin’s voice was brimming with something dangerous, an eerie, steady lilt of determination to it. But he’s not even looking at anyone in the group, eyes trained firmly on the woody entrance to the forest in the distance. “I’ll be the one to find her.”
Finally, something that seems to appease the huffing matriarch.
Only leaving her sullen son with a nod of approval, “And Naoya…” She makes sure the other two bothers were out of earshot, greedily scurrying back to the warmth of the Zenin household. “Remember, the ah- family funds are drying up. Hurry.”
---
Gojo Satoru, you learn, was as nervous about this marriage as you were.
“This is where I always visited after first dying.” he muses, ice-cold fingers wrapped snugly with yours as he guides you gently through various crooked stairs and skeletons of town. “The view takes my breath away- well, if I could breathe, that is.”
You’re startling out a laugh that has both of you surprised, and he turns to you with such breathless awe.
“Beautiful.”
“What-” your eyes widen - and you don’t know whether it’s from his sudden little compliment, or from where you two had finally stopped walking.
A steep cliff, overlooking the entire, vast town of multi-color lights. The rigid structure from where you came could never compare. Complete chaos. But as pretty as those paintings you read about in books, views you never thought you’d see.
You rest your hands atop the spindly barrier surrounding the very edge, marveling. “It is beautiful…”
“It is.” Gojo’s tone is rich, and his eyes never stray from you despite all else there is to drink in. It takes you a few moments of counting all the bustling figures in the distance before you finally mount up the courage to meet his hypnotic gaze.
Gojo jolts when you look his way, as if he wasn’t expecting it. Hastily, he flusters to pat down the sides of his suit - tattered at places, patchy as if once-pristine but ruined with age. He’s smiling once he ruffles through his breast pocket, pulling out something glinting.
You’re letting out a tiny gasp when he shows off a silver, heart-shaped locket. Intricate, obviously custom-tailored - you’d never quite seen anything like it. Positively beaming with all the shine that the rest of him had lost.
Treasured.
“It’s for you.”
“What?” Your jaw falls slack in shock, pushing away Gojo’s held-out hands. But he was ever-persistent. “Please- I can’t, that- that looks like it should be for someone precious.”
“And it is.”
This was the firmest you’d heard his sing-song voice, and at your slightest split-second of faltering, he snatches the opportunity to circle his hands around your neck. Deftly clasping it from behind, Gojo only smiles, soft pads of his fingers lingering at your nape. “I’ve had it for years.” You wanted to know exactly how many years that meant. “Consider it a wedding gift~”
Your own dust over the cool metal pendant, heart lurching. “If only you let me know about our wedding in advance, I would’ve gifted you something, too.”
“Heh, you don’t have to.”
“Do too”
“Do not.”
“Do too.” You cross your arms, boring your eyes into his. “I’m not going to be an unfit wife.”
There’s a second of silence.
One.
Two.
And at this point, you half-expected your parents and Naoya’s to just burst from behind the nearby stairway to tell you this was all some elaborate test - before Gojo just explodes in peels of cackles.
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I- hah!” he’s barely able to wheeze out, wiping away stray tears of joy. “You never change, huh-”
It takes the embarrassed tapping of your feet for Gojo to finally straighten back up to his tall figure, muttering out a few more indiscernible phrases underneath his breath. Clearing his throat, “Now who said you’d ever be an ‘unfit wife’, sweetheart- Y’know I really didn’t believe Toji’s airhead comment but- oh-”
You land a half-hearted punch solidly in his stomach - and usually, you’d think twice, thrice before acting this familiar with anyone. Even then, you wouldn’t follow through underneath your mother’s watchful eye.
Ah, but you’ve never smiled harder when you claim. “I think I won our first argument as a married couple.”
“Oh, can you do this f’me when I have an argument with Sukuna, next?” Gojo chuckles, wiggling his brows.
He has to dodge your playful hand a few more times - well, he would have had to. But he’s taking them all gladly, pulling you by the wrist to press you flush against his chest. “But fine, you win. Maybe as a wedding gift we can consumm- I’m kidding I’m kidding- follow me, I have the perfect idea.”
And you couldn’t not come with him, with the way that Gojo was eagerly dragging you through the town plaza and back into the now-empty tavern, where you’d remembered had a grand piano nestled away.
Gojo’s pulling out the seat for you, before promptly taking his own flush beside you. Nudging you with one of his shoulders, he starts up a beautifully haunting few lower notes. Delicate. “You don’t have to play, you can listen if you’d like-”
“Hey, I know this one.” you’re gasping, eyes lighting up with the recognition of that familiar somber from the Zenin house. But something about it this time felt so right.
Before you know it, your hands are moving faster than you can hold them back, joining Gojo in his sweeping melody on the higher notes. It rings in the air around you two, jostling your body up against his.
“You know it.” he breathes, such a brilliant grin making way onto his pretty features when you two continue your little duet. And you swear you could hear him suck in a sharp inhale before playing even harder on the keys - a challenge.
And you were never one to back down.
“Heh, you’re not half bad-” But his own little boast gets cut off by Gojo’s half-skeletal wrist snapping off, twiddling up, up, up the grand piano and on its merry way around your shoulder. “Pardon my enthusiasm, my love.”
You help him reattach it back, an interesting quirk of being half-dead, you suppose. “I like your enthusiasm.”
There’s a slow, stuttering silence that echoes afterwards, and you’re shivering from the slightly cold bite of the underground. Gojo wraps his full arm around your shoulder this time, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that he was still bone-cold.
“How…” he gulps, barely meeting your eyes. “How did you know that song?”
But you couldn’t tear yours away from him, “Oh? That song? Well- before I uh- married you, I was actually engaged-”
His pretty lips fall slack, “Oh…”
You’re not sure why you hasten to explain yourself, “B-but he was a prick- and I threw a wine cup at him just before coming here.”
“That’s my girl.” Gojo winks, and you’re feeling your skin heat up.
“Anyway, this song was to be played at the wedding. So my mother made me memorize every single note- she failed to tell me it was a duet, however.”
“It was.”
Something about those two words comes out breathless, barely hanging on. And you’re biting your bottom lip ragged before the question escapes you, “You were engaged, as well? Before- as a prince- I mean- oh, forget-”
To your surprise, Gojo only chuckles - deep voice breaking ever-so-slightly at the very end. His fingers glide across the piano with a familiar sadness that you can’t quite pinpoint. Chest rumbling, “Well, it’s just as the others said. We were meant to run away together, but your dear ol’ husband here died just before we could.”
You’re swallowing the lead that’d seemed to piled up heavily in your throat, still afraid to push too far. “And the- the bride? What happened to her?”
“I…don’t know…she probably saw I wasn’t there and went back, had a happier life with a more deserving husband- children, even.” He looks towards the perpetual night sky, Adam’s apple bobbing heftily. “It’s funny- today’s a hundred years since that day.”
Something hurt. And your chest churned at the thought of him waiting and waiting in the darkness for years. For someone.
“You loved her?”
He looks at you - really looks at you - and then down at the gleaming locket. “I love her. And I made a promise, I wait for her - in life and death.”
Something really hurt - and it wasn’t just that hollow, aching burn in your chest. No, your head was now throbbing with such a splitting pain that you can’t help but grab your temple with a yelp. Eyes scrunching shut with tears, trying to down out that drilling thrum.
“Shit-” you’re hearing, foggy, like it was in the distance. “Shit shit shit-” Big arms wrap around you, “Are you alright? Shit-”
The swinging pub doors slam-
“What happened?”
“The bride from upstairs-”
“She’s still here?! She already dead or what?”
More and more voices are joining in - and you’re not sure if you’re thankful that they drown out that harrowing thunder of blood in your ears or angry that they’re making it ache more deafeningly in response.
“Please- space.” Gojo’s stern command rings across the plaza, for a moment of clarity you’re thinking that he’d make the perfect leader of sorts. The perfect prince. “My wife needs space, and you all will leave-”
Nanami’s strict tremor was distinguishable anywhere. “What she needs is to go back upstairs, Gojo.” Another pair of rough hands grasp your shoulders, and you hear a growl from above you. “With fresh air, with her kind. I don’t know what fantasy you’re playing out but she needs to be back with the breathers, down here isn’t good for her.”
“But-”
Just at that unfortunate moment, your head wracks with another painful burst, making you cry out. Clinging onto Gojo’s soft jacket for dear life.
“But she’s my wife.”
Everyone goes quiet.
You were sure he was crying now, and oh how badly you wanted to reach out and comfort him. But, instead, Gojo’s the one soothing a hand down your back, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes in deep, grounding gasps by the chain of your locket, “N-nanamin’s right- we- I have to get you back.”
Your eyes shoot open, “What- no-”
“It’s for your own good.” Pressing a slow kiss to your forehead, “Trust me.”
“But-”
“Please?”
---
Gojo Satoru had spent so long in the darkness, that he’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.
Even more so when you were by his side.
“Oh…” And despite not having a beating heart, he swears he could feel it racing at the crisp scrunch! of freshly fallen snow underneath his polished shoes. Arms immediately wrapping around your waist, twirling you to him, “How I missed the beautiful upstairs.”
You’re giggling, batting your lashes up at him. “Well, you’re not doing much sightseeing right now, are you, Gojo?”
“Please.” He rests his icy forehead against yours, waltzing you slowly around the clearing. Your first dance. “Call me Satoru, I would like to part ways having heard my name on your tongue once, than not at all.”
And ah, it hurt him more than that dull, spreading pain of death to simply see your expression crumble. Lower lip wobbling when you whisper, “Do we have to?”
It’s as if that tiny tremble in your voice jolts him back to his senses, and he’s letting go of you as if you burned. Turning his back so that you won’t see him swipe underneath his dampening eyes, “We do.” he nods solemnly. Still gazing out through the barren trees, the snow breaking in. “But I would…if you’d like- I would really like you to say my name just once.”
Nothing - not one of your quipping insults, not even one of your sweet, sweet giggles. Gojo could barely even hear that shallow breathing of yours.
“My love?”
Nothing.
Gojo whirls around, “My love?”
Nothing.
---
“Let me go let me- go-” you spit, voice dripping with a deadly growl that should decidedly not be used in front of your future in-laws. But you didn’t give a fuck right now. “I will never- ah-”
Unceremoniously, you’re thrown like a mere debris in front of Dutchess Zenin’s gold-tipped boots, hands splaying out against the cool marble to dredge up some ounce of balance. You look up into her burning glare, hissing, “I will never marry your son.”
But it’s like you’d never spoken at all.
She’s turning to Naoya, stood proudly behind you, holding back his snickers. “Ah, my son-” Reaching her arms around to brush off the soft pattering of snow down his coat. “-I see you’ve brought your wife back.”
“Of course, mother.” he’s humming. “Had to walk all throughout that crummy forest until I saw her-” At this, he’s turning towards your parents, who could only watch from the sidelines. “-with another man no less- well, can’t quite call him that if he didn’t even see his woman being dragged off into the dark.”
Dutchess Zenin cackles,and the sound makes you grit your teeth. “That other man is my husband-”
“What?”
It’s your own mother speaking this time - eyes widened. Fuming. She comes up to you in a few urgent, sharp strides, grabbing at the now-torn and frayed edges of your gown. “What nonsense are you speaking-” Sneaking a glance at your father, “Our daughter seems to have lost her mind, dear.”
He’s just a bit more gentle - cautious, almost. As if confronting a cornered wildcat when he ruffles through your pockets for the ring. Finding none.
You’re wrenching yourself away, “I’m fine- but father, listen- I was practicing my vows in the forest-” Every eye was on you know, and oh you’ve never felt more of a spectacle. “-and I put that wedding ring on a tree root- and it- it came alive and oh- he was a groom. A beautiful corpse groom-”
“That trip to the forest must have bogged up her mind- yes yes, she must be imagining things.”
“Of course, but the wedding…poor dear-”
“The only thing she’s good for is the money.” Dutchess Zenin gruffs, tired of hiding her disdain. “And maybe a free trip to the hospi-”
“The wedding will take place.” Naoya cuts in gruffly, snapping his fingers at a nearby attendant and pointing at you. “Call the officiary, and as for my future bride, I don’t care if you must force her into that wedding dress, I don’t care if you have to drag her here - she will marry me one way or the other. Now.”
It’s like you’re a puppet - their puppet. Being rapidly walked and bathed about, dolled-up in a white, silken wedding dress that you could never see yourself standing in next to him.
It fits you like a glove, attuned to your body as if it was made for you - and you almost hated how beautiful it was, adorned with tiny silver inklings and the most delicate of lace. Made with too much love to be borne out of this dreary household, but when you turned to ask your jittery handmaiden about it, she’d only cryptically answered about “the dress being with this family for a long, long time.”
No one here seems to give you answers.
Or grace.
Or anything but locked windows that you crack a nail or two attempting to open and flee and a long, decorated aisle to walk down to your future husband. Naoya.
Your throat tightens when you’re stepping back into that hallway - now flourishing with bouquets of blue, blue baby’s breath, and twinkling candles. It was almost colorful, for this town, at least.
You shudder out a teary sigh when the tender piano starts up again - the exact same tune you’d played with Gojo. But cold. And suddenly, you’re realizing that you never asked him how he knew the song.
“Pssst! Walk!” Your mother’s high-pitched hiss is enough to snap you out of your little reverie, glassy eyes snapping up to look at her urgent signal to hurry up.
And so you walk, but not to the one man you wanted to.
Naoya’s smirk lies as smugly as ever when you take your place beside him at the altar, poised, and perfect in his pressed suit, his glinting sword. Whispering snidely from the corner of his mouth. “Smile a little, it’s a wedding after all.”
You keep your gaze trained firmly on the officiary starting his speech, “Perhaps in disappointment, we are perfectly matched.”
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this bride in holy matrimony-” Gesturing a wrinkled hand at Naoya, “You may begin first.”
He raises his hand in a solemn oath, razor eyes boring relentlessly into yours. Voice dangerous, humming. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” This time, he was pointedly the one to pick up that cup on the altar table - a steady, unbreakable metal this time. “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”
Your trembly fingers wrap around the bottle of wine, starting to slowly pour. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty for I- I will be…”
Shit.
Shit, you can’t do it.
Your words struggle to come out, and you could burn in the sheer anger already wafting from Naoya.
“I will- I will be-”
“How scandalous to marry an already-married woman~!”
The gasp that echoes throughout the hall is almost as deafening as the booming crash! of those towering, mahogany doors being swung open. Clattering against the walls so hard that your teeth chatter with vibration - but you didn’t care. Didn’t even feel it because you’re too awe-struck by what was standing in front of you.
Or more accurately, who.
“Satoru!” The tears are falling hotly down your cheeks, you barely have the patience to lift up your layers upon layers of gauzy skirts before stumbling your way into his arms at the very end of the aisle. Ready. Ever-loving. Catching you easily like he’d been waiting a hundred years for this very moment.
“I thought you left me waiting.” he breathes.
“I would never- and- and you’re here.”
“Mhm–”
You can’t help but let out a laugh, “How did you even know where to find me?”
“Our duet- there would be no other but this house that would know it-” He wraps his arms even more snugly around your waist, white locks tickling your nose. “And you did promise to lift my sorrows, what type of husband would I be if I didn’t do the same?”
“You. You- What- what is the meaning of this?” Dutchess Zenin’s squawk tears through your little moment, she’s whirling into a furious stand, fists clenched. “Married woman- husband? You’re dead!”
Gojo remains calm, sapphire eyes narrowing, “I am.”
But the ever-composed woman you’d feared for so long was now running her mouth a mile a minute, half-ripping out chunks of hair in frustration as the officiary held her back from storming her way towards the two of you.
“You’re dead you’re dead you’re dead-” she screeches, and even Naoya could only watch with his mouth fallen. “You’re dead- my family made sure of that-”
She stops short, mouth opening and closing in a gasp until you breathe, “M-made sure?”
“Yes-” She’s fighting against the hold, still muttering to herself maniacally. “Shit- we made sure to- oh god why- do we have to kill you all over again! Your wretched Gojo royal family is wiped out- I still- I still have the power, the riches- All because we left you-”
“For dead.” he whispers. You’re too shocked to gasp - to do anything but look up at his reaction. “But she came back to me.”
“Her? This one- Once more you found that insignificant little-”
And at this very moment, Naoya just bellows in a guttural scream, everything his mother was restrained from doing with how he’d closed the gap between you two in a few urgent seconds. One hand wrapped roughly around yours, “I don’t care- You forget she was engaged to me first.”
“She’s still my wife.” Gojo spits.
“Not if you’re-” Naoya’s unsheathing his sword haphazardly. Swinging. “Dead!”
Schwing–!
It would have been sure to hit you.
Would have been sure to gravely injure your side - if Gojo hadn’t deftly moved himself squarely in front of you, that is. The sharp blade slicing right through his ribs - yet, he still smiles. “You forget I already am.” In one, fluid motion tackling the sword to holt at its bejeweled hilt - pointed right at Naoya’s chest. “Let go of me and my wife, before you join me.”
It’s silence.
Silence and the smell of fear. Sour, and saturated when Naoya’s stepping away, one unsteady foot after the other-
“I will ruin you as my ancestors have, Gojo brat-”
Dutchess Zenin.
Your body moves before your mind - before any form of thinking, as if on instinct. Yet, you already knew what was coming.
And soon enough, you’re standing in front of a stunned Gojo, face splattered with the red, red wine in her silvery cup. Drip! drip! dripping down your stained lips and onto the marbled floors.
But something about it tasted bitter.
Different.
.
.
.
And all of a sudden - you see dark.
“Poison! By gods, the wine was poisoned!”
“How will the wedding go on?”
“No- no no no I just wanted to her sick- to get her will–shit-”
“My love---listen----hear--me?”
In the foggy distance, you could hear girlish, high-pitched screams that sounded strangely like Naoya’s, and the familiarly dark chuckle of- Sukuna? Sounding ready to pounce on fresh meat. “Heheh, new arrival - and some unfinished business, huh?”
“S’Toru–” you’re whispering, eyes blearily. Heart cold. Suddenly, everything about you was cold. And the only thing you could register right now is the fact that you were still in his arms - always was. “Toru- am I- where am I?”
“You’re here, sweetheart.” he gasps, big fat tears splattering onto your face. The only sense of warmth that you could feel, other than the one in your no-longer-beating heart. And you can’t help but wonder - can a heart be broken even when it stops beating? Because he was living two deaths now - his own - laying there poisoned with wine so long ago on the forest floor, with only the Zenin’s to watch, and you to wait for him much later - and most importantly, yours. “You’re- you’re here, with me.” He places a sweet, sweet kiss onto your lips. “Rest now, I’ll wait for you. I promise- I promise.”
And through your hazy vision, the only thing that you could quite see was that silver locket you’d never thought to look through, out of fear - sprung open. Baring two grainy, clouded portraits - as good as a photo.
Of him
And…you.
“I’ll always wait for you, in life and death.”
---
“Hey- Toru–” your voice rings out in Gojo’s favorite song, peering curiously at the boyishly grinning prince. “Do you think I’ll be an unfit wife?”
He throws his head back with a cackle, peering through his long lashes from where he was resting his head in your lap. “What- no? Whatever makes you think that, silly girl?”
You’re settling yourself further down the young oak - your favorite little hiding spot ever since you’d introduced your secret lover to it. Grumbling half-jokingly, you thread your fingers through his soft, snow-white hair. “Well perhaps because someone refuses to help me do anything in preparation for tonight-”
“Shhh!” Gojo’s bringing a finger to his lips, glancing around over-dramatically. “You never know when my father will be jumping from behind the bushes.” At your amused laughter, “N’ besides, doesn’t matter if we’re going to elope, I’m not letting my wife pick up a thing.”
“What- no-”
“I’ll snag my wedding suit- and that specially-made dress for you heh- and get the attendants to sneak out some leftovers from the banquet. The Zenin family has just gifted some wine I know you’ll love.”
Craning his head to press a slow kiss to your forehead, “We’ll drink, we’ll say our vows- you better have memorized them this time-” And another on your nose, “Then I’ll have you drunk in another way~ ow! Okay okay- don’t hit royalty–! And run away to our happily ever after.” Then, finally, lingeringly on your mouth,“Trust me.”
“But-”
“Please?”
You’re fiddling with the chain around your hefty, heart-shaped locket with a huff, finally caving in. “Fine- but then-” Deftly unclasping it, “-you have the responsibility of keeping this safe, too, I have to teach piano to the little ones in town again today, and if anyone catches me with a piece like this I’ll be hanged for thievery before ever getting married.”
“Our duet?”
“Our duet.”
He twirls that delicate pendant around his fingers, brows scrunching in half-seriousness. “I’ll protect it with my life-” Almost flinging it towards the end of the clearing in his haste to salute you, “Ah- pardon my enthusiasm, my love.”
“I like your enthusiasm, dummy.” you’re rolling your eyes at his antics. “But what if I’m late? The music lessons always take so long…”
“Just meet me here at our place - promise I’ll wait for you, of course. In life and death.”
You never did find out if Gojo Satoru waited for you.
You never found him that night - running late to the clearing, only to be met with no sign of him. Not that night. Not the night after. Night after night, you waited for him - watched as the Gojo royal family fell and the Zenin’s raided their palace, as the town started to grow and you stayed the very same.
With stray hope, even in your final ages, waiting for him and the marriage that won’t take place.
Not for a hundred years.
---
You’re waking up remembering the feeling of those cold, cold lips on yours.
Finally, remembering.
“Sa-Toru-” you’re gasping, gulping in heavy lungfuls of air before you realize - you don’t need it anymore. Eyes startling open, you wince at the even the dim, heady lighting overhead. “I’m…”
“Dead.”
His words are gentle - just above a whisper, as if anything else will scare you off. But his words have the complete opposite reaction, in fact, you’re reeling him in so close by the silvery lapels of his weathered jacket. Wedding suit meeting your wedding dress.
You feel over his broad chest, and then over yours. Breathing out in awe, “I- I really am dead.”
Gojo’s wincing, running the soft pads of his fingers down your scalp. Massaging, “How- how do you feel, my love?”
Too-late you’re realizing that you’re splayed out on what seems like a plush, engulfing bed. Blankets upon blankets of velvety fabrics covering the surface, like someone had tried their very best to replicate warmth.
“I think I feel…” you’re muttering, the very corners of your painted lips turning upwards at the way that Gojo was hanging onto your every word. Pretty mouth dropped into a soft oh! eyes wide and true. You just can’t help but drag him into the tightest embrace your joints could possibly handle. “-that I haven’t spent enough alone-time with my husband.”
He laughs - he laughs and laughs like he hasn’t before, like it’d been bubbling up in his throat for years and finally set free.
“Oh, my love.” Gojo reveres, pressing a trail of hot kisses down the side of your face. Lingering in a languid lick where big, salty tears of yours were welling up. “We have all the time in the world- I just- just- do you remember?”
You’re pretending to think, leaving him careening at all your minute expressions. Finally cracking, “Of course, I remember- all of it, dummy-” Swatting his chest, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He’s gulping heavily, “I always knew that- that it was you the moment I saw your face- you look exactly as you did. Exactly as beautiful as the day I lost you, after all.” Cupping your cheek, “And oh, sweetheart, what a blessing it would be to marry you. But how could I ever tell you when you didn’t even remember me? How could I so selfishly ask you to throw away something so dear as life for me? Even for a promise?”
“I would have done it.” you’re pouting, brows scrunching.
“Exactly.”
“I waited for you, y’know. For years, until my death. No ‘deserving husband’, and no children.”
He gasps a tiny, meaningful gasp. And for all how Gojo loved to run his mouth, right now he only presses a sultry kiss to your forehead, “But in this life, or the last, or whatever comes next-” On your nose now, “-I’ll wait for you. Always have, always will.” Finally - yearningly - on your mouth, “In life and in death.”
Gojo kisses you like he’s been waiting a hundred years for it - and would wait a hundred more before he can again.
Pressing one, two. Three steamingly hot, open-mouthed on your spit-glossed lips before moving to trail them down the underside of your jaw. Dragging his raw lips in a messy glide, he’s tittering when all it takes is one sudden bite at the soft spot on your neck to get you to jump.
“Heh- you never change-” he murmurs into your heated skin, licking down the sting with a slow spread of his tongue.
“T-Toru–” you’re managing to gasp out despite his relentless attack on your mouth. Making him wrench out such a pained grunt when you pull his face back ever-so-slightly to look into Gojo’s eyes. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Gojo can only cock his head in confusion, gaze still half-lidded and locked on your lips.
“You’re forgetting your promise from all those years ago–” you’re dragging out in a honeyed-tone, giggling at the way his hulking body squirms impatiently. “-to consummate our marriage.”
And oh.
Oh, Gojo Satoru feels he’s dying six times over already.
He feels like his bleary head is about to go into overdrive - as was the sudden tightening in his pants.
“W-well then…” he’s rasping out, voice so ragged, dipping into a husky baritone that for a second you almost don’t recognize it. Two of his long fingers cup your face once more - rougher this time, making your lips squeeze together into an almost-embarrassing oh! “Open that mouth f’me, my love.”
You barely even realize it when you do - not until Gojo’s spitting a thick, translucent wad of his syrupy saliva right onto your lolling tongue.
Nodding smugly when you’re taking him all, he’s swiping the curve of his thick thumb down that purposeful splatter on the corner of your lips. Because you knew the prince of a nation should have perfect aim, you knew he just liked seeing your dewy eyes flutter.
Whispering hoarsely against your lips, “I ask you to be mine.”
“Yes-” you’re whining, your hands scrambling down the decadent fabrics of his suit. “Yes yes yes- please- n-need more, Toru-”
And the sound of that cute lil’ nickname you’d made for him in that sweetened tone makes Gojo’s entire body wrack with a violent shudder. Head throwing back, white lashes flickering shut- “O-oh, shit- shit you’re gonna be the death of me-”
But whatever little joke playing on your tongue just dissipates when Gojo’s shedding his outer coat off slowly. Bloodied, silken jacket hitting the ground- bloodied? You’ll have to ask about that later.
And then his mouth is on yours again - teeth clashing, tasting metal, his pretty lips wrapping around your hot tongue to just suck. Lazily, like his favorite candy.
“So beautiful-” his words puff out in a feverish pant. Chest huffing - no, heaving - you can only keen when you feel something so hard and massive nudge up in a gentle kiss against your high. “So perfect–” The sodden curve of his achy tip dragging in a wet smear down your leg. “So mine.”
As soon as you’re blinking your dazed eyes back open, you’re hit with what looked like miles upon miles of Gojo Satoru. Curving muscles sitting prettily and casting shadow in the low lighting - it made you just drool.
Shit, when did he even take his shirt off?
“Heh, already so needy, sweetheart?” He kisses up the glossy trickle, groaning into your mouth, “So cute–”
But, of course, you weren’t exactly one to be pushed around, either.
With a low purr, you cup that bulging tent right in-between his muscled thighs. Fingers skimming over inches upon inches of his girthy, solid shaft - he just gasps. “O-oh, you little minx- do you enjoy p-playing with my hngh- sanity?”
With a snicker, it doesn’t take you long to smudge the pads of your digits at that thickly spreading pool of precum. Glossing a thin sheen all the way down to your wrists with how fucking greedily he was throbbing at your touch.
“F-fuck-” he’s hastily clearing his throat as soon as it breaks off into a pathetic whine. Hips bucking forwards in mindless, staggering gyrations into your hand like Gojo didn’t even realize what he was doing right now. “Fuck fuck fuck- honey, I-”
The neediest little grunts spill from his puffed-up lips, and he’s moving urgently - hastily, when sitting upright to all but rip that bejeweled belt off of his slender waist. Tugging his white pants down, down, down and-
Oh.
“Fuck, Toru.”
Gojo was so unfairly pretty - all of him.
Even every single inch of his long, thick shaft, smeared with glistening precum sobbing out from his fat, round head. Blushed darker than the rest of him - matching his innocent cheeks right now. So hard it looked painful.
Twitching over and over in saturated gushes coating his prominently throbbing veins, his tight balls. Your fingers.
Wrapping tight around his flushed base, he was so incredibly big that you’re worried your fingers wouldn’t even close. Scratching up against those drenched tufts of cloudy white at his toned pelvis, the sight is enough to make you gulp.
“Yes-” Gojo’s rasping, head thrown back because shit did it feel good to have your pretty lil’ fingers all wrapped around him. Hips stuttering up, up, up- “Yes yes yes- c’mon- c-c’mon my wife-”
Shit, those words spilling from his lips are enough to steer into such a loud moan, and he’s letting his jaw fall unhinged. Jaw-droppingly powerful back muscles flexing when he falls into a hunch, kissing wetly at your lips.
“Tighter- squeeze ah, squeeze me at my tip-” Gojo’s babbling, drunken eyes so thoroughly locked on where you were pumping your fist back and forth. “Y-yeah hngh- and glide your thumb over just—”
You’re swiping the very tip of your thumb underneath that sensitive slit of his, the slightest touch enough to make him bawl out in a dripping sheen of precum. Reddening even more, his hefty girth in your hand jolts sensitively.
“S-s’this–” you stagger out, wrist aching when you’re moving it faster. And faster. Ears ringing with the sloppy fap! fap! fap! of your fingers clenching around his thick, circular girth, the splatters of precum it’s forcing from him. Kissing gently down his burning shoulder, “S’this good, Toru?”
And god, how dare you even ask that?
With a sudden groan, he crashes his lips into yours again. Addicted. Growling against your whiny mouth, you’re flinching at the nip of his sharp canines.
“Oh, yer perfect-” he’s blinking back big, fat tears from behind those glassy eyes. And the soft plane of his palms dance ravenously down your body - all your curves, your dips where your wedding dress was hiking up. But most importantly at your sopping wet cunt. “-so so- p-perfect- any harder n’ m’gonna make ya a pretty momma right now, right here.”
His words come out a burst - a beg.
In that very heady moment he’s just bullying his thick digits past your soaked pussy - absolutely useless with how fucking translucent it was. Sticking to your sopping wet folds like a second skin that he wanted to rip off.
“S-so oh!” Sucking in a sharp gasp at the sight of that tiny lace wrapped around his fingers, “Such a pretty cunt, wearin’ such a dirty lil’ thing, naughty girl- who was this for?”
And you couldn’t dare bear to wrench your lips open, to meet that dark glint in Gojo’s gaze. Hooded, such a slow, leering grin growing all over his face when the seconds tumble by. When your softened fingers falter around his length.
“Who was this for?” he’s echoing. “N’ no lying to your h-husband.”
“Toru-”
“Tell me, my pretty wife.”
“It was-” you’re mewling out, choking on your tiny confession when he slides his index solidly down the drippingly wet purse of your swollen pussy lips. Puffed-up and sensitive against where he was rubbing that cool metal ring against them. “-w-was for ngh- N-Naoya- but it was Dutchess Zenin that made me-”
Oh, but fuck - it didn’t matter who made you wear those sinful panties.
Because it’s only taking Gojo Satoru a split-second to crane his hot mouth downwards and bite down on the very hem of your saturated panties. Biting the edge of your skin only slightly - before just tearing the fabric off with his very teeth.
He takes a few seconds with his greedy gaze boring into yours, crazed. Canines bared glintingly around that tender lace, he just groans.
Eyes rolling to the back of his head before spitting it out - and kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before.
“H-hngh, Toru–” you’re moaning, your fingers half-cramping up with the way they were turning around his swollen cock. Swiveling around the heated bumps of his sensitive spots, the drag of your nails gently down his veins make him shiver. “Feels so- ah!”
And ah, for how much Gojo loved those saccharine sweet moans in your ear, how much he loved teasing you - he was hungry.
Shoveling all the way into your gummy channel, until your puffy pussy lips were kissing his very knuckles, gushing out in spurts of wet slick down his wrist. Twirling those cold digits, so stark against how toasty you were inside.
It made Gojo’s thickened tip twitch in your fingers, huffing out a humorless laugh when he was easily knocking against that bulbous bullseye of your g-spot. Pressing down. Hard.
“Mhm—” he’s purring, nosing down the tender crook of your neck. “Tell me how it feels- hngh- gotta tell me- fuck oh fuck don’ squeeze me like that- ah-”
He’s just wrenching out the most dripping squelches with each rummaging pump into your melty cunt, your walls were just molding around his digits. Sucking him back in like you’re trying to milk out something delicious- fuck, how he wished this was his achy cock right now, instead.
Gojo’s biting down hard at that magical spot on your neck, sending shocks of electricity down your sluttily arched spine. “Can’t- hah- can’t take it anymore- shit- needa be inside you soon. Needa fill ya up soon.”
And he didn’t even have to tell you - you could feel it.
Building up and up with every relentless such of his glistening fingers. Glossy.
“Need to make you mine-” he’s gasping, heatedly. Tone cracking on almost a bawl, his hips are fucking into your hand like his little cocksleeve, up all the way from weepy head down to thwack into his pulsing base. Fingers bumping messily into his taut, twitchy balls - making Gojo’s mouth water. “Need to- hngh- need to make you cum! Please-”
Tears crinkling at the very ends of his doe eyes, after every single crash along your sweet spot. Thorough wet glides. “Please please please-”
And it’s whispered over and over like a mantra when you’re cumming - again and again, so hard that you didn’t even realize you’re reaching your high before your tight pussy clamps around his fingers.
“Yeah- yeah yeah, cum all over my fingers.” He’s thrusting his fingers in and out so rabidly, hitting all your forbidden spots. Free hand pushing apart your quivering thighs even further, “Spread wide- heheh, yeahhh–”
Those sudden slurps sounded so thunderous in your ears, and your maw sags open deliriously in a higher-pitched ah! ah! ah! Grinding your hips down over and over in needy swivels, using him. Music to his ears, making his staggering erection just weep so dangerously- but he can’t cum.
Won’t cum just yet.
Not until he’s fucked you through each and every one of your peaks, not until your convulses are tapering out into nothing but tiny tingles.
And then he’s dragging out his ruined fingers from your sodden cunt - out, out, out. Snapping delicate strings of the mess he’s made of your poor pussy, before pushing them through his lips rawly.
“M-mmm-” he’s rumbling from the very depths of his broad chest, pecs heaving. And through your half-lucid gaze, you’re spying a silvery dribble of drool down the side of his lips. Moaning at the sweet, sweet taste. “Shit- shit, sweetheart-”
You can’t even react before he’s then spitting a steady stream of wispy saliva down to your sloppy hole, swirling it around with one of his thumbs.
“Better let her know m’coming back for seconds later.”
You whine all brattily, your hips arching into the perfect buck upwards - which only makes him grin. “Heh- my greedy girl, if I waited one hundred years ya can wait a few seconds.”
It’s so admonishing - and Gojo has never told a bigger lie.
Because he’s the one that’s so painfully impatient right now, angry cock spewing out a few more velvety waves of precum down your gleaming palm. A low string of profanity rips from his throat, and he’s just diving his hands around every inch of your body he could reach.
Deftly untangling those tedious ties at the back, “Damn these little- forgot how many ribbons I fuckin’- ordered-”
In split-seconds, you’re being flipped over with one fluid push of Gojo’s biceps, sinking your front into the royally soft mattress. You felt like you were in heaven.
“Toru–” you’re whirling your head over your shoulder to admire just how much his biceps flex. Twitching with each eager rip down your bodice. Shaky fingers tightening on the silken sheets, “H-hurry up-”
“Easy there, my love.”
It’s ragged, breathed hotly against your ear, and suddenly Gojo’s resting every bit of his body weight on top of yours to pin you down helplessly onto the bed. Holding your squirming hips captive onto one rough hand attached to them, “Arch jus’ a bite more- please- fuuuck like that yeah-”
He’s taking the opportunity to fling your wedding dress down easily, bunching it somewhere towards the corner of the bedroom - right alongside your bra and inner layers.
You’re gasping - stunned.
“Don’t l-look at me like that, I’ve had one hundred hah- years to practice this exact moment with my hand n’ imagination-”
And then Gojo’s gasping, he’s snapping his eyes open, he’s heaving out the most whiny call of your name when you push your hips back in a wet slide against his painfully hard cock.
Your folds smacking wetly against his shaft, dragging in a dripping trail along his veins - and shit, Gojo really underestimated how fucking hot you’d feel against his cock. How readily awaiting when his slender hips rut down in a furious push and pull. “This is long overdue.”
“Hey!” you jut your spit-sheen lower lip out when he’s rudely smacking away your hand from the clasp of your locket. “Wha’s that for?”
“Keep it on.” Gojo nips at your earlobe.
And then he’s spitting you open - he’s pushing in.
Inch by fucking inch of his swelteringly hot cock being shovelled into your gooey cunt, stretching out your snug walls to their limits. Pulled taut. Barely giving an apologetic kiss to the side of your head before Gojo’s circling one big beefy arm around your hips, easily tilting your entire body upwards for him to surge his hips even deeper.
He gasps, he shudders at the faintest of your wet clenches. “C’mon-c’mon c’mon c’mon- a-ah- you can take it please- please take it f’me.”
How could you not?
Because every one of his tiny, shallow grinds just to fit in have your mouth dropping further and further open cockdrunkenly.
“Please-” your hands fist at the plushy pillows, the headboards, craning behind at Gojo’s neck. “Fuck me h-harder, Toru- I can-”
“Ohhh- you play a hah- dangerous game.” He swipes away the stray hairs on your forehead, kissing at your sweat-slicked forehead. “My beautiful bride- my beautiful, beautiful bride - ah- almost makes me wanna m-make you more.”
Just that split-second of sultry shock is enough for Gojo to push in fully - all the way until your thighs sting with the sudden thwack! of his hefty, cum-filled balls, your folds kissing up against his thickened base.
He’s hissing when his achy, rounded tip recoils ever-so-slightly against the spongy mess of your cervix, hitting it relentlessly in harsh jackhammer. Spearheading his fat cock to massage up against all your sensitive spots in a more dizzying way than even his fingers could.
“Wh-what do you m-mean-” They’re falling from your mouth as hastily as Gojo can pump you stuffed full of his cock. Not even easing into it, starting up a sloppy cadence. “-b-by–”
“Awww, don’ hngh- p-push yourself, my love–” he’s simpering out. But oh his hips were speaking a completely different language from how soothing your husband’s tone was, one hand curling deftly around your throat to reel you in even harsher in sudden swats against his ever-pushing hips. Twirling around the chain of your locket, “What I mean is…”
Both of your half-lidded gazes are downturned to where he feels for that tiny nudge at about halfway down your stomach. Drawing an imaginary line about halfway through, before splaying down all five digits. Hard. “-that m’gonna make ya a pretty momma as well as my pretty wife.”
This little confession is followed by a particularly hard slam! from Gojo’s end, and you dart your hand out to grasp desperately onto the wooden headboard.
Crying out, “Is- is that even possible, Toru?”
But the only actual response that Gojo can give - that he thinks himself capable of giving right now, with how mind-numbingly your pretty pussy was milking any rationality out of him - is a breathless chuckle. His head throwing back with a whimper, brows knitting together. “I don’t know hah! Haven’t got a fuckin’ clue- but that doesn’t mean m’not gonna fucking try–”
And he was fucking you into the mattress just like it, well and fully intent on breeding your tight cunt. Jostling the locket at your chest with rough, reckless abandon. Every sodden drag down your slobbery walls having those dreams from a lifetime ago about your happily every after playing through his mind.
You, with your drooling pussy painted all white with his potent cum, making such a mess of him that he just has to do it all over again, of course.
You, all round and glowing - full of him, his heir.
You, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes - another, tinier set held delicately in your hands. His hair, and your smile. Everything that he’s ever wanted in life and death.
Stupidly. Pussydrunkenly.
“Oh oh-” Gojo’s groaning, the sudden bump of your fingers against the sensitive curve of his balls making him jolt back into his reality. His heavenly, heavenly reality. “Aww, have I b-been neglecting you, my love?”
No, you want to scream - but you can’t.
Because he’s only hiking up a powerful thigh to pressurize his harrowing rams with even more power, and you could feel every flex and ripple of his washboard abs. The spatter of pearlescent beads of sweat setting in with fatigue.
But Gojo wouldn’t listen in the first place, couldn’t even think of anything that didn’t stem from his achy cock pummeling into you.
Messily, he’s swiping at those fingers of yours that were currently reaching for your angrily puffy clit, aching for more more more-
Giving a mean little smack onto where your sensitive nub was drenched in all your sweetened juices, it sends bolts of electricity all over your body. Clinging your gummy walls around his girth so tight.
“This what y-you wanted?” he rasps by your ear, drawing slow, determined circles on the very peak of your clit. And when that doesn’t have you crying out all prettily for him the way he wanted - Gojo just tugs. Unapologetically. “Tell me- ngh- tell me how it feels, fuck- can feel this cunt gettin’ so soaked-”
“Yes-” you’re sobbing out. Hips now aching with the burn of pushing back into his unrelenting hips - it hurts almost. The sting of his skin against you, the hard collision of his fat head against your cervix. But you want more. “Y-yes feels so good, Toru- need more hngh- need you t-to…”
“What?” he’s spitting. Wild. “Tell me, sweetheart- please- please-”
And, hell, Gojo Satoru wanted to hear so badly that he’s just slowing his hips down every so slightly to let you catch your breath. To answer.
But what he was actually blessed with was another one of your long, drawn-out whines. Grumbling ever-so-slightly as you jolt your hips back with every one of the thorough swivels of his fingers on your clit. Toying.
Fucking back harder than ever into his rock-hard dick, the locket just slams it’s cool branding onto the heated skin of your chest-
“Need you to f-fill me up-” you mutter wetly, nothing more than a few gurgles wrenched out when his clashing head French-kisses your g-spot. Drawing wet glides of his steamy precum down it. “-make me a hngh- m-momma, Toru-”
Oh, this might just be his third death ever.
Because the bed creaks riotously with every one of his ragged rams, in a way that made you glad for the ever-present music of this town.
Over and over.
“Yeah- shit, gonna make you a p-pretty momma-” he’s babbling away, a mile a minute. So sloppy that you’re barely able to understand what Gojo was saying. “Fill you- up- ngh- so they’ll look at you and see me. All me- all pretty and r-round- me me me- oh—”
Right now, Gojo didn’t give a fuck if his little dream was even possible. He didn’t give a fuck if his moans were turning into whimper, staggering thrusts trudging into the sloppiest of grinds. The neediest.
Because right now you were cumming.
That rapid throb of your clit increasing twofold when you’re finally plummeting into your high, wave after wave of pleasure that he fucks you through with heavy pound after pound.
Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, toes curling, flashes of white flitting behind your firmly shut eyes. Fuck, it felt so good.
And your fingers clench hard around where they were still firmly stationed on the headboard to keep at least an ounce of your sanity. Intertwining with- Gojo’s when he slams his hand down hard enough that the entire bed shudders.
Or maybe that was just him - because so was he.
“F-finally-” Gojo’s hiccuping, angling his head just right to be able to catch your pretty lips in what could barely be considered a kiss. Just a sloppy suck of your tongue while he pumps you snugly full of sloshing loads of his cum. “Wan’ed this for- so long- finally hngh- consummate- you- most beautiful ah momma-”
His whines were nonsensical at this point, only growing more and more so with each velvety ribbon of cum being poured around into your tight pussy. You could feel it swashing about your soft walls with every one of your hard, convulsing clenches, painting your insides over and over again in a second, sticky skin of his seed.
“Yeah- fuck fuck fuck, yeah Toru- hah- m-more-”
And just when Gojo thought the almost-painful clenches of his heavy balls were coming to a close, just when he thought his thick streams of voluminous cum were stretching out into thinner wisps - you have to go and say those syrupy sweet words.
Fuck.
He’s gasping, locking his finger with yours even harder on the headboard, “Gonna- ngh- gonna be the death of me I s-swear–”
Oh, and then you looked at him with that fucked-out smile of yours. A sight he’s gifted to see. Humming, “In life and in death, r-remember?”
Bang!
The headboard crashes down onto the floor. Your back is hitting the now utterly drenched sheet below you before the realization hits you.
In nothing but a split-second, Gojo pulls out his dangerously twitching cock to manhandle you flatly onto your back. Swiftly, he throws your legs over the curvaceous deltoids of his sculpted shoulder, easily bending you down, down, down into half.
Into the meanest mating press possible.
Dredges of thick, hot cum just ooze down your sopping slit, spreading in a milky circle underneath you. And slobbering down Gojo’s swollen hilt as soon as he plugs himself back in - immediately.
The very divot at the end of his cock quivering - for only a split-second before bursting out in streams of more and more cum. Overflowing. Overspilling out of you.
And he can’t help but glide an open palm over that tiny inflation beginning to form where he’d drawn a line just earlier. One hand pressing down on it hard, the other tweaking at your clit to make your walls clench.
“Oh f-fuck yeah–” Gojo stutters at the glossy coating of his own seed all around him. Reveling in the toasty feeling again and again until his poor, overworked cock can only sputter out wispy strings of nothing. Shooting blanks. “Gonna breed ya- make ya all round and and- ngh full until you c-can’t take anymore. Until we hahh- have that happy ending y-you wanted.”
You mewl when he’s licking away those glistening tears rolling down your cheeks, “-happy ending w-we wanted hngh- Toru–”
“Yeah-” he chuckles. Pecking at your lips with that salty sweet taste on his tongue, “We wanted. It’s why I didn’t reincarnate like you, my love, unfinished hngh- business here s’to spend a long, long and happy marriage with you, y’know?”
You bat your lashes in sweet disbelief, “That’s- that’s mine, too.”
Ah, he reels you in even closer into his arms. Snug. Ever-loving. Seemingly like he’d never let you go ever again - couldn’t bear to.
He nuzzles against that now-open locket, eyes peering down at those bleary paintings of you two, as loving as if they were taken just today. And in the back of his fried mind, he makes a note to take newer photos for later. Fingers tracing their familiar pathway to press down on the outer edges of the metal - in only the way he knew how, in the way that you should have been taught all those years ago, but was never able to.
“Then-” His eyes light up as they always did whenever it came to you, when the tiny mechanisms on the locket open up to reveal a delicate, gorgeous ring. Strangely matching his own. Gojo doesn’t think he’s done anything easier in his life when he slides that ring onto your finger, fitting so perfectly. Not even when he was waiting for you, not even when he’d taken care of Naoya in a way that left his coat spattered and stained with red. “-we’re both lucky.”
It’s only after a few soft, lingering kisses that Gojo finally pulls away - like it hurt to.
And it did, sensitive shockwaves erupting down his overwhelmed length. But none of that shows above his drunken grin when Gojo’s shuffling down the bed, all the way until his hot breath was puffing up feverishly against your sloppy cunt.
Messy. Drooling.
Making such an utter mess on his tongue when he lets it loll out, swiping up the gushing creamy dredges with a long lick. It was so filthy, dribbling down the sides of his mouth, onto his pinkish tongue-
Just a tease for more.
“Because I keep my promises, my wife.” his murmur wraps all around your thrumming clit. Tongue swirling a milky gloss all over his pert, raw lips. Only wanting more. Waiting. “In life and in death.”
A/N. THIS- THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE N’ GOT ME IN MY FEELSSSS. Hope y’all have a lovely lovely week <3
Plagiarism not authorized.
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭
pairing: gojo x fem!reader
summary: gojo satoru was a notorious man across the land. he was the strongest soldier the north had ever produced, the most brilliant of minds, and somebody who slept his way through the noble ranks. his parents set him up in a marriage agreement with you, hoping that a tie with a ring would help save his marriage. you know gojo never wanted this, and you try to act as if that was normal. but soon, without you or even him realizing it, he comes to the conclusion that while he never wanted this marriage - he's beginning to want you.
warnings: 18+ mdni: arranged marriage, angst, slight no comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated for a bit, heavy making out, eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, (naoya)
word count: 19.7k (sorry)
note: inspired by this drabble. i'm so happy this behemoth of a fic is done!! art credit: _3aem
jjk masterlist + series masterlist
Gojo Satoru was the most powerful man alive.
Not only physically, though some people chalked him up to being half god, but his name held even more control. The Gojo family of the North was as old as the gods themselves, and they’ve been making sure it’s been kept that way. They owned so much land that you would walk to the ends of the earth and circle back around and it would probably still be theirs. They had armies of unfathomable sizes under their command, so much riches that they could probably buy an entire nation and still have plenty to spend.
His presence was just as large as his name created him to be. Any ball he went to, all eyes would fall on him. On the battlefield, men feared to see the flash of white hair, knowing that his strength was unbridled.
And his physical beauty? Most people assumed he was blessed by the gods himself. Gojo had a certain look that just made your knees weak, your heart palpitate, and your cheeks heated up. The handful of times you’ve seen him from afar you’ve been able to understand why all the girls (and some of the guys) yearned for his attention. His eyes were a piercing blue as if somebody had held a mirror to the sky when creating them. His hair had grown whiter with the years, as white as the snow that sunk deep into the grounds of the north. Gojo had the build of a soldier, and he towered over most people. His bulky build was intimidating, but you heard some girls whisper behind their hands about how he must look underneath all those ceremonial garments.
The lord of the North was power itself.
Which would make you, by martial association, the North's most powerful lady.
And for somebody who grew up with the same respect as a stable boy, it was all too much too soon.
And yes, while on paper you still had your father's last name and legacy tied to it, you weren’t really a daughter to your parents. Your mother, though you had to call her by her name whenever you weren’t in public, seeing how she wasn’t really your mother, made sure it was kept that way. Your other three half-sisters should have been in your spot, either one of them more true to the family name than you. But seeing how they’re already married, you were the final resort.
Gojo Satoru, though you’ve seen him countless times (something common because of how close in ranks your families were), had only acknowledged you a couple of times. You didn’t care much, never did, because that's what you were used to. After all, it was a common fact that you were what they nicknamed “the bastard daughter” of the West.
But it didn’t seem to matter much to his parents, as they offered their son up to you in a marriage arrangement.
And who were you to turn that down?
They, his parents, assured you that their son was looking forward to this union. He was the one to offer it, they said, which you were skeptical of but weren’t stupid enough to question. You knew how much Gojo Satoru was tarnishing their reputation with his promiscuous ways, but as long as he was okay with this arrangement you couldn’t find any part of you that would disagree with it.
After all, you knew that this marriage wasn’t out of love, fascination, or even a mutual understanding, but because of the strength your own family (more so your father) held, and how you were the only feasible option for a bride.
So, after weeks of rocking back and forth on agreements, paperwork, dress rehearsals, and grueling dancing lessons (and still no sight of the man himself), you found yourself standing at the end of the aisle, your arm linked around your fathers as a large smile plasters itself on your face.
Ever since you were young you had convinced yourself that the only man who would want to taint his name enough to marry you would have to be either a troll or an ogre, so that fact that your future spouse was human was better than anything you could have asked for.
And you’re not daft. As your heart hammered loudly against the limited space of your chest, waiting for your cue to start walking, you reminded yourself that this was just a mutual agreement. It’s hard for people at your level to marry for love, but even then, you can’t help but hope that you can make a decent friendship out of this.
You glanced at your father next to you, catching his eyes as he nodded once, staring ahead of him into the small crowd of just your two families, and patted your arm.
You still remember the music playing, the instruments harmonizing together as you took a tentative step forward, feeling warm under the eyes of people you didn’t know, but you kept reminding yourself that this was the best thing that could’ve happened to you. Either you died as an old maid in the little room you had near the kitchens at your old home or got married to some warlord who wanted an entire village as family.
The orchids that surrounded the venue still infiltrate your nose as you think about it, the way the silk of your dress felt against your skin that had been scrubbed raw earlier that morning.
And there you saw him, standing at the end of the aisle. At that moment you realized how much of a mistake this was,
Because the man that stood there, the man who you were about to marry, seemed like he’d rather be dead than be your husband.
—
You blink out of your trance, sitting up straighter in your seat as you mindlessly stop tearing up pieces of your bread, rubbing your fingers together to get rid of the remnants of flour.
The dining hall was huge, far bigger than the one back home. Though you rarely ate there, you could still remember it, and it definitely wasn’t as big as this. Yet, despite its size, you felt like you were a little grain of rice in its vastness.
The Gojo estate itself was humongous. His parents resided in a smaller house near the ocean now that you’ve moved in, but you would bet that the word humble they used to describe it was anything but humbling. You’ve been here for weeks and yet you feel like you’ve only discovered half of what this place has to offer.
There were guards at every corner, but at this point, you’re convinced they're just for decoration. If your husband is as decorated a warrior as they say he is, he could protect this entire estate with no help necessary.
You stare at your plate, at the array of food prepared just for you, different sorts of cured meats, loaves of bread, cheeses, fruits, and juices from all over, and still, you feel no hunger.
Months ago you’d be ecstatic to see how much your life has changed. You get new clothes that fit you, food whenever you desire, people at your beck and call. Your room is no longer that cramped space you’d been given to hide you away from the rest of your family, but twice the size of your father's old bedroom. You wake up earlier and sleep later, do whatever you want, but none of it feels deserved.
The only thing you can bring yourself to think about is how the last time you saw your husband was the night of the wedding. The look on his face when you made your empty vows to one another, his faint lingering kiss on your cheek. You can blink your eyes and still see the way he left, his jaw clenched as he ignored the calls from his parents. How, even here, rumors seemed to follow you.
Safe to say, you spent your meals alone.
Not only that, but your rooms were entirely separate as well. You were told that you had to consummate the night of your marriage, but from what you’ve heard, your husband sleeps in an entirely different wing of the estate, with walls and corridors between the two of you.
You tried taking your mind off of things, pretending as if this was normal.
Most days you’d walk around, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout of the grounds. You’d walk the gardens a couple times each week, try to memorize the way back to different places, and stay in the library the other half of the time.
A part of you was happy to at least be away from that miserable home, but it felt like swapping one prison for a slightly better one. Your maids were kind, of course, but you didn’t know anybody here. They treat you like a lady of noble ranking, as expected from being the wife of the Lord in the North, but you’d rather be given an apron and start working around instead of this mind-numbing boredom of just sitting around.
You stare at your plate, chewing on a grape slowly.
Looking up you see the sun filtering in through the large windows, illuminating the long table that sits like an empty grave. Clicking your tongue you pick up another grape, slumping in your seat as you look up.
This is just the way things will be.
—
“Alina?”
You call out from your vanity, staring at your maid as she’s picking out different earrings for you to pick from for dinner.
It’s a couple of days later, and still no word from Gojo. But that doesn’t mean that you haven’t stopped for a single second to not think about your supposed husband.
You try not to care, pretend that you’re lucky that he’s not bothering you or going out of his way to remind you of this unfortunate situation, but above anything you just feel alone.
The maid looks up, a curl falling from her tight bun as she smiles at you in the mirror.
“Yes, my lady?” She stands up straighter, flattening out the wrinkles from her apron tied around her waist as she begins walking towards you with the jewelry.
“Is this…is this normal?” You crane your neck around to look at the different pairs she’s holding up, nudging your head to the red ones that shine bright, and watch as she sets them down on your desk, resting her hand on your hip as she stares at you quizzically.
“What do you mean?” She asks as you begin taking your earrings off, putting the new ones on yourself. In the beginning, she protested, saying that a woman of your caliber shouldn’t have to do such measly tasks. But the more you protested, she eventually gave up.
“Do husbands and wives usually sleep separately?” you say, feeling your chest contract in embarrassment at the stupidness of your question.
You watch as she swallows thickly, avoiding eye contact as she sets on fixing some parts of your hair.
Staring patiently through the vanity mirror as you watch her work, Alina wets her lips, her eyes downcast as if not wanting to answer.
“Was there somebody else he preferred to marry?” You decide to ask, twisting that knife that you knew was lodged in her side, one that was stopping her from talking, and watch as her eyes widen slightly in shock.
“If you don’t answer I’m just going to keep asking more uncomfortable questions,” you warn and Alina snorts softly, shoving your shoulder a little bit as you crack a smile.
She moves around, picking up a necklace, and begins clasping it behind your neck.
“I…I don’t know. He’s always been pretty secretive and,” she looks at you briefly, “Selective. I don’t mean to speak ill of my lord but it would be stupid not to acknowledge his old ways. But we never heard of a specific girl.”
Alina places a gentle hand on your shoulder, a sad smile on her face.
“You’re lucky my lady,” she says, her voice hushed, “Most wives don’t have the freedom to say their husbands don’t care what they do. Had you married that Zenin, you’d be pregnant by now.”
You shudder out a breath, nodding once more.
“I’ll see you after dinner, my lady,” she says, moving out of the way as you stare quietly at the floor before leaving silently.
—-
Tonight for dinner the cooks made you a wide array of different dishes, all from the Northern shore. There are different types of fish, each cooked in various ways. It looks delectable, a feast fit for a king.
You feel awful, though, seeing that you can’t eat any of it.
The last time you had fish your face swelled up and couldn’t breathe properly, so that family physician told you to steer away from it. But you’re here now, and it somehow slipped your mind to ever mention this little fact to them, so you’re awkwardly poking around some of the vegetables under the fish, looking for something to eat.
You pile some potatoes and carrots on your plate, scraping off any bits of fish on them as you hold this wasn’t your last meal.
The only sound that fills the room is your fork and knife sometimes hitting the porcelain plate, and you look up every now and then as you chew, looking at the paintings on the wall.
You’re so focused on a portrait of an old man that you don’t even notice the figure standing at the entrance of the dining hall, not until you hear a muted curse.
You look up instantly, your fork and knife dropping to the plate as you stare at the man in front of you, eyes wide at the sight of your husband.
He stands there, blinking slowly as you stare back.
You could swear time has never moved so slowly before.
You can hear him mutter a quiet shit under his breath, not knowing if he should make this worse by turning around and leaving or if he should join you.
He’s wearing a simple tunic, his face a little flushed, hairline beaded with sweat. Did he just come out of training? He must often do that, you decide, seeing how he must’ve felt comfortable enough walking in here without any clothing of import.
His eyes seem to track your little movements; the way your chest rises and falls in a slow movement, the way your fingers have frozen in mid-air, lips slightly parting. Your eyes dart around the room, everybody seeming to have tensed up.
You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’ve never been so moved to silence. It seemed as if years of learned vocabulary slipped your mind within an instant, and no matter how hard you tried, nothing was coming back.
Gojo looks behind his shoulder, at the large double doors he entered through, deep in thought. This would be the first time the two of you had seen each other in weeks, and his tirade of avoiding you has come to an end. It looks like an entire battle is being fought in his mind, and you don’t know what to do.
Suddenly, you watch as he shakes his head, deciding to give in and join you for dinner.
The seconds go by like hours as he walks up to the seat at the other end of the table, staring at his seat for a brief second before he pushes it out and sits there.
You don’t know what to do.
Servants and maids quickly swarm the room, setting up his plate, cutlery, food, and drinks. It was all so hectic and rushed, but you were glad that it offered some sort of noise in the drowning silence.
A part of you wants to say something about the fish but you know this isn’t the right time.
In the flurry of movements you allow yourself to discretely look at him a little better, seeing how the last time you saw him was so brief and hurried.
The man radiates a different sort of aura you’ve never experienced before. While your father was one of the most powerful men in the West, Gojo was the strongest throughout the majority of the North and East. His frame took up the entire chair, his muscular shoulders and arms visible even through the loose fabric that was draped over him. You feel a little disappointed, knowing that if you were a different girl you’d probably be able to enjoy all of this.
You try to make yourself seem indifferent, moving some of the vegetables in your plate around, but secretly just trying to shovel them down as fast as humanly possible to get out of this thick atmosphere.
One of the men who was setting up some of the plates in front of Gojo takes notice of this, a smile overtaking his face as you briefly look up from your plate, startled to see the man walking closer to you.
“My lady, I’m so happy to see you enjoying our Northern delicacy!” He claps his hands together as you stare at him with wide eyes, your mouth still full of potatoes as you try chewing faster to get it all down before he gets closer to you.
His eyes wrinkle around the edges, his graying mustache trimmed ever so carefully, and you can tell he’s trying to loosen up the tension, but you stare in abject horror as he stands at your foot of the table.
“Would you like some more?” He motions to the fish that lay untouched in front of you, and you glance over to Gojo, hoping that maybe he is focused on his meal, only for your heart to sink at the fact that he is staring at you.
“...y-yes,” you croak out, wiping some of the carrot remnants from the corners of your lips as you give him a wobbly smile, “It’s alright, I can serve myself,” you exclaim, trying to thwart him off as he quickly waves this aside, shaking his head as he grabs the tray, beginning to portion some hefty pieces of fish onto your plate.
You don’t have the heart to tell this jolly man that this amount of fish would kill you within an instant, or even that he was wasting this all on you, so you just sit there, giving him a tight-lipped smile as you try not to breathe it in too much.
“Is that enough, my lady?” He asks, setting the tray down as you look at your plate now full of different sorts of sea creatures you swallow slowly, looking back up at him as you give a wobbly smile.
“This is great,” you muster up and watch as an even larger smile takes over his face, and you feel awful for it, “Thank you so much,” you tell him, watching as he bows lowly, excusing himself as he, and the other servants, leave the room,
Leaving you and Gojo alone.
You’re grateful that he’s already dug into his meal, not looking at a struggling you that’s moving the fish around with your fork as you try to find the last bits of vegetables you had saved up for yourself.
The smell itself is enough to make your stomach turn, and you wince, reaching for your cup of wine to wash some of the nausea down.
“You have very good wine,” you say suddenly, against your will, and have an out-of-body experience as you realize what you just did.
Gojo looks up from his plate, a little startled as he looks at you and the goblet in your hand, his white brows furrowed.
He nods once, not saying anything, and you feel the strange need to continue, somehow enjoying the feeling of stabbing yourself in the foot.
“Our wine back home tasted like cow piss,” your eyes widened at your slip of crass language, “Er - not piss, um, urine…?” You wince even more, feeling as if a ghost with awful intentions had taken control over your body, “Not that I’ve had cow piss - urine!” You correct yourself, “But I imagine that if I had…that, um, it would taste like o-our wine back home...”
He’s staring at you, unblinking, and you smile awkwardly, raising the cup to him as a sort of cheers gesture.
You count twenty seconds of silence in your head as you set the cup down, playing with your fork as you glance back up at him. Gojo looks as if he is regretting his decision to stay, his fingers tapping on his knife in a hurried sort of way.
“I don’t really like wine,” you continue, feeling like the only thing that could stop you now was if somebody were to bludgeon you to death, “I like juice more. Oh, well, but I guess…wine is juice…?” you mutter to yourself, contradicting your own words mid-sentence, “Back home we had this mulberry juice and it tasted nice. Kind of like your wine,” he’s not even looking at you and so your words die, quieting down as you sink back into your seat, hoping it could eat you entirely.
“Do you like wine?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, smiling faintly, awkwardly, “Or juice? Or… mulberries…?”
He shakes his head, still not staring at you.
“Did you have a good-”
“I prefer eating in silence.” Gojo finally said, raising his head slightly as he stared directly at you, watching as your mouth clamped shut.
Your smile grows small, eyes falling to the table to hide the embarrassment in them. You give him a brief nod, mumbling a quiet apology under your breath as you begin moving some pieces of carrot around on your plate.
You can hear the clinking of his utensils against his plate, wishing you could somehow fit an entire fish down your esophagus to escape this moment.
You give it a couple of seconds, counting the groves in the wood of the table, and rise, stomach empty, heart churning as you finally excuse yourself.
It only takes you minutes to find your room, quicker than last night, and allow yourself to sink against your bed, rubbing your skin raw of the rouge Alina had applied an hour earlier.
—-
You don’t tell anybody of the awful encounter with the man that’s legally your husband, but you’re sure that those there to observe have already begun talking about it. You try to pretend nothing happened, but Alina could pick up on your closed-off demeanor that night, her hands gentler than usual when helping you take off your garments, her eyes filled with concern.
“How was dinner, my lady?” She asked, staring at you as you waved off her worries, mustering up a lame excuse of a smile as you took off your silk shrug, avoiding any sort of eye contact as you slipped into your nightly garments.
“It was good,” your words are void of emotion, “I had fish.”
The following days are empty of any sight of your husband, but you’ve grown to find that normal. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about how idiotic you acted, your big mouth never knowing when to stop, tossing and turning in your bed at your excuse of an interaction.
You continue with your old routine of walking around the estate, sometimes trying to track down Alina and your other maids, seeing if maybe they had some free time to spend with you. You know there’s a town nearby, the girls often talk about how they go there sometimes at night, but you’re too afraid of going out alone, not used to that sort of thing.
Sometimes you sit out near the fields with a book, twisting the ring that’s searing into your finger, mindlessly taking in the words on the page. Other days you walk around the gardens, picking out some flowers for the vase in your room. On the days when you’re feeling really adventurous, you’d go near the east wing, where you’ve heard Gojo’s room is, and look at what sort of things lie there. But most times you chicken out, going back near your side just as quickly as you went.
You never see him at dinner again, knowing he wasn’t about to put himself through that torture again, so you go back to eating in silence, sometimes pretending that the chairs were full of people and that you were in one of those balls you longed to go to as a kid.
They seem to keep bringing fish out for you, and it’s in so many days deep that you’re in this sort of limbo where you can’t tell them you’re deathly allergic to it without feeling awful for all the work they’ve put in just to realize it’s gone to waste, so those nights, tonight, for example, you try finding as many vegetables as you can.
The roasted asparagus and beets are lovely, but there was only so much of it. And you find yourself getting a little bit sick of it too, your stomach-churning as you try to chug as much water as you can to get rid of the dirt after-taste that the beets have.
You thank the cooks and the servants as you leave for the night, your stomach still relatively empty as you get to your room, telling Alina to leave early for the night as you get ready for bed by yourself, wanting to be with yourself just for a little bit.
You lay on your bed, staring emptily at the ceiling, one hand on your stomach as if gurgling, still hungry for more. You try to sleep, trying to pretend like you were at your old home, those nights when this would be normal, but it’s no use. You’ve been too spoiled at the Gojo estate, and no matter how much you try to ignore the pang of hunger, it continues to bite you back.
So you find yourself twisting off of the warm comfort of your bed, sitting in silence as you contemplate what you’re about to do, but give in, lighting a candle as you slide into some slippers, leaving your room as you try to find your way down to the kitchens.
Thankfully, it’s well into the night when everybody is asleep, so this embarrassing walk of shame is only seen by the guards on duty. You walk down the testing staircase, careful to look around the corners for anybody there, but you’re alone.
You make your way to the kitchens, not hard to find seeing that they’re near the dining hall, and you peep your head inside, a sigh of relief escaping your lips to find that it’s completely deserted.
At your old home, your room was behind the kitchens. You grew up in a small room, nearly the size of a broom cupboard, but you made do with what you had. One benefit of this situation was that you were raised by the smell of different sorts of food, by people who specialized in the art of cooking. You knew how to make meals that nobody else in your family could even imagine, which you’re grateful for right now as you fumble around the kitchen, trying to find where they put different ingredients.
You rummage through the cupboards, finding some eggs, bread, cheeses, and seasonings. You’re able to find the pots and pans a few feet away and start assembling everything for a little omelet.
In your hurry of trying to be quiet and careful, you somehow manage to miss the large shadow figure that’s standing near the doorway, observing you.
You crack the eggs into a bowl, beating them together with a fork you found, too tired to look for an actual whisk, turning around to throw the eggshells away when a cry of surprise escapes your lips.
“Oh!” Your heart nearly falls right out of your ribcage, your hands flying to your chest as you find yourself staring at him, cheeks heating the way they seem to do whenever you’re looking at your husband.
His blue eyes are tracking you, watching what you do, brows furrowed slightly as the two of you can’t do anything but stare at each other.
“I…” You can’t find anything to say, looking at him and then behind your shoulder, to the things you have found, and swallow thickly, wetting your lips as you straighten your back up, suddenly aware of just how flimsy and bedroom-worthy your outfit is.
You can only stare at the ways his arms are crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, and lips pressed into a thin line. It seems like he wasn’t planning on seeing you here, yet another moment in which he’s probably going to regret somehow finding you in such a large estate.
“I’m making an omelet,” you finally say, your words falling like a whisper from your lips as you point to the eggshells now discarded in the trash, “I tried to be quiet…” you shake your head, eyes dropping from his heavy gaze for a second as you glance back up at him, lips upturned in an apologetic smile, “...sorry.”
Gojo doesn’t say much, you’ve noticed that, but now you’re wondering if he has some sort of impediment that stops him from speaking to specific people.
His chest rises briefly as he inhales, his white hair a little tussled as if he were sleeping. It doesn’t make sense why he’d be awoken, though. The kitchens are a far walk from the east wing…?
“I wasn’t asleep,” he finally says as if reading your mind, his voice deep as you feel it rattle your bones.
You nod once, not knowing what to do with the information.
“Well…um,” you fidget with your fingers, “good, that’s good.” You nod once, as if that was all you were going to say, and look at the slight wrinkles in his clothes, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling naked with the way you’re not wearing any undergarments under your little nightly dress.
“I’ll call for a cook,” Gojo murmurs, looking you up and down one final time as he turns to leave, seemingly done with this conversation.
You sputter, shaking your head as you watch him turn to look at you through a confused stare.
“No! Sorry…no, no need,” you say quickly, taking one step forward as if to stop him, “Please, it’s alright. I can cook myself,” you motion once more to your eggs and little station, noting the way he’s looking at you strangely, and so you feel the need to continue talking, perhaps one of your worst flaws.
Gojo looks at you finally, his fingers tapping on his arm.
You notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring, your chest filling with a strange feeling as you try to hide your ring-clad finger. “Do you not like their cooking?” He asks, and it takes a second for you to blink out of your stupor, a weird sensation in your throat as you shake your head slowly, trying to pull your eyes away from his hand.
“I do,” you assure him, the words falling thickly from your lips, a lump in your chest, “I just feel bad waking them up right now,” you shrug as if you weren’t feeling any of these strange emotions, “And as I said, I can cook…so…”
He nods, seemingly not believing you, not picking up on the storm that happening inside your head at the fact that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t an actual marriage, the ring was only for show.
“Did you not eat dinner?” He continues, pressing, and your eyes widen slightly.
You’ve always been terrible at lying, never able to do so. Even when your father's wife continued to drill you on who ate the candies from a party when you were younger, showing her your chocolate-stained fingers that you had hidden behind your back, not even a minute into the interrogation.
“I did,” you say slowly, rubbing up and down your arms to warm them up from the chill breeze that seems to have picked up from the open windows, “The beets and asparagus were very nice,” you agree, not knowing what else to say without blowing this weird secret you’ve been holding onto.
His brow raised slightly, lips pursing slightly.
“And the fish?”
You swallow once again, fidgeting with the fabric of your slip, your hands, your ring, and you don’t notice the way his eyes fall to the gold on your finger, darting back to your face when he notices you staring at him.
“I…” you feel your face heating up beyond human measures, laughing awkwardly as you tug at your necklace chain, wishing that you hadn’t made that stupid decision to leave your comfortable bed, should’ve listened to your gut instead of your stomach, cursing your past self for being so rash, “I, um, I can’t…eat…fish.”
Gojo’s stoic face, so sure and confident, seems to falter for a brief second.
His arms tighten over his chest.
“...what?” He eventually asks after a couple of seconds of mind-bending silence, his head tipping in utter confusion as you sway from side to side on your feet, chewing your lips raw as you wish the ground could open up and never spit you back out.
“The fish always looks great, don’t get me wrong,” you say quickly as if that’s going to do anything, “But I can’t eat fish. Otherwise I’ll swell right up and um, die…probably,” you wince at how bad you are at talking to people, your husband especially.
He lets out a little puff of air that sounds like a shocked scoff, eyes falling to the floor as he shakes his head, not understanding what you are saying.
“But they’ve been cooking fish almost…four times a week?”
You nod, smiling awkwardly, looking at the painting of a fish on the wall as you look back at him.
“They have,” you affirm, leaning against a counter as he stays frozen in his spot at the door.
“And you…you can’t have fish?” Gojo questions incredulously.
“I’ll swell right up,” you repeat with a little smile that he doesn’t mirror, clearly not a man of humor, and you drop your hands to your side, “...kind of like a pufferfish.” You add quietly, looking at the ground as you say it.
He coughs, his hand covering his mouth as you glance up at him, only to see him trying to hide the shocked laugh that had escaped him.
“Why didn’t you tell them?” He finally continues, and you hate the way all your hard work of just saying quiet isn’t working and is in fact, coming back to bite you in the ass.
You shrug once more, shoving a grain of rice that was on the floor with the tip of your shoe.
“The first time it happened I figured I’d just tell them next time, but then that man kept on giving me more fish so I felt bad and I just never said anything.”
Gojo stares at you, his eyes squinting together as if he were figuring out an enigma, a war strategy that even his best generals couldn’t get a grasp of.
You look away, feeling like a fire was being lit under your skin.
“Alright,” you say, clapping your hands together as your stomach grumbles once again, reminding you that it is still in desperate need of food, “I’ll be done soon. And I’ll clean up,” you promise, but you doubt he even cares as you begin to inch away from him.
You watch as a strand of hair falls into his face, watch as he goes to move, never breaking his eye contact with you, until he looks behind you at the eggs and bread, and then to the window behind you, the moon as bright as ever.
He nods a final time, looking over you a final time before he exits.
You make sure he’s far gone, letting out a heavy breath as you hold yourself up by the table, eyes wide at the fact that you had spoken more than two words to the man who seemed to despise your entire existence.
You go back to your eggs, whisking them in silence as your mind reels.
—
Gojo is there, for dinner, the following night.
You enter the dining room to see him at the end of the table, already eating, and glances up briefly when he sees you walk in.
Trying to hide the shock on your face you quickly look away, finding the way to your side of the table as you look around to see what they’ve given you tonight. A sigh of fleeting relief escapes your lips at the lack of fish, glad you’ll be going to sleep full of food tonight.
You serve yourself, piling roasted meats and potatoes onto your plate as you fill your cup with water, not trusting wine after the last time you had it in his presence, and pretend that everything is normal as you pick up your knife and fork.
His words rang in your mind from the last time, the fact that he ate in silence, so you forced yourself to clam up, knowing that it was probably from the best and save you from any more mortification.
Your eyes fleet up now and then, grateful that he’s never looking up when you do, and give yourself some time to really take him in. Maybe in another universe where everything was normal, this could’ve just been another regular thing, and you try pretending that it is.
He’s probably only here because of a timing issue, you tell yourself, maybe this was the only time in the middle of training, state affairs, or other things that he was able to have dinner tonight. Yes, yes, that has to be it.
You look back down at your plate, chewing as quietly as possible, missing the way he lifted his head to look up at you.
—
Dinner with Gojo becomes a strange weekly occurrence.
The two of you eat in silence a couple of times a week, and every time it happens you’re so sure it’s going to be the last.
On one of the nights you find yourself accompanied by the man you decide that the silence is more choking than whatever it is you find yourself saying.
“Have you been notified about this…gathering in a couple of weeks?”
This gathering was something you were told about that morning by Alina. One of the smaller families allied to the North, the Tokoshi’s, had invited you and your husband to join.
“Yes,” Gojo says, and you’re a little surprised that he didn’t just give you a faint nod, “It shouldn’t be too big.”
He cuts off a piece of his lamb, dipping it in some of the gravy as he glances up at you.
You try to hide your excitement, not only from the fact that he’s spoken to you but also from the fact that this was an actual ball you would be able to go to. You knew that marrying him meant attending more of these sorts of events, but seeing how this was your first one, it was hard to not act a little giddy.
“You have a lovely library,” you speak after carefully chewing through some of your food, your pointer finger resting on your fork as your legs crossed.
Gojo glances up at you, those mesmerizing blue eyes finding yours from across the long table.
“At my old home,” you pause briefly, wondering how he feels when you refer to his estate as your other home, “I wasn’t allowed to go into our library unless my tutors asked to have some of our sessions there. So I just wanted to say thank you for letting me - um, go there,” your words quiet down at the end, looking at the roasted pig in front of you momentarily as you wonder what you were even trying to get.
He takes a sip of his wine.
“The grounds are as much mine as they are yours,” he says, but his words sound rehearsed as if he were told to say this.
“Even the east wing?”
You regretted it the moment you asked it.
Shit.
Gojo opens his mouth and then shuts it. You chew on the inside of your cheek, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything, but it reverts to that same silence that floods your senses and makes you aware of every other sound in the room.
Your burst of what you attempted at comedy seemed to keep coming back instantly in your face, a form of punishment for somebody who never knew how to make uncomfortable situations better.
Suddenly, all of your appetite is lost. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you can only chide yourself, the food in front of you, no matter how good it looked, felt like it would taste like ash on your tongue. You kept feeding this burning fire that was your marriage, expecting your hay-like words to act like water.
There’s a thick tension in the room, and you look around, blinking slowly as you fidget with your fingers.
You try to go back to eating.
You were wrong,
That initial silence was better.
—-
That night you found yourself back in the kitchens.
You’re wiping at your cheeks, hoping that the therapeutic motions of baking can help alleviate some of your many turmoils.
When you were younger, you were used to silence. People normally avoided you, and those who didn’t weren’t ever your age. The cooks at your old estate were kind, but they were usually too busy to entertain a little girl. You would usually help the maids out with their washing and folding, rather doing something than nothing. You would listen in on their gossip and stories, always happy to be included.
You assumed that it would be the same here.
But the maids assured you that a lady of such high rank shouldn’t be meddling in such lowly tasks, and the cooks here were cooking for such a larger number of people that you knew you couldn’t bother them the way you used to.
So you find yourself with a lot to say but nobody to say it to. The jokes and ideas that pop into your head fall flat because the old ladies who helped clean the bedsheets and used to laugh hearing them are no longer here. In those moments you’re with Alina or your other maids are sparse, and so you sometimes imagine that if you speak more when Gojo is around, he might warm up to you.
You also had to remind yourself that your track record with men wasn’t the best either. Those fleeting crushes on some of the other boys who you’d see at balls always ended with them scurrying away from you as if you were the plague. The only other marriage offer you’d gotten was from a man who had struggled with finding a woman who could keep up with his awful ways. So the fact that Gojo Satoru, the most well-known man in the realm, didn’t want much to do with you wasn’t shocking.
And Alina was right. A lot of wives aren’t as lucky to say their husbands don’t care, but you wondered how it would’ve been if he did. You exclaimed to her a couple of nights ago that you should’ve just married Naoya, but deep inside you knew that’s not what you wanted. A part of you knew ever since you agreed to this arrangement that you wouldn’t be getting an actual husband out of it.
You sniffle, your eyes blurry. You don’t like crying in front of people, and so you allow yourself to do so in the pale moonlight of the kitchen, the only sound other than your ragged breathing being the repeated sound of flour falling softly in your mixing bowl.
Baking was something that nobody ever could judge you about. You were good at it, and you knew you could do it with no error. Your cakes and pastries always turned out well, save for the minor problems you ran into as a kid, but you sometimes act like you’re baking for a group of people, about to take it out to see a sea of smiling faces who are happy to see you and your deserts.
“I thought you only cooked when they served fish for dinner.”
A voice, one that’s seared into your memory, says from behind you.
It takes everything in you not to jump from surprise, and it takes even more willpower not to turn around.
You quickly wipe at your cheeks, breathing in to make sure your voice won’t come out in bits and pieces. You keep your back to your husband, continuing to sift your flour in the bowl, a continual motion like waves hitting against the dock.
“I’m baking,” you specify, cringing at the way you sound like you’re fighting a nasty cold.
Gojo doesn’t say anything for a beat and does nothing to move. You’re glad he doesn’t, too scared that if he saw your puffy eyes or your tear-stained cheeks he’d begin to think that you have no backbone at all. It felt almost pathetic to have the world's strongest warrior see you recover from crying alone.
He hums in the back of his throat at your words, and you wonder what he looks like right now.
“I doubt these walls have seen a lady of such high rank before,” he comments, and you look up briefly from the mountain of white building up in the bowl, “They must whisper to themselves once you leave.”
You let out a little puff of air, something resembling a soulless laugh.
“Everyone whispers to themselves after I leave,” you say, reaching for a whisk, “I’ve heard more whispers than my own name.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you quickly try to wipe at the corners of your eyes.
“You come down here a lot,” it’s posed as a question, but Gojo says it like a statement. He must have eyes everywhere, reporting to him what you’re doing. You wouldn’t be shocked, but you just nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you begin to whisk your dry ingredients together.
“I hope it’s okay,” you throw in a pinch of salt as you mix, “I like the kitchen.”
He let out a little breath as if he was about to chuckle, but then he got confused. You decide to spare him the endless questions that must be going on in his head, wondering why somebody in your position would prefer the kitchens rather than anywhere else.
“My bedroom used to be behind a kitchen. I’d have to go through the pantry just to reach it,” you turn briefly to grab your bowl with the wet ingredients, pouring it slowly into your flour and sugar mixture, mixing it in slowly and carefully.
“My father’s wife wanted me out of sight. That estate had never used one of its actual bedrooms to sleep the daughter of a whore,” you can hear him inhale sharply, “I woke up to the sounds of people shouting for different ingredients, to pots and pans clanging against each other. I learned how to cook and bake when I was young, and I usually helped them cook the food my family would eat for dinner.”
When your batter is all mixed through you go to find the pan you have buttered and dusted with sugar, pouring it in as you wipe off the side of the bowl that had some remnants of batter dripping from it.
“They never asked me to, but I liked it. I liked feeling useful,” you peek over to your side, seeing him leaning against the wall adjacent to you, silent as a mouse.
You walk over to the other side of the kitchen with your pan, careful with the lid to the brick oven, heated with the fire you had lit an hour ago, and slide your cake pan into it, closing it shut as you stand up straight.
Finally, you look over at him.
His eyes rake over your face, lingering on the circles underneath your eyes, the redness that stained the whites of them. He’s clad in the simple tunic and breeches he had worn to dinner hours ago, his large shoulders leaning on the wall as his arms lay crossed over his chest.
“I won’t go to the east wing,” you say in a whisper, your voice quiet but heavy as it falls from your lips as a promise, trying to muster up a smile but it comes out wobbly, “I was just trying to make you laugh.”
His lips looked pinker than usual as if he had been chewing on them, something you often did when you were deep in thought. His white hair had been messily pushed back as if his fingers had been combing through them continuously.
“These grounds are yours,” Gojo says, his words thick from his throat. His exhale and inhale mirror the way you breathe, your two chests rising as though living with the same lungs.
You shrug, a melancholy look on your face as you shake your head.
“Maybe if I was your wife,” your words are said without any malice, “But I’m just another person who sleeps here.”
Gojo tilts his head slightly as if your statement had somehow wrenched itself into his mind, weighing it down. Even in the limited light, you could see the way he looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face.
“I’m sorry about all of this. I know I took away your chance to marry somebody you actually wanted, but my father told me you were okay with the arrangement. I wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise,” you twist your wedding ring around your finger mindlessly, a little habit you’ve grown over the weeks here, “I never wanted to be selfish, and I truthfully never wanted a husband. I just wanted a friend.”
—
Ever since that night, you eat your meals in your room.
Alina protested, saying it’s not right to eat alone, but you told her not to think about it, saying how you liked the silence.
You mustered up the courage to ask some of the coachmen to take you to the nearby town, starting by looking around at the little shops, keeping a hood over your head in case somebody saw a new stranger.
Sometimes you’d go inside the shops, finding little trinkets that you thought your maids might like, or ornaments that might help fill up the empty spots around your room. You’ve never been able to decorate before with how small your old room was, so you decided to take advantage of its space.
When you’re walking around you sometimes see Gojo, either in the training yard or walking around with one of his advisors. There have been moments when the two of you catch each other's stares from across the room, but you’re always the first to look away, making sure you’re going in a different direction than him.
You knew that you’d have to talk to him eventually, especially with the gathering that was coming up at the Tokoshi manor, but each night you pretended it was another day away, instead of one day closer.
Your maids came bustling in and out of your room more often than usual with preparations for the night that was closing in, shoving you into different dresses, not satisfied until they found the right one.
Alina noticed your shift in demeanor, never picking and prodding at it, but silently observing. You could tell she knew something was wrong, but you didn’t know how to put exactly what you were feeling in words.
It didn’t help that the closer you got to the night of the event Gojo seemed to be everywhere you were. The gardens, the library, the field, the stables. He probably just had business to attend to, but it didn’t help that whenever he saw you it looked like he wanted to say something. It also didn’t help that you’d scurry away when you saw him open his mouth.
The weeks turned into days, the days into a day, and that day into hours and you found yourself perched uncomfortably on a chair as three different women attended to your face, hair, and accessories.
You watch them work silently, taking in all the jewelry and makeup that you’ve been looking forward to wearing. It’s nothing too drastic, but that
girl who longed to wear pretty things inside of you is gleaming right now.
“…Lord Gojo requested for her to wear another pair of earrings,” one of your maids says, looking at the earrings Alina had picked out for you.
Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, watching Alina as she perks an eyebrow up.
“When did he request that?”
The older lady looks at you in the mirror and then at Alina.
“A couple of nights ago,” she shows Alina another pair, a sapphire one that seems to gleam brightly, “he dropped them off when she was…away…” the maid trails off, noticing the fact that you were eavesdropping.
Your eyes dart away as if that would help, but she quickly changes the topic, and you huff in annoyance as Alina sends you a knowing look.
“Your husband is a strange man,” Alina mutters in your ear as you giggle quietly, rolling your eyes as she playfully shoves your shoulder.
You don’t say anything in retaliation, and sit back as you put in your new earrings, grateful that they still complimented the color of your dress, and try to pretend you are going down for dinner rather than a gathering with people you didn’t know.
You’ve been learning this entire week how to properly hold a spoon and fork, and how to cut your food appropriately. You’ve been taking dancing lessons, discovered how to properly greet people, and even learned how to gracefully enter and exit a horse-drawn carriage. All things you should’ve probably learned earlier, but were never able to.
Alina helps you out of the chair when they are all done, giving you a second to look into the mirror. The dress they had wrangled you into was beautiful, your hair done in the way you liked. You thanked them all, expressing your endless gratitude for their hard work.
You take a deep breath as you exit the room and go out into the hall, leading yourself down the stairs and through multiple corridors, trying to calm down your palpitating heart.
It takes a few minutes but you find yourself at the front of the manor, standing alone and looking around, trying to see if you were at the wrong place. But in the distance, you can see the coachmen and the carriage, the door shut, still waiting for you.
You take a tentative step forward, nearing the entranceway that leads outside, but feel a soft touch hovering above your elbow.
It’s strange how he usually finds you before you find him, but as somebody who’s trained to know and find things before others do, you suppose it makes sense. You glance to your side, already expecting to see those cerulean eyes as you look up.
Gojo looks good, somehow better than usual.
He’s clad in dark blue garments, intricate with Northern design, and your eyes look up and down his entire body. His usual muscular build seems to be outlined by the stretch of his overcoat, the way the fabric is sitting snugly over his chest.
He seems to be doing the same, though. You can feel his gaze drop to your dress, to the way your lips are a little redder than usual, your hair done in a way that suits your face. His eyes linger on your ears, and there’s a small, barely noticeable tug to the corners of his lips.
“Ready?” Gojo asks, the first time he’s spoken in a couple of weeks, and you hum.
He takes his hand away from your elbow as he rests it on the small of your back, and you feel heat travel from his fingertips through the fabric, through your corset, your undergarments, and straight to your skin.
They bring the carriage out a little closer, a coachman opening the door for you. You brace yourself, heaving your dress upwards as you go to grasp the rail on the side.
But Gojo moves swiftly, offering you his glove-clad hand as you look over at him in surprise, taking it after a moment of hesitation, and haul yourself inside.
It’s far bigger than the one you usually take to town, and you settle for a corner on the left-hand side near the window. The walls of the carriage are lined with this sort of fabric that feels like it’s lighter than a cloud, colored the traditional blue of the Gojo family. You’d guess it could fit at least an entire family comfortably, so you’re not too worried about the underskirt of your dress taking up too much space.
You watch Gojo follow you in. He looks around, having to duck his head (and a lot of his back) as he sits in front of you, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.
The two of you sit in awkward silence, your gaze settled on the door that they shut after Gojo entered, and your eyes quickly fall to your hands resting in your lap, neatly folded.
The carriage starts a little bit later, the wheels humming to life as the coachmen yip at the horses to start. The sudden rocking movement that you’ve become familiar with sways you side to side, and suddenly you're totally aware of the fact that you’re alone in a limited space with the man you’ve been avoiding for the better half of two weeks.
You can feel his stare boring into the side of your head, can hear the way his breathing is coming out strangely as if he wanted to talk, but kept stopping himself off before he could say a word.
“Did you like the earrings?” Gojo finally asks, and you glance up, eyes narrowing for a second in confusion as realization suddenly comes rushing in.
“Hm? O-oh, yes!” You quickly stutter out, your hands flying to your ears as if you forgot they were there, “Yes, thank you. They were beautiful. They kind of looked like the inside of a belly button,” you say.
Your husband blinks, brows furrowed slightly as you think about what you had just said, eyes wide in shock.
“Er…well, gods, no, not bellybuttons,” your head falls to your hands as you shake your head profusely, “Sorry, they don’t look like belly buttons-”
But you stop when you hear a small laugh from him, quiet as he looks away for a second, a tiny slightly visible grin on his face as he looks back at you.
“Did you know that sometimes,” his eyes are a little upturned as if he fighting back an actual smile, “I make a bet with myself about what you’re going to say?”
You smile slightly, your head cocking to the side.
“Have you ever won?”
Gojo chuckles, and your eyes suddenly fall to his hand, at the way he’s fidgeting with his ring, his wedding ring, the same way you seem to do whenever you’re thinking about everything and anything all at once.
“Not once.”
You grin, and though you still feel this heavy weight of unspoken things resting in the middle of you two, you decide not to acknowledge it at the moment. Things unsaid, unheard, weaved through the air, tying you and him together like a tapestry.
You fidget with your skirt, looking out the window at the moving scenery.
Gojo breathes deeply through his nose, his pointed finger tapping on his thigh.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he finally says, and your eyes dart away from the trees and the sky to look over at him.
His bottom lip is caught underneath his teeth, his blue eyes shining with a different hue. He takes up a lot of room with just his size alone, but it looks like he’s trying to make himself seem less intimidating, less of a warrior, and more of a…person.
You don’t say anything, opting to stay quiet to see what it is that he is trying to formulate into words.
“That night,” Gojo twists his ring back and forth with his thumb, “I…” It’s weird to see somebody so sure of themself struggle to speak, and your brows crease in the middle, not knowing what it was he was trying to get at.
“I wanted to tell you that you too had a right to a good husband. Somebody who didn't rush you into a marriage because of his own mistakes…somebody you wanted.”
Where is he going with this?
You suddenly feel your throat dry up, swallowing thickly as Gojo looks out the window momentarily before looking back at you.
“My parents never told me who I’d be marrying,” Gojo explains, his voice hoarse, “I figured out the day of the wedding,” he twisted his wedding ring, looking at the way it shined, “And I wanted to hate you,”
His words punch you square in the gut, but you can only bring yourself to keep on looking at him.
“I wanted to hate you so much because it would be easier to act like this wasn’t my fault if I could…but,” he sighs, his chest rising and falling, “I don’t think it’s possible to hate you.”
Your lip trembles slgihtly, a sheen over your eyes. What is he doing?
“I’ve been raised in a way most people our age aren’t. My parents wanted me to be the strongest so was put into training since I was four, and I think this entire time I’ve been trying to approach you like a…military strategy. You were this map in my head that no matter how I approached it nothing made sense. But that night, in the kitchen, everything finally did.”
Your eyes flitter downwards so that he couldn’t see the waver in them
“You didn’t deserve how you were treated in your old life, nor this new one,” his hand covers his chest, and you feel lightheaded, “And I promise to you I’ll do everything in my power to make this one better. If you don’t want me as a husband, than as a friend.
“I’d like to be your friend, if you’d allow me,” he whispers thickly, his voice heavy. He fidgets with his fingers, moving them together and back out again, and you notice how he does this a lot whenever you’re near.
Your heart is beating so quickly that you feel like it's going to stop, and your mind is working so hectically that you don’t know what to think. This is the same man who looked at you as if you had torn down the moon and stars when he saw you the first time, the man who never seemed to be that interested in what it is you had to say. The very same person who would’ve rather married a broomstick than you.
…right?
And yet he’s here, asking to be your friend. Something that nobody has ever asked before, something that people wouldn’t ever dare to murmur out loud to you. He had no beneficial gain from doing this, no ally that he would please if he offered to be your friend.
Your heart twists because why does he look like he cares about what you say? His eyes are creased slightly around the edges, his lips pressed together as if he were preparing for whatever outcome it was to what you said.
Nobody has ever told you those things, the things that made years of pain and hurt strummed into one beat that your heart never wanted to drum to. This man, your husband, Gojo, was supposed to be another cog in that old machine, one that hummed and spurred like it was about to eat you alive.
But the more you look at him, the more you let your unspoken words speak in silence for you, you realise that he isn’t lying.
You open your mouth to speak but are cut off when the carriage comes to a sudden halt.
The two of you look at each other and then to the door, watching as it opens up, greeted to the sight of a large manor with multiple people walking in hand in hand. You swallow your bile, not knowing what to say, deciding to flee instead of face him like you should’ve.
—
The gathering itself was far more boring than you imagined it to be.
You and Gojo had the mutual understanding to act more…well, like a couple, than you actually were. You didn’t comment on the way his arm circled around your waist a couple of minutes into making your rounds talking with people or the endearing way he referred to you as my wife.
You’re glad that he doesn’t do anything to talk about what he had told you in the carriage whenever the two of you were alone, acting like nothing was wrong and everything was normal as he inquired about your day.
You told him brief things, still trying to shove his words out of your mind, but it was no use. I’d like to be your friend, your mind kept repeating, and you were too scared of brining it up in case he had changed his mind in between those minutes of quiet.
People you had never seen before congratulated you on your new marriage, their brows raised in that excited way as they motioned to your stomach, hinting at a special little someone who might be joining your lives soon.
“Soon!” You said with a curt laugh, glancing momentarily at Gojo only to see him already looking at you, a light blush dusting his cheeks.
He made sure not to stay with people who were strangers to you for too long, not wanting to bore you to death, and allowed you to take in more of the well-lit and vastly decorated manor.
Though its size was incomparable to the Gojo estate, it was still massive. The Tokoshi family had been a family with the Gojo one for centuries, so there was no question that the riches they had amassed over the years by being trading partners with them had culminated in this.
Gojo told you earlier in the carriage, before everything else, how the young Tokoshi couple were good people. They liked to throw parties a couple of times a year, inviting only a select few. He liked them far more than a lot of the other people he had been forced to grow up with over the years.
You look at the dining hall, at the corridors with openings that allow you to look outside without the glare of glass. His arm never left your body, holding you close to him as he let you walk around, your mouth hanging open slightly as you craned your neck to look at everything. Candles were lit everywhere, the bouquets of different assortments of flowers decorating the stone flower holders carved into the walls.
You mentioned to him in the privacy of the carriage, that you hadn’t ever been able to experience a party of this sort of caliber before. You could see how he wanted to ask more questions, but you could see the answers already formulating his head as to why.
“We probably look like one of those couples where the wife’s dying and the husband takes her out to see the stars one last time,” you whisper to him, still looking around in a stunned sort of way at the beauty of it all.
Gojo’s head ducks down a bit, trying to hide the chuckle that had broken out and made its way onto his face. He coughs into his fist as if that was the issue, but you look over at him to see the humor in his eyes.
“Did you lose your bet again?” You ask, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes as he looks like he’s fighting the grin that’s threatening to take over.
“I’m always losing that bet,” he tells you.
Though he doesn’t do anything to bring up his conversation, you can see it in the way he looks at you, as if he’s still teetering on an edge, wanting to know what you were thinking in that frazzled mind of yours.
You decide to push past it.
“Can I get in on it?” You ask, turning slightly so that you face him, very aware of the fact that his hand hasn’t moved from its spot on your waist.
You try not to think about it, reminding yourself that it’s just for show, but you can’t stop the feeling of heat that travels wherever it is he seems to touch you. His hand is larger than an average one, his fingers moving mindlessly up and down on your corseted stomach.
“Do you need the extra coin?” His voice is carrying a strange tone…is he teasing you?
But again, you try not to think about it, it’s all for show, (you also try not to think too much of the fact that you’re pretty separated from everybody else).
“No, I just need coin,” you explain, fixing one of the medallions on his chest that had been slightly slanted, “I have nearly nothing left.”
Gojo moves barely away from you, his eyes searching yours as if to find the joke.
“Have you run through my family gold already?” His voice is still toying, but now it’s filled with a little confusion.
“No, of course not,” you snort, rolling your eyes as you tilt your chin up to look at him better, “I haven’t touched any of your gold. I just ran through mine.”
His brows quirks upward, mouth parting slightly.
“You’ve emptied the gold your family sent up?”
It’s your turn to be confused.
“What gold?” You ask, moving away from him, his hand falling to his side, and you suddenly miss his warmth.
You remember your father talking about how the Gojo family had rejected your initial dowry, saying something along the lines of outlandish practices, but aside from that, you weren’t told about any other sort of money that was supposed to be sent with you.
He pinches the bridges of his nose, sighing deeply.
“The gold that they sent with you? It wasn’t supposed to be a lot but it was supposed to suffice for the journey here.”
You blink owlishly at him.
“What gold have you run through?” He specifies, plastering on a fake smile when he catches the eyes of somebody behind you, but then focuses his stare back to you.
“Well…” you shrug, “My gold.”
Gojo looks like he’s about to make a new bet, one that’s with every time you’ve almost given him an aneurysm trying to figure out your strange riddles and rhymes that are supposed to be actual words.
“I used to make some gold at my old home,” you explain, keeping your voice low in case somebody was somewhere that you hadn’t seen, but realizing that Gojo was lost, you continued, “The stable boy gave me some of his salary if I took care of the horses and cleaned the stables. Sometimes he’d give me extra if I could haul in the large bags of hay.”
He scoffs, shaking his head slightly.
“Why?” That seems to be a question he’s been asking lately.
You shrug again, feeling his hand circle back around your waist as some people come near you,
“I needed new clothes and my shoes had holes in them. My father’s wife didn’t let him give me much, so I tried to fill in the gaps.”
You smile at one of the couples that are coming near you, going back into your other persona as you begin chatting with them. Gojo pulls you in tighter to his side, staying silent. You don’t notice the way he hasn’t stopped staring at you, nor the way his heart seems to have churned so painfully in his chest.
—
The night progresses and you find yourself inside the dining hall, being shown to your seats by one of the maids, finding your name next to Gojo’s on a name card.
The two of you sit down, watching the people the file in, the sound of laughter filling the room, the clinking of china against each other filling in the rest of the silence. You take it all in with a smile, looking every and at everyone.
“I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” you whisper as you lean closer to Gojo, an apologetic smile on your face as you sit further into your seat, “This is all just so new to me.”
You don’t see the ways his eyes soften, his hand inching closer to yours as he shakes his head.
“You’re not embarrassing me,” he murmurs back, leaning his head closer to yours, wanting his words only to be heard by you, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” The smile that makes its way onto your face could power the universe, and Gojo feels like the wind had been knocked from his lungs, far worse than in training when somebody's foot slams into his chest.
“I am!” Your enthusiastic and hurried words are hushed, but he can still hear the way you’re trying to hide your joy. The small talk is horrific,” he laughs a little bit, “but still I love it.”
He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the sound of a knife hitting glass.
“Everyone! Give me your time, just for a moment!” Miyo Tokoshi, whom you spoke to briefly, stands up, his chair behind him.
All eyes in the room fall on him, people still smiling, their teeth glimmering in the light.
“I cannot express my joy to be in a room with you all tonight,” he says, looking around the room, making sure he saw everyone for a split second. “And my wife and I couldn’t be more ecstatic to host the first gathering of the season!”
You look at the woman sitting next to him, Lana, who you had also met momentarily, is gleaming at him, her face full of genuine adoration. She, along with everybody else, claps, laughing joyfully.
You wonder if this is what a real husband and wife should look like, and you look briefly over to Gojo, your mind reeling with the charade the two of you have been playing this entire night.
“And we couldn’t be happier to welcome the first couple of the year,” he exclaims, pointing his glass over to you and Gojo, saying your name and then your husbands as he claps his hand softly against his wrist, “May every moment you spend together be better than the last. We wish the two of nothing but a lifetime of happiness and prosperity.
Gojo raised his glass to him, his hand grasping yours as he lifted it to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it.
You feel like you’ve stopped breathing with the linger of his lips on your skin, the last time that happened on the night of your wedding, and watching him grasp it even tighter when he sets it back down, weaving his fingers through yours.
Stop, you chide, raising your glass as well, a shaky smile on your face, it’s just an act.
He winks at the two of you, nodding once more as he focuses his stare somewhere down the table, obstructed by where you are sitting.
“And to the future couple! Naoya and Freya!”
Gojo turned his head immediately to look at you, watching the color drain from your face, and before you knew it, the man, Naoya, was standing up, a hand over his chest in faux gratitude as he thanked the host.
You could never mistake that hair, the feline look in his eyes as he scanned across the room, a slimy smile on his face. You watch as it grows even wider when he finally catches his prey when he finally sees you, and you feel nauseous, like you’re about to throw up all those little crackers they had given you earlier that evening.
The hand holding yours squeezes, knowing he can’t say anything right now, and you swallow thickly, eyes darting over to his as you feel your head about to sway.
Naoya’s here. The man you turned down for Gojo.
The rest of Tokoshi’s speech is muted to you. It feels like your head is being held underwater, and you feel sweat dotting your forehead, your chest, and your palms. You can feel Gojo’s eyes on the side of your head and can tell he’s trying to tell you something silently.
The clinking of glass brings you out of your haze, looking up mindlessly as you haphazardly clink yours against Gojo’s, rubbing a hand down your face as if that would help.
You're grateful for the flurry of movements and noises, everybody talking to somebody, the people beginning to serve themselves the wide array of food places in front of them.
Gojo squeezes your hand one more time, and you finally look over at him, trying to muster up a smile but with how queasy you feel and the way your head spinning, it probably looks like you’re about to be sick all over him.
“I’ll be okay,” you say through clenched teeth.
Gojo nods, his thumb rubbing up and down your hand in a soothing way. It’s just for show.
“I’m sorry my palms are sweating,” you laugh mirthlessly, and he squeezes it again, you’re sure he’s only doing this because of the extra attention of the two of you ever since they realized you and Naoya were in the same room, “you don’t have to keep holding it.”
“Do you want me to let go?” He asks, and you stop poking around at the turnips on your plate.
No.
“N-no,” you croak out, desperate for his touch that’s grounding you, “No, please.”
Gojo nods, his thumb not stopping its comforting motion of moving up and down.
“Don’t worry,” he mutters, leaning closer to you as you duck your head so that your ears are near his lips, “My hands get sweaty too.”
You laugh quietly and it sounds like wind chimes. You look at Gojo and watch as his lips tug upwards into a soft smile, one you had never seen before, and one you thought you never would.
—
You tried to hide away the rest of the party, but Gojo didn’t seem to mind.
When it was time to leave you accepted the gracious hug of the hosting couple, promising them that you’d come back for a more private dinner, and let Gojo lead you out into the courtyard where all the carriages were held.
You slept the entire ride home, not wanting to mess anything up by taking, and you’re happy that Gojo didn’t bother you. You felt groggy when you returned to the estate, grateful for Gojo’s steady hand as he helped you out of the carriage. The two of you looked like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t, so you bid each other good night and went your separate ways.
Separate except for one brief moment.
You were walking away and up the stairs when you suddenly stopped, remembering what it was that you wanted to tell him. You call out his name, watching as he turns, white brows slightly furrowed.
“I…” you start but realize you didn’t exactly have a plan for what you wanted to say. He gives you his patience, not looking annoyed or frustrated when you try to think of the right words to string together.
“I…I would like to be your friend too,” you finally say, and watch as a smile forms on his face, his pink lips tugging upwards in a way that made his eyes shine, the way your earrings did in the candlelight.
He rakes his hand through his snow-white locks, pushing them away from his face.
“I’ll see you at breakfast then,” Gojo says, and you dip your head down in a small smile.
You give him a small wave, disappearing as you round the corner.
And since then, you found him joining you not only for breakfast or the sparse dinners but for any meal he possibly could.
Gojo talked more, about anything and everything, and you did the same.
You realized that he was actually an open person the closer you got to him, seeing that he too was capable of laughing and making jokes, his teasing eyes growing more frequent the closer your chairs got to the dinner table until you eventually just sat side-by-side, growing tired of shouting at each other across its length.
On the days he wasn’t busy with strategizing or talking to other lords, he’d walk around the estate with you, telling you stories from his childhood, the times he’d run amock around the halls. Other times the two of you would go into town, looking at the different stores together.
You could tell he was trying, could see it in the way he glanced at you from time to time to make sure that you were doing well.
He’d accompany you to the library if you asked him to, and you’d go down sometimes to the training yard just to see him. Gojo would never tell you how much he tried to show off when you were there and knew he never had to. You could see the way he tried to appear even stronger when fighting with one of the other men, the poor soldier coming out with bruises and cuts all over his body.
Over many weeks, you find yourself looking forward to spending time with him, and a part of your cracked self begins mending itself again.
It felt like after years of searching for somebody, somebody found you.
On one of the nights when his sparring had gone on for far longer than it usually does, you decided to head down to the training yard after your night bath, tugging on a large robe over yourself as you walked the familiar stone steps down to where you knew he was.
You could hear them before you saw them, a cacophony of fists hitting skin, groans, shouts from one another. There was a little perch from where you could watch what was happening below, and you usually hid yourself in a corner so that they wouldn’t see you.
You’d rest on a pillar, arms crossed over your shoulder as you looked at the men below. Gojo was always easy to find, the flurry of white hair a tall-tale sign of where he was. You had watched him before, but you never got tired of it. You found it almost inhuman the way his movements seemed to flow like water, the way his hits were precise and direct.
Gojo truly was the best warrior the North had ever seen, and sometimes you forget that you’re married to a man who brought down entire armies with just his bare fists.
You watch as he jests with one of his friends, his chest rising a little bit at an irregular pace, slightly out of breath, but happy to be there. He turns to one of the guys behind him to say something, but his eyes immediately track upwards to the figure trying to stay hidden, you and a wide smile break out on his face.
He waves at you, and it gets the attention of the other men there. They all turn to see where you are, their boyish grins and calls making you roll your eyes at their antics, your face heating up slightly as you wave back at them.
Gojo says something to the person next to him, and you hear the man shout at the other ones to wrap it up for the night. Some of them wave goodbye to you as they begin exiting, going back to their common rooms.
You make a move to lean slightly over the railing, your arms crossed over the wood as you peer down at the ground where Gojo remained alone, finding him to already be looking up at you.
“Care to come down?” He juts his chin at the staircase to your left, the one that leads down to the courtyard, and you nod, disappearing behind the stone pillars as you take the steps leading downwards.
You’ve been here a couple of times, as per your own request. You wanted to see what they did during training, what the training yard actually looked like from the ground. You lift the ends of your dress up slightly as you near the bottom, rounding the corner to see Gojo standing in the middle.
He’s waiting for you, his eyes tracking your movements as you come near to him.
His nose twitches slightly, his eyes squinting as he lifts his head in the air, suddenly picking up the scent of something unusual.
“What’s that smell?” Gojo asks as you come to him, his eyes looking over your body as if it were emitting from you.
You scoff, appalled, and then suddenly remember that Alina had applied some lavender oil to you after your bath.
“If it’s a good smell then me,” you cross your arms over your chest, nose wrinkling in disgust as you take in his smell of sweat and grime, “If bad then you.”
Gojo snorts, coming closer to you as he continues sniffing, exaggerating the sound. You step away from him slightly, the smell of sweat overpowering, and he takes notice of this.
“What?” He inquires, annoyed that you are moving away from him, and he takes a step closer.
“What do you mean what?” You tease, moving again as he tries to smell the air, “You smell like an army of unshowered men. I just took a bath.”
Gojo seems offended at this, trying to move back closer to you but you side-step him, apparently serious about this.
“You really won’t let me come near you?” He sounds like you’ve kicked him down, his cheeks stained pink from earlier, and you laugh slightly, shaking your head.
“I really won’t,” you affirm, shoving the back of your wrist to him to show him that what he was smelling was in fact you, “See? Lavender oil.”
Gojo just seems to be getting more annoyed the more you try to evade him, his blue eyes swirling with an idea as you look at him in worry.
“No, the smell is coming from somewhere else.” He argues, changing his footing so that he stands right in front of you and you let out a shocked laugh, not expecting this as you take a step back.
You don’t know where else he can smell the lavender oil. Alina dotted it to your wrists and your neck, but surely can’t differentiate the difference in location…right?
“Come here,” he almost whines, “I’m not going to rub off my smell onto you.”
You laugh again out loud, picking up the skirt of your dress as you try to outrun him slightly.
“You will!” You insist, motioning to the sheen of sweat on his body, “You reek of sweat. I swear it’s just lavender oil!”
He groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at this inconvenience.
“You’re killing me right now,” Gojo dramatically grabs his chest, “You won’t let me smell this strange aroma and it’s killing me,” his face breaking into a little pout as you laugh even louder, shocked at how petulant he was being. Your laughing seemed to spur him on even more, running towards you as you ran backward, hoping you didn’t trip on the fabric of your dress.
“You have a plethora of bottles of lavender oil in your own room,” you argue, “this isn’t something innovative that you’ve never smelled before.”
Gojo shakes his head, and your heart flutters at the way his smile is so playful and teasing, the way some of his hair falls into his face in that messy way when he’s usually training and not caring about his appearance.
“It’ll only take a second,” he reasons and you shake your head no, your eyes both shining with playful laughter.
The courtyards lead out into the large fields of the Gojo estate, and you look behind yourself at the opening. It’s night, there’s nobody around. Nobody would judge you for running away from your sweaty husband.
You look back at him, see the gleam in his eyes, and know that he’s not going to back down.
He can see the thoughts forming in your head, can assume them before they’re even created, and so he’s straight on your heels as you sprint away from him, a large smile on your face as you squeal out loud.
“Please!” You shout over your shoulder, running down the little hill as the moon lights the way for you, “I just took a bath! Leave me alone!”
You can hear the grass rustling beneath your feet, your screams of laughter contagious as you try to outrun the fastest person ever, and try not to slow yourself down by looking over your shoulder to see where he is.
But after a couple of seconds of running you realize that the only footsteps you hear are your own, and you pause momentarily to look behind you and are surprised to see that he’s not there.
Did he not come after you?
You look around the field, the large blades of grass looking like waves that move with the wind, and whip your head around every time you hear a twig snap.
You're a little bit further away from the manor itself, and the only thing you can see besides its large stone walls are the torches lit outside. You can make out the guards who are standing outside, but no sign of Gojo.
You try to catch your breath, confused as to where he could’ve gone when a force stronger than a horse running at full speed slams into your side.
The scream you let out echoes around the field, and you brace yourself for the harsh impact of hitting the ground. With your eyes squeezed shut you wait for the flash of pain, but peek them open to see Gojo framing your head with one of his hands, his body shielding you from the impact as he lays on top of you.
“How…?” You scream, your chest moving up and down with your fit of giggles, trying to push him off of you, “You’re a beast!” You cry out, moving your head to the side as he laughs along with you, his chest rumbling with the movement.
You shove his face away with the palm of your hands, shoving your wrist into his nose as if that would satiate him.
“I took a bath you behemoth!” You whine, thinking about the dirt and mud that must be staining your skin and dress right now, “Are you so void of any good fragrance in your life that you must hunt me down for it?”
Gojo tsks, shaking his head as he swats your wrist aside.
He’s also slightly out of breath, most likely because he ran across and entire field from another entranceway that you weren’t aware of to catch you off guard, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how close to two of you are together.
His hand is still cradling your head, the other one holding your hips. Truthfully he doesn’t even smell bad, which is frustrating that it’s just another one of his many talents.
He judges your jaw up with his nose, and you helplessly comply, your heart hammering wildly as he leans in closer to the skin of your neck, taking in a whiff as he looks back up to you, his eyes gleaming.
Gojo’s hand on your hip moves up slightly to hold your waist, not hard, but to stop you from squirming around.
“It smells different here,” he nudges your neck with his nose again, and your breathing hitches, “Smells sweeter.”
You swallow thickly, blinking slowly as you crane your neck slightly upwards to give him more room. It’s like your body is moving on its own, and you’re not to sure how you know what to do, but you just do.
“That’s not possible,” you try to argue, trying your best to keep your voice from wavering, “You just lack the nose for good oils.”
Gojo laughs lowly, shaking his head at your antics as he braces his knees on either side of your thighs, caging you in.
“I have a very keen sense of smell,” he boasts and you snort, looking away as he pinches your hip to which you yelp.
His hand moves away from your head and to your shoulder, to where your nightgown had slightly slipped off and runs a thumb down a patch of your skin where it was slightly raised, a faint scar on your collarbone.
“Where’d you get this?” His voice is slightly hushed, and you look down from your chin to where he is talking about.
“Hm?” You look around, see that he’s pointing to the tiniest little scar, and chuckle slightly, “Oh, that?” Your eyes squint as you try to remember, “I tried to climb up a tree once when I was little and fell.” Gojo huffs out a little laugh, his eyes still focused on your skin as you chew on the inside of your cheek.
“It probably looks far worse compared to anything you have,” you say sarcastically, “The family physician kept saying I wasn’t going to make it through the night.”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your antics as he raises himself, moving away from you as he sits back down on the grass. You miss his warmth, the way his heat radiated onto you like a furnace.
“I don’t know how you keep surviving between your inability to consume fish and your near-death occurrences,” Gojo’s voice holds a teasing tone and you smile, moving up so that you’re facing him.
You rest your weight back on your hands, kicking your legs out in front of you as your skirt flows around the grass. A while ago you would’ve felt improper sitting like this in front of anyone, but you don’t seem to care all that much when it’s Gojo.
“I showed you my battle would,” you say, putting one leg on top of the other, “What’s your worst one?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in questioning.
Gojo purses his lip, thinking.
You imagine that he’d tell you or probably motion to where it was, but a second later you watch, shocked, as he tugs his tunic upwards, your face heating as he rises it slightly so that you can see a part of his stomach.
You hate how utterly built he is.
His skin is pulled taught over the smooth stomach of his abs, his chest huge with pure muscle, his arms, bulging through the sleeves. It’s something you thought you’d get used to, something you told yourself to stop ogling at, but never could.
But you shift your focus to a large scar that runs across his chest, from the bottom of his hip under his arm. It still looks relatively new, and the scar itself still pink. You could see the way it was jagged, not one smooth line, and gods, fuck, why do you want to touch it?
“Well,” you try to think of something witty to say, seeing the way he’s looking at you as if waiting for it, “Clearly not as bad as mine, but it comes in as a close second.”
He throws his head back as he laughs, his muscles contracting as he does so. You feel flushed, not able to look away from the scar, knowing that you were merely compensating for not knowing what to say.
“I know,” he says eventually with a shrug, looking down as he surveys the scar, “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”
You pout slightly, thinking.
“Does it hurt?”
He looks up at you, at the way you can’t take your eyes away from it, and shakes his head.
“Not anymore,” he sits up a little straighter, closer to you as you watch him move, “Sometimes I can feel it sting, but it’s barely noticeable.”
You beg to differ.
The two of you don’t say anything and a part of you has decided that silence is bad for you. Because before you can really think about what you’re doing, you push yourself upwards, leaning in closer to him as you try to get a better look at it.
He doesn’t say anything, but if only you could see the way he could barely use his lungs to breath right now you’d make some sly remark about how the best warrior of the North was growing shy from just a look.
But suddenly you’re not looking anymore as you shuffle in a little closer, your fingers reaching upwards to touch the skin.
You can hear the wind move around you, the grass rustiling as your fingers run across the scar. His abs flex at the coldness of your hand, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. You’re studying it intently, wondering what sort of weapon could’ve caused this.
Gojo’s size dwarfs over yours, but you don’t seem to mind. Your lips as slightly pursed as you take it in.
“Did you fight a bear?” You finally ask, peeking up to look at him.
You’re startled by the way the flush on his cheeks has grown even more red, or the way you can’t see the blues in his eyes anymore. Has he always looked like that?
Gojo shakes his head, taking in a shaky breath, looking at the top of your head as you go back to looking at the scar.
“Nearly,” he tries to joke, but his voice is weak, laced with need, “But I doubt a bear would even want to be compared to the man who gave me the scar.”
You look up, your brow quirked in curiosity.
“Who?” You ask, shocked at how quiet your voice came out.
Gojo smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tongue clicks against his teeth, his hand rising up to grab yours, pulling it away from his chest. He can’t bear to have you touching him like that anymore, not trusting himself to restrain the pure desire that bubbling inside his veins.
“Naoya,” he says hushed, watching as your lips part and eyes widen.
There’s a beat of silence, a moment when you think you can hear your heart beating in the same rhythm his is.
Your hand curls into itself, shock taking over your features as your eyes drop to his scar and then back up to him. You find yourself wanting to say everything and anything, but can’t somehow find the words that you’re looking for. Gojo beats you to it, thankfully.
“I’ve been having this recurring dream ever since I fought him of that same moment over and over again when he cut me open. But it’s changed, recently,” He sits up straighter, so close to you that your chests are almost touching, “And I keep seeing him marrying you, what would’ve happened if you had said yes.”
“And gods, fuck,” he ducks his head down, raking an agitated hand through his hair, making it even more messy, “I…” He chokes on his breath, looking back at you, and suddenly you see the glossiness in his eyes, the way that tears brim his waterline.
And suddenly you see the Gojo Satoru, the Lord in the North, the most powerful man alive, cry.
“I keep reprimanding Naoya in my head about how awful he is, about how I’d kill nearly every person alive if he ever touched you, b-but I was just as awful. I think about the first time I saw you, about the first weeks you were here. I think about how you must’ve felt, how alone you were. Every day…” he wipes messily at his cheeks, his lips wobbling, “Every day I wake up and think of you. I think about your face, your smile, your eyes, your lips, the way your nose scrunches, that line between your brows when you're confused, and every night I go to sleep hoping that this was all an awful dream and I haven’t ruined your life, but then I wake up, and it starts all over again.”
“I know I’m a selfish man,” Gojo says with a wet chuckle, his cheeks wet with tears, “I know I shouldn’t, but I want you to myself, I want you forever. I want to be your friend, I want to be the person you sleep next to, the person you go to when you want to talk about your little stories. I want to hear your jokes and I want to see you laugh. I want to hold your hand, I want to put that ring on your finger every morning, and I want to propose to you each night.”
He shakes his head, swallowing his cries down, the moon lighting the tear tracks that start from his eyes and end at his chin.
“But I know you don’t want that. You told me that you wanted a friend, but…” he shrugged, his smile sad, aching, longing, “I think along the way of being your friend I realized I wanted to be your husband too.”
“I understand if you want to leave. I’ll tell my parents the truth, they’ll understand. I have a house ready for you near the sea, one away from your family, where you can start over.”
The wind rustles the hills, and you look at the field, watch the way it moves in tandem with the life around it.
You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, and know that even if you blink them away it’ll do nothing to actually hide them. There’s a burning feeling in your chest, one that you’ve never felt before, one that rings with Gojo’s words.
You run your fingers through the grass, looking up at him with a certain fire in your eyes.
“What if I don’t want that?”
He blinks slowly.
“I,” Gojo sniffs, nodding profusely, hoping you don’t see the way he crumbles, “I understand, I promise I do. The house is a couple days-”
“No,” you cut him off firmly, wiping your palms furisuly across your cheeks, to rid them of the pesky tears, shaking your head, “What if I don’t want that?” You move up to him, reaching your hand down his tunic, your fingers moving against is chest as you dig out the gold chain that’s wrapped around his neck.
The one that holds his ring, the one he told you about one night that keeps it safe whenever he’s training.
“What if I want this?” Your voice is cracking, and you tug the chain tighter.
“What if I want all those things? What if I want you to love me?” The ring shines in the moonlight, mirroring her pair thats wrapped around your finger, “I want to be your friend,” you stress, your brows strewn together as tears overflow from your waterline, “And I want to know what things you like. I want to walk with you all around the earth and walk back home again. I want to sleep next to you. I want to make you laugh, and I want you to make me smile. I want you to be my husband so that I can be your wife,” you cry out, your chest heaving up and down as he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into his lap as he tries to quickly wipe your tears away.
“I want you too, Satoru,” you whisper, broken with your wet sniffles, a wet laugh escaping your lips when you see him crack at the way you said his name with so much care, your thumbs gliding across his cheeks.
You slide closer into him, your legs splitting across his huge thighs as he hugs you tenderly to him, his head resting on your chest so that he can hear your heartbeat, make sure that this wasn’t just another dream.
“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs against your bosom, looking up at you with glistening eyes.
“Then fight for me,” you whisper, your hands on either side of his face, “Give me all those things. Give me more,” you smile when his arms wrap around your waist a little tighter, his hands holding you up, “And I’ll do the same.”
He nods, holding your hand that was still holding onto his ring to his chest, one hand moving to your back, and in the mess of tears and broken laughs the two of you seem to move together, meeting each other in the middle as your lips find each other in the dark shadows of night.
You gasp when his lips capture yours, and he moves towards the sound, wanting to hold it, keep it forever.
Gojo moves slowly, knowing that this is your first time, and cups your jaw, helping you move along with him as you lips slot and lock against each other. It’s messy and with no order, your chin staining with sweat as you moan against him, feeling delirious without the touch of him.
You know this isn’t the easiest position for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He groans against you, his eyes squeezing shut, trying to memorize your taste in case the world ended tomorrow and this was his last meal.
“Is this-” You cut him off when you swoop in again, his laughter cut short by your needienss, the way you paw at his chest, your hands winding up to his hair as you tug harshly on the soft strands.
He moans at this, at the way you grind mindlessly on his thigh, your need for each other bleeding out into the open.
“I love you,” he murmurs against you, kissing down your chin and then back up to you, his tongue swiping against your lips, savroing your whine, “I love you so much,” he says to everybody, hoping even those on mountains oceans away could hear, “I love you, my wife,” and you giggle, eyes bright when you hear those words.
“Say it again,” you ask, your nails drawing little shapes on his nape, and you see him break into a smile.
“My wife,” he repeats with a peck to your cheek, “My beautiful wife,” he kisses the tip of your nose, smiling at the way it scrunhed up slightly, just the way he adored, “My wife,” he kisses your jaw, “My wife,” your giggling nonstop and he hopes to bottle up the sound and hear it on his deathbed.
His hands travel back down to your hips, adusjsting you slightly so that you wouldn’t feelt he embarrassing hardening of his dick just from kissing you, and moves his lips down to your neck, hearing the way there’s a hitch in your laughter.
“Why’d you stop?” he nudges his nose at that spot pf your neck that still smells like lavender, his favroite scent in the world, “Hm?” Gojo hums against that spot, licking a wet stripe up it, sucking at the skin, feeling the way you arch into his chest.
“Y-your reeking s-scent infiltrated my nose,” you murmur, biting on your lip as he pinches your waist.
“Yeah?” Gojo continued to tease you, sliding the sleeve of your dress down, giving you more access to the skin of your collarbone, “Want me to stop?”
“No!” You cry, totally against your better judgement, moaning when he sucks another mark into the skin, biting it, and then presses a soft kiss to it as an apology, “Please, please, don’t stop.”
He chuckles darkly, shifting you around so that you are lying back down on the ground, his body framing yours as he continues tugging down your dress, going slow in case you ever wanted him to stop.
His fingers are quick at untying the string that holds you bodice together, unravelingit all until it falls off and he’s greeted to the sight of your heaving chest, the way your naked breasts rise and fall.
Gojo blinks for a moment, forgetting how to move.
“W-what?” You ask, a little self-conscience as he continues to stare at your chest, “Do they look wonky?” You move your hands to cover up but a deep gutteral growl escapes his lips, pinning your hands back.
“Beautiful,” he bites out, moving his head down, pressing a wet kiss in between the valley of your breasts, “You look like a fuckin’ statue,” he says, “You’re s-so beautiful.” Gojo repeats, and you can’t protest with the way he praises you, nor the way his lips hover over a nipple, finally leaning in fully as he sucks on it.
“F-fuck!” You cry out at the sensation, your fingers lost in his hair as you keep him there, back arching off the ground, “That, that feels…good,” you can’t speak, not with the way his tongue slides across your nipple, pressing little kisses around you areola.
His other hand goes to your other one, making sure she’s not feeling lonely, his thumb flicking over your sensitive nipples as you whine even louder.
Gojo switches and you feel your breath shudder in an embarrassing whimper, your eeys squeezing shut when he bites at you, wanting to mark you up for those wretched gods to see and feel humanly jealous over.
“So soft,” he murmurs against your skin, almost in awe, “feels like silk.”
You would’ve had a witty joke about this, you know you did, but you can’t fathom to think about anything other than the way his lips feel on your tits, the way he seems like he’d die had he not been here sooner.
But he then raises his head, and you whine in protest. Gojo almost break at the way you’re looking up at him, the way yor lips tremble from sheer desire.
“Want more?” He presses, his hands, warmer than the fire that’s burning in your belly, trailing down, down to where your dress was slightly parting, “Here?”
“Y-yes, fuck,” you moan, parting your legs to make room for him, not knowing what this feeling was but knowing that he was the only one who could soothe it, “Need it so bad Sa-satoru,”
His eyes roll back, swallowing his primal groan at the way you plead for him, and nods, pressing a kiss against your stomach before his hitches the fabric upwards, sliding down your body so that his face is closer to that heat.
You know you should feel more shame, but you feel like you’re going to die if your husband doesn’t do something soon.
Gojo’s hand travels up your calf, trailing up your thigh, and suddenly stops.
You go to beg, plead, for him, but cut yourself off when his lips find your inner thighs, pressign wet and messy kisses to them, getting dangerously close to where you felt like you were leaking.
“You’re divine,” he whispers against your skin, hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulls them apart, “Fuckin’ divine.”
His lips suddenly find there, you glistening cunt, and you mewl out for him.
“Satoru,” your chest is heaving like you can’t find any air, “T-there, please, there,” and fuck the way you’re begging him is so sweet that he can’t find it in himself to tease you.
His fingers seperate your wet lips, groaning when he sees just how much you’re dripping, and licks a tentative stripe upwards, your surprised gasp at how good it felt going straight to his cock.
Gojo carefully slides a finger through your tight walls, feeling the way you tighten around that, and lets his lips travel to your clit, pressing small kisses to it before he begins to suck. You clench around him, and your toes curl at the way he begins to pump it in and out, your essence soaking his skin.
“So wet sweetheart,” he groans swapping his finger for his thumb at your clit, his tongue diving into your walls as he nearly cums from your saccharine taste alone, “S-shit, fuck, you taste like fucking heaven.”
Your thighs tighten arund his head, but he craves the feeling, his tongue eating you out at such a fast pace that you begin to wonder if you need this more or him.
“O-oh gods,” your grips his head tightly, can’t find the sympathy in yourself to feel bad, “‘Toru, oh, oh my, don’t stop!
That coil in your stomach grows more taunt with each second.
He alternates, adding in another thick finger, feeling the way you try to stretch for him. He glides in and out of you with ease, but he wonders what you’d look like on his thick cock, how you’d preen as he split you open with his girth.
“Sweet,” he moans against you, his voice vibrating against your pulsing walls, “You’re so fuckin’ sweet.”
You nod at something, whatever he just said, not fulling understanding anything around you as he continue to stimulate your clit, sucking on it, his teeth gliding across it with a little bite, and you moan out even louder.
“I…” you can’t think, can’t breathe, “F-fcuk, ‘Toru, something, something’s happening,” you don’t know what this feeling is, this electric, all-consuming feeling that’s zapping through your body, making it numb yet aware of everything at the same time.
“I know, I know,” Gojo praised you, one of his hands holding your stomach down, the added pressure making you whine, “You’re doing so good for me, you’re there, come on come for me,” his hand travels up your body, finding yours as he weaves your fingers together.
“Shit, shit,” you mewl, “I’m coming, fuck, c-coming!” You cry out, your back arching off of the ground as your legs grow slack around his shoulders, your walls pulsing around him as that string tightens for the final time and then finally breaks.
You can see white as your eyes rolls back into your head, squeezing his hand as tightly as you can, your yes dotting with tears. Your climax was all consuming, making you gush around his fingers and tongue, seeming to be never-ending, your body shaking in his hold.
Gojo presses one final kiss to your cunt, licking off your release from his fingers, groaning at the taste, and lets you catch your breath.
When you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, you peek them over to Gojo, seeing the way he tilts his head back, your cum still glistening on his chin and cheek, and whine out in embarrassment.
“What?” He asks, eyes teasing when you go to hide your face in your hands.
“I can’t,” your words are muffled, “I can’t believe I just…”
Gojo kisses your forehead, wiping some of the tears from your eyes away as he kisses your brow bone.
“How do you feel?” He asks, his eyes scanning over your body, glistening with sweat, and you take in a gulp of air.
“Good,” you say finally with a soft smile, “Really good.”
You look from his little grin, one that you peck at, your thumb rubbing up and down his jaw, and then look down, to the obvious bulge that’s hiding behind his training trousers.
You’ve never seen a cock before but fuck he’s massive.
“What…” you trail off, sitting up slightly, and he helps balance you, “What about you?” you paw at his stomach, right before it leads down, and he lets out a shuddered whine.
“As much as I-” he bites his tongue, feeling like he’s going to cum if you continue to look at him like that, “As much as I want to…not here,” he looks around at the field, shaking his head as a definite no, “Not here.”
You go to protest, but he stops you, biting your fingers gently as you yelp, shoving his head away with little force as he chuckles.
You let him wrap your dress around you again, tying some of the knots so that it doesn’t open up when you’re standing, and let the silence wash over the two of you calm your beating down heart down.
He plays with the ring around your finger, and you watch as the ring around his neck moves with his little breaths.
“I want to sleep in your bed,” you say, and his blue eyes find yours.
“You’re crazy if you don’t think I’m letting you sleep anywhere else,” he says in a shocked sort of way and you laugh, looking over to the side for a brief moment, and then look back at him.
“Do you really love me?”
Your words as whispered, but it feels like the wind picked them up and scattered them all around the field, around the river, the ancient stones, and right into Gojo’s heart.
“I really love you,” he whispers back, kissing your eyelids, in between your brows, your forehead, the back of your hand, and murmurs the words, “my wife,” to nobody and to everybody at the same time.
You smile, pulling him down by that necklace of his so that you can plant a soft kiss against his lips.
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"when i met jeonghan, i never imagined i would have two other perfect copies of him in my life."
choi seungcheol as father of a little girl in primary school.
d/n = daughter name
you and seungcheol received a notice from your daughter's school asking that at least one of you should come to the teachers' office. normally, you are the one who attends d/n's school meetings, but since seungcheol had a day off, he offered to go.
upon arriving at the school, in front of the teachers' office, he found your daughter sitting on a bench, her head down, swinging her legs. seungcheol approached calmly but worried. he knelt down, held d/n's hands, and asked in a gentle voice, "what happened, dear?" d/n didn't respond, continuing to look at the ground.
soon, the teacher noticed seungcheol's arrival and approached. he stood up to greet her formally.
"mr. choi, sorry to make you come here, but in cases like this, we must follow protocol," the teacher said. "d/n hit a classmate, and we advise that her parents talk to her."
seungcheol was surprised by the news, as his daughter was not one to hit others; on the contrary, she was a sweet and delicate girl. he looked at d/n and felt a pang in his heart seeing her so sad.
"oh... i'm sorry," he said, not knowing what else to say. "this won't happen again."
the teacher nodded and asked him to sign a notice of awareness, which he did. "shall we go home?" he asked with the same gentleness, picking up the backpack beside her.
she stood up and took her father's hand. the two walked in silence to the car. seungcheol knew she was afraid of being scolded, so he preferred to respect her space.
d/n settled into the back seat. while adjusting her seatbelt, seungcheol said, "don't worry, my princess, appa won't scold you. but i need to understand what happened." he looked into her eyes, conveying reassurance.
the little girl hesitated for a moment but with sad eyes said, "i'll talk when we get home and are with omma."
seungcheol agreed in silence, patted her hair, and closed the door. he then sat in the driver's seat and started the car, glancing at his daughter from time to time in the rearview mirror.
upon arriving home, you were in the living room waiting for them. you stood up seeing the frustration in your husband's eyes and your daughter's head down.
"what happened?" you asked, worried but maintaining a calm tone.
"d/n, can you tell us now?" seungcheol asked.
"a boy spent the entire class pulling my hair," she began with a trembling voice. "so i did what uncle jeonghan told me to do."
"what did uncle jeonghan tell you to do?" seungcheol asked, raising an eyebrow, fearing the answer.
"he said that if any boy at school messed with me, i should kick his butt," she replied.
you controlled yourself as much as possible not to laugh. the situation was funny; you would definitely have done the same, and jeonghan would definitely say something like that.
seungcheol gave you a reproachful look. he knew you wanted to laugh because he knew you perfectly.
"i can't believe i have three of you in my life," cheol murmured, shaking his head.
you placed a hand on seungcheol's shoulder, trying to comfort him but unable to hide a smile.
"we're going to talk to uncle jeonghan about this, and you, little princess, need to understand that violence is not the solution, even if he started it," you said to your daughter, with a firm but loving look.
d/n nodded, understanding she had caused trouble, but feeling supported by her parents.
seungcheol decided to impose a light punishment so d/n could reflect on what she had done: no snacks for a week. after talking to d/n, he called your brother, jeonghan.
"jeonghan, we need to talk about what you told d/n," seungcheol started, serious.
"what did i say?" he asked, confused.
"you told her to kick other kids' butts," seungcheol said sternly.
on the other end of the line, jeonghan laughed.
"ah, so my little princess really did that?" jeonghan responded proudly, still laughing.
"it's not funny," seungcheol scolded. "she needs to learn to handle these situations differently."
"sorry, cheol, i didn't think she would take it so seriously," jeonghan said, still in an amused tone.
after finishing the call, seungcheol finally relaxed on the couch. he saw his daughter approaching with a sweet, bright look; she knew perfectly how to melt her appa's heart.
"appa, i'm sorry for what i did. i promise not to do it again," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.
seungcheol took a deep breath, trying to maintain his resolve.
"i know, dear, but you're still punished with no snacks for a week."
d/n, however, didn't give up. she was good at this. she continued to stroke her father's face and looked at him with the most adorable eyes only she could make.
"appa, please... just one snack?" she asked, with the sweetest voice possible.
seungcheol tried to resist, but her affection was irresistible. he sighed again and finally gave in.
"alright, just one," he said, defeated.
you, watching the scene from afar, couldn't contain your laughter. "i knew you wouldn't resist her," you said, laughing.
seungcheol looked at you with an embarrassed smile.
"it's hard to say no to her," he admitted.
d/n smiled, happy to have gotten what she wanted. before taking the snack, she hugged her father again.
"i love you, appa," she said, with a mischievous smile.
seungcheol, still smiling, responded: "i love you too, my little one."
d/n then held out the snack to him, with an expectant look.
"want to share the snack with me, appa? so we can eat together!"
seungcheol hesitated for a moment, but d/n's kindness and affection were irresistible. he accepted the snack with a smile.
"sure, let's share."
you laughed to yourself, watching your mini-you in action.
"when i met jeonghan, i never imagined i would have two other perfect copies of him in my life," seungcheol commented, seeing you laugh at the situation.
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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jk (24) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*
series m.list // taglist request closed
note: hihi ,, sorry this update took so long (>'-'<) hope u like it <3 personally think it could've been freakier but also planning on another extra of pregnant oc n bbydaddy jk fucking LOL so i wouldn't worry abt it... ch is lengthy fyi … also,, bby2’s name reveal 😝
warnings: pregnancy mood swings, hot tub sex (oc is in her 2nd trimester) pregnant oc, jealousy, dirty talk, breast play, some slapping, kissing, and fucking
🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo
//
so much happened before the wedding.
for instance, you two pulled zion out of daycare and enrolled him in preschool. with all your leave time from work, this allowed you to spend more precious moments with him and while still having time for yourself. another thing is that you and jungkook finally pushed through packing up and moving homes. truth be told, you two bought the penthouse a few years ago but paused on the mini renovations due to your busy work schedules and personal circumstances. on top of that, when jungkook came back from new york he talked about leaving the company to start something of his own.
if that doesn’t feel like a lot… you two got married.
married.
in the midst of the aftermath of your wedding and moving process; you and jungkook are expecting another. and wow, does it feel like you two can’t catch your breath. the timing of everything has truly never felt more chaotic yet so right.
you and jungkook deserve every bit of this new chapter.
this new life.
so, with everything in motion, you two decided to take a take a moment and slow things down.
to catch your breath, step away, and spend some intentional time together before the next wave of change rolls in. a cabin trip, tucked away from the noise, just the two of them and the growing baby you carry, is the perfect escape.
when the car slows to stop, you take a moment to admire the soft snow that coats the cabin’s rooftop and blankets the surrounding pine trees. jungkook turns off the engine and gazes out the window. as he marvels at the sight, he turns to you and thinks;
there’s no comparison.
you catch his gaze and scoff at him.
“don’t look at me like that,” you warn. “we haven’t even made it inside the cabin. i’m 5 months pregnant, jungkook. i can’t fuck in this audi like—”
“you’re so beautiful,” he leans over and kisses your forehead. “that’s all.”
you tighten your lips and nod.
he’s been awfully good at making your heart flutter these days… could be the pregnancy hormones. could be the fact that you married the right man. somewhere in between, you can’t even find it in yourself to question it or think any deeper. you’re just thankful. you’re so grateful for him.
jungkook steps out first.
he inhales deeply and stretches. taking in the stillness of the mountains, the snow beneath him crunches under his boots. he hurries around to open the car door for you. offering his hand, you smile and take it. your gloved finger curls around his as you carefully step out of the car, one hand instinctively resting on your round belly.
"oh.. wow. honey, this is beautiful,” you murmur in awe.
jungkook tugs you close and kisses the top of your head. "it's aight. i think you're—"
"oh, my love..." you look down at your belly and pout. "your daddy is so annoying. he's such a yapper. i hope you take after me and know when to shut up."
the first day passes faster than you expect.
after settling into the cozy cabin, you and jungkook decide to explore the small downtown area. it’s a charming place, with snow-dusted streets and twinkling lights in every shop window. you wander hand in hand, stopping to sample street food—warm, savory bites that fill the crisp air with delicious smells. then there’s dessert, sweet enough to leave you both way too full but completely satisfied. by the time you finish, the sun is setting, and you head back to the cabin before 6pm, ready to settle in for a cozy evening.
the two of you curl up on the couch, binge-watching bad romcoms. between the predictable plots and over-the-top drama, you’re both laughing harder than you have in weeks. every ridiculous twist has you snorting, and you spend half the time arguing over the characters’ choices, tossing playful jabs at each other’s taste in movies. you haven’t felt this light, this refreshed in each other's company, in what feels like forever.
it’s a stark contrast to the year before, which was filled with more ups and downs than anyone should have to endure in a lifetime. even now, it’s still hard to look back at those difficult times without a weight settling in your chest. but it’s moments like this—when you’re playing a board game with jungkook, battling over a meaningless win—that make your heart soar.
jungkook, of course, refuses to let you win, which might be the funniest thing he’s done in a while. he’s always been competitive, but when it comes to you, he usually doesn’t mind losing, letting you take the victory just to see you smile.
but tonight?
tonight’s different.
you’re both teasing each other mercilessly, throwing out fake strategies and dramatic groans every time someone gains an advantage.
“you’re really gonna make me earn this, huh?” you laugh, shaking your head as he shoots you a smirk.
“you better believe it,” he replies, eyes gleaming with playful determination.
"does the fact that i'm carrying your baby—"
"no, no, no—d-don't pull the milf card," he panics. "don't be a cheater like that."
"what's it to you? if i'm a milf, you're a dilf."
the back-and-forth banter fills the cabin with warmth, the kind of joy that’s rare and precious.
every time he tries to outwit you, you only love him more for it. this is the jungkook you fell in love with—the one who knows how to make even the simplest moments feel special.
as you look at him mid-game, you think to yourself; you win no matter what.
this is the love you fought for, and right here, in this cozy cabin, surrounded by snow and laughter, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
when the next morning comes, you and jungkook wake up slow together.
over the past 5 months, you’ve been so nauseous, your feet have been swelling (you cried the other day because your old snow boots wouldn’t fit), and your body just... feels less like your own every day.
between the sleepless nights and aching back, you’ve been longing for a break, something to help you feel even just a little bit more like yourself again.
he’s constantly touching your belly and making sure you aren’t bending your knees or lifting a finger. you’ve always known him to be an acts-of-service type of guy, but he surely is a different man when you’re pregnant.
he’s so fucking clingy...
but you are too.
jungkook knows how much you’ve been struggling; he sees it in the way you wince when you stand up too fast, or how you press your hand to your lower back after a long day. when he suggested a babymoon—an escape to a peaceful spa retreat—you didn’t hesitate to agree.
he planned everything perfectly, even down to booking a specialist renowned for her prenatal massages. you both have been counting down the days, excited for the chance to unwind together.
before heading to the spa, you and jungkook decide to grab some coffee.
today, the weather is cool with a crispness in the air that feels refreshing after yesterday’s warmth.
jungkook parks the car at a nearby café on the corner of the street and helps you out. the small bell above the door jingles as you walk in. the vibe inside is laid-back and peaceful—wooden tables, soft lighting, and a chalkboard menu that gives it a homely feel, but the low hum of conversation fills the space with a quiet buzz of life.
you both are a little more sensitive this time around, but who could blame you? between the pregnancy hormones and the life changes, things have been tough. but it’s okay. things are better now.
life has never felt more full.
jungkook squeezes your hand before heading up to the counter to order, while you take a seat by the window, a few tables away from the barista station. from your spot, you can watch him as he approaches the counter, where a young woman with bright eyes and an easy smile greets him.
"good morning! what can i get for you today?" she asks, her voice chipper and smooth, a little too warm for your liking.
maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, but… truly, there’s something in her voice you dislike.
she leans slightly against the counter, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, her attention fully fixed on jungkook. you tilt your head and sit back in your chair a little more. this is interesting.
jungkook offers his usual friendly smile. "one iced americano, and one matcha oat milk latte, please."
the barista starts punching in the order, her eyes flicking up to meet his. "iced, even in this weather? bold choice. i like that."
jungkook laughs softly, the sound filling the quiet space and making you smile unconsciously as you fiddle with the napkin in front of you. you can hear snippets of their conversation from where you sit. the barista's tone shifts just slightly—casual but laced with subtle flirtation.
"so, aside from iced coffee at 8am, do you ever drink coffee at 4pm?" she asks, her eyes lingering on him a bit longer than necessary. "my shift ends at 4pm. how do you like your coffee then?"
you feel your shoulders tense, a little twist in your stomach forming as you watch. it’s harmless. you know it’s harmless, but something about the way she’s looking at him makes your heart squeeze uncomfortably.
jungkook, ever the oblivious sweetheart, glances toward you. his gaze softens when your eyes meet. without missing a beat, he grins and says, "with my wife."
the barista falters for a moment, caught off guard. her smile tightens, and she forces a laugh, quickly recovering.
"well, aren’t you… committed. that’s nice to see."
you catch the way jungkook's lips twitch, clearly proud of himself for the quick response. he gives you a little wink, and despite the initial rush of warmth from his words, the insecurity starts to creep in again. you glance away, pretending to be interested in the view outside the window, but you can’t shake the way your stomach churns. it’s a familiar wave of self-consciousness washing over you.
it’s stupid, you think to yourself.
but... why does this bother me?
even if he always says the right things... fuck.
your hand then drifts down to rest on your belly, the growing baby inside serving as a constant reminder of the changes you’ve been going through. the swelling, the mood swings, the way your clothes don’t fit the same anymore—it’s all there. it bubbles just under the surface. seeing someone so effortlessly pretty and carefree—someone who hasn’t been carrying another human for months—playfully flirting with your husband only magnifies that feeling.
jungkook pays, grabs the drinks, and walks over to you, placing one in front of you as he takes a seat.
"got your favorite," he says, flashing you that same smile that always melts your heart.
you force a smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
"thanks, honey."
he narrows his eyes slightly, reading you like a book.
"everything okay?"
"yeah, i’m fine," you reply, taking a sip from your cup, hoping it hides the tiny lie. the weight of your feelings lingers, leaving a heaviness in the air that jungkook can sense, even if he doesn’t fully understand.
for now, he lets it slide, though you know him well enough to recognize that he’s not going to leave it alone for long.
the spa day is as luxurious and blissful as you imagined it to be.
you tried your best not to let your waves of jealousy and insecurity get in the way of experiencing this with jungkook… but it’s a lot easier said than done.
you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious the entire time. you couldn’t help but notice the longing gazes the staff had as jungkook walked by your side… it made you feel sick to your stomach.
… like, yes! he’s handsome.
but he’s also mine? so close your eyes.
aside from that, you and jungkook had a great time with the massages and truly felt relaxed. it was so nice to spend time with him like this… which is why a part of you immediately feels guilty when he helps you get dressed at the end of the session.
“honey, you okay?” jungkook says, as he helps zip up your jacket.
you look at him, trying to blink the thin layer of your teary eyes. “y-yeah.”
he blinks at you.
“is your body feeling okay? was the massage too much—w-what’s going on? why are you about to cry?”
“no,” you step closer, your arms slowly sliding around his neck and draw him in. your fingers lace gently at the nape of his neck, brushing against the soft strands of his hair. “it was perfect. thank you so much for bringing me here, honey. i love you.”
“i love you too.”
instinctively, jungkook leans into you, your forehead almost touching. his gaze softens, and there's a tenderness in the way you hold him. he loves this. it’s like you’re grounding yourself in his presence. even though he knows you’re withholding some truth, he’ll take this for now.
“you sure?” he attempts once more.
“mhm,” you nod, making an effort to lighten your tone. “let’s get some dinner, yeah?”
dinner was lovely.
it was the kind that left your heart and stomach feeling equally full. jungkook had made you laugh so much, telling stories and cracking little jokes that slowly but surely melted away the weird mood from earlier. you’d almost forgotten about the lingering unease as his laughter filled the cozy cabin, a warmth settling between the two of you.
now, as you both lounged comfortably in the soft glow of the fire, jungkook’s playful grin returned.
“you know,” he said, nudging your knee, “we’ve got that hot tub just waiting for us.” his eyes sparkled mischievously. "let's take advantage of it."
you tighten your lips.
"come on," jungkook grins, tugging gently at your hand. "the hot tub’s waiting for us. you know you want to."
you hesitate, glancing out toward the balcony where steam rises into the cool evening air. the idea of sinking into the hot water sounds tempting, but the lingering weight of your jealousy from earlier makes you feel uneasy. you haven't said anything about it yet, but it sits at the back of your mind.
jungkook’s eyes search yours, his expression softening as he steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist.
“you deserve to relax, honey. this whole weekend is for you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "let's enjoy it."
you want to tell him.
you want to explain the knot in your chest, the little twist of insecurity that made you feel silly. but instead, you just smile—small and tight—because he's right. this trip is supposed to be about unwinding, about feeling good again, and you can’t bring yourself to ruin the mood.
“okay,” you say, your voice quieter than usual. “let’s do it.”
jungkook’s face lights up instantly, a boyish grin spreading across his lips.
“love you, mama.” he pulls you in for a quick kiss, his excitement infectious as he heads toward the balcony to get the tub ready.
the outdoor hot tub and sauna sit on the edge of the property, steam rising into the chilly air. as you stand at the edge of the hot tub, you strip down your robe. jungkook, who has been sitting in the hot tub mentally preparing himself for you—is more than delighted to watch you lower yourself into the bubbling water.
jungkook looks up from the water with soft, adoring eyes. his expression is completely relaxed yet focused, entirely captivated by you. the steam rises around him, but it’s the warmth in his gaze that stands out the most. a kind of quiet affection that radiates with every glance. his lips are slightly parted, and though he says nothing, the way his gaze clings to you speaks volumes. he's utterly consumed by you. every detail of your presence pulling him deeper into that gentle obsession. (gentle… yeah right). his tattooed arm rests casually on the edge of the hot tub, but even with his laid-back posture, there's an intensity in the way he watches you.
truly, you're the only thing in the world that matters to him.
offering him a small smile, you finally sink into the water and sit. jungkook moves from his spot to in front of you. he opens his arms and you let out a giggle as he wraps himself around you. you can’t help but giggle… you aren’t blind.
jungkook comes to you—wet, tatted, and toned.
as his arms envelop you, the warmth of his body against yours sends shivers down your spine. you can’t help but admire the way the water glistens on his skin and how hot and bothered his tattoo sleeve is making you. for a second, jungkook pulls away to smirk at you… when he does so, it ignites a flutter in your stomach. you find yourself lost in the depths of his eyes.
you’re convinced that the glint in them can heal your soul.
in this intimate space, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in your own little bubble. you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he pulls you closer, a reminder of the love you share, a bond that only grows stronger in moments like this. the steam swirls around you, but it’s the connection between your souls that truly warms your heart, making you more and more aware that this is where you belong—right in the center of his gaze.
"this was a good idea," you breathe. “i needed this."
jungkook kisses the top of your head before he moves and slips in beside you. his arm naturally rests around your shoulders.
“anything for you, mama,” he whispers, breath visible in the cool air. he tilts his head, sneaking a kiss on your cheek. you smile as he does so, feeling like you could melt. “i’m so happy you’re happy.”
you laugh softly, resting her head on his shoulder. "you make me happy.”
jungkook’s face lights up.
it’s moments like these where he feels his heart is lifted. there’s nothing better than hearing you say shit like that. it’s so simple but it wholeheartedly gives him the will to live.
jungkook’s hand drifts to your belly.
“i miss zion.”
you laugh. “even though he’s your number 1 hater?”
jungkook scoffs at you. though what you said is true, he refuses to accept it.
“he’s gonna have to learn to love us equally… or at least, need me a little more,” he sighs. “to be honest… i’m kind of worried about when you go into labour and the entire new shift in our family. don’t get me wrong—i think zion is a great kid. as unbias as i can be, he truly is kind. he’s curious and understanding at the same time. he’s funny and sociable… but i’m concerned that if he isn’t into me right now and he’s been awfully clingy with you… w-well, i’m not sure how we’re gonna navigate through that. our baby is going to need you and i want to protect your peace of mind and recovery… but i also want to be an accessible father to zion and leave enough time and things for myself. i d-don’t know if i’m making any sense but—”
you nod, listening to him. everything he mentioned makes sense to you. you feel the same way and have also worried about how zion will be as a brother. he’s completely capable of it and he has shown excitement regarding your pregnancy—but it’s different when it happens.
“i feel the same way,” you admit, taking your hand and resting it on his cheek. “everything is so new and there’s so much more than just welcoming a new baby… all your feelings are okay and i appreciate you being able and willing to talk about them even when they don’t make sense to you. see, when you do and say things like this—it eases me. we’re not going to get everything right. we’re going to mess up and there will be times where our priorities rearrange and the adjustment sucks… but we’ve been through worse and made it through. this is our life together, honey. we’re going to make it work. we’re going to be okay.”
jungkook takes your words in.
they give him a rush of comfort and feels instantly better. there’s no other way of describing the kind of relief you give him.
he believes in you so much.
you reach over and kiss him. he kisses you back, happily and deeply. when you pull away he lets out a sigh of relief.
“in other news… yoongi and his new girlfriend? don’t they remind you of us?” jungkook begins. “like when we were dating and how dramatic we were about always being together? she lives two cities away and he’s constantly driving back and forth.”
you laugh, recalling all the lovestruck texts yoongi sent you. not too long ago, he asked for anniversary date ideas and it made you feel funny. with his past girlfriends, he never bothered to ask for help or even get his friends involved. he was usually quiet about them… but with this new one, he’s on blast.
you and jungkook met yoongi’s girlfriend a few months ago. just before the wedding actually. she was really warm and brought a brighter part of yoongi out. you’ve never seen that side of him. he would glow while she smiled. it was decided then and there that she would be invited to your wedding.
“yoongi is falling in love again," you say with a laugh. "maybe a little fast but it’s also really nice to see him passionate about someone… and he’s grown.”
jungkook chuckles, nodding. "yeah, he’s head over heels this time."
you pause, then casually add, “she’s really pretty and kind… so i understand why he’s lovestruck.”
the silence that follows is enough for jungkook to realize there’s more on your mind. you glance over at him before finally asking, “she’s pretty right?”
“i’m married.”
“you’re allowed to think other women are pretty… l-like the barista from this morning. she was pretty, right?” you repeat.
jungkook’s eyes slightly widen. his body stiffens, not expecting the shift.
“i think you think she’s pretty.”
you bite your inner cheek. “because she was pretty—”
“no.”
“it’s okay,” you attempt to sound cool. “you can admit it. i won’t be mad—”
“i think my wife is pretty. the prettiest.”
“she was pretty—”
he shrugs, eyes beginning to panic. “honey, i couldn’t tell ya—“
“jungkook,” you groan. “be serious—“
“i am,” jungkook lets out a harsh scoff. “are you?”
you feel a little sick.
not because of the pregnancy but because you know you’ve provoked him. suddenly, his gaze lowers and the unbothered expression he had on a second ago is long gone.
“___, my love—my wife… you know you’re carrying my child, right? not only have you carried my first, second, and now third—holy shit. i don’t mean to sound so angry right now, but if what you’re insinuating is that i haven’t fucked you deep enough to feel the love i have for you then—fuck. we have an issue here. i am angry.”
you heart stops the moment he mentions your second pregnancy. “no. that’s not what i—“
“tell me now,” jungkook demands. “have i not kissed every inch of your body enough for you to understand how in love i am with it? with you? have i or have i not, huh? or should i fuck you right now so i can prove shit? fuck, ___. am i not a grown-ass man that falls at the feet of his wife—no. don’t look away. i want you to fucking look at me when i’m talking to you.”
you tighten your lips and look up at him. for a moment, you look down and away. he caught your look and pulled you back into reality. his reality.
the atmosphere shifts.
“are you okay?” he asks for the nth time today. “are we okay?”
jungkook chases for your eyes. you look at him and feel overwhelmed. you can’t help it. before you know it, tears stream down your face.
“i d-don’t know,” your voice shakes. “i don’t mean to pick a fight. i don’t know why i’m so insecure right now—i just… i didn't mean to be so sulky the entire day. please, jungkook... i love you and appreciate everything you've done for this babymoon... and i know that the barista flirting with you this morning was nothing. i know it was nothing. girls have hit on you way more than that but i think because i’m pregnant and she was so pretty—”
you let out a sob. “i know you love me and there are more important things in our life than to be crying over stupid shit like this… but i can’t help it. w-why do you have to be so handsome?”
you hit his bare chest and he moves back, pretending like it hurt. pouting, you cross your arms at him.
“a-and you can’t blame me. you always flirt with me and get me all hot and bothered but haven’t actually fucked me in 2 months. 2 months, jungkook! what the fuck! this is literally your fault. i look and act like this because of your fucking cum—”
“oh my god,” he hisses. “honey, do you know how hard it’s been for me to not rip your clothes off? do you have any idea how i feel when i touch you and all you do is glow? as much as this makes me sound like a pathetic loser—i’m scared to. if i fuck you while you’re pregnant, i’m literally going to cumbust. i’m going to fall in love with you even more. i don’t know if i can handle that—can you? god, do you know how much this all means to me? you think it’s just me being inside you again—which, fuck, i miss that too—but to me it’s so much more. i can’t even find the words to say how utterly sick my mind gets when i think about us fucking with you pregnant like this.”
you stare at him blankly.
“you’re pregnant—your body is changing,” he pauses. “... and i’m so grateful for you. for this divine body. you can be insecure all you want and i will do anything and everything to prove them wrong—but the truth is… i’m selfish right now. ___, i love how needy you are. i love how your boobs overflow in my hands. i love the bump. i love how flush your cheeks are. i love that you can’t bend and i get to do more things for you. i love that you want me more. so fuck. sorry if i don’t give a shit if a young barista hits on me or if yoongi has a girlfriend—i’m captivated by you. i only know you and your beauty. i only want you.”
jungkook has always loved you.
over and over again, he has shown, fought, and waited for you with his love like no other. to be frank, it feels like every day there is a new reason for him to love you.
when you became pregnant with zion, he didn’t know how to function. he was genuinely mindblown and breathless from how much he loved you. then, as you two went through your second pregnancy and continue to heal together from the circumstances, he thinks; this must be it.
because there is no way he could love you any more than this.
… but he does.
there’s something about seeing you pregnant that makes him fall even harder. seeing you in this light—happier and safe… it strikes him differently. the feeling plunges right into his heart and fills it with more admiration and appreciation for you.
you see, it’s in the little things.
how you absentmindedly rub your belly when you talk about the baby, or the way your eyes soften when you feel a kick. he’s in awe of how strong you are, how you’ve adapted to every change with grace, even when it’s tough.
watching you carry his child, seeing the way your love has grown to make room for this new life, has only deepened his devotion. to him, you’ve never looked more beautiful, more radiant—more divine.
the steam swirls around you and jungkook.
instead of saying more, he leans closer. his eyes lock with yours and you gulp. he brushes a damp strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin.
it feels like he’s taking forever to kiss you.
he looks at you needy and desperate. leaning in, he tilts his head and closes in on you. time stops when his lips met yours. he kisses you with such demand.
opening your mouth ever so slightly, you allow him in. he deepens the kiss, melting away any lingering tension. he pulls you closer, his abs touching your bump. jungkook moans into the kiss and you smile. then, he slides his hands around your waist and his fingers play with the hem of your bikini bottom. you let out a gasp when he pinches your ass. he pulls away from the kiss and laughs, before placing a kiss on your shoulder.
then, he lifts his face and kisses you again. pulling away once again, you giggle as his fingers tug down your bottoms.
“need you.”
you scrunch your nose at him.
it’s so strange to you because pregnancy isn’t that glamorous. you aren’t blind and jungkook doesn’t exactly do much to wipe the drool that dribbles down his mouth when he sees you paddle like a penguin… but seriously? the hot tub?
“in the hot tub?”
“in the hot tub?” he mocks you.
you squirm as he successfully takes your bottoms off. he smirks as he tosses them to the side. jungkook then squats and lifts you to switch positions. as he sits, he settles you on top of him. he bites his bottom lip as he concentrates on taking his shorts off.
"come on," he whines. "it's sexy."
“im pregnant,” you remind him. “i don’t know if i can—”
“you can,” jungkook assures you. “you will.”
just like that, you fold.
you trust him.
when he takes his shorts off, he helps you get more comfortable. as you sink into his cock, you plant both of your hands on his shoulders. you wince as you hump and grind on him.
he feels so big.
jungkook playfully pouts. “what’s wrong, mama? you were crying about not having me inside you—now that i am, what? what is it? too big?”
you nod as you come down.
“should’ve prepped.”
jungkook’s pout turns into a mischievous smile.
“why? this is for me. i like that you’re so sensitive. don’t you? you feel it, right? you’re so tight, mama. can feel you clenching. your fucking pussy has grip… and look at you. fucking yourself onto me like a good girl cos you love this fat cock so much. you love this.”
you nod, feeling his length in your guts. “yes, daddy. love this cock so much. thank you for my baby.”
he inhales sharply before wrapping his arms around you. jungkook rips off your bikini top and stuffs his face into your breasts. he kisses them, taking his time to lick and suck your nipples. when he pulls away, he brings his hands to them.
he squeezes them tightly and watches the way your flesh spills in between his fingers. your breasts got so fucking big—he loves them.
“god bless these breasts,” he hums. “you like that, mama? you like it when i play with your tits like this?”
slap.
“say thank you to me,” he insists. “with my fucking cum, your tits wouldn’t be this delicious.”
you ride him slower.
“thank you, daddy.”
slap.
“again. say it like you mean it.”
you moan as he smacks them once more.
“thank you, daddy—oh,” you pant as he twists your nipple. he looks at you, mouth slightly opened and eyes darted at you. “t-thank you for my tits. thank you for cumming inside me and always stuffing me full. you’re so big and i’m so thankful. thank you, thank you, thank you—mmfphh—”
jungkook pulls your hair, tilting you back.
he shoves his face back to your tits before licking his way up to your neck. you feel him throb inside you and suddenly think that the jets and led lights in this hot tub add to the tension. it feels so good.
pleasure is an understatement.
the way jungkook fits inside you is incredible.
it’s near indescribable actually. you must have saved an entire nation in your past life to deserve dick this good. you ride the high, feeling the tightness in your stomach knot more and more. then, finally, jungkook tells you to get off.
as you do so, he lets go of your hair and takes you by the waist. he bends you over. you plant your hands on the edge of the hot tub as he hisses, smacks your ass, and shoves himself back inside your pussy.
he fucks you, making sure to have a handful of your boobs.
jungkook bites your shoulders as you moan. cheek to cheek, you both begin to pant. he digs himself deeper and deeper, you swear the curves of his dick have engraved themselves into your pussy.
“f-fuck yeah, mama—t-that it,” jungkook murmurs into your ear. “my dirty fucking slut. so needy and bratty when you’re pregnant. you’re my fucking princess.”
“n-not a princess—”
“you are though,” he breathes our sharply. “my babymama… god, i love you. i love this fucking cunt so much. i’m sorry i haven’t been fucking it. practically fucking self sabatoge… didn’t wanna obsess over you even more—f-fuck. you feel so good. i was a fool. i’m sorry, mama. i’m s-so fucking—nghh—”
jungkook slams himself into you harder and harder. the water splashes and the sounds of the hot tub jets are put into second place. you whimper and moan, matching his pace. he feels like he’ll lose his mind soon.
you sound so pretty.
you are so pretty.
right then and there, jungkook reaches for your clit. he rubs on it, elevating your pleasure.
"my pretty mama."
"oh my god—"
jungkook lets out a big exhale. “mhmm. feel good, mama? you like the way i touch you? so fucking pretty. the prettiest. f-fuck, ___... daddy’s got you.”
he lets you enjoy for a few more seconds before bringing his wet hands to cup your cheeks. he tilts your face up and squishes your lips together. he kisses you before moving back to your neck. there, he nibbles on your skin to leave marks.
“i love you,” he pants. “i love you, mama.”
“i love you too, daddy.”
what bliss.
jungkook cums first and feeling the way his cum shoots inside you finishes you off. you cum seconds after and reach for kisses. jungkook lowers his face and kisses you. against your lips, he murmurs;
“10 minute break. can we have sex inside for round 2?”
the babymoon turned out to be everything you needed and more after you and jungkook talked (fucked) through your feelings. truth is, all you can really recall is cumming so much you were afraid your water was going to break. for the past 2 months where you two didn’t fuck—he’s made up for it.
once the air was cleared, any lingering tension melted away, and the rest of the trip was filled with small, intimate moments that made you both fall deeper into this new chapter of your lives. there was that one morning when jungkook woke up early, made breakfast, and brought it to bed with the most endearing, sheepish grin.
“thought we could start the day off cozy,” he said, climbing back into bed beside you. his warmth immediately soothing. you spent that morning feeding each other bites of fruit between soft kisses, the world outside feeling distant and irrelevant.
every night, you two facetimed zion. watching his bright little face light up the screen as he excitedly told you about his adventures with his grandparents.
“look, daddy, I made a painting for mommy!” he shouted, showing off a messy splash of colors that had you both smiling.
of course it was a painting for mommy.
jungkook asked for his and zion said; “i don’t know. maybe baby will make you one.”
during those quiet nights—heads close together, watching zion through the phone or lying side by side, soaking in the peacefulness—you realized just how "married" you felt. this trip wasn’t just a getaway; it was a reminder of the life you were building together, the love that had deepened through every challenge.
as the sun began to set on the last day of your babymoon, the golden light streaming through the windows bathed the cabin in a warm glow. you and jungkook had spent the afternoon doing nothing in particular—just enjoying each other’s company. lounging in comfortable silence, sharing lazy conversations, and occasionally stealing soft kisses.
“hard to believe it’s almost over,” jungkook murmurs, his fingers gently tracing circles on your back as you rested against him. you hummed in agreement, feeling completely at ease as if all the worries and stresses from before had melted away during your stay.
“i could stay here forever,” you replied with a soft smile, half-joking but meaning it more than you’d care to admit. “but i miss zion and the mom guilt is hitting so hard right now.”
jungkook chuckled and kissed the top of your head.
“do you think he misses me?”
you laugh and then cover your mouth. “did you get funnier or something?”
“haha,” jungkook rolls his eyes. “i really fucking hope this baby likes me more.”
you laugh again, sinking further into him. you rest your hand over your belly. your eyes widen when you feel a kick, you grab jungkook’s hand and place it on top of the spot.
“i think she does.” you say softly. "hey, we can talk about baby names on our way home! i’m excited.”
and just like that, the babymoon comes to a quiet, contented end. nothing dramatic or grand—just the two of you, basking in the love and peace that had surrounded you for the past 10 days.
as jungkook drives, the soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the car windows. jungkook hums to a the music playing. the gentle melody soon turns into him singing softly, his voice filling the car with a soothing warmth.
your hand rested on your belly, and almost as if on cue, you felt a tiny kick. the baby reacts to his singing, little movements following the rhythm. you laugh quietly, placing your other hand over his. "someone’s already a fan of your voice," you said, glancing at him.
he grins, continuing to sing as he squeezes your hand. "oh? i guess i’m the favourite. in your face, mama," he jokes. “finally…” but there’s a hint of emotion in his eyes. as though the simple act of singing to your baby makes everything feel even more real.
you laugh and gaze out the window.
"yeah. baby likes your voice," you reply, giving his hand a squeeze.
“you okay?” jungkook asks. “what’s with that look? what’s on your mind, honey?”
"i was just thinking... about names."
jungkook raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "oh? got any ideas?"
you hesitate for a moment, then the name just slips out.
"zia,” you reveal. “what do you think of zia? i saw it a few times online and in the baby name book… i called her zia once last week and she kicked. the name itself connects to light, family, and brilliance… radiance."
he repeated it under his breath, testing it out.
"baby zia… i like it." jungkook smiles warmly, taking your hand and kissing it.
you smile back, feeling a sudden surge of love for both jungkook and the tiny life you were bringing into the world.
the name feels right, like it had been waiting for you all along. you can’t wait to get home and share the news with everyone. you can’t wait to go home together, hug and kiss zion, and fall asleep next to your husband.
everything has fallen into place and life is truly so beautiful.
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Till Death Do Us Part | MYG
▻ Till Death Do Us Part ↳ Hitman Yoongi x Kidnapped f.Reader ⤜ Mafia/Arranged Marriage AU ⤜ Enemies/Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 41,132 ⤜ Summary: Marital bliss isn’t always a guarantee, especially when you find yourself marrying into the family responsible for your own family’s demise. Sometimes, marriage is just a game of kill or be killed. Even when there is love involved, bullets still hurt.
⚠️ This story contains violence, death, dub-con & non-con elements, heavy degradation, knifeplay, blood, and mild gore descriptions. Smut: breeding kink, sub/dom, restraints, biting/marking, oral. Virginity loss. Each chapter will have specific warnings listed.
Chapter 1: We End How We Began, Covered In Blood
Chapter 2: Enigmatic Decisions of The Heart
Chapter 3: Enemy of My Enemy Is My F̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶ Lover
Chapter 4: Epilogue: Body, Mind, & Soul
Story is complete.
Part of the Bangtan Writers HQ August 2022 “I Hate You, I Think” Writing Event.
Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad
◅ Back to Master List ©️ 2022-08-30 ColorMePurplex2
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𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞!𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
drabbles:
gojo never wanted to marry
gojo finds out you weren't supposed to marry him
watching him train
the moments after you two got married
arranged marriage!gojo tag (everything to do with him)
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𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞!𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
drabbles:
gojo never wanted to marry
gojo finds out you weren't supposed to marry him
watching him train
the moments after you two got married
arranged marriage!gojo tag (everything to do with him)
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A Single Daffodil Masterlist
Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?
Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader
Rating: 18+ minors DNI
Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi
Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut
Chapter 1 3.25.24
Chapter 2 4.1.24
Chapter 3 4.21.24
Chapter 4 5.15.24
Chapter 5 7.20.24
Chapter 6 10.15.24
Chapter 7
...
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( 01. ) EASY MONEY, EASY LOVE.
you and namjoon have been married for five years.
despite being strangers who solely exchanged wedding vows to trick his filthy rich family into giving him his inheritance, being part of this scheme is surprisingly easy. he’s out of the country most of the time, you’re being compensated for being a model wife, and there are only a few things you two have to to do in order to keep up with the whole guise of being a happy married couple.
with less than three months to go until you get divorced, namjoon comes back from a business trip and stays with you at your shared house, waiting until d-day with the aim of sending off your odd friendship with a proper farewell. but it’s weird, because just when things are supposed to be easiest—that’s when everything is suddenly becoming complicated, and the two of you realized once again that there really is no such thing as easy money (or easy love).
pairing: namjoon x reader
word count: 3.3k
rating: NC-17
content: fluff, angst, marriage of convenience au, strangers to friends to lovers au, dash of fake dating au, and they were housemates au???? | ft. chaebol!namjoon + travel photographer!namjoon; office worker!reader
warning/s: swearing, mentions of a sickness, mommy issues, unsupportive family, depictions of loneliness / sadness, character death (no major characters though!), mentions of falling of a cliff bc of clumsiness lmao (nobody dies dw)
[ chaptex index. ]
EPISODE 01. the one with the emergency !
you shouldn’t have been too confident. if only you’ve been more humble and less greedy during your hike earlier with your workmates for the bi-annual team building event, you wouldn’t have literally fallen off the side of the cliff and ended up spraining your ankle pretty bad.
what were you thinking, honestly? you’ve never been an active person ever in your life. you hated cardio, you hated sweating, you hated waking up early in the morning to do exercise—yet for some reason, you were pumped for the activity that was scheduled for today. it’s the reason why as you were trudging along the trail with your co-workers, yapping and laughing loudly with a close colleague, you didn’t notice that a particularly huge rock on your way set you off balance and caused you to sway to your right, plummeting over the ridge with a loud yelp.
it’s a good thing that there were paramedics stationed at the base of the mountain where all of you were trekking on, perhaps anticipating for an incident like yours to come along that’ll have them doing their duty. as soon as your team leader used the walkie-talkie given to your group to call them for their help, there were four people with bright orange uniforms aiding you, checking your condition and placing you on a stretcher before carrying you to the monorail where you’ll be transported back down.
haein, your said close colleague, accompanied you as they brought you to the infirmary.
“were you possessed by an athletic ghost?” she asks once the doctor finished treating your sprained ankle, now advising you to get a bit of rest. “what made you think it was smart to walk too fast? you must have been crazy.”
“i must have,” you say, laughing because you rather laugh than complain about the pain that you’re feeling. it’s subsiding at the moment, thankfully, but you can only imagine what the next few days are going to be for you due to the injury. “god, i’m happy though that i didn’t get to roll all the way. if that happened, i would have suffered a greater fall and then i’d be on the news.”
“yeah. you’d be a legend to the company too. we’d make an altar in your cubicle for a good few months.”
“i’d be the story that hiking guides would share to the hikers to scare them into being careful.”
“we’d pay tribute to you at every christmas party. we’d make a slideshow and present that during the whole event.”
“really?”
“of course. i’d be in charge of making the powerpoint even.”
you stare at her, haein staring back, and then the both of you burst out laughing. you’re grateful that she volunteered to be with you when the paramedics declared that they needed to bring you down—although in the back of your head, you do think she’s just being a good friend as an excuse to not walk her way back to the ground with the rest later on after they reach the top and enjoy the magnificent view.
“by the way,” she takes a seat on the chair beside the bed you’re situated in, “someone named kim namjoon is going to pick you up and drive you home.”
the second his name tumbles out of her lips, you’re snapping your head towards her, shocked. “what?”
“when you passed out a bit after the fall, i got your phone and did the thing to make it call your emergency contact. he’s the one who answered.”
“namjoon answered?”
“yup.”
“but i… i don’t remember making him my emergency contact.”
“well, like i said, he’s the one who answered.” she shrugs. “why? is he an ex or something?”
you press your lips together, suddenly panicking at the thought of namjoon arriving here.
there’s nothing wrong with namjoon, really. he’s a pleasing person to have around: genuine, kind, and full of profound thoughts that you can’t help but hang onto every word he says. however, as haein made evident, no one knows about your relationship with him and true nature of it—and you’ve done everything you can in the past year and a half since joining the company to keep it that way, deeming it unnecessary to disclose the fact that kim namjoon is your husband when the both of you aren’t bound to stay married forever.
to you, he’s just a ridiculously rich man who needed to get married for at least five years in order to get the full amount of his inheritance from his grandmother.
to him, you’re just a middle class woman who needed money to pay for her sister’s leukemia treatments, introduced together by a mutual friend who knew that both of you can benefit from each other’s situations.
in other words, your marriage with him isn’t technically real. and it’s why you rather not let anyone in your workplace know that he’s your husband, especially since you’ve managed to keep a low profile about it all these months. you don’t want to give your officemates a reason to gossip about you in the present time or when you divorce namjoon—the latter frankly scheduled to happen in less than three months from now.
****
namjoon arrives an hour later.
you take notice of him immediately while haein’s babbling about the book she recently read, recognizing him as the tall man who enters the small clinic, going to the desk to talk to the staff waiting there. you watch as the latter points to where your bed is, namjoon promptly turning to your direction, your gazes meeting before his eyes focus on your sprained ankle, expression contorting in a mix of confusion and disappointment.
beside you, haein taps your arm, noticing namjoon’s arrival as well. “is that…?”
you swallow hard. “yeah, that’s him.”
“holy shit. he’s hot.”
“don’t—” you grit your teeth. “don’t say that. it’s weird.”
“why? i have eyes—i’m just saying what i see.”
“yeah, but—”
“are you weirded out because he’s a relative? like your brother?” haein cuts you. “wait, you mentioned before that you have a sibling. is that him?”
“he’s not a sibling.”
“then who—”
namjoon stops on the foot of your bed, causing haein to shut up now that he’s within earshot. he’s still staring at your ankle, like it inflated to twice its original size, and you actually don’t know what to say. although you’ve developed a close friendship over the years of this sham marriage, you always seem to restart whenever he returns from a business trip of his—and it’s only been a couple of days since his return to south korea, having just come back from spain for his latest project.
it’s worth mentioning too that you feel strange having an audience like haein around that renders you clueless on how to act.
he lets out a slow whistle, crossing his arms. “and you say i’m clumsy.”
you huff out a chuckle, namjoon grinning that releases the charm of his dimples.
“uh, i’m haein,” your friend stands up from her seat and extends a hand out, obviously enthralled by how handsome he is. “i’m the one who called you using ___’s phone. namjoon, isn’t it?”
namjoon shakes her hand. “oh, yes. it’s nice to meet you.”
“wow. you have a very tight grip.”
“haein,” you scold, slapping her wrist that causes their handshake to cease. if it isn’t apparent enough, haein doesn’t have a filter nor cares enough to stop saying the first thing that comes to her mind. “stop being weird.”
she turns to you. “i’m not being weird. i’m complimenting him.”
“how is commenting how tight his grip is a compliment?” you demand.
“it’s a compliment because i’m making it clear that i find him strong,” she explains, focusing on namjoon again. “sorry. do you feel offended by what i said?”
he appears amused. “not really.”
“see?” haein tells you.
you’re about to quip back a reply when she beats you to it.
“anyways,” she says and namjoon stifles a laugh, “if you don’t mind me asking, how are you and ____ related?”
at the question, you send him a signal with your eyes, asking him not to tell the truth, regardless if that’s wrong of you to do so. one of the things you had to keep in mind upon agreeing with this arrangement is that neither of you should ever deny the marriage whatsoever, a precautionary measure because you two were that paranoid that the news might reach namjoon’s parents.
from the looks of it, despite namjoon understanding where you’re getting at as you give him the most bizarre expressions, he does the opposite (perhaps mainly due to what was explained above), resulting into you hanging your head low, waiting how haein will react at the revelation that will be served on her plate.
“i’m her husband actually,” namjoon says casually.
haein cackles out loud. “husband?” she repeats. “that’s really funny—you’re a funny guy. but seriously, how do you two know each other?”
he raises an eyebrow. “i’m not joking.”
“sure you are, but this girl right here isn’t married.” she does a show of holding you in an affectionate headlock. “she doesn’t even have a boyfriend.”
“did she tell you that?” he’s teasing, glancing at you for some sort of confirmation.
haein averts her attention to you.
you look at them, switching from namjoon to haein to namjoon and back to haein.
“i mean…you never asked, and i never said i was single,” you tell haein, shrugging and acting as nonchalant as ever.
it’s half the truth, ‘cause as far as you’re concerned, you’ve been diligent in always wearing your wedding and engagement ring. you even make it a point not to appear interested in any offers of blind dates or group dates to ever imply that you’re single as well.
she gawks at you, like she’s waiting for you to take back what you said. “are you being for real right now?”
“i am.”
“if this is some elaborate prank—”
“it’s not a prank,” you say.
there’s silence, and then she practically screams.
“YOU’RE MARRIED?” haein bellows, attracting everybody’s attention inside the infirmary. “we’ve known each other for more than a year and only now do i discover that you’re married?”
before she can berate you and force you to tell her your entire relationship history, namjoon’s asking for your bag and helping you sit up, aiming to lead you to the car waiting outside. haein almost stops him, declaring with conviction that she literally can’t wait until the next office day to get the full scoop, but he kindly reiterates what the ER doctor he spoke with earlier said, insisting that he ought to bring you home as soon as possible so you can get the rest that you need after over exerting your body for today’s hike.
“everything. you need to tell me everything on monday,” she says when namjoon goes out for a minute to deliver your bag first to the vehicle. she’s giddy and jumpy and very hyper about what you can guess is because of her latest discovery. “also, i’m sorry about calling your husband hot earlier. i wouldn’t have done so if i knew.”
you grin, appreciating the fact that she felt the need to apologize for that. “it’s no biggie. you didn’t know.”
“yeah, which you really should apologize about.”
“i’m sorry.” your grin only stretches wider. “i’ll buy you a matcha latte on monday to make up for it.”
her face lights up.
you share your farewells as namjoon returns, namjoon saying goodbye to haein too. she leaves first, remembering that she needs to inform the rest of your co-workers that you’re fine and headed home, and once you and your husband are alone, he takes a good look at you again.
“should i carry you?” he asks.
you blink at him. he may be reliable, but he is also extremely clumsy. “you’re not asking the right questions, joon.”
“wow. you can really be cruel sometimes, you know?” he laughs. “then should i get a wheelchair?”
“no wheelchair please. i think i can walk to the car just fine.” you begin standing up.
“you sure?” he doesn’t even let you answer that, his hand just naturally goes to support your elbow. “you might fall.”
you pause, calculating how many steps it’s going to take until you reach your destination. you’re fine, really; your good foot is perfectly walkable and you’re convinced it can take the burden of not having its pair in ample condition. however, you might need to hold onto namjoon for you not to fall halfway like he already stated, and you’re not really keen on being that close to him no matter how amazing his cologne smells even a few inches away.
“a wheelchair would be ideal,” you say.
namjoon chuckles, nodding and getting it with the assistance of a staff member.
in minutes, you’re on the passenger seat and he’s climbing on the other side. you don’t expect it but you��re relieved at the thought of coming home earlier than planned. though you’ve conditioned yourself to enjoy this team building and take this time to get into camping, you were horrified when you learned that there wouldn’t be any shower rooms or portable toilets at least at the area that you’re heading at after the hike, this retreat meant to give each one of you the raw camping experience.
come to think of it, perhaps it was your subconscious that prompted you to inflict this accident on yourself in order to avoid shitting on the ground in case your stomach hurts.
“comfortable?” namjoon glances at you. “you can recline the chair if you want to sleep.”
“oh, okay. thanks.” you smile.
he smiles back, starting the engine. you subtly watch him while he does that, admiring how he seems so adept in driving now compared to when you first met him. you remember his reluctance in the past to drive due to his fear of messing up, yet he managed to drive for approximately two hours in most likely gravelly roads to get where you are.
“thanks too for coming here, joon. i hope i didn’t bother you. honestly, i don’t even remember putting you as my emergency contact,” you sheepishly add.
“no problem, and i think hoseok did,” he says. “i remember him mentioning that i should put you as mine before.”
hoseok is the mutual friend that introduced you both together when namjoon was still trying to find a fake wife to obtain the full amount of his inheritance in five years time. he was aware of namjoon’s ploy and knew that you were in need of money during that year as well—and so putting two and two together, he set up a ‘date slash chemistry test’ between you and namjoon and reckoned that you could be great help to one another regarding your respective needs.
“that makes sense. i just don’t know how he did that without my knowledge.”
“well, nothing’s been impossible for hobi, so…”
you agree with a snort.
“by the way, i should mention this before you doze off,” he abruptly halts as he’s beginning to drive off, “mom’s inviting us to dinner this weekend. she heard that i was back in the country and wanted to see how i am.”
you gradually digest that information. “okay. is everyone going to be there?”
“yes, based on our last conversation.”
“should i be prepared for anything at all?”
he seems to find the inquiry funny. “no. just the usual.”
“meaning i should block off every passive aggressive comment your mom makes about either my choice of clothes and social status, right?”
“pretty much, yeah.”
you let out a groan.
“i’m sorry. i would have declined her request but she wouldn’t stop pestering me about it.”
“god, i just really don’t like your mom, joon.” you say. “or your dad. or your older brother. i don’t like everyone, basically—except your pet dog, hiro. no offense.”
“that’s fine. i don’t like them either.” he shrugs, carrying on driving. “plus, you know i’m on your team. i’d defend your honor to death.”
“of course. it’s what makes attending these things tolerable.”
“well, if it makes you feel better, this might be the last family function you’d have to attend.”
you raise your eyebrows, recalling the reason why. “woah, shit, you’re right.”
in less than three months, you’re getting divorced and namjoon’s getting even more money than he already has.
in less than three months, he’s going to share some of the portion of what’s left of his inheritance and it’ll be the last time you’ll receive financial help from him.
it also might be the last time you’ll be with him in general, and though there’s a side of you that’s glad not to be tied down anymore, you can’t say that you’re glad of possibly losing contact with namjoon, having grown fond of his presence in a way.
facing him, you blurt out the first thing that occurs in your mind. “when we get divorced, can i keep my engagement ring?”
namjoon chuckles. “that’s up to you. there’s no reason for me to take it back.”
“but what if you fall in love with a woman someday and think about proposing to her?”
“then i’d buy a new ring.”
“but wouldn’t that be impractical? given that you already have an engagement ring? i mean, this costs so much i could probably buy a lot and a house with it.”
“yeah, but that’s yours. it’d be horrible of me to give her a ring already worn by my first wife.”
“first wife,” you repeat with a dramatic scoff, lips curving upwards regardless. it’s cheesy and tickles your insides. “that trip to spain changed you, joon. you’ve been too flirty since you returned.”
that coaxes out a full laugh from him. “my apologies. it’s a habit at this point.”
“what is?”
“pertaining to you as my wife.” he shrugs. “isn’t it the same for you?”
“pertaining to you as my wife?” you joke.
the dimples make a reappearance. “you know what i mean.”
you think about it. had it been the same for you? there’s not a lot of occasions wherein you have to call namjoon as your husband. your dad isn’t present in your life, your relationship isn’t good with your mother to constantly chat with her, and as for your little sister who was the root cause of why you got married to namjoon…
well, she’s in a better place right now. far better than this crazy and scary world you’re living in.
“i guess,” you say, but your tone isn’t convincing.
“hm, it does seem that way according to what just happened with haein.”
you wince. “sorry about that.”
“don’t be, i understand. i’ve been gone most of the time since you got hired in your new company—and we are separating in a few weeks.”
“time flies really fast, doesn’t it?”
“yep. we used to think that it’ll take forever before the five years are up.”
“true. we kept on suggesting a backup plan if ever we fight and get sick of each other.”
“yet here we are, still happily married.”
“ugh, there you are again!” you accuse and he laughs out loud once more. “are you enjoying cringing me to death?”
namjoon doesn’t answer, a big grin plastered on his face as he continues laughing, groaning eventually when you start slapping his arm because of how it’s obvious that he truly is enjoying this.
“____,” he complains, laughing still, “stop, i’m driving!”
you follow as he says. “you’re the worst.”
“i forgot how easy you are to tease.”
“shut up.”
he snickers, doing a zipping motion against his mouth.
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
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too busy saving everybody else to save yourself. // s.s.
to think of a life without him filled you up with such sorrow you thought you'd let yourself drown just to be with him one last time. — or, an account of the events that transpired after the night of august 14, 2003.
pairing. shinichiro sano x baji!reader
wc. 18k
tags/cw. MDNI, angst with happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, baji!reader (reader is baji’s sibling), manga spoilers, shinichiro lives, anxiety/panic attacks, smoking, mentions of death, characters cry a lot, mentions of head trauma + hospitals + needles + blood, reader gets called 'nee-chan' a couple of times but other than that its pretty gn, very suggestive (one make/out sesh), takeomi is clowned a lot + please let me know if i missed anything!
a/n. its finally done sob i spent so much time polishing this as much as i could and what was supposed to be a 1k drabble mutated into this lmfao but all in all this fic is my baby, my child, and i love it so so much i just hope y'all will like it as much as i do !! a massive thanks to @tetsutits for betaing and to @mosviqu for letting me run the storyline through her !! hope all of u enjoy lots n lots !!
m.list ˖ tags ˖ byi/dni
One step, one blink, one breath, one step, one blink, one breath; like on autopilot, the pattern repeated itself over and over again. You could feel it beating inside your skull; the pounding of your heart resonated throughout your body, acting as the fuel behind your every move.
Your blurry gaze amplified all of your other senses, sending your brain into a downward spiral of emotional overwhelm; the loud keyboard clicking, the obnoxious chatter, the drinking and munching of coffee and donuts, all of it made you want to tear your ears off. How could the world keep turning, people existing like normal, while you were being consumed by the tightness enveloping your lungs? The thought made you want to light up the whole building, watch it burn as the flames simmered the concrete to ashes to relieve the turmoil brewing inside your body.
“I'm coming for Baji Keisuke?” You asked, barely managing to string the words together in a coherent sentence, head going a thousand miles per hour. “He’s my brother.”
The officer behind the desk pulled down his magazine, looking you over and taking in your dishevelled state. “Ah,” he sighed as soon as your brother's profile appeared on his screen. “Baji Keisuke, the little rascal with the breaking and entering charges, huh?”
lips forming into a thin line, you nodded, biting your tongue so as to not insult the man in front of you who, for some reason, couldn't help but chuckle, as if a twelve year-old kid being detained was funny.
“Can I see him?”
He gave you one last obnoxious glance, before typing on his computer.
“He’s currently under police custody,” he explained condescendingly as if you didn’t know, pulling a manila folder and pressing the button on the printer, handing you a pen in the meantime. “He's only got a minor charge compared to the other brat he came in here with,” He let out a quiet cackle, not wanting to attract anyone else’s attention. To you, it was like he acted this nonchalant to rile you up, make your blood boil. And, in spite of your reluctance to admit to it, it was working. Being in his presence made you want to punch him. “We’re betting on whether the other kid’s gonna get charged with manslaughter or not.
“And just between us,” he made a come hither motion, but leaned forward on his chair at your lack of reaction. “I’m betting in favor of manslaughter, so I'm crossing my fingers for the guy to die soon, ‘ya know?”
Had you been wearing long sleeves, he would’ve been able to see you rolling them up, emotionally prepared to be charged with aggravated assault against a police officer
Fortunately, another officer called out your name, catching your attention before you could act on the violent scenarios coursing through your brain. You didn’t bother excusing yourself before leaving to find your brother.
He looked small, smaller than he actually was, as he sat on the floor with both his knees close to his chest. His eyes were puffy and red, it was obvious he had been crying; though by the looks of it, he had yet to stop.
The cell door sounded like nails against a chalkboard as it scraped against the floor. It made him flinch in surprise, snapping him out of the borderline-dissociating trance as he looked up at the intimidating officer, trying to gauge his intentions while gathering all the energy he had left in his body to fight off the man just in case he needed to. But as soon as he made eye contact with you he could feel himself lowering his guard.
He didn’t even hesitate, his body moved on his own, running past the officer and straight into your arms, letting the harsh sobs he had tried bottling up rack his body, along with muffled apologies and incoherent explanations.
“It's okay,” you mumbled against his hair, trying to calm down his heart wrenching cries. He nuzzled his face against your neck, trying to get impossibly closer to the sound of your voice. You waited for him to nod, still clutching at your clothes with all the remaining energy he had. “He's strong, he’ll be alright.”
Though at this point you were unsure whether your words held any weight against the grand scheme of things; hopefully all your promises won’t turn into bold-faced lies.
You made your way out of the cell together, holding his left hand as he used the other to rub at his eyes, itchy and dry from all the crying. The two of you walked past a couple of cells before he stopped for what seemed like a millisecond, mumbling something under his breath in weak anguish. Had you not been hyper aware of everything going on around you, you wouldn’t have noticed the slight tug at your hand.
Kazutora sat on the floor the same way Keisuke did, knees pulled up to his chest, biting his cuticles raw to stop his brain from looping the traumatic set of events like a broken film; still, it wasn't enough to stop his whole body from trembling in shock. The distress fresh in his eyes made you want to drop everything just to hold him close, comfort him like you did with Keisuke.
But you didn’t have much time, the officer behind you pressured the both of you to move, and considering Keisuke remained under police custody, you weren’t willing to risk him getting locked up again now that you had him by your side.
“Wait for me over there, okay?” You said, pointing at the waiting area. “I just have to fill out some paperwork and then we can go home.” He held your hand even tighter in his grasp in response, as if he was scared to let go. “I’ll be quick, promise.”
Reluctantly, he dragged his feet as he walked, not wanting to stray far away from you. At least there was still some sort of stubbornness left in him. You’ve never seen him act like this, uncontrollably crying and apologising, devoid of the mischievous glint in his eyes. Knowing the Keisuke you knew was still there comforted you.
“How, uh, how much is bail gonna be?” You asked once he had made himself at home on the plastic chairs. Thankfully it was someone else behind the desk instead of the asshole you had the misery of interacting with.
You knew it wasn’t going to be cheap, already having a grasp of fines and bail costs thanks to your friends getting into trouble, but even with this knowledge, their response sent a shiver down your spine.
Maybe you could use some of your own savings, or part of your college fund. Using your mom’s money was also an option, but you didn't want to put the burden on her. If you skipped a semester it could give you some time to earn the money back, but you were already behind in a few classes, and the minimum wage from part time jobs wouldn’t stack up too much, so was it truly feasible?
Fuck, you knew they were children but you couldn’t help but curse at their recklessness, their stupidity and naivety. Did they actually think stealing a bike would be that easy? And now you have to pay for the consequences, quite literally. Of course, you could always leave him here, let him face the consequences straight on. There was nothing forcing you to bail him out. But who were you kidding, you’d kill for him, of course you were going to pay.
Making sure he was still where you left him, you looked over your shoulder back at him. He was slumped over his knees, aimlessly playing with his fingers as his eyes fixated on the corridor leading to the cells, a solemn sadness washing over his features.
No.
You weren’t going to. You were going to pay for your brother’s sins, or whatever the cheesy line says, and leave to never look back. You didn’t owe this other kid anything, most certainly when you couldn't afford it. But, after knowing him for so long, the thought of him staying in the middle of four cold walls until further notice broke your heart.
“Actually,” you sighed. This was gonna cost two semesters instead of one. “Could I pay for someone else’s bail as well?”
At first, he refused to acknowledge your presence, biting harder into his fingers. He tried self-soothing through slow back and forth rocking motions and the unintelligible words that spilled from his mouth, hugging himself tighter the closer you got.
He didn’t move, frozen in place as if the lack of movement would make him invincible to the naked eye. He didn’t cave in no matter what you did, not when you kneeled in front of him nor when you whispered his name in hopes he would acknowledge your voice.
It only took a couple of seconds after that for him to shyly meet your gaze, warming up to you in an instant and clinging onto you just like Keisuke had done, though he did so with a lot more desperation, this sort of comfort foreign to Kazutora. He felt so small in your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder, the only thing he could do was claw at your body for reassurance. Other than that, he didn’t speak, didn’t cry, he almost didn’t move, to the point it had you questioning whether he was actually breathing.
Once you coaxed him out of the cell and got a hold of your brother, your sole focus was on guiding the boys beside you out of the precinct as fast as possible, one hand holding Keisuke’s while the other rested on the back of Kazutora’s head. They didn’t need to spend more time than necessary in this place, surrounded by grimy cell blocks and seemingly socially inept officers who couldn’t keep their rambunctious laughter down.
Wakasa was sitting on his bike outside the police station waiting for the three of you, and though initially it was supposed to be just the two of you riding along with him, he wasn’t surprised you paid for your brother’s friend’s bail. He kept a fairly laid-back exterior, lit cigarette hanging from his fingers replacing his preferred strawberry flavored lollipops, inhaling back the smoke that seeped from his parted lips and freaking out on the inside.
The two of you were hanging out when multiple calls blasted through your phone, prompting you to rush to where you were now. First it was one from the hospital, one of the bearers of bad news that didn’t let you dwell on the fact that Shinichiro had written you down as one of his emergency contacts. Then came the call from the police station, sinking your heart down to the bottomless pit in your stomach.
“Everything alright?” He asked, putting out his cigarette, smothering the stick with his boot along with the other three he had finished while you were inside.
You hummed in response, words dying in your throat. The silence around you itched and burned, made your skin prickle with discomfort, and even so, no one dared say anything besides the occasional noise of acknowledgement. They weren’t dumb. They were one-hundred percent aware of what they were doing, and this wasn’t something you could blame on their age either. Yes, they were kids, but a twelve year old should be able to discern right from wrong; aware that stealing is bad and that murdering people is wrong.
And deep down, you knew this was even more fucked up than it appeared to be. You knew Kazutora wouldn’t have cared for the victim had it not been Shinichiro. The only reason he was shaking like a leaf, flinching when Wakasa fastened the belt of his helmet against his head, was because he hurt Mikey’s brother. That’s not to say Keisuke was innocent, it was clear he wasn’t. Intentionally breaking into someone’s shop to steal a very valuable, very expensive, piece of equipment and potentially complicit in someone's murder.
You wanted to tear your eyes off at the thought. Did they really think they could get away with this? That it would be as easy as stealing some candy or gum from the corner store? You wanted to curse them out for being so stupid, so naive. But looking down at their sunken faces, eyes bloodshot and teary as they sweated fear from every pore on their fragile skin, it made you want to excuse all their horrid behaviour, ignore the fact they committed a crime and in the process they mortally wounded an innocent man.
You held down an involuntary gag at the violation of your principals, the memory of what had just gone down stirring unwanted bitterness inside your stomach. You were no one to criticise the two kids sitting between Wakasa and you. They could be stupid, but you were the weakest of them all.
“Let’s get going then.”
You could question your moral compass later, first you had to get them home.
The voices of the characters talking in the background faded into an uncomfortable white noise as your muscles dissolved along with your bones, breaking through your skin and seeping into the cushions of the couch. Each time you breathed in the more stressed you became at the uncertainty of your friend’s mortal status.
You hadn’t received any news from the hospital, and though you knew that if they hadn’t called by now, they probably wouldn’t at least until tomorrow morning, that didn’t stop you from imprisoning your phone close to your chest. Maybe if you channelled all your strength into your hold then you’d lose the urge to cry.
In spite of their initial resistance, it didn’t take long to put the kids to bed. The two of them drifted off to a bitter, yet hopefully replenishing, sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. It wasn’t surprising, the whole incident had drained the both of them to their core.
“‘Sure you’re okay?” Wakasa asked, and had it not been for his voice you're sure you would’ve dissociated the rest of the night. Maybe the kids would find you the next morning still sitting on the couch, frozen like a statue as you stared at the ceiling, and freak out because they’d think you had died along with ‘Shinichiro-nii’.
You hummed, it was the only response you could muster it seemed, with your eyes zeroing in on his shoulders, then his cheeks and then his earrings. Looking straight into his eyes would do you no good. It’d blow your cover in less than an instant, and though it’s fair to say it was a shit cover, amplifying your grief through your dejected silence instead of toning it down, it made you feel safer from the imminent doom. Still, shitty cover up or not, Wakasa knew you weren’t okay. You wouldn’t be able to fool him even if he was stupid, and at this point, he’s convinced you wouldn’t be able to fool anyone; a single glance your way was enough to tell you were silently crumbling.
He let his head fall backwards against the back of the sofa, sighing in acknowledgement. No matter how many times he asked, deep down he knew you would only cave in at your own account, But at least his question somehow managed to bring you back down from the maze your brain had started fabricating to earth. And maybe, just maybe, if he gave you enough space that’d prompt you to speak. He didn’t mind waiting. Not for a couple of seconds, or the couple of minutes those seconds turned into, or the couple of hours they mutated into next, and so on until days and weeks and years had passed, until the scarcity of time felt infinite.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” You broke the silence, biting the edges of your words as if you wanted to hide them back inside, voice shaky and heavy against your tongue.
He hesitated, sharing a seat next to you inside the same sinking uncertainty boat, “Shin-chan’s stronger than you think.” He tried reassuring you, or himself he wasn't sure, but at this point the more he tried to tell himself his friend was still breathing, the more it felt like a lie. Shin-chan was stronger than the two of you thought, but was he really? “He’d be heartbroken to know you had little faith in him.”
At least he got you to chuckle, “I’d be heartbroken to know that I was right.”
You fell into an uncomfortable silence not long after, the stakes of the conversation too high, and if you continued talking you’re sure you’d end up giving Shin up for dead. But like this, maybe you could finally force yourself to get some sleep. The weight of your eyelids had doubled, eyes growing heavier against your will, and though you didn’t want to, just in case something happened while you were unconscious, you knew you’d be of no use without at least a few hours of rest. Plus, you promised yourself you’d never lose any sleep over a guy, ever, and you weren’t about to make an exception for Shinichiro Sano.
Not even an hour in your slumber, you almost threw your phone to the other side of the room as its desperate cry pierced your ears. You’re sure Wakasa almost had a heart attack with how fast straightened up next to you, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if it somehow managed to wake up both Kazutora and Keisuke, although your brother was more of a chronic heavy sleeper.
“What are you waiting for? Answer it!” Feelings heightened in his barely awake, panicked state, the desperation was palpable in his words. And though uncommon for him to act in such an erratic manner, he had bottled everything up the whole night, it was time for the stoic facade to break.
But, even so, in spite of your friend’s heartbreaking desperation you didn’t move. Not after the third ring or the fourth. You didn’t dare move, staying frozen on the couch, groggy from waking up yet hyper-aware of everything going on around you despite your mild dissociation. The sole thought of moving towards made your brain press against your skull, screaming at you to stop.
Not answering meant that Shinichiro could stay both simultaneously alive and dead, his fate linked to whether you picked up the call. If you didn’t, maybe he wouldn’t die after all, he’d stay stuck in the unknown limbo of immortality until you made a call.
But then again, this was your only chance to get an update on his status. And it wasn’t only you anxiously waiting on any sort of news. Wakasa was waiting; Keisuke and Kazutora, although asleep, were as well, and you could only fathom Benkei and Takeomi’s reaction. Mikey and Emma were probably up to date, the hospital must’ve called their grandfather before they reached out to you. And looking back at the people that depended on you, it really wasn't fair to put your own self-indulgent selfishness over the needs of others, was it?
It wasn't. Of course it wasn’t, but after putting everyone before you for as long as you’ve lived, didn’t you deserve to be selfish? At least once, when it pertainted the condition of the unrequited love of your life, didn’t you deserve at least that much?
“Hello?” Wakasa answered through furrowed brows and twitching lips. From the way he spoke, you could tell he was biting on the inside of his cheek to release some tension, putting enough pressure to draw blood. “This is Wakasa Imaushi speaking,
“–can’t get to the phone right now, can’t you just talk to me?” Voice getting progressively louder, he challenged the person on the other side of the call. “He’s my best friend, don’t I deserve to know whether he’s alive or not?!”
Only when his voice broke at the weight of his own desperation did you manage to snap out of your trance, snatching the phone out of his grip, ignoring his glassy eyes as you spoke into the receiver, mumbling your name through a shakily put together voice.
You’re not sure whether you imagined it or not, almost choking on a withered sob, but you could feel the moment your teeth sunk into the skin of your hand, digging hard enough for blood to prickle to the surface, preventing any other noise from coming out.
With your vision blurry and a tightness in your chest you could not describe, your body had gone completely numb, and yet your nerve endings were scorching under any semblance of atmospheric pressure, forcing you to feel everything, everywhere, all at once.
Had Wakasa not been there to catch you, you’d have collapsed on the ground, a pitiful wailing mess. Tears soaked through the fabric of both your clothes as you held each other close. For what felt like hours, the two of you stayed like that. Face buried against his neck and his against the top of your head, he rocked you back and forth in his arms until your tears stopped mixing themselves with your spit, sharp inhales tuning down into soft sniffles. And though his eyes burned with unshed sorrow, he kept on humming at your unintelligible mumbling.
“See? I told you he was stronger than we thought.” He whispered, though it sounded closer to a whimper, and nuzzled his cheek further against your hair. As if trying to ground himself, he gave you a tight squeeze, still in doubt whether he was trying to convince you or himself.
Only after a while, once both of your breathing had evened out, did you raise your head up from its hideout, hesitant footsteps catching your attention.
“Nee-chan?” You heard a tiny voice coming from the hallway, a little insecure, as if he didn’t think he deserved a proper response.
“I’m sorry ‘Tora, did we wake you?” You peeled Wakasa’s arms from your body, rubbing the haziness of your eyes away. He shook his head in response, carefully moving away from the shadows after acknowledging your lack of anger.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
His puffy eyes shimmered red under the soft moonlight coming through the living room window. He took meticulous steps in your direction, side-eyeing Wakasa and still wary of you, not knowing how you would react after his intrusion. Each one was lighter than the other, the wooden floors refused to creek underneath his weight, almost as if he had trained himself to become weightlessly invisible.
Slowly as to not startle him, you stretched your arms in his direction, beckoning him towards you and silently encouraging him to trust you. Even after drying out his tears once you tucked him in bed, holding his hand a little longer while Keisuke slept next to him, you’re sure that wasn’t enough to reassure him you wouldn’t blow up on him. For Kazutora, interacting with most people felt like trying to navigate an active minefield.
Hugging him close to your body, you pulled him on your lap and softly rocked him back and forth; the same way Wakasa had done with you. He nuzzled closer to you, letting himself relax against your touch once he registered you weren't a threat, basking in your warmth.
The silence the three of you fell under was deafening, uncomfortable even, though you didn't intend for it to be. Kazutora had this question stuck in his throat, sitting heavy against his vocal cords while the bitter taste of bile stained his tongue.
“Is…” he trailed off, still doubting whether he deserved to be asking such a question. “Is Mikey’s brother going to be okay?”
He tensed up at the lack of immediate response. The lack of positive reassurance that he hadn’t completely messed up everyone's lives made the grip he had on your arm grow tighter in fear of you letting go.
You didn’t. You weren’t planning to do so. Even if nausea piled up at the end of your oesophagus as the conflicting set of emotions brewing at the pit of your stomach, you were sure he needed you as much as you needed him to keep yourself grounded
“He will.” You brushed your fingers through his hair, lips curled up into a smile once you felt him relax against you once again. “Right now he’s resting, we can visit him in a couple of days, if you’d like.”
The silence amongst you became heavy once again, but inside Kazutora’s head the cacophony of your words bounced against the thick layers of bone and skin like worthless cries of distress. What he did was inconceivable, and in spite of that you still cared.
“I didn’t mean to,” barely a whisper, the words died out before they could be properly enunciated. They prickled and ached and stung at the walls of his throat. Something he couldn’t name but feel deeply inside his bones stopped himself from vomiting it all out. But mess after mess, like building blocks stacking one on top of the other, they piled up and pulled him down like a ball and chain made out of his own flesh and when he tried to pull at it to set himself free he could feel everything spilling out in a tangled cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I’m sorry!” he cried, clutching onto your shirt and arms, anything he could get a hold of to ensure you wouldn’t leave him alone. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Holding him tightly and shushing his cries, you could do nothing more than let his tears wet at your shirt, mumble that it was okay even if it truly wasn’t; even if the two of you knew it was a lie. The weeping child in your arms did nothing but pull at your heartstring, conflicting feelings arising in your chest. In spite of the fondness you felt for the kid, the same fondness you felt for all of your little brother’s friends, you had unconsciously developed a grudge towards him, bitterness and resentment for hurting Shinichiro.
His lashes rested against his skin, casting thin shadows under the sunlight streaming through the window. He had always looked peaceful when he was sleeping, chest rising and falling as if following a metronome’s tempo. You can remember taking long summer naps next to him and the rest of your friends, you always being the first one to wake up. Every summer the three of them arrived late to at least five Black Dragon’s meetings because they had slept in. Shinichiro had developed this antsy habit of arriving weirdly on time yet slightly late ever since then, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of letting down whoever was waiting for him; you wonder how he’d react if he knew the shop wouldn’t open today.
So peaceful yet fragile., never in your life would’ve you remotely imagined you’d be sitting next to your best friend’s hospital bed, eyes puffy and droopy while his head laid covered in bandages. The beeping of the monitor filling up the unnecessary silence that wouldn’t have otherwise been there had he been awake.
Had he been awake, he would’ve talked to you non-stop, retelling everything that went down to the most insignificant detail, sprinkling hyperboles as much as he could just to appear a little cooler in front of you. But it's not like he had to try anyway, to appear cooler, that is, you already thought he was the coolest person in the whole wide world; though you’d go as far as saying he was the coolest person to ever exist. The sole idea made you smile, tears welling up in your eyes as you wondered if he’d blush once he found out how highly you thought of him.
And of course, had he been awake, he would’ve been worried about everyone but him. He would’ve asked about Mikey and Emma, if they had slept over at the hospital or at home with his grandfather, who he would’ve proceeded to ask about. He would’ve bitten his tongue to prevent himself from even mentioning the economic implications of his stay, but you would’ve been able to read right through him.
Then, had he been awake, he would’ve asked about Keisuke and Kazutora. He would’ve be worried about them, berated you with a flurry of questions, emotions switching from anger to guilt in less than a millisecond; angry at your deplorable encounter with the police, guilty because he was the one that called, and maybe if he hadn’t, then Mikey’s friends wouldn't have gotten in trouble.
He would’ve asked about the shop, if anyone was there watching over it while he was resting in the hospital, deflating a little after finding out it wouldn’t open for the day. He would’ve asked about Wakasa and Benkei and Takeomi, ask if they were aware of what happened, if they had already started making fun of him after finding out a twelve year-old sent him straight to the ER; he would’ve sighed at your response, shaking his head because instead of making fun of him his friends were worried.
Finally, he’d ask about you. And maybe you would’ve cried or laughed or screamed. Maybe tears would’ve pooled in your eyes, the fact your friend was breathing finally sinking in. Maybe you would’ve giggled at your past unjustified worries because he was here now and you never should’ve doubted him, not even for a second. Maybe you would’ve broken down, fatigue deep in your bones pulling you to the ground until you could do nothing but lay cold and empty and happy on the floor because you had not dared sleep but at least the existence of his consciousness remained.
But the only one speaking was the wind blowing through the curtains, kissing his forehead and messing up his hair just to give you the opportunity to put it back in place through the insecure brush of your fingers
Resting your forehead next to the palm of his hand, you sighed in defeat; maybe you should’ve let him rest alone. You had spent the whole morning next to him, ignoring any hunger cues alerting you it was time for breakfast or lunch or any sort of meal time that could fuel your body from complete exhaustion. Still, even if you wanted to fall asleep, it was like your subconscious wouldn’t let you. Every time you closed your eyes and felt yourself slip into a deep slumber, you were jolted awake to your own dismay.
Not being able to rest had started to eat away at your own sanity. Only eight hours had passed, but every second felt like a thousand and at this point, you had become a walking contradiction; hungry but unable to eat, tired yet unable to fall asleep. Your body was failing you, unable to react to any sort of external or internal stimuli, and you’re sure wouldn't be able to cry no matter how much you wanted to do so.
But even then, apparently you could still scream.
The weight of his hand on top of your head caught you off guard. It almost made you fall from the chair and smack your head against the bed’s metal skeleton. Maybe if you got a concussion and slipped into a weird pseudo-coma after a harrowing God-knows-how-many-hours-long surgery he’d feel guilty enough to make up for the tachycardia that had your heart beating where your brain should be.
“Hi.” He smiled, words a little slurred as the remaining anaesthesia wore off.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Oh, I see ‘you missed me alright.”
And you did. Even though less than a day had passed since the accident, picturing a whole lifetime without him was enough to permanently alter your brain chemistry. But he was here now, he was back and he was safe and the toothy grin he sported reminded you of home.
“Don’t ‘cha know it’s rude to eat in front of someone who can only chew on ice chips?” He joked, flinching as the nurse adjusted his IV drip.
You were forced to leave the room after a flurry of hospital staff came running at your volatile reaction; Of course, you were quick to reassure that your friend had only woken up and that everything was fine, before leaving for the cafeteria; giving them some space to work on Shinichiro would be good. Plus, not that he was ‘okay’ and you weren’t worrying about his health every second of every minute of every hour, you could address the sudden pangs of hunger poking at your stomach.
“I’ll buy you dinner once you get out.” You smiled, scooping some of the jell-o into your mouth through your innocent smile. But, again to your dismay, the mischievous glint in your eyes ratted you out. Shinichiro knew that ‘dinner’ meant the cheapest ramen you could find, maybe add an egg to spice it up, and ice cream you’d eat directly from the tub; a long lived tradition between the two of you. “I’ll even add chives this time.”
“Gee thanks,” he mocked, as if he’d rather do anything else than eat stale ramen with you. As long as he got the chance, he’d do anything. He’d probably lick the floor for you—not that he’d ever let you know, but if you asked he would, no questions asked. That’s what happens when you love someone. You’d be willing to do anything and everything for them even if it's irrational. “Can I choose the ice cream flavour at least?”
You hummed, focusing on scraping the plastic spoon against the plastic container in your hands to avoid his gaze. “Only this time though, so don’t get used to it.”
“Everything’s looking good so far, we’ll do another check up in a couple of hours.”
Right, you were still in here. Talking like everything was seemingly normal made you forget that you were still in the hospital, watching over your post-op, bedridden friend.
“Lay with me?” he asked, not before the both of you thanked the nurse who excused himself after gathering the remaining equipment. “Please?”
You shouldn’t, something inside your head made sure to let you know even if the urge to hold him close was overpowering. He had just barely woken up after a long emergency surgery, and you taking up space would be of no help for him to get the rest he needed. But the silent plea in the puppy dog eyes you had trained yourself so hard to resist, the subtle pout and the cute dopey-ness that had yet to wear off were far too tempting to resist.
His little celebratory cheer made you inwardly squeal as you slowly moved to his side, watching him wince in pain while he slowly shuffled himself closer to the edge in a clumsy attempt to make some space for you.
The thumping of his heartbeat reverberated in his chest, the stress melting from out your bones. You couldn’t help but sigh in content once you laid your head on his chest. Now that you were wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt like you could finally rest.
“Tired?” He mumbled against your hair, breaking the silence that had settled in the room as you basked in each other’s presence. You hummed in response, nuzzling your cheek against his body and almost purring like a cat at his warmth. Letting your eyes close involuntarily, you couldn’t help but be lulled to a premature slumber. With how comfortable you looked, and because your obnoxious yawning was too contagious, he wanted to do nothing but follow in your footsteps.
Instead, his eyes stayed wide open and stuck to the ceiling as if the off off-white paint that covered the concrete was the key to shutting down his brain long enough for sleep to take over. It didn’t matter that his blood had been infused with what felt like at least twenty hundred thousand milligrams of various pain-deafening substances that were sure to knock him out in a matter of seconds, falling asleep seemed to be an unattainable goal.
Whatever they had injected into his body increased his senses’ sensitivity, multiplying it times a hundred instead of dulling them down to nothing. And it didn’t stop at the uncomfortable overtly bright fluorescent lights or the suddenly deafening sound of unoiled wheels from hospital carts being rolled around. It was the way he could feel you barely resting your weight against his body, as if scared the least amount of pressure would make his heart stop. The way he was met with your now dull eyes, almost bloodshot but not quite, sunken with a thick coat of desperation, or fear, or some sort of premature grief, as soon as he woke up. Or how, in spite of only being gone for less than a day, it seemed like you had spent a lifetime unable to exist alongside everything you held dear.
Hyper aware of all those little details and more, it hit him without warning, and suddenly, he could feel the overwhelming urge to cry.
It prickled uncomfortably at his eyes, the skin around his charcoal orbs itching like it was on fire. His mouth felt cottony, smothering his airways and cutting his airflow while his tongue rested uncharacteristically heavy in his mouth with the weight of unsaid words. It broke all his bones at once, leaving him numb on the ground, still like a corpse, and unable to suppress the dooming feeling of his own life spilling from his pores, mixing with his blood until the air around him turned thick and metallic.
In the blink of an eye he had been one step closer to the grave, barely hanging onto a thread of consciousness as the view of his shop turned blurrier and blurrier, and now he was breathing. His lungs had finally regained consciousness and he could feel everything around him overwhelmingly loud and clear and close and real.
Now awake, he could feel you laying on top of him, almost passed out due to the immeasurable amount of stress he had put you under. And maybe if it wasn’t for his reckless habit of parading around life with his guard lowered or for the lack of proper security measures at the shop—because who on earth would rob him? There’s no way he could be that unlucky. Impossible. Or maybe it was his inability to dodge, to hold his stance in a fight because even if he was strong, without proper technique he was rendered useless and, holy shit– he could’ve died.
He could’ve died and then Manjiro would’ve been forced to grow up way too soon because he would have to take care of Emma and grandpa—although knowing both his siblings, Emma was more likely to turn into the head of the house. And then his friends would’ve been left to grieve his death, make sad speeches about the best moments they had together and, fuck was Takeomi terrible at writing; his speech would just be a big mess of incoherent words stuck together. And what about the shop? Who was he leaving the shop to? And what about Inupi? Inupi was just a kid and he can’t just leave him all alone; he had promised to himself to take care of him the same way he took care of his siblings— fuck, Izana as well. Who was going to look after his brother? He was planning to introduce him to all of you guys soon. The two of you would’ve gotten along so well and,
And you.
What about you?
You looked beyond heartbroken. Words couldn't begin to describe exactly what somberness mulled deep within that brain of yours. If this is how you reacted to the possibility of him dying, then how would’ve you reacted to him actually doing so?
A choked sob rips through his lips, the sound painful as it breaches its forceful containment.
“Shin–”
“I’m sorry.”
“What…” you trailed off. The strained cry had erased any speck of slumber. For a second you thought you had dreamt it, that your brain had finally gone off the rails and you were hearing imaginary voices. That was until you looked up at him, eyes welling up with unshed tears, body stiff as if to prevent them from falling. “What’re you sorry for?”
“I just remembered the beach trip we were planning for Manjiro’s birthday,” he sniffled, “and I think we’re gonna have to cancel.”
“That’s okay, we can reschedule—”
“Yeah but I– I know he was really excited for it, all his friends were.”
“We’ll talk to them, make sure they understand—”
“And you were excited about it too,” avoiding your eyes even after you had tried to coax him into meeting yours. He felt so far away, almost unreachable despite laying right next to you. “And I know how much you love the beach and I really wanted to go with you even if we were gonna have to chaperone six hyperactive children,
“And, and I know the guys were gonna come with and we had it all perfectly planned out with this huge dorayaki cake thing and now we’re gonna have to cancel because of me—”
“Wait,” you shush him as gently as possible, sitting up and holding his hand tightly between yours. “What do you mean ‘because of me’?”
Almost as if he had never started, your question managed to shut down his rambling like forcefully closing a water faucet. He had this estranged, far-off look darkening his face, eyes glassy, almost as if he were dissociating. It made your stomach churn with anxiety. Never in your many, many, years of friendship had you seen him lose himself like this.
“Because,” he paused, trying to swallow down the knot grappling at his throat, fighting off the urge to tear it off with his bare hands. “Because it's my fault we’re cancelling.”
“I– What’re you talking about?”
He groaned in desperation. Why was this so hard to explain?
“I’m the one who’s bedridden.” Still dizzy after waking up and to the best of his ability, he tried sitting up, wincing in pain to then give up and lean into his forearms. “I’m the one with random needles poking through my skin, fresh off the ER because my skull was bashed into with one of my own tools and maybe, just maybe, if I had been more aware at the time, I could've avoided the hit.”
“Shin, this wasn’t your fault—”
“But it is! Can't you see?”
“Shin–”
“D’you know what I did when I heard someone break the glass?” He looked at you expectantly, voice raised in frustration. “After I called the cops; do you?” You shook your head in response, knowing that any attempt to help him calm down would be futile. “I grabbed a wrench.
“After the operator told me to hide and wait for help because I told them it sounded like more than one person was inside, I grabbed a stupid wrench and decided to face them,
“I decided to face them even if I'm well aware I wouldn’t be able to take two people at once.”
And though he seemed to be dead set on believing that somehow he managed to land himself in the hospital, you wouldn’t allow him to give himself up to the restless thoughts, no matter how badly he wanted to indulge the bitter part of his brain that had gotten used to putting himself down.
“Someone hit you from behind,” you tried, “you were ambushed, of course you wouldn't be able to take them on.”
His defeated sigh gave you some sort of uncomfortable comfort. Knowing it made you glad that he had finally given up was a conflicting feeling you wish to never re-examine or experience again.
You sat up, swallowing the foreign relief down, and scooted further up the bed’s backrest. Your elbow rested well above the pillow where he laid, and you couldn't help but use your leverage to gently brush your fingers through his hair, only relaxing once he visibly melted against your touch.
“You didn’t do this to yourself, this wasn’t your fault.” You whispered, fingertips soothing his worries as they ghosted the skin of his forehead. “You’re not responsible for every single thing that goes wrong, no matter how much you try to convince yourself you are.”
He can’t recall a single moment in his life in which he felt like he was relieved from his self-imposed duty—the duty of an older brother, primary caretaker, and practically a parent. Someone who must put everyone’s needs above his own well-being. He’s responsible for everything going on around him, the good, the bad, the neutral, the everything. It only made sense that the break in and the subsequent series of events were, in part, his responsibility.
And he knew it was irrational thinking because how on earth would he have known what was going to happen? But he couldn’t help it, not when all the consequences of his actions reflected on the bigger picture; everyone relies on Shinichiro Sano, and it was his duty to fulfil.
“And I promise you no one is disappointed in you. Not a single one of us.” You press your lips against the top of his head, smiling through your own teary eyes at the little hum he involuntarily let out. “We’re all so, so happy that you're awake and talking and I bet Manjiro would rather move his beach birthday party a hundred years from now than lose his brother six days before his birthday,
“The beach is not going anywhere, and neither are we, okay? We are not going anywhere.”
And you knew it wasn’t not enough. Your words weren’t enough to shut up the swirling negativity spiral in his brain. But at least it was enough to calm him down, enough for him to fall asleep in spite of the dampness kissing his skin; he might have successfully managed to suppress the heart wrenching sobs, but he was not strong enough to hold back the tears that cascaded down his cheeks.
You follow through not long after, head lolling to the side in an uncomfortable position that would for sure leave your neck aching for days. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. There was no dreaming this time. No nightmares or worst case scenarios crafted deep within your subconscious. In spite of the gloomy circumstances, the two of you had fallen asleep. Finally, being in your arms was beyond comforting. Plus, indulging in the rest your body had craved for hours made it easier to regain consciousness once Manjiro decided to jump on the two of you in surprise, never minding the possibility of further injuring his brother by mistake.
Being on the receiving end of his lovable violence hurt more than you thought it would, one of his hands landing straight on your stomach and the other on Shinichiro’s chest, but you couldn’t blame the kid. Based on what Keisuke had confided in you last night, Manjiro had witnessed both his best friends’ arrest as well as his brother being pulled out unconscious on a stretcher out of the shop.
Beyond a muffled apology, he didn’t utter anything else, like his voice had given in. He clung onto Shinichiro’s body like his life depended on it.
A swift knock on the door caught your attention, though Manjiro didn't even bother looking up, face tucked against his brother’s body, letting himself relax as his brother’s fingers threaded through his blond locks.
Emma poked her head from behind the wall, hands holding onto the door frame for balance. From where you laid you could see how her eyes were almost as puffy as yours. They were rimmed with a bright red, the same shade that was splotched all over her cheeks and nose. Mansaku stood beside her, holding onto his hat.
You could physically feel the relief washing over Shinichiro the moment he saw his whole family entering the room. He laid lighter next to you, with a brighter smile decorating his lips. It was like his body had melted from hard concrete right into a puddle, your previous conversation seemingly forgotten as a twinkle of warmth returned to his pretty eyes.
Careful not to let Manjiro fall in the dent you were leaving as you stood up, you beckoned Emma over. She cuddled up to Shinichiro, clinging onto him while her soft sniffles filled the silent room, and you swore you had almost started tearing up again at the sight.
Mansaku placed a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch in surprise as he acknowledged your presence. Like a wordless thank you, he nodded at you before stepping closer towards the bed, letting his hand rest on Shinichiro’s, and gently squeezed as if making sure his grandson was truly there.
In no way shape or form was it the perfect family meetup—a perfect one wouldn’t entail the eldest-grandson-slash-parental-figure stuck in a hospital bed. But by the way they huddled together, Shinichiro pinching Manjiro’s cheeks, the latter not even fighting him off like he usually would, and patting Emma’s head in reassurance, with Mansaku displaying the ghost of a smile as he stood next to his grandchildren, the four of them gave off the feeling of everything being okay.
The familiar warmth between them left you to watch the scene like an outsider in a third-person point of view. It made you feel like you were intruding, messily glued to one of those fancy family portraits.
In spite of both your families spending the majority of their lives around one another, you weren’t a Sano. No matter how close Keisuke and Manjiro were, no matter how much Shinichiro and you acted like a married couple with at least five children, you were never going to be one. You knew this from the start, but even so, the knowledge didn’t stop the churning of a deeply seeded loneliness inside your stomach.
You didn’t bother with your goodbyes. Even if you had promised Shinichiro you’d spend the rest of the day together—pretending to be bothered and reluctant when you sealed it with a ‘pinky promise’ to hide the fact you’d willingly play nurse whenever he needed it—something from within told you it was your time to leave, you weren’t that important after all.
The question swirled inside your skull, bitter as it scratched your bones, as you leaned against the walls outside the hospital. At first, you intended to camp out in a waiting room, maybe join them after you had finally calmed down, but instead your legs had taken you right outside, landing you in a secluded area between the building and the many trees surrounding it so you could confidently retrieve the crushed package from your back pocket without disturbing anyone
Your thumb burned as you attempted to roll the sparkwheel of your zippo lighter, the metal forming uncomfortable crevices against your skin. You had to hold back the urge to bite down on the cigarette you had clumsily stuck between your teeth instead of your lips, frustration welling up and threatening to burst from the seams that clumsily held you together.
Waiting for the uncomfortable itch to burn at your throat, you traced the outline of the red koi fish at the corner of the lighter, eroded after thumbing at it like a nervous tick over the years. Every time you felt your eyes water you made sure to compulsively take another drag, as if the smoke could cloud your thoughts, mixing them up with the familiar nostalgia.
Anyone would think that after incinerating your taste buds with each stick you burn, you’d get used to the taste. Whoever said it gets easier the more you do it was a liar. They were as disgusting as ever, flavour the exact same as those you had tried when you were younger, fooling around with your friends. It first started when Shinichiro and Takeomi brought a couple of cigarettes they had stolen from his grandfather to one of your hang outs. It prompted the three of you to continuously choke and make fun of each other for doing so until there were only mustard coloured butts squished on the floor.
Neither Takeomi nor you had really enjoyed the experience, but for some reason, Shinichiro was quick to grow fond of the taste. He made sure to carry around a twelve-pack wherever he went, lighting up cigarette after cigarette in strategic places so the smell wouldn’t stick to his hair or clothes. Not soon after, the rather unhealthy habit had extended to the remaining two of you, who couldn’t help but carry your own packs to satisfy your newly birthed cravings.
Looking back, you’re sure younger-you did that to be a little more like Shinichiro, just like Takeomi, and for other even more childish reasons like appearing more mature and attractive in his eyes; you clearly remember him having a thing for older women for a while. Sure, the two of you were the same age but still, you felt like he didn’t see you like you wanted him to, and the only way for you to change that would be to gain some more common ground with him right?
So yeah, just like Takeomi, you wanted to be more like Shinchiro, but unlike Takeomi—as far as you know—you had started buying cigarette packets mainly to share back and forth with your best friend in, what you would call, a weak attempt at flirting.
At least the cringe memory managed to rip you out from the insecurity whirlpool you were being sucked into, making you groan while softly hitting your head against the concrete wall. Thank god Wakasa existed to berate you into stopping the unhealthily embarrassing habit. Back then you were just a kid, but were you being for real? Were you seriously intending to build your whole life around a man to the point you’d indulge in one of the most common and deadliest habits in the world for a slim chance at a high-school romance? Fuck, was younger-you so painfully stupid to even think–
“One of you is already in the hospital, we don't need you to auto-hospitalise.”
The old man’s voice made you jump, fumbling with the cigarette until it fell to the floor. You tried to hide the coughing fit to the best of your ability while frantically stomping on the lit stick laying on the ground. It didn’t matter that you were an adult, you were still terrified of getting caught smoking by the man.
“Would you mind sharing one with me?” He asked, ignoring the way your face morphed into a confused frown. With nimble fingers, you opened your cigarette pack once again, handing him your lighter when he was unable to fetch his from his pockets.
“You still smoke?” You questioned, adding a hasty ‘sir’ once you noticed how informal you had sounded.
He chuckled in response, taking another puff. “I only stopped doing it in front of the children.”
This time it was your turn to chuckle, playing with the gravel underneath your feet to avoid looking at the man at your slip-up. Still, even with your gaze fixated on the ground you could tell he was looking at you in curiosity.
“I didn’t mean to laugh it’s just,” clearing your throat, you stumbled with your words, debating in your head whether you should come up with one of your horrid cover ups or tell the truth. “You always smoked around us when we were little, like you didn’t care.”
You thought he would’ve left you alone after that, knowing you were purposely disrespectful towards him. It would’ve been better that way. Then you would’ve been left to wallow in your own self-pity in peace, with no one to stop you from finishing the seven remaining cigarettes. But he didn’t, taking you aback as he stayed rooted right by your side.
Had you been anyone else, he would’ve called them out. To cover up his own embarrassment or to make up for the disrespect? Not even he could be sure. But he had seen you grow up next to his own grandchildren, sharing your love and caring nature with them along with your mild irascibility and your talent for keeping Shinichiro on a tight leash. He couldn’t help but grow fond of you, even if most of your one-on-one interactions had consisted of you running away from him before he managed to scold you.
He had only stopped smoking once Manjiro was born, self-awareness finally sinking into his thick skull as he watched his two grandsons play together. No one had questioned him back then, letting him sit on the couch undisturbed while he read the morning paper. It was only after Sakurako had passed away, that he had started to notice the many areas he was lacking, watching both Shinichiro and you fill the gaps in each other’s broken homes while he alienated himself from the responsibility of taking care of his family. The two of you worked so in sync, he would be of no help—or at least that was what he had told himself.
“I wasn’t the best grandfather.”
“You think?”
“I know.” He smiled at your attitude; snappy as always, the only difference was the way you now recoiled in embarrassment at your slip ups. Using his fingers to get rid of the ash, he tapped on the back of the cigarette before taking another drag. “Thank you for taking care of them when I couldn’t.”
Not even a noise of acknowledgement, your vocal chords had closed themselves shut at the man’s sudden mild vulnerability. Out of all the things you expected him to ever say to you, a ‘thank you’ was never on the list. He was always sporting his characteristic cartoonish frown, speaking to everyone in a clipped tone with pointed words.
“You’re more important to us than you think.” He stepped on the cigarette butt. “That is one of the reasons why I can’t let you believe what happened to my grandson was in any way your fault.”
“‘Sorry?” You mumbled in confusion, his words pulling yet another frown onto your face; did you miss any pivotal points in the conversation? How had the conversation switched from his apparent familial issues to you?
“I know you feel guilty for what happened, even if you weren’t involved.” He sighed, not bothering to look you in the eye before continuing his speech. “You’re not responsible for your brother’s doing.”
“Yeah,” you scoffed in mild amusement, as if that wasn’t something you’ve been trying to tell yourself; all Bajis share their fuckups. But then again, of course he wouldn’t understand. “Easier said than done.”
This time you didn’t try to make up for the way had snapped at him. And bless the man for being able to read the room, because he didn’t push the conversation further. Deep down he knew you needed the outlet; you may have already cried, but all your anger was still pent up inside of you. And after everything you had done for him and his family, it was the least he could do for you.
“It doesn’t matter what we believe, we’re always responsible for everyone’s mess.” You scoff in dismay. “It’s like we were born for our families to have a provisional caretaker.
“So thank you for trying to tell me I didn’t break into Shinchiro’s shop, I know I didn’t, but it's still my mess to fix.” The aftertaste of the words laid heavy in your mouth, trickling down your throat like bitter bile tearing through the tissue. You didn’t like how they sounded; they were too impersonal, too selfish. You took a deep breath, holding yourself upright in spite of the pang in your chest. “Not that i wouldn’t have taken care of Shin if someone else had been responsible for what happened, I lo– I– I care too much about him to just leave him be but its just—”
You cleared your throat, “If I had made sure I knew where Keisuke was going or, or if I had actually tried to listen to him when he told me he didn’t know what to give Manjiro for his birthday then maybe– just…”
You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence without breaking down the walls of the dam you thought you had finally managed to piece back together. You didn’t want the responsibility of rebuilding them back up, you don’t think you’d be able to do it as quickly as you’d want to. But you weren’t venting your sorrows to the wind. Mansaku Sano was still standing next to you, hands locked behind his back as he waited for you to continue, and though he was well aware of the times in which he had to remain quiet, he also knew when it was time to speak up.
“Then what?”
“Then,” you swallow, “then none of this would’ve happened, and he would’ve been okay.”
Your body itched for another cigarette, pawing at your skull for you to smother down the tears spouting from your eyes, even if the smoke would make your eyes teary once again. But with Mansaku Sano standing next to you, you didn’t dare touch a single one; it didn’t matter that you had just finished spilling your pent up emotions, you drew the line at smoking with Shinichiro’s grandfather. The thought sprouted a melancholic smile on your lips; Shinichiro would have a field day when he finds out what just went down.
The only thing left you had to ground yourself was the cold metal of your lighter, already starting to heat up at the warmth of your skin. You ran your thumb over it once again, the pattern already engraved in your mind. The habit had probably developed out of your need to be comforted by familiarity—of course the lighter was the right candidate, from its colour and texture, size and temperature, you had everything about it memorised like the back of your hand.
“It’s a really nice lighter.” You hadn't realised you were playing with it until he spoke up; twirling it between your fingers over and over again, flipping it open and close, lighting it up before shutting the lid and extinguishing the flame.
“Thanks,” you sniffled, and right after you finished speaking, your voice hoarse and tired, you regretted ever doing so. You felt like a child once again; like when your mom tried to comfort you after you had scraped your knee, or when a couple of older middle-schoolers had beaten your friends up. A child like when the day was finally over and you had to go back home from a play-date, or when your favourite toy had fallen inside the river while walking over a bridge. You regretted speaking the minute you had discovered your voice sounded as weak as you felt, and yet, at the mention of your beloved trinket, you felt the warm giddiness wash over your body forcing you to speak. And so, once again like a child, you did. “I got it at a summer festival, Shin got it for me.”
“I thought you said you wanted to come visit him.”
For a minute Keisuke didn’t speak. He looked straight at the ground, feet planted on the floors like roots had grown out of him as he held your hand.
Earlier this morning he had clung onto your waist while angry tears rolled down his cheeks. The moment he caught sight of you putting your shoes on the genkan he had broken into a run, letting his body smash against yours, and almost making you lose your balance. Both you and your mom had tried your hardest to calm him down for what felt like hours but to no avail. He persisted, begging for you to let him accompany you to the hospital.
Outside of Shinichiro’s room, it was a whole other story. All of a sudden he had decided he didn’t want to see him eye to eye. His reaction made you internally groan in frustration. Had you listened to your own gut feeling telling you Keisuke wasn’t ready to come with you, it would’ve saved him the stress of making a choice for himself. Instead, you were too weak to his puppy dog eyes and wobbly pleas, and now his eyes had started to water as he tried to hold back his own hiccups.
“I promise Shin-nii isn’t angry at you,” you cooed, kneeling down to the floor and looking up at him. When had he gotten this tall? When had he grown this much? Were your efforts enough to shape him into a decent person? “and if you truly don't feel comfortable we can go home, I promise I won’t get angry.”
He rubbed at his teary eyes with his free hand before nodding at you, trailing behind you as you stood up and knocked on the door.
“Hey!” you poked your head into the room with a smile, one that faltered as you tried to keep your mouth from falling open in awe once you noticed how the sunlight streaming from the window kissed every inch of Shinichiro’s skin as he quietly read the book you had given him as a joke. He looked up at you, pearly whites all up for display, and mumbled a soft mumbled a soft ‘hey’ right back at you; he looked so pretty he could be mistaken for an angel. “I brought Keisuke with me, ‘that okay?”
He hummed in response, marking the page he was reading before setting it aside. Even after the events that took place at the shop, you knew he wouldn’t mind your brother visiting—he had a soft spot for him after all. The verbal confirmation was more for Keisuke’s sake, who prompted by it, let go of your hand and walked into the room, a tinge of fear staining each step he took.
Shinichiro grinned, gently waving his way. And though the both of you had always found some sense of comfort in the warmth of his smile, it took less than a second for Keisuke to burst into tears. Sobs wracked his body as he stood frozen in the middle of the room, frantically drying out his cheeks with his forearms in vain. Tears kept pouring from his caramel eyes down to his cheeks until they stained his striped shirt.
At the sight of his distress, Shinichiro tried standing up as quickly as possible, almost ripping off his tangled IV. Thankfully, you managed to stop him before he could; the moment your brother had started crying you were already by his side wrapping your arms around his fragile figure.
Much like you had done the past few days, you combed his hair with your fingers while shushing his cries. It had become almost like a habit, Keisuke running to you in the middle of the day, hugging you close while you dried his tears for him. You’d think he’d ran out of tears by now, but something you didn’t take into account was how similar the two of you were, always feeling everything too much, all at once.
“You’re okay,” you whispered into his hair, “you’re okay, and Shin-nii’s okay, see?” you asked him, holding his tear streaked cheeks and motioning his face to meet your gaze, waiting for his breathing to even out before you coaxed him into looking at Shinichiro. “We’ve got you, the two of us, we've got you.”
He smiled at him once again, though you could see a twinkle of sadness in his eyes, as extended one of his hands for him to take. Warily, he warmed up to the invitation, wiping the remaining tears from his face before dragging his feet to the edge of the bed, asking if he could sit with him in a very un-Keisuke nature; it was unusual for him to ask before acting on his impulses.
Shinichiro softened once he felt Keisuke nuzzling his cheek against his chest. He ran his fingers through his dark locks, and as he did so you couldn’t help but think how his hair kept getting longer and longer with each day; hopefully no one from the school office would call you letting you know it was time to chop it off once classes were back in session.
In between hushed whispers, they talked amongst each other for a while. At first, Baji kept giving one word responses, still insecure in spite of your reassurance, but it wasn’t long before he started to loosen up, giggling between sniffles at Shinichiro’s questions and mocking his ‘honorary-brother’ back with teary jabs.
It was a solid dynamic they had been able to build after years of trust and consistent interaction; your two favourite boys extending their love to each other like they were flesh and blood. In that way, the two of them were similar, fiercely loyal and willing to give themselves up for those they loved. You were grateful that Shinichiro was there for Keisuke as he grew up, unknowingly making up for everything you lacked.
The mumble of your name caught your attention, popping your nostalgia blown bubble. Keisuke and Shinichiro alike were beckoning you over, the latter extending his arm as the two of them scooted over and patted the free space next to him.
He held your hand like you were a princess stepping onto a carriage, gingerly helping you keep your balance as you toed-off your shoes. You let out a sigh once you plopped yourself on the bed, letting his arm curl around your shoulders while he kept your hands interlocked, rubbing the skin with his thumb. In spite of the giddiness warming your stomach, you forced yourself to roll your eyes in response when he teasingly asked if you were comfortable, pretending to be bothered by his apparent clinginess
“‘Your sister made you try the jell-o cups already?” he asked Keisuke, the younger boy looking up at him through puffy eyes and wet lashes, and once he shook his head in response he whistled, turning towards you as if disappointed. “You haven’t made him try ‘em yet?”
“‘Came straight to see you.” You brushed off, pretending you didn’t feel his body tense beside you and smiling to yourself in subtle victory when he gulped.
“You should’ve gone to the cafeteria first.” He scolded jokingly, clicking his tongue as if that would help him hide his blushing cheeks that hurt from his own shy affection. Soon after, he switched his attention to your brother, ruffling his hair before speaking, “Remember those jell-o cups you used to share with Manjiro and Haruchiyo? The ones they sold at the konbini?”
“Yeah, but they don't have ‘em anymore,” Keisuke pouted, brows furrowed in thought. His sharp canines poked at his bottom lip, tilting his head up at Shinichiro and grinning. “Mikey almost fought the cashier guy when we found out they stopped selling them!”
“Yeah, I remembered that.” He chuckled, recalling the time he had heard the employee complain about Manjiro’s sudden aggression on one of his morning milk runs. “But guess what?” he sat on his forearms, dragging out the silence to build anticipation. He waited for the two of you to raise your heads from his chest, sharing an evident impatience as you urged him to continue. He took a deep breath before grinning once again. “They still sell ‘em over here.”
“No way! Really?!” The boy stood up in less than a second, forcing you to grab onto the neck of his t-shirt to prevent him from falling flat on his ass while he cried in glee, tears seemingly forgotten. Those jell-o cups in particular had been a staple of everyone’s childhood; you had been eating those snacks for years and years. You can clearly remember the clear disappointment in his face when he told you they had been discontinued, his somberness rubbing off on you.
“Yeah!” Shinichiro exclaimed back, scooting closer to your brother and placing one of his hands on the bed railing behind your brother, aiding you in your task of preventing Keisuke from falling to the ground. The memory had suddenly made its wake into his consciousness after mulling over ways to comfort your brother and coming up empty handed, until he had suddenly turned to his bedside table where an empty plastic cup sat with a flimsy disposable spoon. “Manjiro and Emma got a bunch from the cafeteria to take home, you could do the same.”
You were almost taken aback by the speed he used to turn his face towards you, surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash before he asked you with as much excitement he could muster, “Can we?! Please, please!?”
His pleading words made his bronze eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights and though you know you shouldn’t, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. You smiled and nodded without a shadow of a doubt that you’d do anything in your power to keep the toothy grin you missed on his lips.
“Does that mean I can go get one now?” He pleaded, tilting his head and yet again putting on display the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. “Please? I haven't had one in years, I wanna know if they’re the same as I remember.”
“Knock yourself out.” Shinichiro said before you could respond, ruffling Keisuke’s hair before the latter jumped down, ignoring the fact you didn’t give him a proper response before running off to the cafeteria.
You sighed unimpressed, turning towards the man beside you and letting yourself slump against his figure. His chuckle only made you roll your eyes.
“What? Were you planning to say no to him?”
He knew you too well for your own good.
“Shut up.” With a gentle push you force him back down on the bed, elbowing him lightly in the process and pressing your head back against his chest. You almost hum in satisfaction when he let himself fall back down without resistance, caving in under your touch. “I could’ve said no.”
“Yeah, right.” This time, he was the one rolling his eyes, mocking your mannerisms and chuckling when you smiled, hoping the apparent ‘nonchalance’ would mask his now increased heart rate, and the faster beating coming from the vital sign monitor.
“I could’ve!” You tried to sit up in retaliation, pretending to be annoyed, yet you didn’t resist when he pulled you back down. He held down his own giggling once he felt you cuddling up closer to his side, tracing random patterns on his dotted hospital gown and realising too late how close both your hands were. The proximity made you nervous; even if the two of you were practically laying one on top of the other, holding hands felt like a foreign act of intimacy.
Subtly enough, you tried reaching out for the tip of his fingers, moving what seemed like less than a millimetre per minute. Soon enough, he took notice of your plan; hesitantly, he moved his own towards you, letting your fingertips rest against each other for a couple of seconds, like he was asking for your permission, before interlocking his fingers with yours.
“You really can’t stay away from me, can you?” he teased, gaze focused on your entwined hands through his lashes as he felt too shy to look anywhere near your face. It seemed that hiding the pink-ish blush staining his cheek had become his number one priority; you were so close, so everywhere, he wouldn’t want it any other way, even if the closest he’d get to you would be through friendly teasing, bordering the line of ‘definitely, a 100% and unmistakably platonic’ flirting.
In your mind, you were desperately scavenging for any semblance of a comeback, preferably witty and with the same energy he was giving you.Instead, all you did was sigh.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
You blamed the gusty confession on a moment of weakness, likely born out of your depleting energy mixed with the way his hand fit against yours like two perfectly carved puzzle pieces. You weren’t sure why you had said what you did, the way you did; voice softening as the longing you had suppressed your whole life coated every syllable that rolled down your tongue.
He hummed in response, giddy and satisfied, before backtracking in confusion. The lack of sarcasm or annoyance lighthearted mockery caught the two of you off-guard, though it seemed to have a bigger impact on him as his body tensed up for a moment. If you were to look up at him, you’d probably see his head tilted to the side, with warm cheeks and the ghost of a frown clouding his features.
And that’s exactly why you don’t.
Not like this; you wouldn't allow yourself to do so, wouldn’t even dare. Not when the stakes were this high, multiple worst outcomes served on a silver platter for you to choose because once you look up at him he would notice the way you see him, like he hung up each individual constellation up in the sky on his own and then all of it would be over for you.
For the both of you.
“Do you, uh,” the slight shake in his voice made you gulp, like you had an inkling of a very possible question he could ask. Maybe this would finally be the end of your friendship which, to your own dismay, could be very easily broken by other things that weren’t death itself, “do you know if Keisuke has talked to Manjiro yet?”
You cleared your throat, holding back the sigh of relief, and shook your head. “I don’t think he knows how.”
“He’s scared?”
“I think so,” you pondered, “they’ve been friends since forever, I think he’s scared of losing…him.”
Knowing that both you and your brother’s situation overlapped in so many ways felt weird; both Baji siblings were scared to lose their respective Sano brothers. It sounded funny, almost cute, like both Bajis and Sanos were meant to stick together generation after generation. You would’ve giggled at the thought, explain the parallels between the two relationships to Shinichiro and laugh at the silliness of it, yet the fear that had taken possession of your body the last couple of days lingered at the thought.
Scared of losing him.
You almost choked on the words sitting heavy in your mouth, like you had confessed to a crime. Had you been alone, maybe they would’ve urged you to cry.
“Hey, ‘you okay?” You hadn’t realised that the worry had bled onto your face, dripping down your cheeks and coating your eyelashes with sorrow until he spoke up, tearing you away from your trance. But you couldn’t help it, the lingering torture you endured at the hands of your brain replaying past events, from the bailing your brother out of jail as he sobbed to having Wakasa answer the call for you, Kazutora crying in your arms and Shinichiro blaming himself for his own accident, the more you felt like losing yourself in his embrace, tightening your hold on his hand. “You left me there for a second I thought–”
“No.”
“What?”
“No, I’m–” you stuttered, “I don’t think I’m okay, I–”
Rejection after rejection, you’ve seen what felt like an infinite amount of his confessions go sideways, and yet he handled each and every one of them with grace. You’d attribute his resilience to the amount of first hand experience he’s had with it, and though at first it had taken a big toll on him. By now, rejection was nothing to him. He could make a fool of himself in front of anyone and he really wouldn’t care; he has told you so himself.
But you were not Shinichiro, and you could never be him.
You were resentful and impulsive, oftentimes reacting way before you think. You were impatient and whiny, though you tried your best to suppress that particular trait to no avail. You were a selfish, self-destructive being that somehow managed to keep the insecure neediness brewing inside on the down low.
And you could go on. You could go on because you were stubborn, volatile, melodramatic and a part of your brain really does think you were just setting yourself up for failure listing every single negative character trait that comes to mind. But it didn’t matter because that just further proves you're not Shinichiro Sano, that you were never going to be Shinichiro Sano because you were weak.
Too weak to answer the call, too weak not to try and escape uncomfortable situations, too weak to hold back the urge for a smoke, too weak to forgive Kazutora, too weak to confess your feelings for your best friend even after bawling your eyes out at the thought of a life without him.
Too weak, too weak, too weak.
Being weak is all you’ve ever known.
The thoughts poured and they wouldn’t stop, crashing against each other like the same bumper carts you rode along with Shinichiro at the funfair with your siblings. Back then, you were all smiles and laughter, and right now you wondered if the two of you would’ve held hands if it wasn’t for Emma sitting in the middle of you both.
And he was so warm next to you, not pressuring you to clarify whatever word-vomit you just spewed instead of a proper comeback. So sweet as he squeezed your hand to let you know he was there to help in whichever way he could to lull your worries to sleep. So kind as he took care of you when you should be the one taking care of him. Always so him.
You had no right to be a coward, at least not in front of one of the strongest and bravest people you’ve ever met. It wasn’t fair. Listing your flaws from the top of your head would never justify your body preventing itself from spilling the truth just so you could try and grasp at the fragile strings of self-pity to sew yourself back together as unspoken words necrotize your tongue.
The same way you wouldn’t dare look at him, you wouldn’t dare stay away from him. It’d kill you just to try. So fuck every martyrish thought in your head, fuck the burned cigarette butts stained with indirect kisses, fuck the many nights the two of you spent stargazing in his garden, the infinite amount of chocolates you bought him for valentine’s day to make up for the emptiness of his locker; and the countless times he had dropped everything he was doing for the chance to spend just a couple of minutes with you. Fuck the worn out red koi fish engraved on your lighter and the possibility of breaking the promise you two made of never straying away from each other.
“I can’t stay away from you,” you took a deep breath, “I think I’d rather die than live a life without you,
“The sole idea of losing you almost sent me over the edge, and even after you were out of surgery I was a mess,” you stopped yourself again, giving yourself the chance to swallow down the knot in your throat; it didn’t work. “I was going insane without being able to talk your ear off because even when I talk about something you couldn’t give a shit about you still give a shit, you give so many shits when it comes to me, too many,
“You’re loyal and gentle and charming and you’re always smiling, and it's like, it's like you're absolutely everything good and even then you genuinely have no idea how wrapped around your finger I truly am,
“And I don't think I’ve ever properly thanked you for existing because I don't think I’d be the same person I am right now if it wasn't for you, and even if I'm not perfect, I- I wouldn't trade myself for a better version if that meant you wouldn’t be in my life.
“So, yeah, I guess you’re right, I don’t think I can,” you let your shoulders sag, like the confession finally burned years upon years of cover-ups and excuses and fake scenarios you had come up with before bed stored in the darkest depth of your brain. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to stay away from you.”
Pensive, he melted further against the pillows, letting his muscles melt at the sound of his own sighing. Even if you weren’t directly looking at him, you hear his smile reverberating throughout his body, and the sole idea of him possibly reciprocating your feelings made you impossibly giddy; a little too giddy. It was easy, after all, to get your hopes up once you lose yourself in him, his warmth and comfort. And for less than a second, you can see your hypothetical future with him pass right in front of your eyes, forcing you to accept a premature victory. But as the silence between the two of you started to drag itself out, you couldn't help but reluctantly welcome the acrid heartbreak tearing through your skin.
“I’m sorry,” you tensed up, “I shouldn’t have–”
“No, no, it's–,” he blurted out tongue tied as if your words had snapped him out of a trance, mirroring the same giddiness you had displayed with the same hint of hesitancy, “no one has talked about me like that, I guess it just caught me off-guard.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, I don’t– don’t think I'd be able to stay away from you either– not that I want to, of course it's just– sorry give me a minute.” Looking off to the side, he tried to collect himself, clearing his throat and pinching his cheeks, the skin already stained with all sorts of shades of pink. For him, it was inevitable not to become all shy and flustered, the least he could do was bite his tongue so as not to break into a fit of giggles, prevent himself from swinging his legs and twirling his short strands of hair like a lovesick middle schooler. All because of you. “Just, um, just to be clear before I look like an absolute fool, not that I don't look like an absolute fool on a daily basis, but this is a confession, right?”
You raised your head up in confusion, tilting your head and furrowing your brows. Had you not been so baffled by his self-explanatory question you would’ve fawned over this version of him, giddy and soft and in love with you because just by looking at his eyes you could tell he was looking at you like you hung the moon up in the sky—it was easy to decipher; after staring at him the exact same way countless times, you were bound to familiarise yourself with such display of devotion. And had he not looked this adorable, you would’ve teased him for being so painfully and hopelessly dense, but you didn’t have it in you to do so, only managing to nod in response.
“So you like like me?” He continued, waiting for your reassurance, either a nod or a smile, or any signal that he was right. “So you are in love with me?”
“I mean, I wouldn't say I'm in love but if that's what makes you sleep at night.” The more you stared at his face, the dimples on his cheeks, the creasing of his eyes at your words and the giggle he couldn’t help but contain, the wider the smile creeping at his lips became.
“Will you say it then?” He prodded, moving closer to you, now unable to hide the twinge of pink that grew what seemed like a thousand shades per second.
“I don’t know,” your legs innocently dangled from the side of the bed, trying to win back control of the situation by cutting down on your proximity, and sitting up properly from your half-lying position, “will I?”
“Please?” he begged, cupping one of your cheeks with the palm of his hand and pulling you closer until you could feel each other's breaths. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm from working non-stop at the shop offset by the tenderness he carried around for you.
And though you wanted to drag this on, enjoying the back and forth, you were so whipped for this man that you couldn’t stop your nonchalant act from crumbling as soon as you heard him once again let out a shy giggle after he nudged your nose with his.
“I love you.”
Voice dreamy and saccharine sweet, like confessing to your lifelong desire, you whispered, and just before your lips touched, through lidded eyes and uneven breath he whispered back ‘and I love you’.
After his own confession, you were unable to pay attention to anything that wasn’t him. All your senses were muted as his soft lips gilded against yours. The taste of the honey chapstick you applied almost compulsively melted against his tongue, and he wondered if like him, you could still faintly taste the strawberry chapstick you had gifted him a while ago; the same one he hadn’t stopped using since, going as far as asking the hospital staff to retrieve it from the pockets of the jeans he was wearing the day of the accident for him.
He bit back a whimper when he felt you bite down gently on his bottom lip, unable to ignore the way you smirk against the kiss once your hand makes its way up to the side of his neck to rest on his pulse point, in the perfect position to feel his heart doing somersaults underneath your touch. It made him want to melt right against you; the more you wandered down his body, the bigger the urge to hold you grew.
His calloused yet delicate fingers traced your skin, running from the apples of your cheeks down to your chin, coaxing you to fully give into him as he traced the tip of his tongue against your lips. He could feel himself grow hard once you gave him permission to enter, basking on the hidden whine you let out at the feeling of the warm muscle enveloping your whole body, drool pooling at the corner of both your lips.
Away from your face, he trails his hands slowly down your torso confidently ghosting the skin before the facade is broken the moment he almost freezes up once he gets to your chest. The blush on his cheeks deepened as you took notice of his apparent nervousness, laughing it off before he continued his path down to your hips,
He was sure he was ready to die right here in your arms the moment you softly suck on his tongue, his eyes almost rolling towards the back of his skull as you hands grazed his clothed dick. The teasing touch made him groan, the vibrations against your lips feeding the urge to get closer to him. And almost like he had read your mind, you shivered at the tight grip of his hips guiding you over lap until you were resting flush against him.
“‘Want you so bad.” He panted in between giggles, nudging your noses together and pecking your lips over and over again. You barely managed to catch your breath between his kisses; when he leaned away you pulled him in, and when you did so he tried to follow the path of your lips until they were once again interlocked with his. The two of you ignored the satisfying burn of your lungs like the feeling of your bodies close against each other was good enough of a replacement for oxygen itself. “–Waited so long for this.”
He pulled you down a little harder against him, bucking his hips against your. Mewling into the kiss, you wrapped both your arms around his shoulders, perhaps taking too much enjoyment in the minimal friction against your core. The sensation of him rutting desperately against you forced you to meet his attempts for more with an equal amount of want.
“You feel so good.” you cooed, whimpering as he sucked at the skin behind your ear. “Shin, Fuck, you’re so good at this.”
Before he could stop himself, he was groaning at the praise, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck and refusing to come back up to meet your lips to hide the raging blush tinting his skin, spreading from his cheeks up to his ears.
“You like that? Like it when I say you're doing a good job?”
He hummed, though it sounded more like a whimper, and waited no time to pull your face back against his, connecting your lips again in a messy kiss, to, presumably, stop you from teasing him. He took the opportunity to indulge himself, once again tracing the outline of your lower lip with his tongue and nipping at the supple skin in retaliation.
In spite of your own reluctance, you broke the kiss first, finding the way he tried to chase your lips with his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, indescribably cute. You took a minute to fully take in this version of him, his breath uneven and with a thin sheen of sweat making some of his black locks stick to his forehead. His lips were puffy, glistening with saliva as they part involuntarily in an enrapturing appetite.
He looked so pretty like this, you didn’t think you’d have it in you to control yourself.
Once you had lowered the sheets covering his legs, one of your thumbs proceeded to draw circular patterns on his exposed thigh, chuckling at the way he flinched before relaxing against you. Gently ghosting your fingernails over his skin, you hiked up his hospital gown until you had full access to the band of his boxers, toying with the elastic but doing nothing aside from that.
“You want to do this here?” He pulled back, eyes wide and dazed with need yet frazzled at your sudden boldness, as if nearly dry humping in a hospital wasn’t bold enough. His hands played with the hem of your shirt, sending shivers down your spine every time his fingers grazed your skin. He looked like a deer caught in headlines, a way cuter version of Bambi, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your nose against his cheek before kissing him gently, once, twice, thrice.
“Only if you want to.”
“I do,” he swallowed, clearing his throat to keep himself lucid as he felt the tips of your fingers breaching the hem of his underwear, cold against the warmth of the covered skin. “Fuck, I really do, I need you s’bad I–”
“You fucking disgust me.”
Like a pair of surprised kittens, the sudden interruption had the two of you jumping away from each other, almost falling off the bed while desperately trying to pull the sheets back into place. In turn Shinichiro tried helping you regain your balance, grabbing your arm before you crashed against the floor, nearly pulling down one of the hospital monitors in the process.
“Don't you know how to knock?” You bit back, taking his comment more personally that you should’ve.
“Didn’t think it’d be necessary.” Wakasa crossed his arms in front of his chest, shifting the lollipop in his mouth from one side of his cheek to the other. Standing beside, Benkei held a teddy bear and a lavender flower arrangement, mixed along with baby’s breaths and eucalyptus. If anyone had to guess, the bewildered expression he sported only meant he’d rather have his friend die than see whatever blasphemous activities you were performing. But then again, he probably expected to see his friend bedridden and weak instead of the free front row tickets to your ‘dry humping a post-concussed Shinichiro’ expectale. “‘Thought the worst thing we’d come across was him sleeping.”
“Why did you think coming across me sleeping d’be the worst case scenario!?” Shinichiro butted in lightheartedly, though you wouldn’t rule out the possibility of him actually being serious. “Are you saying I look ugly when I sleep?”
“No, you dumbass,” Wakasa deadpanned; even with his usual unbothered facade you could tell he was grateful for the ordinary banter, questioning his stupidity with a hidden smile. “How’re we gonna talk to you if you’re asleep.”
“Wait, what happened? I didn't see,” Takeomi joined in, panting as he held a couple of balloons that had ‘it's a boy!’ written all over them. “These two assholes left me while I was getting something to eat.”
The two of you groaned at the sound of his voice, pressing the heels of your hands against while Shinichiro hid his eyes behind his forearm. Even if you wanted to be lowkey about the whole situation, sweep it under the rug to avoid facing the embarrassment over again, you knew you wouldn't be able to hide it from anyone, not even Takeomi, and he wasn’t the brightest.
Shinichiro’s hair was a tousled mess and his skin was dusted pink. Both of your lips were puffy, glistening under the fluorescent lights, and your breathing was uneven still. No matter how much the two of you tried to regulate it back to normal, it seemed to follow the rapid rhythm of each other’s heart beat.
“Nothing happened.” You grumbled, willing to attempt a lousy cover up in spite of your friend’s, including Shinichiro, giggling. Once he found out, it would be impossible for him to let it go. But even so, it took a lot of effort not to join in your friends’ laughter; it was funny to fuck with him—not literally—his puzzled frown as he borderline begged for someone to let him only feeding in your teasing. Still, once he found out. “We were just talking.”
“Yeah, talking about fuck–”
“Wakasa!” “Dude!”
The two of you exclaimed as the blond tilted his head to the side, making his earring jingle. A teasing smile stretched on his lips as the four of you waited for Takeomi to process what was just mentioned. Knowing the speed in which the neurons within his brain transported information, it’d take a little while.
To everyone’s surprise, it only took him a couple of seconds to do so. You could visibly see it in his expression, morphing into one of amazement the minute realisation hit him straight in the face
“Did’ya– No way, you finally fucked?” And though his lack of decorum made the two men beside him laugh louder and the two of you groan as if to muffle his voice, he paid your reaction no mind other than using it as an affirmative response to his question. “No way, congrats dude! Who would’ve thought you needed to almost die just to lose your virginity.”
“I hate you so much.” Shinichiro playfully complained, a stupid grin threatening to make its way onto his lips disproving his claim. Seeing his four best friends standing around him right after waking up from what could’ve been a tragic accident made him feel all sorts of things he found himself unable to explain. It almost made him want to cry once again—happy tears this time.
“Anyway, now that you’ve got someone to stay with,” you changed the topic, interrupting yourself to fix the stray hairs sitting on top of Shinichiro’s head before caressing his cheek with your thumb, “I’ll go check whatever Keisuke’s doing, I‘ll be back in a sec.”
“Wait no, don’t go…” You had to resist the urge to give him another quick peck at the way he dragged out the ‘go’, and instead, grabbed your phone from his bedside table to respond to the missed messages coming from your mom. “Don’t leave me with these people.”
“Very funny Shitty-chiro.” Takeomi fake laughed, letting himself fall on one of the chairs nearby, stretching his arms before fully slumping against the backrest and looking at you. “But’s fine, I left Haruchiyo in charge, Senju’s with them as well.”
“Well that doesn't make things any better, does it.” At your snapping voice, he raised his hands up in surrender, as if the idea of letting a 13 year-old in charge of two 12 year-olds didn't have multiple flaws. Doing a 180° turn, you turned towards Shinichiro, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be quick, promise.”
“Wait, before you go,” Wakasa interrupted, stopping you from slinging your bag over your shoulder. He took the bright red candy out of his mouth with a pop, using it as a little wand to emphasise his speech, before he continued. “Who confessed first?”
“Yeah!” Takeomi sat at the end of his seat, gaze switching from Shinichiro to you and vice versa. “How did Shinichiro confess to ya’?”
Again, faster than the usual processing speed of his cognitive skills, he managed to string the hints together, gasping at the silence that settled between the two of you as you tried to silently decide who should say what. Shinichiro opened his mouth like a fish, as if trying to come up with something to appease his friend’s reaction before giving up and averting his eyes, pointing at you with his thumb.
Wakasa’s smirk only grew the more Takeomi seemed to sink back into the chair in dejection. “‘gotta pay up Omi-omi.”
The ruffling of bills and the complaints birthed out of the apparent loser’s mouth distracted you momentarily. You were about to laugh at the scene in front of you, two of them waiting with their hands stretched out as Takeomi reluctantly placed the wrong amount in his palm, grunting when Wakasa noticed it wasn’t the amount they had agreed on, before it clicked in your head.
“Pay up,” you mumbled to yourself, “Pay up, pay up? Wait, did you three bet on us?”
“Kinda,” Benkei sent you a reassuring smile, counting the hundred yen bills that were handed to him once again; when it came to money matters, Takeomi wasn’t someone you could trust. “We bet on who’d confess first.”
“And you didn’t bet on me?!” Shinchiro exclaimed, a little louder than he intended.
“Sorry man, ‘didn't have faith in you,” Wakasa folded the five crinkled bills in half before stashing them in his back pocket. “After your failed attempt I kinda accepted you weren’t going to win, Benkei was always betting against you, though.”
“But ‘ya admit it!” Takeomi jumped from his seat, waving his now empty wallet in the air like he was fencing with the worn out leather rectangle. “He did confess first!”
“Hell no, it only counts if it was a successful confession.”
“So the bet wouldn’t count if one of them got rejected? What's the point then!”
Wakasa groaned, pressing his temples with his thumb and middle finger, “It only counts if the two of them understand whatever was done was a confession.”
“But the lighter was him confessing!”
“Takeomi, that was the vaguest confession to ever be seen by the entirety of mankind.”
“What confession are you talking about…?” You interrupted the animated discourse with a question. In spite of enjoying the banter between your friends, you remained in the dark. Shinichiro had never confessed to you, or even remotely tried to do so. You were a hundred percent certain, after all, had he done so you were sure you’d be dating by now.
“The lighter you always carry around,” Takeomi responded, “the fish one.”
Instinctively, you patted the pocket where your zippo lighter sat, carefully trailing your thumb lightly over the red imprints as you pulled it out. It looked almost exactly the same way as it did during the summer festival. The only difference, aside from the way the metal reflected the cold hospital lights instead of fireworks and paper lanterns, were the couple of dents on the metal and the previously well-defined engraving softening over the years.
“S‘not just a fish,” Shinichiro chuckled, letting himself fall back on the bed while hiding his flustered state behind a seemingly lame explanation. At this rate, he was sure his skin could be permanently stained a pinkish-red. “It's a red koi fish.”
“Wait,” you snapped your head from the lighter to him, letting your mouth fall open in surprise, “you, you meant that?”
“What do you…mean?” Shinichiro poked, voice twisting and forcing the ‘mean’ to come out strained. Watching your shoulders tense up and, somehow, simultaneously relaxed made him wary of the whole situation, like the universe itself was playing a prank on him. And though unlikely, he wasn't ruling out the possibility of random cameras popping up from behind the door or through the window or maybe from underneath his bed with a huge poster reading ‘you’ve been pranked!’.
He had given you that lighter seven years ago, the engravings were probably faded by now, there was no way…
“Red koi fish mean romantic love, don’t they?”
It took him a couple of seconds to properly run your words through his brain, before his eyes widened in amusement mixed with the mild disappointment his seventeen year-old-self had forced himself to ignore after his confession had gone wrong. “You knew!?”
“Uh…yeah? We learned that in literature class.” You shrugged with a sheepish smile in an attempt to tame down the laughter that had started bubbling in your throat at his mortified reaction. He groaned at your response, throwing one of his arms over his eyes, the sound mixing with a cry as the movement pulled on the IV digging into his arm.
He licked his lips a couple of times and rubbed the skin above the needle in an attempt to soothe the ache. Stalling, he was trying to buy time before he asked anything that could potentially hurt him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Aside from flustered and pouty, slightly amused at his own failed attempt, he appeared to be a little sullen, perhaps even sad. It was obvious to you, though you didn’t know why; maybe he was blaming himself for losing the opportunity to get in a relationship with you way earlier. Or, maybe he blamed himself for putting any sort of pressure on you; back then, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure how you felt about him, so maybe you had purposely ignored his advances because you didn't want him. But that couldn’t be it, could it? Less than a couple of minutes ago the two of you were confessing your love for each other, so if that were to be the case, when did your feelings for him start to change? “Did, uh, did you not like me back then?”
Looking at his hopeful yet gloomy expectant features, he appeared so small and vulnerable in front of you, you wanted to give him a hug. The question had visibly caught you off-guard, your brows furrowing as soon as he was done talking. Who would’ve thought that a seemingly innocuous event from your past would come back transformed into an apparent irrational insecurity. It prompted yet another silence upon the two of you. And though it felt eternal, it lasted only a couple of milliseconds, interrupted by both your annoyance and Takeomi munching on the chips he bought at an inflated price on one of the hospital’s vending machines.
“Do you mind?” You turned towards the obnoxious mistake you had chosen as a friend, snickering as he shrugged in questionable indifference, mumbling a muffled ‘go on’ before motioning you two to continue with a shake of his hand. But at the lack of positive feedback from anyone in the room he stopped himself to explain.
“What? It’s like watching a live romcom,” he shoved more chips into his mouth, “The ones we watch every friday, ‘ya know what I mean?”
“Okay,” Benkei clapped both his hands together, gathering everyone’s attention before he pulled Takeomi into a standing position and pushed both him and an amused Wakasa towards the door. “Seems like all of us are hungry, we’re heading to the cafeteria real quick, we’ll send Baji back up when we’re done, sounds good?”
“Sounds good, thanks, Benkei.” You smiled at him, watching the three of them leave and sighing in satisfaction when you saw the way the gentle-giant punched Takeomi’s arm once they were far enough for his complaints to appear silent. “But to answer your question,” you turned towards Shinichiro once again, sitting at the edge of the bed and resting your hand on top of his. You could see the way he visibly relaxed against your touch, the warmth of your skin coaxing his insecurities away little by little. “I did like you very much back then, too much for it to be considered healthy, I'm pretty sure…”
“Why didn’t you say anything then?”
“Well, I, you know,” you stumbled over your words, suddenly feeling the embarrassment for your younger self was all over you. Why didn’t you say anything? Well, in hindsight, you didn’t think Shinchiro had it in him to use a literary reference as a means of confession. Not because he was stupid, that was Takeomi's role, but because it was very un-Shinichiro. You had been witness to the countless failed confession attempts and nothing included anything as subtle and detailed as the lighter he had gifted you. Back then, he professed his brimming infatuation with an honest smile, the well-rehearsed question ‘would you go out with me?’ and absolutely nothing else. And though the ‘courting’ period included him acting all whipped and soft, he was usually very blunt when it came to asking people out, gentle but direct.
Although, thinking about it a little bit more in depth, he had always been very romantic, sometimes cringy with the shitty pick up lines, but during movie nights he had always chosen movies with clear romantic subplots, and you can recall that one romance poetry book he kept borrowing from the library, unable to finish it before returning it—at least that’s what you thought, by the amount of times he had taken it home.
When you were both in middle school and high school, he would watch couples holding hands with a gentle smile, sometimes going as far as spacing out and letting a dreamy sigh fall from his lips—he always brushed off the person asking the reason behind his sighing, but you were paying attention to him more often than not, so of course you knew—and of course, you couldn’t forget the many times he had shared hypothetical scenarios with the four of you, most of them consisting of him fantasising out loud the sort of dates he’d like to have with his hypothetical s/o or what he would do for them before being relentlessly teased by all of you.
So, in retrospect, him trying to confess through a pretty much evident symbol extracted from one of your favourite books was a very un-Shinichiro, Shinichiro thing to do, if that made any sense.
“I think…I might’ve gaslit myself into believing it was a coincidence, didn't wanna get my hopes up.”
“I thought, I– I thought it was pretty obvious that I liked you.” He chuckled, scooting to the side in order to make more space for you to lay, next to him, the same you had done most of the days you had spent here. “Everybody knew I did.”
“Wait, really? I thought you were being friendly!” You let out a laugh, watching him soften up even more at your obliviousness and simultaneously hold back laughter of his own. “Don’t laugh at me! You were flirtier with Wakasa than with me!”
“You can’t blame me!” He finally laughed along with you, interlocking your fingers together and pulling you close until you were squished next to him, and waited for you to get comfortable before continuing his spiel. “Waka’s my best friend, we’ve always been like that, and you know it.” He nuzzled his cheek against your head, muttering the words in the quietest way possible, like he didn’t want to be heard by anyone but you. “Plus I couldn't flirt with you, I'd blush and cry afterwards.”
“Yeah, I’d’ve cried if you flirted with me as well.”
“Hey!”
“I mean it in a good way! Happy tears or whatever.” You sighed with a giddy grin, caressing his cheeks with the back of your hand before smushing them together, forcing a pout and giving him a quick peck on the lips. “I promise I’ll forever be in love with you.”
© 2023 SHINACHIRO ; Do not repost my work. Do not recommend my work outside of tumblr. Do not translate my work. affiliated with @tokyometronetwork
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after the game - wooyoung x fem!reader (18+)
⚾️ pairing: wooyoung x fem!reader
⚾️ warnings: pure smut (18+), no plot lmao, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, housewife kink, explicit language, gentle dom vibes, hint of sub reader, not proofread 👀
⚾️ summary: after seeing his wife interact with the kids at the baseball game, wooyoung wants one of his own.
⚾️ a/n: still trying out the lowercase text! this is puuuuure smut with no plot, so i hope you guys are okay with that lmao. also, i am madly in love with wooyoung and that baseball game did not help 😮💨
my masterlist
This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!
it all started with a baseball game.
now, wooyoung’s black jersey and pants are strewn on your bedroom floor, along with your sundress and thong. the pair of you barely made it to the bedroom, bodies intertwined as soon as you got home.
he’s still slightly sweaty from the heat, refusing to shower until he’s had his fill of you. he’s been hard for hours, and he’s not stopping until you both get your fix.
all you can do now is pant beneath him, his thick cock stretching you to the brink. the fringe of his grown-out hair hangs over his hooded eyes, which are focused on your sopping cunt.
he bites his lip at the sight, fascinated by your wetness coating his shaft. your steady moans keep him going, like music to his ears.
“that feel good, baby?” he teases, pushing further into you, knowing that you’re on cloud 9. you can feel every ridge of his cock, the closeness sending a shudder down your spine.
“sh-, shit, yes,” you huff, “feels so good, woo,” you whine, lifting up to meet his lips.
it’s sloppy and wet, both of you focused on the intense pleasure. the way his tongue delves into your mouth makes your pussy even wetter. he’s like a starved man, ravaging your body for whatever you can give him.
“fuck, this pussy is so damn tight,” he groans, breaking the kiss. the sight of him wetting his fingers makes your eyes roll back. when he starts rubbing tight circles on your clit, you know you won’t be able to hold back for long.
“uh, woo, please,” you whine, unsure of what you’re actually asking for. you’re so close, but you don’t want this to end. he lets out a cocky laugh, carrying above the slick sounds of his sharp thrusts.
“i know, baby, i know.” he slows down a bit, making sure you feel all of him. he loves the way your face contorts, getting off on your pleasure.
“h-harder, please,” you beg, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. you moan out when he leans down, slower thrusts allowing him to grind against your clit.
you let out a gasp, hands suddenly pinned to the mattress beneath you. he’s staring at you intently, wanting to see the moment you fall apart.
“look at me when i’m fucking you.” his serious tone makes your pussy throb. when you meet his eyes, you’re enthralled by his beauty.
his tanned cheeks are flushed, brows furrowed in concentration. his full bottom lip is between his teeth, another sign of the harsh way he drills into your pussy. a warm shiver spreads over your body, further turned on by the hungry look in his eyes.
“there’s my pretty girl,” he hums, love-filled smile briefly breaking through his dominant demeanor. you whine when he pulls his cock out, sitting up to find out why he stopped.
you sweep your eyes over his body, appreciating the beauty of your husband. his lean body before you, muscular thighs bent at the knee, sitting back on his heels.
his veiny hand grips the base of his cock, tapping it on your clit. he makes a show off stroking himself, loving the way to stare at him. your thighs quiver, the sight of him making your pussy clench around nothing.
he pants, rolling his head back at the way your wetness clings to his tip. each tap of his sensitive head against your clit drives him wild.
“woo, please,” your voice cuts through to him, breaking his trance. with one last drag from your clit to your opening, he nestles his cock into you, the squelch filling the quiet of your bedroom.
“fuck, gonna cum soon,” he grunts, his thighs slapping against your thick ones.
“me too,” you squeal, feeling more of your wetness leak onto his hard cock. lifting up, you trace your tongue along the vein in his neck, the sensation making his cock jump inside of you.
“gonna cum in this pussy, make you a proper housewife,” your eyes roll back at his words, excited by the mention of his breeding kink.
“y-yes, please,” you squeal, bringing your hips up, matching the pace of his thrusts.
“want me to fill you up?” he huffs, pinning your wrists again. “maybe i should just cum in this pussy and get you pregnant, hm?”
“f-fuck woo! i’m cumming!” you squeal, eyes shutting at the immense pleasure. he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, rolling his hips into your clit, prolonging your pleasure.
“that’s right baby, cum for daddy,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy at the sight of your fucked out expression. your pussy feels even wetter around him, the lewd noise pushing him further to the edge. your hand comes up to tweak his nipple, before running your manicured nails down his abs.
“you look so pretty for me, woo,” you hum, turning your head to press a kiss to his flexed arm.
“shit, i’m close,” he whines, hips losing their rhythm. you wrap your arms around his neck, meeting him with a sweet kiss before you pull away.
“wanna feel you cum inside me, woo,” you purr, looking up at him with doe eyes. “wanna feel you in me all night,” you look straight into his eyes, already seeing his orgasm wash over him.
“fuuuuuuuck,” he pants, warm spurts of cum flooding your wrecked pussy. you soothe him during his orgasm, stroking every part of him you can get your hands on.
when you’ve both come down, wooyoung is quick to hop up, much to your dismay.
“wooooooo,” you whine out, missing his warmth already.
“i know, baby, it’s okay,” he coos, running into the bathroom to grab a washcloth for you. when he comes back, he’s very gentle, carefully cleaning your sensitive folds. he finishes off with a soft kiss to your thigh, finally taking his place beside you again.
he pulls you into him, your sweaty bodies cuddled together beneath the sheets. your little yawn makes him chuckle, heart full of love at your cuteness.
“did i tire my baby out?” he teases, lifting your chin so he can see those pretty brown eyes. your smile is bashful, always feeling a little shy after a particularly strong orgasm. he smothers you kisses, unable to contain his love for you.
“speaking of babies,” you murmur, now causing a blush to spread across his face. “hello, mr. breeding kink,” you tease him, having fun with his embarrassment.
“you just looked so sweet today with all the kids. it made me start thinking about our future kids,” he confesses, tracing his finger along your cheek. you feel your heart skip at his confession, trying to fight back the sudden tears in your eyes.
“jagi, what’s wrong?” he hums, brows furrowing at your tears. he’s afraid for a second, hoping his confession hasn’t made you uncomfortable.
“nothing baby, i was thinking the same thing today,” you pout, so in love with the man in front of you.
you share a kiss so sweet it almost makes your heart burst. wooyoung’s lips are soft against yours, setting a slow pace. you both savor the feeling, never tiring of sharing your affection.
you’re both breathless when you pull away, giggling under the sheets like teenagers.
“so, maybe we should keep practicing,” he smirks, covering your body with his own. it’ll be a while until the both of you leave the bedroom again.
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i keep you clean; you surrounded me
in which husband!spencer reid spirals after realizing he can't be your daughter's hero forever.
angst, fluff warnings/tags: this fic is about spencer's past addiction, and how he's afraid it will impact his relationship with his daughter, conversation about alcohol, this is a fix-it fic for my life, ends on a hopeful/positive note, lots of self-loathing from Spencer, uses the phrase "shooting up", PLEASE do not read if this is going to upset you!! PLEASE!! fem!reader a/n: this felt healing in a way for me but that might not be your experience reading if you also have issues with a parent with addiction so please tread lightly and make the right choices for you. CHOOSE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH OVER MY DUMB FANFIC I CAN'T STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! and ily
“Daddy?”
Ada’s not asking for you, but you look to her anyway. She’s squeezed between you and Spencer on Rossi’s swing, and her cheeks are still feverish—remnants of a recent and rather hysterical fit of giggles. She has a glass of lemonade between her little hands (you’re trusting her with a big girl cup, if only because it’s not your glass or your house) and she peers into it intently. Her little grass-stained feet kick. Spencer pushes the swing back ever so slightly, for her entertainment.
“Huh?”
She holds her glass up for him.
“Our drinks are the same color.”
“They are,” he nods. “Do you like yellow?”
Ada shrugs. It’s exaggerated—one of her favorite moves as of late. “It’s okay.”
Spencer glances at you like he always does when he sees glimpses of you in your child, eyes sparkling as if her opinionated and bluntly honest nature is in any way reminiscent of you.
“Yeah, I agree. Yellow is just okay.”
She leans against him and he’s quick to accommodate her, affectionately brushing his knuckles over your bare shoulder as he slings his arm across the back of the swing.
“Daddy?”
“What, lovebug?”
You smile, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. The sun is warm on your face.
“Mommy’s drink is red.”
Nothing gets past her. Rossi had pushed the drink into your hand almost the second you stepped through the door, insisting it would go well with lunch. It sits otherwise untouched on the glass table.
Spencer hums. The swing rocks gently.
“That’s because she’s not having lemonade like us. She’s having a grownup drink.”
“Oh.”
You think that’s the end of it, that she’s satisfied with the answer, until another moment passes, and her voice, sweet as the tinkle of little fairy bells, is posing a very loaded question.
“Why don’t you ever have grownup drinks? Me and you always have the same.”
Spencer’s already looking at you, brows drawn as you sit up. Your eyes, open now, go wide, and you shake your head slightly to signal you have no idea how he’s supposed to respond either.
His hand goes to Ada’s hair, gently scratching her scalp as his eyes dart over your face. You can see the gears turning in his head. This is one of very few things he clearly didn’t read about in any of the literature on raising kids when you were pregnant.
“I… some people don’t like grownup drinks.”
It’s an inadequate answer, especially coming from Spencer—just this morning he explained to Ada why the sky is blue. Rayleigh scattering. Blue light scatters more than any other kind of light. Which then led to an impromptu lesson on oxygen molecules and other basic chemistry in the car on the way here.
So there are standards.
“Why not?”
You interrupt, unable to watch Spencer flounder any longer. “Ada, why don’t you go see what Henry and JJ and Uncle Dave are doing? That looks fun, right?”
You gesture down the yard to where JJ and Rossi are teaching Henry to play cornhole.
She looks at you with big brown eyes—the set of them, the color—those are all Spencer.
“Can you and daddy come?”
You straighten out her dress and take the half-full glass from her little hands, setting it next to your own on the table.
“In a minute. Go ahead.”
Spencer’s hand slips from her hair as she pushes off the swing and bounds down the yard. You make sure she arrives to her destination without incident, before scooting closer to your husband and taking his vacant hand.
“Spence?” You ask quietly, leaning in to try and insert yourself into his eye line. He doesn’t look away from Ada.
“That was bad.”
“It wasn’t. She doesn’t understand. It’s fine.”
“I didn’t—”
He looks down, lips pressed together, and your heart twists and drops like overripe fruit from the vine as you realize his eyes have glossed over.
“Baby,” you whisper, relinquishing his hand only so you can rub his back. Your other finds his knee, drawing as close as you possibly can. “It’s okay.”
“How am I supposed to explain it to her?”
A tear falls, making a dark splotch on the fabric of his pants.
“You don’t have to. She’s only five. I guarantee she’s already forgotten all about it.”
“I will. I’ll have to tell her one day. She thinks I’m perfect, how am I supposed to—”
He stops himself, voice tightening to a halt. You watch him hold back a cry like you haven’t seen in years. It’s an old, familiar ache for you. You can’t imagine how it feels for him.
“Spencer,” you coo. “She adores you. She loves you so much. That’s never going to change.”
His nose twitches.
“I’m going to disappoint her.”
“How? How are you going to disappoint her?”
“I think it’s pretty disappointing to find out your dad is a junkie.”
His tone isn’t particularly harsh but the words are like a slap anyway.
“Spencer…” For a moment you don’t know what else to say. It’s not a secret that he’s ashamed of that chapter in his life, but you had no idea he was contending with this much self-loathing over it, even after all this time. It seems like such a distant point in the rearview mirror that the two of you almost never need to talk about it anymore. “You are not a junkie. It’s been, what—a decade?”
“I don’t want to have to tell her what drugs are, let alone that I... she thinks I’m the smartest guy in the world, and one day I’ll have to tell her that drugs are extremely dangerous, and I was shooting up for four months anyway. No matter how I try to explain it to her the ultimate takeaway is going to be that I’m weak and I wasn’t smart enough and she’s never, ever going to forget that. How am I supposed to—I can’t be a role model for her. I fucked up so badly.”
Your chest aches, somewhere deep and hollow, as he leans forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, only for a moment—before Ada shrieks and his head snaps back up. Henry is chasing her with a worm. Spencer watches on, tears still leaking from his eyes and expression otherwise neutral. It’s bittersweet to hear him express such deep insecurity about the thing he’s best at in the world, even as those parental instincts kick in and he’s setting aside his own feelings to keep an eye on her. He’s never trusted himself. He’s never seen himself the way you do.
“Baby, you are her dad and she loves you. Her love for you is not contingent on your past. You are so, so good to her. That’s all she knows, okay? She doesn’t care what you were doing when you were 25. She cares about whether you’ll be home for dinner, and if you’ll play dolls with her, and if you’ll tuck her in. That’s all she needs to love you.”
JJ wrangles the kids and after a moment Spencer looks down again, brow furrowed deeply as drops like rain dot his lap, but he hardly makes a sound. You lay your cheek on his shoulder. “And until she’s old enough for the whole story, which involves a lot more violence than I am comfortable with her being subjected to right now, you don’t need to explain it to her. You have time.”
“She wants to know now.”
“She also wants icecream for every meal. But I can’t make her understand why that’s a bad idea. What she wants and what she needs and what she is capable of understanding are all different categories. I know you love answering all her questions, and you’re a really good teacher, but you can’t make her understand something as complex as addiction.”
Spencer sniffs.
“Developmentally she’s only really capable of understanding the world as it exists in relation to herself.”
“Exactly. So give her some time, and give yourself some time.”
“What if she asks again?”
“Then… you say you don’t like how it makes you feel. And tell her to clean up her toys. Condition her to stop asking.”
Spencer stumbles over a teary laugh he hadn’t been expecting. You sit up straight, holding his face between your hands and encouraging him to look at you. His cheeks shine with tears, but you wipe them away tenderly.
“You’re perfect to her,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to one cheek, “and you’re perfect to me.” He cups your elbow as you kiss the other and looks at you with so much sheer adoration you could get all choked up, too.
“Wow,” he sniffles, and takes a deep breath, pulling you into him, “I don’t deserve you.”
“Of course you do,” you mumble into his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as he presses three kisses to the curve of your neck where he’s buried his face.
“I could be canonized as a saint and not deserve you.”
Sainthood. You ponder that.
Saints have to live virtuously. They also have to be dead.
You hold him a little tighter. You like him exactly how he is: technically imperfect. Probably not getting into heaven. Still venerable. Very much heroic. Alive, and with you.
“I’m really glad you’re not a saint.”
He chuckles. His hand slides up your back, and then side to side—a path it’s made time and time again which has only ever led you to wonderful, perfect places.
“Me too.”
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BITE IT, LICK IT, SPIT IT – 최산
synopsis . in which san discovers a new fetish while you ride him.
pairing . choi san & fem! reader
genre . smut (mdni!), established relationship, non idol!au, married!au.
taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle @vampzity @iykyunho @yyaurii | apply to join my taglist ♡
word count . 0,7k
DISCLAIMER! dom! san, sub! reader, sort of lactation (milk involved but not specifically sucking it from the source), nipple play, cow girl position, bulge kink, mocking, dirty talk, praise, pet names (baby, princess), too many moans and mewls, dacryphilia, basically san fucking the daylights out of reader (even though reader’s on top of him)
NIC’S NOTES yess, the title is based on billie’s lyric on “guess” how’d you know? <3 ;; also, i hate not having the time to write full-length stories so badly TT gotta survive with these little drabbles. so well, enjoy the meal babes !!
“put your back into it, yeah?”
his growl tingled your ear, hands reaching for his wide shoulders for support. you bounced up and down his length relentlessly, with no hesitation, no mercy. his hands found home in your hips which worked perfectly hard, fingers varying between lingering, fond touches and harsh grips on your flesh. your walls enveloped his cock in the most welcoming way, pulsating around him, giving him a taste of heaven.
“s-shut up,” your breathless whisper brushed his earlobe. “it’s hard when your husband has a fucking huge dick—“ you could almost continue your words. a strangled, loud moan intruding into your whiny complaint as he flattened his palm against your ass flesh, the sound of the harsh spank bouncing through the walls.
“just shut up and take it, baby.” he cooed at you mockingly, his recent action belying his honey-dripping voice, his lips finding their way up to your neck. cute love bites were spread all over the skin. “can’t be too hard now can it?”
your eyelashes swung the tears away by blinking once or twice, exhilarating pants rolled off your lips as beads of sweat were attached to your temple. you dropped your head back from the overwhelming feeling. eventually —when he grew far too impatient— he matched your pace, thrusting upwards and, therefore, reaching divine places.
“can’t do anything without my help.” his right found your bouncing breast and trapped it with his palm, his fingers immediately digging into the soft, almost pillowy flesh. “poor little princess.” he teased your nipple a little, sending to another wave of satisfaction as you melted into his touch. soon, a strange white liquid began to ooze out of the slit, resulting in san’s jaw dropping all the way down the floor, eyes wide open and dilated as he stared intently at the white essence, longing to get a taste of it oh-so-badly. the combination of his wife’s leaking tits bouncing right in front of him as his cock ramming into her insides formed a perfectly defined bulge was a sight for sore eyes. and he had the absolute pride to call it his, and only his to admire, to touch, to pleasure.
but you still were working hard on his dick, his hips still going up and down and providing him and you the most satisfying session. it wasn’t until you heard your husband speak that you realized what he was so immersed in. “fuck you’re leaking.”
“what do you mean—“ you questioned immediately and when you stared down at your sweaty body, your orbs twitched at the sight of your abdomen covered with drops of warm milk and san seemly falling in love with it. “oh my.”
you couldn’t understand why it happened right there and then, a swell of bashfulness drowning your senses and immediately stopping your movements to search for a towel or something to clean yourself up. but san paused your actions.
“what are you doing?”
“i’m sorry i’m just—looking for..” your sentence came out as fast as lightning and in parts, since you cut your words to reach for the nearest piece of fabric.
“i literally got you all covered with my cum yesterday and now you’re shy because of some milk drops?” he stated, leaving you frozen in your place. a strong blush inking your cheekbones cutely. he lifted your hips up a bit to immediately restart the game you left pending, his hard cock finding your tight, inviting hole. once again. where it belongs.
your immediate reaction was to scream, holding onto his abs to keep yourself from falling. the fast, restless pace your husband adopted pulled breathless gasps out of you, the loop of san’s name falling off your swollen lips like a mantra. his right hand abandoned your stuttering hip to meet your milk-covered nipple again, stimulating it by rubbing and pinching it. more essence and mewls poured out of you, walls compressing and pulsating frenetically around his cock as they swallowed the entire length almost sinfully. you were crying on his dick in less than a minute.
he chuckled, admiring the view. “what a shameless wife i have.”
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Destined To Be A Girl Dad
Genre: Romance, Comedy, Cute, Fluff
Pairing: San x Reader (y/n)
Characters: Mom!Reader, Dad!San, Daughter (Choi Haeun)
Summary: When San found out you were pregnant with a girl, he could not be happier. You knew that she'll have him wrapped around her tiny finger but he'll gladly be a fool for his princess. And from the moment she was born, he prove it to be true.
Word count: 8K
Warning(s): Mentions of bodily fluids, giving birth, medical procedures, postpartum hemorrhage, (y/n)'s very stressed, scared, anxious and overwhelmed.
[A/N: This is a little 'flashback' chapter to when Haeun was born. I came across a lot of parents showing their newborn daughter and the dad's reactions just reminded me of San so much.]
San was rudely woken up by the sunlight that was streaming in through the gap in the curtains. Before he could even wake his brain, he got out of bed and went to close the curtains. He turned to make sure the sun wasn't bothering you. Thankfully, you were still fast asleep, unbothered by the sun.
"I love you." He leaned over to kiss your head, eyes scanning you to make sure you were comfortable and okay.
"San, I'm fine." You mumbled into your pillow, having felt his gaze on you despite being asleep. San chuckled, pressing his forehead against your temple lovingly.
"Just wanted to make sure you're comfy and safe, baby." He kissed your cheek.
"I'm the size of a whale, I don't even know what it's like to be comfortable anymore." You groaned.
"Don't say that about my princess. She's perfect, you're perfect." He laid down beside you, letting your rest your head on his arm. It was the best was to have you close to him since your belly was in the way.
"At this point, I just want my water to break already." You sighed in slight frustration.
"She'll come when she's ready. I know it's hard, baby. I'm sorry." He pouted, rubbing your arm.
"Want me to massage your feet or get you something?" He offered. With you going to give birth soon, your ankles have been swelling and bothering you so San has been very kind in giving you foot rubs whenever he can.
"No, can you just hold me?" You asked.
"Of course I can do that." San let you move on your own at your own pace to get yourself comfortable. You tilted your body so you could press your face against his chest.
"This should make you more relaxed." San whispered, reaching up to massage the back of your neck and shoulders.
"That feels good. You take such good care of us and she isn't even here yet." You melted into his touch.
"She's not born yet but she's here, she's a part of you. And I'll always take care of you and princess." San chuckled. With the massage and the sound of San's heartbeat, you slowly fell back asleep again.
"Sleep well." He stroked your hair.
Since you were due soon, San had taken some time off work. He still did his practices but there was less travelling just in case you went into labour.
Another thing is that ever since your pregnancy started, San has become a very light sleeper. He was always hyper vigilant and aware of your movements. Not that you wanted him to help you 24/7, he was just worried, he couldn't help it. So when he felt you stir and struggle to sit up, he opened his eyes.
"What do you need, baby?" San asked, sitting up just as you managed to stand on your feet and get out of bed.
"I'm just going to get more water, my bottle is empty. Go back to sleep, Sannie. I can manage it on my own." You giggled and put on your house slippers.
"I can get it for you, baby. I should have filled up your bottle for you before going to bed." He said.
"San, it's really okay. I can get my own water. And you did fill up my bottle, I just drank it all." You assured with a soft smile.
"Okay, call me if you need help." San told you. You hummed and left your shared bedroom to go to the kitchen. He didn't go back to sleep, he just sat there, waiting for a bit before going to help you.
"Sannie, do you want coffee?" You asked.
"I'm good, baby. I want you back in bed with me." He replied. He could hear you laughing.
CLANG!
"Baby!" San shot out of bed and rushed to the kitchen. You were standing there, the glass of water that was in your hand was shattered on the ground. You winced, knees starting to wobble as you held your back.
"Sorry." You groaned amidst the pain that you were in. Now San was worried you hurt yourself.
"It's okay, it's okay. Come. Careful." Holding both your hands in his, San guided you over the broken glass. He was grateful you were wearing the slippers Seonghwa bought you.
"Did the glass get you?" He sat you down and checked you, looking for any signs that you were cut from the glass.
"No, it hurts." You held your back.
"Braxton Hicks?" He bent down in front of you, helping you to rub your back. San knew that you have been having Braxton Hicks since you were going into labour soon.
"No, Sannie. I think it's real. The Braxton Hicks have never hurt so badly and it never reaches my back." You groaned.
"Oh........ OH!" It took a while for your words to sink in as San jumped to his feet.
"We should go to the hospital. Or should I call an ambulance? What should I do?!" He asked.
"Sannie, calm down. It's okay, breathe. It just started so we don't have to go to the hospital yet. But I should start timing how long they last and the intervals between them." You squeezed his hand as you reminded him of what the doctor told you, trying to maintain a smile as you felt him beginning to panic.
"Right, right. I'll help you. Let me clean up the glass first." San was reluctant to let go of your hand but the broken glass on the floor was a hazard to both you and him.
"I'm sorry I made a mess and can't even help clean it up." You sighed.
"No need to apologise, baby. You're in labour. You just focus on yourself and princess." He looked at you with an excited smile.
"You're such a goof." You chuckled. San shot you a flat look with a playful pout before returning back to cleaning. After he was done, San escorted you back to bed to rest.
"Are you timing your contractions? Are they getting more intense?" He asked as he retrieved towels.
"Still manageable." You groaned.
"Alright, come here, baby." San laid out the towels for them, knowing you would be stressed out if your water broke all over the sheets and the mattress.
"Careful. Easy..." He cooed, adjusting your pillow for you so you were comfortable.
"Shall I get you some food? A drink?" He asked.
"No but after the princess comes, I want a big coffee. A BIG coffee, Choi San." You held his collar to show how serious you were. With your pregnancy, you had to severely cut down on your coffee intake, which you did not really like.
"Of course, baby. Anything you want." He kissed the top of your head and went out to the kitchen to fix you snack. You did your best to stay distracted, watching San fancams on your iPad.
"Hey! I'm here!" You heard noises outside and put the iPad down. In came Wooyoung with a big grin.
"So, how's my god daughter doing?" He asked, reaching over to hug you.
"She's not here yet but soon, she'll be here in our arms. Just a little more." You chuckled, patting his back. Wooyoung was also very involved in your pregnancy.
"Even with the man right here, in the flesh, you're still watching his fancams?" He raised an eyebrow, seeing your iPad.
"It distracts me, okay?" Your cheeks heated up, closing the iPad before San could come in.
"Well, it definitely distracts you in one way because that's how my god daughter got here. And perhaps my future god children." He teased and you slapped his arm in embarrassment.
"Anyway, I brought you some food. San's too panicked to cook now but you should get some food in you." He told you. You laughed and nodded your head. Just then, San came in with a tray, plating up the food that Wooyoung had brought along with him. He placed it on the bed for you.
"Come on." Both San and Wooyoung helped you sit up properly so you could eat, even if San insisted on feeding you.
"Ah... Damn it." You cursed under your breath as another contraction hit you. San rubbed your back and let you squeeze his hand until the wave of pain would pass.
"So, how long can this last? Or rather, how long should it last until you go to the hospital?" Wooyoung asked.
"Dude, did you not read the parenting books I got you?" San asked his best friend in disbelief.
"Look, I tried my best to read two! I couldn't continue reading the other five." Wooyoung groaned and whined. You laughed and patted San's shoulder.
"It's fine. Basically, we time how long they last and the intervals between them. Then we go to the hospital." You replied.
"I already texted our OBGYN that the labour has started. She's ready when you are." San informed.
"When I am ready? More like when your daughter is ready." You chuckled. San cooed and kissed your temple. Even if you were full, you tried to eat at least half of what Wooyoung brought you. And you made sure both Wooyoung and San ate too.
"Trust me, you'll both need your energy too." You told them, holding the wall and slowly walking around. San had his bowl in his hand, his other hand held out to support you in case you fell.
"San, eat your food. It's fine, I'll manage on my own for a few minutes." You assured.
"No, I'd rather just be here by your side." He shook his head as he chewed his food.
"Is your go bag packed?" Wooyoung asked.
"Oh, I need my phone charger and the book from my nightstand." You replied. San was going to go but Wooyoung held his hand out to stop him, going into your room to retrieve the items for you.
"Don't know if you're going to be able to get much reading done with the princess here." San laughed.
"That's why I have you and Woo, right?" You joked.
"That's right. I am not leaving my princess' side." Wooyoung declared as he came out with your items, tucking them into the bag that you had packed and ready on the couch.
"You mean, my princess." San corrected with a glare. Wooyoung rolled his eyes. You laughed with a shake of your head. If the two were already fighting before your daughter was born, you can only imagine how much worse it was going to be when she actually gets here. Not the mention, the 6 other uncles waiting.
"She's not even here yet and you two-" You stopped mid sentence as you felt a pop.
"What?" San asked in confusion and worry. Until you both looked down and saw the trickle of liquid go down your leg.
"I think now's a good time to go to the hospital." San said and you nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up. You were frozen in your spot as the trickle was consistent.
"Text my parents. Tell them her water broke and we're going to the hospital now." San told Wooyoung as he pulled on clothes and grabbed you a hoodie that he knew would keep you comfortable.
"What's wrong, baby? Does it hurt?" San frowned, wondering why you haven't moved.
"It's dripping..." You mumbled, hiding your face in your hands.
"Hey, it's okay. It's okay, it's normal." San hugged you, rubbing your back. Tears welled up in your eyes, you didn't know what was happening, you just couldn't handle it.
"It's so embarrassing, I'm going to die." You cried. Even if you expected this to happen and knew it was going to happen, it still felt so embarrassing to have your bodily fluids leak out of you, especially in front of Wooyoung.
"(y/n), listen to me. This is normal, you're giving birth. There's nothing to be embarrassed about." Wooyoung assured.
"It's alright, hmm? Don't worry." San kissed your cheek, wiping your tears away. You nodded tearfully and squeezed San's hand as he slipped your shoes on for you and guided you out of the house.
"Careful, easy." San placed a towel on the passenger seat for you to sit before loading up the car and driving to the hospital.
"Oww..." You took deep breaths, feeling the pain become more intense and frequent.
"Sir, you can't park here." The guard said as San stopped his car.
"I know! I know! But my wife is in labour, can you help her? I'll move my car right after." San came out and opened your door. He watched as the guard called nurses to come with the gurney.
"I'll see you inside, baby." San squeezed your hand. You nodded and shot him a small smile before he got in the car and went to park.
Of course, you were slightly freaked out that you were now alone and without San, you were scared and nervous. But a part of you didn't want to make him panic even more so you took a deep breath and tried your best to calm yourself down, telling yourself that he'll be back by your side soon.
"Hey, (y/n)." Your OBGYN came into your delivery room. Since your water broke, the nurses brought you to the delivery room right away instead of checking you into a ward.
"Dr Min, I'm glad to see a familiar face." You smiled tearfully.
"Hey, I'm here for you and your baby. You're in safe hands." She patted your shoulder and began to check you.
"San's parking the car but he said he got you up to speed on everything? My brain's just a little foggy now." You admitted honestly, watching her put on her gloves.
"Yes, he did. Don't worry. I'll just check you now to see how dilated yet." She told you.
"I'm here! Is she born yet?!" San burst into the room, breathing heavily. The nurses in the room giggled at his outburst.
"Sannie, shhh. No, she's not born yet." You chuckled, opening your arms for him. As San made his way over, he smiled at Dr Min and gave you a hug.
"Looks like we're getting there but not yet. We'll have to wait a little more." Dr Min said, standing back up and removing her gloves to throw them into the bin. You let out a long, defeated sigh and San stroked your head.
"Thanks, Dr Min." San bowed his head.
"Don't be discouraged. Baby girl will be here soon." Dr Min smiled softly at you. You nodded and waved as she left the room. San pulled up a chair so he could stay by your side as the wait began.
"Are you sure you don't want anything for the pain?" San asked, his eyebrows furrowed.
"I'm okay. It's all on our princess, we'll wait until she's ready." You said, reaching up to hold his face in your hands.
"But you're in pain and I don't like seeing you in pain." He kissed your hand. One of the options that you and San had discussed was inducing or speeding up the birth but you wanted to push through.
"You're so strong, baby. You're a good omma." He smiled softly, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.
"You do whatever makes you feel comfortable, okay? It's your decision." He assured.
"Thanks, Sannie. I just feel better with you here." You said. There was no other person you would rather have a child with. San was always there for you, always supportive and encouraging. He never pushed you to do anything you didn't want to do, he trusts your instinct and decisions for both yours and your daugher's wellbeing.
"You know I'll always be here for you and for the princess." He pressed your hand against his cheek.
"I just want her to be okay." You teared up. Hearing your suddenly serious words, San stood up from his seat, leaning over you. His eyes searched yours.
"Hey, hey. Where's all this coming from? Baby, you'll be okay. Both you and princess will be okay. I've got you both." He frowned.
"I know, I just suddenly feel so scared." You rubbed your eyes like a little child crying to her parent.
"It's normal to be scared. But don't be. Dr Min and everyone will take care of you." He comforted. As another contraction hit, you winced and squeezed San's hand. He rubbed your back soothingly.
"Let me get you some water. Breathe, baby." San poured cold water into a cup for you and held the straw out for you to drink.
"Thank you." You coughed slightly and grabbed a towel you bought to wipe your tears and sweat.
"Princess, I know you're comfy in there but omma is dealing with a lot of pain. Be a good girl and make it easy for omma." San said, pressing his ear to your stomach like he always did throughout the pregnancy. You ran your fingers through his hair.
"Ooh, she did not like that." San chuckled as both you and him felt her move and kick where his ear was. San pouted at your daughter but still planted a kiss to your belly.
"I'm gonna miss her kicks." San pouted at you.
"Alright, I don't know what you're implying but slow down, cowboy." You pushed his forehead.
A few more hours passed with San staying by your side and helping you through the contractions. Your parents and San's parents came, both mothers making sure you were okay and comfortable.
"Okay, omma. Let's see where baby girl is at." Dr Min came in again. San wiped the sweat off your forehead for you.
"Looks like we're ready to start pushing." Dr Min's head popped up.
"We'll be outside. Call us if you need anything." Your mom and Mrs Choi said, leaving the room to give you and San some privacy. They didn't want to overwhelm you further.
"I've got you okay? Don't be afraid, you can do this, baby. I know you can." San looked down at you and you nodded. With the guidance of your OBGYN, you began to push. San squeezed your hand and you tried your best to push. Even when you got tired, all the staff were encouraging to you.
"I can see the head. You're doing great, (y/n). Just a little more." Dr Min told you.
"She's out, she's out." Dr Min announced and clamped the cord, separating your baby from the placenta. You both watched as she handed the baby to the nurse practitioner.
"She's here." San excitedly looked over but still remaind by your side. Even as your daughter let out her first big cry.
"Go, see your princess, comfort her." You patted his hand. All you had to do was deliver the placenta.
"Cut here." The nurse handed San the scissors to cut the umbilical cord. He couldn't even stop the huge grin from forming on his face as he watched his daughter.
"Hi there, it's okay. Appa's got you." San cooed as the nurse placed the baby in his arms.
As much as San wanted to hold her longer, he knew skin to skin with you was more important. So he brought her to you immediately.
"She's perfect." San smiled as he lowered her down to you. You smiled tired and weakly, eyes blinking slowly. And before San could release her into your arms, your eyes closed and your head dropped. San's eyes widened in shock.
"She's hemorrhaging! Doctor!" The nurse yelled and Dr Min ran over as the machines beeped in alarm.
"Baby?! (y/n)!" San yelled out in fear. Your daughter began to cry and San felt tears in his eyes too. What was happening? What was going on? All he could see was your pale face.
"BP dropping. Someone take Mr Choi and the child to another room." Dr Min ordered.
"Please, save my wife." San begged as the nurse led him to another room.
"We will try our best, Mr Choi. Dr Min is the best. But now, you need to have skin on skin with your daughter." The nurse advised calmly and San handed the baby to her.
"Like this?" San removed his shirt, letting the nurse lay the baby against his chest. The moment she did, the baby calmed down.
"Please go save her." San cried. The nurse nodded and left the room. His parents and your parents came in, all panicked. Of course, San wanted this to be a joyous occasion, he waited so long to meet his daughter and now she was here, in his arms. But he just couldn't, knowing you were unconscious.
"What happened?" Your mother asked worriedly.
"I don't know. I think they said she's hemorrhaging. She was fine, all she had to do was deliver the placenta. I shouldn't have left her side." San cried.
"San, San. Calm down. (y/n)'s going to be okay. You need to be strong for her and your daughter." Mrs Choi told him.
"Okay." San took deep breaths. He and his daughter seemed to be able to calm each other down.
"She'll be okay." Your mother assured, wiping San's tears. San looked down at the baby that was sleeping on his chest. He gently kissed the top of her head.
"Omma will be okay." He whispered. Soon, another nurse came in with a baby basinet.
"How's my wife?" San asked.
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know. I need to bring the baby for her checks." The nurse apologised. San didn't want to let his daughter go, even with his mother around, he felt like your baby was the only thing that could comfort him now.
"Can it wait?" San pleaded. The nurse looked conflicted, unsure of what she should do.
"I'm sorry. But if there was a birth complication, we need to check. I promise I'll bring her back as soon as possible." The nurse said. San reluctantly handed the baby to her.
"Mr Choi?" Dr Min came in and San immediately stood up, even when his shirt wasn't fully buttoned up yet.
"Doc, how is she?" San felt like he couldn't breathe.
"She's fine. Out of the woods. Bleeding after birth is normal but she bled a lot. But don't worry, she's okay. She's recovering. I'll need to keep her here for a few days longer though." She informed.
"Of course, anything. We'll stay for as long as she'll need. Thank you so much." San bowed deeply to the doctor.
"Now go be with your wife. I had the nurses send her up to your ward already." Dr Min smiled and San went up to the ward where you were wheeled up to.
When San entered, you were fast asleep, probably tired for the birth and the huge loss of blood. But San knew you were a fighter. He hovered over you and kissed your forehead, feeling another round of tears threaten to fall. Obviously he didn't know the severity of the bleed but he knew he almost lost you.
"I love you. Thank you." He pressed his head against yours. As he took a chair to sit, he held your hand the entire time.
"You did good, baby. You did so good, you deserve to rest. She's perfect, an angel just like you. Sleep for as long as you want." San said to you, even though you were asleep.
When you woke up, you looked around in confusion. Until your eyes fell upon San, walking around with a bundle in his arms, singing softly.
"Look who it is, baby girl." San turned and realised you were awake.
"San..." You began to cry. San put your daughter back in her basinet and came over to you.
"It's okay, you're okay. I got you. I got you." He hugged you tightly, his hand resting on the back of your head. You cried into his shoulder and San felt a lump in his throat too.
"You did so good, baby." San continued to comfort you for as long as you needed.
"Can I see her?"
"Of course you can, baby! You're her mom!" San laughed and went over to pick up the baby that was beginning to fuss. But as San gently laid her on your chest, the baby calmed down. She blinked up at you and you smiled softly.
"Hi there. You're so cute... You're perfect. Did you name her yet?" You cooed and looked up at San, who was smiling at both of you. He shook his head.
"You should name her. You've let me make a lot of decisions in the pregnancy, you should name her." You told him.
"Baby, I let you make those decisions because it was your body, you were the one going through the pregnancy, not me." San laughed.
"But I do have one name that I like. Haeun." He added.
"Haeun, Choi Haeun. I like it. It's perfect for her. Welcome to the world, Haeunnie." You smiled at her. San gave you a kiss then kissed the top of Haeun's head.
Since you woke up, San called Dr Min to come and check on you. At the same time, the nurse taught you how to feed Haeun.
"You gave us a scare earlier but you're fine now, (y/n). Nothing major. However, I was mentioning that I would need you to stay in a little longer just for observations." Dr Min explained. You nodded obediently, too preoccupied with staring at your daughter that was drinking from you hungrily.
"Thanks, Dr Min." You and San bowed your heads as she took her leave. You smiled softly, watching Haeun grasp your finger in her hand as she drank.
"You must have been hungry, my love." You cooed.
"She has a big appetite like her dad." San grinned proudly at you, making you scoff.
After Haeun had her fill, she fell asleep. You couldn't get up so the nurse came in to help you with cleaning her and changing her diaper before wrapping her up in a swaddle.
"Oh, so that's how you do it." San said, looking over at the nurse's actions, his glasses on as he took notes on his phone.
"Hey, grandpa. Can I get a glass of water, please?" You teased. San's head whipped around to glare at you.
"You're lucky you're cute." He glared with a pout as he handed you the water. You grinned cheekily as the nurse placed the swaddled Haeun in the basinet and wheeled her by your side. But San constantly hovered over her.
"Let her sleep. Nothing will happen with her a few inches away from us." You chuckled. You and San enjoyed each other's silence, well it was more like San not being able to take his eyes off Haeun.
"Knock knock." The door opened and Wooyoung poked his head in with the others, all carrying flowers, gift baskets and balloons.
"She's sleeping." San quickly shushed everyone.
"Sorry, overprotective dad over here." You snickered. Hongjoong held up a huge cup of iced coffee for you and you swear you nearly cried at the sight.
"Lifesaver." You whispered gratefully and received the cup in your hands to take a big sip.
"Slow down, baby. You shouldn't finish it in one go." San stopped you, placing his hand to push the cup away from you.
"I pushed a bowling ball out of me. Please just let me have this." You begged. San sighed in defeat and let go, letting you enjoy your coffee. But of course, you did heed his advice and drank slowly.
"Oh my gosh... She's the most perfect little angel." Wooyoung cooed, trying to contain his squeal, leading to him slapping Seonghwa's shoulder. Seonghwa hissed and pushed Wooyoung away. Before they could all get too close, San stepped between them and the basinet, pointing to the sink.
"Wash first." San ordered.
"How are you?" Jongho asked, taking a seat by your side. You assumed San had told everyone about the complication after birth.
"I'm okay now. I think it gave all of us a scare but the doctor stopped the bleeding and I'm fine, just have to stay in here a little longer for observation." You shrugged.
"That's good." Yeosang hummed. You watched as San reluctantly let the boys carry Haeun.
"She's so cute when she sleeps." Yunho cooed over Wooyoung's shoulder.
"I have a feeling everything she does is going to be cute to all of you." You laughed. You trusted San to watch out for Haeun and help the boys properly hold her so you could relax.
"You should rest more. I'm sure you've been through the wringer. We brought you food too." Mingi told you, adjusting your blanket properly. You smiled gratefully, watching Seonghwa take a rice porridge out of the container for you.
"We didn't even ask her name yet." Seonghwa said, wheeling the table close to you so you could eat.
"Her name is Haeun, Choi Haeun." San smiled proudly.
"What a perfect name for a perfect princess." Wooyoung cooed softly at the baby in his arms. After a bit, Haeun woke up and began crying. San patted your hand and went to retrieve her from Wooyoung.
"Don't worry, appa's got you." He swayed, patting her back softly to soothe her.
"He's got it. Eat up, get your energy back." Jongho encouraged. You took a spoon and began eating, glacing over at San and Haeun.
"We should go, give you three time to rest." Hongjoong said, checking his watch. The boys came over to give you hugs while San watched with a frown.
"Stop hugging my wife." He whispered harshly, careful not to disturb the now calm Haeun. Only when he placed her back in the basinet, he happily hugged the members who congratulated him again.
"I can't believe she's finally here. The princess is finally here." San let out little squeaks of happiness as Wooyoung hugged him. Wooyoung nodded with a soft laugh and patted San's back. Everyone was waiting for your baby's arrival, even more so when it was announced that you were having a girl.
"We'll see you soon. Take care." Yunho waved as the boys all left.
"She's asleep, Sannie. You can put her down." You chuckled. San looked up at you with a disappointed smile.
"You can watch her. I want cuddles." You held your arms up. At that, San placed Haeun down and came to you. Luckily the hospital bed was big enough.
"Are you feeling ill? You have to tell me or inform the nurse." He said as you laid on his chest.
"I'm fine, Sannie." You squeezed his arm, snuggling closer to him. San He reached over you and rubbed your back.
"I love you. You did so good, baby. Thank you so much for giving me my princess. Really, thank you. I can't thank you enough." San repeated, planting many kisses on your head.
"There's nothing to thank me for, San. I'm lucky to have you with me and to be the one to have your daughter, you've been the perfect partner. You're such a great dad, she's lucky that she'll have you to raise her." You smiled up at him.
"You always speak so lowly of yourself, my love. I'm lucky to have you and her now. And she has the best mom in the whole wide world. So she's pretty lucky." He said.
"Yeah." You nodded, the both of you looking over at your sleeping child.
"Is it weird that I already love her so much? Like looking at her makes my heart hurts." San asked.
"Not weird, that's called being whipped. Or being a fool for your daughter. She's a few hours old and already has you wrapped around her tiny finger." You lifted up your pinky finger.
"Don't make fun of me." He whined.
"But she's finally here, San. She was inside of me and now, she's right there. She's laying there, sleeping, breathing on her own." You said.
"All thanks to you, baby. Now, you should continue to rest. You're not 100% yet, take all the time you need to recover." San reached over to lower the lights so you could sleep. Since you were still feeling weak, it didn't take long for the tiredness to wash over you and you fell asleep in San's hold.
You were woken up by Haeun's crying but San already jumped out of bed, going to her to scoop her up into his arms. As you turned up the lights, you watched San try to soothe her.
"She could be hungry." You rubbed your eyes tiredly.
"Are you okay to feed her? We can use formula if you still feel weak." San asked with a worried frown.
"I'm fine. I just need the pillow." You said. San nodded and let you carry Haeun while he put the 'U' shaped pillow under Haeun and around your waist so you wouldn't have to carry her full weight.
"Is this okay?" San asked, adjusting the pillow properly. You hummed and fed a fussing Haeun.
"Good girl, Haeun. It's okay." You stroked her head as she drank from you hungrily.
"My poor baby must be tired." San came and reached over, cupping your cheeks. You smiled tiredly, knowing that this is going to be your routine for a while. But it was comforting to see Haeun peacefully drinking and staring up at you.
"Awww, now you're nice and full, aren't you, angel?" You cooed as she released you so you could cover yourself up. Since you were still feeling weak, San helped you with changing her diaper.
"Post birth poops are awful." You groaned.
"Nonsense, my princess' poop doesn't smell at all." San grinned dreamily, cooing at Haeun who squirmed.
"There we go. All done." San gently lifted her up, pressing a kiss to her cheek before placing her back into your arms. Haeun stared at you and you smiled at her.
"Your dad has become such a fool for you, hmm?" You tapped her cheek and she grasped your finger.
"Don't call me a fool in front of her." San scoffed. You smiled cheekily and San reached over to pinch your cheeks for teasing him.
"She's asleep." You shushed San.
"You should sleep too, baby." San waited for you to be ready to hand Haeun over him. Once you did, he placed her back into the basinet and tucked you back into bed, getting in beside you. He couldn't sleep without you by his side too. San softly sang to you until you fell back to sleep.
And over the next few days, San took great care of you and Haeun. He prioritised your recovery and took over so many tasks, making sure you were not pushing yourself.
"Hello?" Wooyoung came in.
"Shh, they both just went to sleep." You said from your spot on the couch, nodding over to where San was asleep in your hospital bed.
"Stealing the patient's bed?" Wooyoung tilted his head with a snort as he looked at his best friend. Despite being asleep, San's hand rested on the edge of Haeun's basinet.
"How are you?" Wooyoung asked, sitting beside you.
"A lot better. Can't wait to discharge tomorrow. But I couldn't have done it without Sannie, he's been taking great care of us." You smiled.
"He is a good partner and dad." Wooyoung agreed with a hum. With San and Haeun sleeping, Wooyoung decided to cut up some fruit for you to eat.
"I'm grateful that Haeun is such an angel baby and I'm not just saying that because I'm her mother. She's so patient and loving, rarely cries except for milk or diaper changes. But I can 100% say, she's a daddy's girl for sure." You giggled.
"Of course she is. San must be ecstatic." Wooyoung rolled his eyes.
"I haven't seen the smile leave his face since the day she was born. Everything she does, he thinks it's the best thing since sliced bread." You smiled at a sleeping San.
"He's a fool for her already. But I can't blame him, she's perfect." Wooyoung shrugged and you pushed his shoulder.
"You are just as big of a fool for her." You accused. But deep down, you were glad that Haeun is going to grow up with love from everyone.
"Look who is awake." You were washing your hands when you realised Haeun had woken up and was just laying there without making a fuss.
"Uncle Wooyoung is here to see you, baby." You lifted Haeun out of the basinet and kissed her cheeks.
"Ack. Luckily we're in a hospital because she's going to give me a heart attack." Wooyoung fangirled as you placed Haeun in his arms.
"Haeun." San shot up, having realised the basinet moved slightly from when you picked Haeun up. His sudden movement had made you jump. He sat up and looked around in slight panic, only to see Wooyoung holding Haeun. He let out a sigh of relief and you went over, standing between his legs.
"She's fine, appa. Wooyoung's got her." You chuckled, running your hands through his messy hair. San put his arms around you to hug you and pressed his face against your middle.
"I didn't even know I fell asleep." He murmured.
"You've been working so hard, taking care of us. You deserve to rest too, Sannie." You comforted him.
"Look at your parents. They're gonna make uncle Woowoo puke." You both looked up to see Wooyoung talking to Haeun, holding her in a way that elevated her to see you two.
"She's smiling." You pointed at Haeun's brief, lopsided smile.
"She just loves uncle Woowoo the most." Wooyoung cooed. San didn't take too well to that comment and marched over.
"My baby." He emphasised, taking Haeun out of Wooyoung's arms. He smiled down at her, planting a kiss to her head. You just shook your head at them.
When it was time to feed Haeun, Wooyoung took his leave. As you sat against the headboard to feed Haeun, San massaged your feet, noting that your ankles were still slightly swollen so he put on compression socks for you.
"Are you still feeling sick?" He asked worriedly.
"No, I feel fine actually. So we can go home tomorrow." You smiled excitedly, looking down at Haeun.
"A-Are you sure? Because if you don't feel right, you should stay for a few more days until you're sure you're 100% well again. Maybe we should speak to Dr Min." San suggested.
"Sannie..." Luckily Haeun finished feeding so you could put her back in her basinet. You moved closer to San.
"What's wrong, Sannie?" You cupped his cheeks with a concern frown. You searched his eyes and all you saw was fear in them.
"I was just really scared. When you lost consciousness, there was so much blood. The doctor and nurses were rushing..." San struggled to breathe and you hugged him, letting him lean on your shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Sannie..." You hugged his head.
"I thought I was going to lose you..." He muttered softly, hands gripping your waist. You rarely see San cry so seeing him cry and be so vulnerable around you was indicative of how scared he really was. And for San, he always believed that he has to be your rock so he really tried to keep it in.
"You've been through a lot too, Sannie. But we're here for you, both me and Haeun. You don't have to go through this alone." You stroked the back of his head.
"You won't lose me, lose us, so quickly. I love you." You lifted his head and gave him a kiss, caressing his cheek.
"I love you too." San wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to sit on his lap.
"Baby girl's smiling at us." San chuckled. You lifted your head from his chest to see Haeun looking at the both of you, squirming in her wrap but her head turned to smile at you and San.
"Our baby. That's our baby." You smiled softly and San turned his head to meet your eyes, nodding in agreement.
"I still can't believe she's here. No more talking to her through the tummy." San chuckled.
"Well, before you know it, she'll be able to reply to you when you actually talk to her." You said. At your words, San held his chest dramatically, squeezing his eyes shut like he was going to implode at the thought of Haeun growing up.
"Alright, appa... Breathe. Don't have a heart attack here or I'll need to call the nurses." You patted his arm. San pursed his lips and just pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
"Thank you so much, Dr Min." You said as you hugged the doctor, who patted your back.
"Take care of yourself, (y/n)." She chuckled.
"Do we have everything? I feel like we're forgetting something." You heard San in your room, trying to pack up everything, making you and Dr Min giggle.
"You and baby girl will be just fine." Dr Min squeezed your shoulder and left while you entered your ward.
"Everything okay in here?" You asked.
"Just fine, baby. Whatever we forget, we can buy again. As long as I have princess and you, that's most important." San grinned, holding the baby carrier basket with Haeun sleeping soundly inside.
"Want me to carry her? Or get the bags?" You offered. San shook his head, holding Haeun away from you as if you will steal her and run. Even if the doctor cleared you, San didn't believe you were entirely recovered so he didn't want you doing any heavy lifting or anything strenuous. You just walked beside him.
"Also, baby. Even though the news is out that baby girl is born, KQ says that they'll do whatever it takes to keep her picture and name out of the press." San informed.
"Great, remind me to send them a thank you basket." You chuckled as you both walked to the car.
"Are you excited to finally go home with us, princess?" San cooed to Haeun.
"You're asleep and probably don't care as long as there's milk, right?" He continued to talk to her as he loaded the basket into the car seat inserts that he had already installed previously.
"She's so cute when she sleeps." You adjusted her blanket as you sat in the backseat with her while San drove.
"She's cute doing anything, please. She's our child, of course she's cute." San scoffed from the front seat and you shot him a flat look.
You stifled a laugh to yourself, imaging how things are going to be when Haeun grows up, she'll definitely be leading her father by his nose. Well, in his defense, he did warn you about how he would be if you got pregnant with a girl.
"We're home, princess. Home sweet home." San cooed as he helped to remove the carrier from the seat clips. You unlocked the door to your home and took a deep breath.
"Feels good to be home." You let out a content sigh. San chuckled and leaned over to kiss your cheek.
"I need a shower." You groaned. San hummed and let you go. But you didn't want to shower too long, wanting to relieve San for a bit.
"Sannie, I'm-" You came out of the shower to see him fast asleep on the couch, sitting up and holding Haeun to his chest, who was also still asleep.
"Aww, look at you two." You whispered and took your phone to snap a picture, a smile on your face.
Only when Haeun woke up and fussed then San woke up, immediately patting her back to try and soothe her.
"It's okay, appa. Take a break, I've got her." You smiled and took Haeun from him. San nodded with a tired smile and leaned back into the couch to rest. You leaned over to kiss the top of his head before walking to get Haeun's diaper changed. Then you checked if she was hungry before feeding her, sitting in your rocking chair.
"My love. You are so beautiful." You gently stroked her head as she drank from you. You softly hummed 'Mist' to her with a soft smile on your face.
"Thank you for being born." You giggled.
When she was done, you burped her and walked around with her in your arms, still humming to her.
"Look at your appa sleeping. He's been taking such good care of us, baby. He'll protect you and love you forever, you're such a lucky girl." You spoke to Haeun, who blinked up at you.
"My two girls." San woke up, stretching his limbs and yawning as he caught you and Haeun.
"You should sleep more, Sannie." You said, sitting by him.
"I'm good. You should rest more, the birth and everything must have been tiring on you." He stroked your head. You handed Haeun over to him, letting her rest on his chest.
"I'll heat up some food for our dinner. You should skin on skin with her if you can. Dr Min says it'll help." You patted his thigh and went to the kitchen to heat up the food that your mother and San's mother had helped stock in the fridge.
"Auh, go to sleep, precious. It's okay to sleep. Appa is here." You could hear San speak to Haeun.
"You're really destined to be a girl dad, San." You stood at the kitchen entrance, seeing San coax Haeun to sleep. He sat there, shirtless with the small baby against his chest.
"I am. I am destined to be this girl's dad." San agreed, smiling down at Haeun, who was slowly going to sleep.
"ATINY will eat this up if they saw you." You joked. San rolled his eyes but still posed for you to take a picture of him to save.
"So, we're establishing here that you'll be the one to discipline her while I'm the good one that comforts her when she cries right?" San grinned cheekily.
"We'll see about that." You scoffed.
"Thank you, baby. For all that you did and went through for my princess to be born." San leaned over to kiss you.
"You know despite everything, I would do it again. Couldn't have asked for a better partner and we know this girl is the luckiest little girl in the world with such an amazing dad and 7 chaotic, silly but great uncles who will always dote on her." You smiled softly and laid your head on San's shoulder.
"Yes, she will definitely grow up with a lot of chaos. I mean, look at her godfather. He's the definition of chaos." He chuckled.
You nodded, San was right but you knew the boys, especially Wooyoung, would make sure your little girl grows up with all the love in the world.
And that proved to be right because after a day of hanging out with Wooyoung, Haeun came back home and said her first word.
"Sannie!" She lifted her arms up with the biggest grin on her face.
"What did you say, baby?" You stifled a laugh. She repeated it again and you saw San freeze, unsure of how to react. She didn't call him 'appa' but his name was her first word.
"She said her first word." You reminded San.
"Still..." San gave you a look. He was big on respect and traditions, he didn't want Haeun going around calling him by his first name.
"No, not Sannie, princess. Appa. Can you say 'appa'?" San pointed to himself, bending down to her height so he would be at her eye level. You were having a field day and didn't have the heart to correct Haeun, she was just so cute.
"Sannie!" She giggled bashfully. San playfully lifted her up, making her squeal with laughter.
"I'm going to kill Jung Wooyoung." San turned to you.
"Sannie! Sannie!" Haeun gleefully wrapped her arms around San's neck, burying her face against his chest.
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i hope requests are still open, can you please do atz with a breeding kink?
ATEEZ WITH A BREEDING KINK
PAIRING — ateez x reader
GENRE — smut, romance, established relationship, boyfriend!ateez, parent!wooyoung, fem bodied!reader, sub!reader, soft dom!ateez
WARNINGS — smut, unprotected sex//creampie (wrap it before you tap it, folks!), breeding//impreg kink, cum play, cum eating, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, choking, shower sex, dirty talk//sexual language, intentional lower case and small font, intentional word abbreviations
WORD COUNT — 1.8k
SUMMARY — ateez breeding you.
HONGJOONG
a sharp thrust, and then another. the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, accompanied by the harmonies of moans and curses. the grip around your throat tightened, and all you could do was surrender your body to the pleasure coursing through you.
lips were at your ear. “you’re squeezing my cock so fucking good, baby,” hongjoong whispered, voice raspy with exertion and desire. his hips were brutal and grip firm. “gonna make me cum. gonna fill this pussy up so full. would you like that, huh?”
your nails dug weakly into his back as you tried to hold onto the last vestiges of your coherence. the lack of proper air and the promise of his hot seed had your mind reeling. you managed a nod and small whimper.
hongjoong smirked and lifted his head to peer down at you, enjoying the fucked out expression on your face. “i’ll breed this little pussy of yours, and you’re gonna take every last drop, yeah?”
his cock struck a chord deep inside and you spiraled into ecstasy with a hoarse whisper of his name. your own high urged him to his own, and just like he promised, he filled your hole with his seed, and you cried as you felt its warmth.
“you take me so good. so fucking good, baby.”
SEONGHWA
“fuck,” seonghwa groaned, hands pushing your thighs into the mattress and putting your pussy on full display. he was awestruck at the sight of you, your sex pretty and swollen and leaking his cum. “you’re so dirty.”
your cheeks grew hot at his words and at the feeling of his eyes examining your most intimate area. “s-stop staring.”
one of seonghwa brows quirked as he regarded you, a look of disbelief on his handsome face. “stop staring? how can i stop when your pussy is so beautiful.” his palms skated across your inner thighs until his thumbs were at your pussy, spreading your folds open to watch as his cum gushed out. “your pussy always looks the most beautiful after being fucked and bred so good.”
you didn’t have much time to process what he did next. his face dove between your thighs and his tongue licked a stripe up your slit before you could react, a choked moan falling from your mouth at the contact. “seonghwa!”
seonghwa laughed against you while he reveled in the mixed taste of you and him. “we can’t let all this cum go to waste, now can we?” his tongue was plunging between your folds in the next second, pushing all of his cum back into your hole.
YUNHO
your hands dug into the sheets while your spine arched uncomfortably. there wasn’t much you could do to brace yourself against his powerful thrusts except to take every bit of what he was giving you. you cried out as his cock churned your insides and battered that sweet spot repeatedly. you’d already cum a few times, overstimulation having you on the brink of pleasure and pain.
your slick and his seed dripped down your thighs; you were so full you were literally spilling, but yunho was determined to fill you up even more. “you can take some more, can’t you? this pussy was meant to be bred.”
you whimpered into the mattress as your body shook. “s’much, yunho. so full. can’t take anymore.”
yunho laughed at your small voice. “yes, you can. you can take one more load. i just can’t stop until i’ve properly bred you.” his voice was soft, a stark contrast to the way his hips pistoned into your backside hard enough to shake the bed frame. “you’re gonna look so pretty all round with our kid inside you.”
you yelped when he leaned over you, the size of him overwhelming you. his cock reached deeper at this angle, and it felt like there were wildfires on every nerve of your body.
“now, be good and take some more, baby.”
YEOSANG
“god, baby. you’re milking me so fucking good.” yeosang had you trapped in a mating press, your knees by your head. his cock was throbbing inside you; he was so close to cumming, and with the way he battered your sweet spot, so were you.
“yeosang, you’re so deep!” in this state it was impossible for your brain to comprehend much of anything outside of the way he filled you to the brim and stretched you wide. you were delirious, so drunk on his cock. “‘m gonna cum…”
he huffed, hot breath fanning your cheek. “yeah? you’re gonna cum? me too, baby. where do you me to cum?” there was an urgency to his voice.
“inside me, please.”
yeosang groaned, cock twitching at your plea. “inside you? want me to fill you up?”
you wanted, no, needed to be full of him in every sense. “y-yes! fill me up! i can take it, i promise.”
you were both reaching your ends at once, unraveling together with sighs and curses. your walls spasmed around him, coaxing every last drop of milky cum out of him. and you took every bit until you were leaking around him.
yeosang panted as his forehead rested against yours, cock still throbbing from the aftershocks of pleasure. “fuck, i love when i get to breed you like this.”
SAN
“god damn it.” your cunt had a tight grip on san’s cock, pulling him in like you never wanted to let him go. he bottomed out again and stilled, cock twitching with need to release while he was trying so hard to keep that from happening just yet. “god, this pussy of yours, baby. gonna get us in trouble.”
you whined at his stillness. you pushed your ass back into him to urge him to move, desperate for the orgasm that was now slipping away. “just cum inside me, san.”
he groaned and groped your ass while he attempted to hang on to his sanity. “cum inside you? want me to breed you, is that it?”
you shouldn’t have found him breeding you so hot. it was a dangerous game, but you wanted to play nonetheless. “yes, sannie. please.”
you were beginning to flutter around him, obviously aroused from the thought of his cum filling you up. san resumed his pace, fucking your tight pussy until you were unraveling around him. he fell apart right after you, spilling into you with a low groan falling off his tongue. and later when he watched the way his seed dripped from your hole, he knew he’d found his new addiction. “fuck it. one kid won’t hurt anyway.”
MINGI
“you want more?”mingi’s deep voice reverberated inside the steamy shower, as did the wet slaps of his hips against yours. he held you in place against the shower wall, your legs wrapped around his slim waist.
you moaned into his ear just as your hands gripped at his soaked hair. “please, mingi. i want more.”
he groaned at your cute voice. “are you sure your little pussy can take more? you’ve already taken so much…”
“fill me up again, please. i want your cum.” you were so delirious on his cock, begging for him as if he hadn’t fucked you full of his cum twice already.
mingi nipped at your neck as his cock twitched, your pussy clamping down on him so tight he felt like he could’ve lost his mind. you had milked him of everything he could give, but here you were, crying for more. and how could he resist you when you sounded so cute? “you’re so desperate for my cock and my seed. you’re so fucking,” a sharp thrust, “adorable.”
you clawed at his back as he drove into you deeper, harder. you were slipping and sliding against the wet wall, but mingi held you in his embrace securely even while his thrusts grew more erratic by the second.
“okay, baby. take my cum. take all of it like the good little cum slut you are.”
WOOYOUNG
“oh my god, wooyoung,” you huffed just as he bent you over the countertop, your dress hiked up and panties pushed to the side as he entered you. “we gotta go pick up the kids from my parents. we can’t – fuck – be late.”
wooyoung’s hips were swift and sharp, driving his cock into you so good it had your back arching. he took you over the kitchen counter, too fucking pussy drunk to even attempt leaving the house just yet. “need to fuck you first. need to fill you up.” he felt like he was a dog in heat with the way this primal need overwhelmed him.
you moaned as he hit that perfect spot inside you. he was fucking you in a frenzy, in a way that was going to have both of you cumming as quickly as possible. “wooyoung, ‘m not gonna last.”
wooyoung’s cock throbbed. “fuck, baby, neither am i,” his hands locked around your hips as he used them for leverage to fuck into you harder. “gonna fill you up, okay? gonna put another baby inside you. how does that sound? would you like that?”
your eyes rolled into your skull. “yes, f-fuck!”
wooyoung emptied himself inside you soon after, and the feeling of his hot cum inside you tipped you over the edge. he let you ride out your high, groaning as your cunt sucked him in and took every last drop from him. “just like that, baby. milk my cock.”
JONGHO
a deep plunge, a firm palm on your lower belly. “god, baby. you’re so full. how does your little pussy take me so well every time?” jongho’s thick cock stretched you wide with every dip of his hips, his palm feeling the bulge in your belly.
the pressure of his hand on your abdomen accompanied by his cock reaching deep inside had you at a loss for words. you were dumb with pleasure; the only thing that mattered to you was him.
jongho enjoyed the sight of you speechless from the pleasure. he pressed into you more firmly, and the whine that escaped you was immediate. “gonna cum inside you, gonna claim that womb of yours. think you can take it all, baby?”
you mewled at the meaning of his words, at the idea of him claiming you fully and completely. your cunt twitched with excitement, signaling to him you were already so close to falling apart. “y-yes.”
he smiled down at you lovingly. his eyes watched his hand as it remained firm against your lower belly. “you’re gonna look so beautiful pregnant, belly round as it grows to accommodate our baby. tell me, you gonna let me fuck you when you’re pregnant, hm?”
you groaned. god, he was ruining you. breaking you down. you didn’t utter a word this time, just offered him a whimper and nod of your head.
jongho picked up the pace, his hand leaving your belly to grasp a hold of one of yours, interlocking your fingers. “good, now lay back and let me fuck you full of my seed.”
AUTHOR’S NOTES — “créme de la penis” lmao.
TAG LIST — @abiaswreck @charreddonuts @hongthoven @httpseungmxn @itza-meee @jungkookieprincess @jaerisdiction @kitten4sannie @lilie-dctl @mjyungi @marievllr-abg @maltesejjong @mylovelymito @nebulousbookshelf @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @staytinyinmybpack @svintsandghosts @thesafecafe @wolfgurl2600-blog @5starduca
NETWORKS — @kflixnet @wonderlandnet
ALL FICS ARE THE ORIGINAL IDEAS AND WRITTEN WORKS OF NATEEZFICS. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. REPOSTING WITHOUT CONSENT FROM THE AUTHOR NATEEZFICS IS PROHIBITED!
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↳ Index [Day 11 - Mommy Kink]
Pairing: Good Boy!Taehyung x Mommy Dom!Reader
Genre: married life!AU, new parents!AU, CEO!Taehyung
Kinks: sex on the living room sofa, praise kink, nursing handjob, her breasts still produce milk, breast & nipple massage, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering with three fingers, squirting, he eats it uppp, he spits on her pussy to lube her, multiple orgasms for both, sensitive pussy, deep creampie, talks about getting pregnant again, she kneels on the couch so he can fuck her doggy, he is frozen in pleasure and gets used as her pretty dildo <3, suit kink, she holds his tie, gentle hair holding, drooling, he bites her shoulder because of too much pleasure, subby boy tears, he is deep in subspace, giggly aftercare
Wordcount: 5.6k
a/n: rope inspo. i wanna start my notes by telling you guys do not expect regular pregnancy content on the blog at all. this is solely for kinktober cause we can be unhinged together. idk what happened but the thought of him helping her get rid of the swelling of her tits did something in me 😶 it was sexy for this story and in this context, but it’s not gonna be something regular on here. okay? okay. now that this is out of the way, here you go anon you finally have your ihyily!tae mommy kink story and it’s very sexy omfg it's so sexy holy fuck idk how to go on from now on 😩 have fun reading, i genuinely was so into it as i wrote it fajdsjf it's so hot holy fuck
Taehyung has been coming home late again. Since the birth of your daughter, he has reduced his hours at work to spend quality time with the family he always dreamed of. Until last week. A huge project has been keeping him in his office until the evening and it has been weighing him down. Not only because it is very stressful to work ten, sometimes more, hours per day but also because it means that he has to stay away from his family. Taehyung hates it. He hates it so, so much, but can’t do anything about it.
The only thing he can do is be grumpy about it and oh how grumpy he is tonight. He takes off his shoes and coat with a big pout and puts his office bag on the dresser groggily.
He doesn’t call out for you because it is already late and he doesn’t want to risk waking you.
You are staying at home entirely for now, enjoying your time with the baby as much as possible. It is difficult and exhausting work, draining you so much that you always end up already fast asleep when Taehyung comes home. Which is another reason why Taehyung hates working late. He doesn’t get to see you all fucking day, can’t eat dinner with you, play with his daughter, let alone talk to you. When he leaves for work, you are still sleeping and when he comes home you are already sleeping. Taehyung hates working long hours and he hates this stupid project and the loneliness he feels.
He goes straight upstairs, wanting to check in on you before he eats a sad, lonely dinner all alone and sad and alone and sad on the couch. He hates working long hours.
Taehyung opens the bedroom door carefully, using the light of the hallway to check on your sleeping figure. Except that the bed is empty.
“Darling?”
The room stays silent. He closes the door and scratches his head in confusion. Where did you go? Taehyung thinks of any possible location in the house, remembering the nursery last. Bear with him, he is very groggy from work.
He makes his way to the nursery, eyes flitting to the faint lights instantly. He was correct. He increases his steps, heart fluttering unbearably. He hasn’t talked to you in days and now he finally gets the chance. Taehyung feels like a giddy boy who knows he can talk to his crush soon.
He feels actually lost for air and words when he lays eyes on you.
You are wearing a mint green satin slip with a matching floor-length rope. Delicate lace frames the edges of the garments and little diamonds in the lace glimmer in the dim lights. You aren’t wearing any makeup and your hair is unstyled. Taehyung has never felt so in love with you before, gazing at you as you whisper-sing to your baby daughter.
She is already sleeping soundly in her crib. You must have come in here to check up on her.
Taehyung loves you so much. He will take any amount of stress if it means that he can come home to you looking like this. Like the mother of his daughter and the love of his life.
“Darling, I’m home”, he speaks softly.
You lift your head, features instantly lighting up.
“I haven’t heard your voice in days. Tae darling, welcome home”, you say, closing the distance in hasty steps.
Taehyung meets you in the middle with stretched out arms, grasping your soft waist in sync with you grasping his shoulders. You kiss. You kiss like two lovers finally reunited after being separated. You kiss as if you had worried to never see each other again. The kiss ends with Taehyung squeezing your butt softly and you twirling his tie.
“I missed you”, you confess.
“I missed you too. You’re beautiful, darling.”
“You think so? I already had to change because our princess threw up on me.”
“Oh god, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“Mhm, it was nasty at first, but I’m okay.” You scratch your fingers over his undercut at the nape of his neck. “I’m more than okay now that you’re home”, you say, smiling at him goofily.
Taehyung’s heart flutters. He can’t help but giggle and poke your cheek with his nose.
“Stop flirting with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m shy.”
“That’s why I’m doing it. It’s fun and mommy’s gotta get her entertainment in.”
You are jokingly referring to yourself as mommy, but Taehyung feels tingly because of it nonetheless. His heart skips multiple beats and his knees are wobbly for just a second. Holy moly.
You sigh in contentment, oblivious to his state.
“We should be talking outside. We don’t wanna wake her.”
“Right. Did mommy put her to sleep already?” he asks to play into the joke, but also to taste the sweetness of the words on his tongue.
You snicker, leading him out of the nursery with your arm around his waist.
“Yeah, mommy did”, you say, closing the door tightly.
“You’re the best mommy”, Taehyung says, almost moaning the words. He gulps, looking to the side in panic when you don’t notice. He opens his tie a little, taking a deep breath. What is happening to him? Has he really been away from you for long enough that the mere playfulness is enough to turn him on? Is it the arm around him? The hand on his waist? The fingers which played with his tie? Is it your outfit or your natural beauty? Or is it this fucking word? Innocent but tonight it tastes sinful on his tongue. Taehyung doesn’t understand what is happening to him, but he can’t stop it. He craves to be close to you.
“But enough about me. How was your day, darling?” you ask him, oblivious to his racing thoughts.
“Me? I”, he clears his throat. “Good, I mean, I don’t know. Kinda shit.”
You and he have reached the living room, sitting down on the couch together. You pull your legs up, turning to him so you are facing him. Taehyung glances for a second, having to swallow harshly. You aren’t wearing any panties. You are accidentally exposing yourself to him in this position. You move your arm, flinging the rope over your crotch mindlessly. The view disappears, but Taehyung is left with a scrambled mind.
You scoot closer and weave your fingers through his styled hair. Taehyung shivers, eyes closing halfway as he gazes at you.
“I’m sorry to hear that you had a shitty day, darling. Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask in a soft and caring voice, eyes focused solely on him.
Taehyung swears he might whimper any second now.
“I just have so much to do. I guess, it’s been weighing me down”, he says.
“Of course it has. You’ve been working long hours lately. I was already worried for you.”
“It sucks”, he confesses honestly and pouts, “I only see you two when you’re sleeping, I don’t get to eat dinner with you or talk to you. I’ve been so lonely lately.”
“No, I’m sorry you feel this way. Gosh come here you”, you say and get on your knees to hug him. Your soft, swollen breasts squeeze against his chest. Taehyung takes in nothing else for just a second before his situation sinks in and he melts into your embrace. He buries his face in your neck, eyes closing and arms wrapping around you. You smell so good. He wanted to hold you like this for days. Just with this one hug you heal him of any kind of loneliness he felt and rid him of any pain he ever felt.
“I’m here now, darling and I’m proud of you. You’ve been working so hard, I just wanna tell you that I’m proud of you.”
Taehyung tears up a little, squeezing you against him.
“Thank you”, he whimpers. Not many people told him that they were proud of him in the past, but you always do. He always soaks up the praise like a greedy sponge. It feels so good to know that you are proud of him.
“Are you crying?” you gasp.
“No, just finally feeling good. I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too”, you say and snicker which lets Taehyung know that you are going to crack a joke next. “Mommy missed you, darling.”
You giggle mischievously, but Taehyung can’t see any humour in it. He feels fucked, pounded, railed, totally ruined just from this one sentence. If you took him, ripped his clothes off and fucked him violently right here and now, it would basically be the same thing.
Taehyung twists the fabric of your rope and presses his lips against your soft neck.
“Mommy”, he whimpers.
You tense up, smile dropping in shock. You know this voice. This is his sub drop voice. Your entire body tingles in realisation, heart skipping way too many beats. Damn your post pregnancy body, you are leaking already.
You test the waters carefully by humming a sound of acknowledgement, holding your breath.
“Mommy, please take care of me.”
“What?” you breathe.
Taehyung mewls and kisses your neck sloppily, long fingers digging into the silky fabric of your rope. You sigh, body going up in flames instantly. So this is how his neck kisses feel like. It has been too long since you last felt them.
Taehyung isn’t the only one who has been going a little crazy ever since he is home. You are just a woman and he is the hottest man ever. His dark styled hair, his styled eyebrows, his pretty eyes and his slim, sculpted body in a tailored suit; all of it has been doing their effects on you. You haven’t seen him in days, except in pictures and your dreams, so seeing him tonight all ruffled and ruined from work is doing things to you. His kiss makes you greedy, his body in your fingers almost mad. Feeling his perfect hands roam your torso and his soft lips kiss your neck is doing the rest.
You are just a woman and he is a man, who knows exactly how to turn you on.
Taehyung lifts his lips from your neck, brushing them against the shell of your ear.
“I’m going insane. You are so soft, Mommy. So soft”, he whispers and whimpers, tugging on your rope needily.
You shed it off with a skilled touch, basking in his reaction. He moans, kissing your newly exposed shoulders while his hands grasp your upper back. They are so big and feel so warm.
He shudders, exhaling shakily.
“Mommy, oh god…”
“Are you okay, baby?”
“No, I’m feeling so submissive to you. I can’t think straight”, he gets out in a slightly pitched voice.
“Shit, you’re sexy. Should Mommy take care of you, mhm?”
Taehyung moans, legs squeezing together needily. His cock is twitching in his slacks, soaking the fabric a little. You are into this as well. You are playing into his fantasy.
“Please”, he begs, needing you like air.
“Mhm, okay. Lie down on my lap, yeah?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
You and he get into position. You sit on the sofa with your feet on the ground and he lies his head onto your lap. You caress his hair, smiling down at him.
“There we go. Are you comfy, my pretty boy?”
He nods his head, gazing up at you with a droopy head. He is so deep in subspace right now. So, so deep.
“I love to hear this. You’ve been working so hard, have been so stressed out. Let Mommy make it better again, okay?”
“Yes, Mommy”, he whimpers, falling even deeper.
“And you gotta help me out too. My tits are killing me tonight, they’re so heavy. Can you help me?”
“Yes please”, he begs, barely seeing you at this point because you are scrambling his brain to the point of a blurry vision.
You smile at him and reach up to tug down the straps of your gown. The silky fabric slips down instantly, exposing your plumped up tits to him.
Taehyung moans, fucking the air.
“Go on, they’re all yours.”
Taehyung gathers them in his shaking hands and goes down on them with an open mouth. He trembles, eyes filling with tears. Your nipples are so swollen, sitting heavily on his tongue. He didn’t even realise how much he missed your breasts in his mouth until now. He whimpers, falling oh so deep into subspace that he won’t be able to escape anytime soon.
You groan in relief, rolling your head back and parting your lips. Your tits were killing you. Even the mere fabric of your dress was painful against your nipples and your skin feels so stretched to its limits. Taehyung’s wet, warm mouth feels like pure heaven. He releases you of so much tension, so much pressure and so much pain that you could honestly cry.
Taehyung is on a high, running on nothing but your sweet taste. He can’t decide on which side to stay, switching between them over and over again as he gets absolutely lost in you with tears down his cheeks and his cock hurting in his grey slacks.
You take care of his big (quite literally) problem. With barely open eyes you watch your own hand as you open his belt and slacks with. Taehyung is too lost to notice. He also doesn’t notice when you push the flap of his briefs to the side. He does notice when you take his cock out however.
You pick up a pace instantly, fingers pumping him quickly.
He sits up slightly in shock, head tilted back and messy mouth agape in a surprised moan. His eyes are widened, staring up at you.
“That feels nice, doesn’t it?” you ask him, massaging his heated tip.
Taehyung keens, spilling tears. It feels amazing. Your hand is so warm and so soft. Your touch is placed with so much love. He missed you so much and it feels so good.
“Of course it does. Relax, yeah? Mommy is gonna relieve you of your pressure too, yeah?”
“Mommy”, he whimpers, dropping on your lap to bury himself back in your soft tits. He takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking hungrily. His cock throbs in your fingers, spilling excitement down his shaft.
You pick it up, using it to jerk him off from the base to his tip. You are spilling down his throat too, feeling on cloud nine from the relief.
“Good boy, that feels amazing”, you praise him. You pick up speed, moving your hand up and down his entire shaft. Now that you finally have him again, you are going to make sure to memorise every single inch of him. Just in case he goes missing again.
Taehyung whimpers, kicking the pillows. His mouth is so eager in how he sucks your nipples. You are getting so much pleasure from it that it is difficult not to moan each word you speak.
“Good boy, my good boy. You’re doing so well for Mommy.”
He can’t really describe how he feels right now, but he knows that he doesn’t want to leave this headspace. He feels safe, that much is sure. He feels horny and pleasured, of course that is a given. But in a sense, he also feels high and far away.
This isn’t the first time that he gets to help you relieve your breasts of pressure. There is only so much your daughter can eat and only so much you can pump before it gets too much. Taehyung read in some of his countless pregnancy books that some wives like it when their husbands relieve them of the excess milk. He talked to you about it, you tried it and both loved it.
You because it genuinely helps with the soreness and pain and because he is so eager in his feast. Taehyung loves it because he gets to help you and be a good husband. His biggest fear is to end up being like his father, so when he gets to make you happy and help you instead of making you cry, very deep wounds heal on his heart. He loves it because he gets to be a good husband, he gets to be with you and share intimacy with you. And because you taste good.
You taste especially good tonight, making his head pound. Every single fiber in his body is submissive right now, charged in electricity because your touches feel really good.
Taehyung sobs, writhing on the sofa in his very distinct way which lets you know that he is going to orgasm way too soon. You spill on the couch because of it. He is so excited that he needs to climax. What a perfect boy he is.
“Do you wanna cum? Is Mommy making you cum?” you ask him, hand restless around his veiny shaft.
Taehyung sobs again, kicking his feet helplessly. His cock is so hot and swollen between your fingers, you fear that it might burst like a balloon soon. He is so perfect.
“You do? Then cum for me, okay? Cum for Mommy”, you encourage him, pumping his tip quickly.
Taehyung whimpers loudly, fulfilling your wish. He arches off the pillows, fingers dimpling your back as he grips you for support. His cock throbs angrily, shooting his cum all over his shirt and tie.
He sobs into you. He was in so much agony, he felt so bad and stressed and lonely. He was so sad. All of this built up in his stomach as painful pressure and you are releasing him off it. This one orgasm is healing him and it feels so good that he has to sob.
You moan with him, soaking up the view like a starved woman. You missed him so much. You missed how he shakes and writhes. You missed how his cock is so pretty when it squirts cum. And you missed how he is gripping whatever he gets a hold of.
“You’re so pretty when you cum. So pretty for Mommy”, you coo, pumping his tip needily. You know that he isn’t climaxing anymore, but you need more. So much more.
Taehyung reaches down hastily, pushing you away. He has had enough. You let off of him, caressing his twitching thighs instead. You need more, but need to hold back. It is so difficult. You want him so bad.
“Good boy, my good boy”, you praise him, trying to sound as normal as possible.
He pants and gulps for a few moments, clearly needing time to get back to you. His eyes open first, glassy and foggy they stare up at you.
“I’m sorry”, he croaks.
“For what?”
“I came too quickly. I didn’t mean to.”
“That’s okay, baby. Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Yes, so much”, he pouts, “thank you, Mommy.”
“Hm, you’re welcome, cutie”, you say and boop his nose with a snicker.
He soaks up the sound like an addict, gazing up at you. He loves you so much.
“I don’t want this to end”, he confesses.
“Me neither, but you’re soft.”
“I’ll eat you out, please.”
You writhe, biting down on your lower lip. You whimper your consent, nodding your head.
Taehyung rolls off the couch, not bothering to stuff his cock inside his slacks nor to clean up. He falls right between your legs, kneeling between them like a worshiper would before his goddess. He gazes up at you, drooling at this point.
“I saw your pussy when you sat down”, he confesses, eyes switching between your face and your exposed tits. They’re wet because his sucking made them leaky.
“Sorry?” you gasp.
“Your pussy. You’re not wearing any panties. I saw.”
“You did?”
“Yes, Mommy”, he whimpers.
“Well fuck”, you chuckle and open your legs, tugging the dress up your butt so you were completely exposed, “no need to hide then.”
Taehyung groans, tongue dripping drool as he gawks at you like a hungry dog.
“Whenever you’re read-”
He interrupts you by burying his face in your pussy with a hungry growl. He doesn’t waste any time going slow, lapping up your sweet nectar greedily.
You moan, dropping your head on the edge of the backrest and burying your hand in his hair. You lift your legs, placing them over his shoulders. He supports them by wrapping his arms around them, hands spreading out on your inner thighs.
“That’s it, holy fuck”, you moan, toes curling in ecstasy. You have been incredibly sensitive ever since you gave birth. One night you even confessed to him that you worried something was wrong with you because his touch felt so good to you. Taehyung called a doctor the next day who told him that this could happen and shouldn’t be reason for concern unless it becomes uncomfortable. When Taehyung then proceeded to ask what he could do to help, the doctor told him that the answer would be inappropriate but that Taehyung knows exactly what to do as your husband and to do it right. You laughed so hard when he confessed the phone call to you and how the doctor basically told him to just fuck you right. But that night, you soon couldn’t laugh anymore when Taehyung followed the doctor’s orders and fucked you so goddamn right.
Ever since then, Taehyung has been practically insane in his skills, regularly bringing you to the point of a liquid brain and a wobbly body. Tonight is no different. He uses his entire mouth on your pussy, switching between licking and sucking every inch of you. He also switches between your clit and your folds, sometimes lingering on your entrance as well.
“Tae more”, you beg during a moment he pulls his tongue away from your leaking hole. He lifts his head for a moment, checking for consent. You are blissed out, leaky tits heaving up and down and face glowing in bliss. Taehyung moans.
He looks back at your pussy, gathering his saliva so he could spit on you. He picks up the slick, stuffing it into your pussy a moment later as he buries three of his fingers inside your swollen walls. You arch off the sofa, twisting his hair just enough that there is a tug present but no pain. Taehyung doesn’t like pain and you never disrespect this limit, even if he is currently making you see stars.
“Holy fuck Taeeeee….”
Taehyung connects his sloppy mouth with your clit again, fucking his fingers out of you vigorously.
You practically curl up into a ball, thighs against your chest and ankles crossed. He is too good. You can’t handle the pleasure any other way.
“I can’t breathe, Mommy”, he lulls against you.
“Fuck, sorry, ahm.”
Weakly, you unravel yourself again, putting your feet on his shoulders and your own hands on his own thighs to force your legs to stay open. You grip your own flesh a second later when Taehyung fucks his fingers into you quickly, flicking his tongue over your clit just as quickly. He moans as he does it, forcing a loud noise of pleasure out of you.
Your toes grip his shoulders, your nails leave imprints on your thighs.
“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck”, you chant, seeing entire galaxies.
Taehyung mewls and growls, spitting on his fingers hastily before his tongue dances on your clit again. The slip is so wet and messy. He doesn’t have his palm facing up, but sideways, allowing his long fingers to go so deep that you honestly feel stuffed to the brim.
You can’t do this. Taehyung isn’t the only one who had too much pressure built up in his stomach.
“I’m cumming”, you croak, breaking apart a second later. “Tae! Ah!”
Taehyung moans, swallowing your orgasm hungrily. He moves his fingers and tongue just right, helping you ride out the blissful warmth until you tell him to stop.
With shaking knees, he climbs onto the couch again. You don’t change position, letting him kneel on the pillow with one leg while the other was still on the floor.
You kiss messily, sloppily. He tastes like your squirt, you taste like bliss. You are both gone, moaning and gulping each other up as best as possible. Going days without talking nor seeing each other was torture. Going even longer without sex is literally the reason why you are acting like animals right now.
“I need you to fuck me”, you break the kiss, hands on the nape of his neck.
“Yes, Mommy. Please.”
“Good boy, do it.”
Taehyung nods his head vigorously and stands up. He takes off his pants and briefs, but keeps his ruined shirt on. You get into position in the meantime, kneeling on the couch with your stomach against the backrest and your butt facing him.
He moans at the view but doesn’t acknowledge it any further because he is too needy for you. You look at him over your shoulder, grabbing his tie to tug him closer.
“You’re mine. Mommy’s pretty boy.”
“Holy fuck, Mommy”, he moans, spilling submissive tears. His chest melts with your back, his arms cage you in as he lets you pull him into a kiss. His right hand is on your stomach at first, caressing it, but soon slips to your exposed tits to knead them eagerly. He has one knee on the sofa and the other foot on the floor. You moan and mewl, tongue kissing him back eagerly while your left hand dances down to align his newly hardened cock with your dripping pussy. Once he is, you push your hips back, swallowing him whole.
The kiss breaks because Taehyung broke it in a submissive moan, swollen lips pressing against your cheek.
“That’s it. Filling up Mommy so well…”
“Mommy…”
“So pretty, you sound so pretty when you call me that.”
He bottoms out. You instantly begin rutting into him, fucking his cock fast and sloppily.
His right hand slips from your tits, gripping the backrest as well. His normally deep voice comes out a high-pitched whimper, face dropping into the crook of your shoulder.
He drives you mad. You drop your head to the front, twisting his grey tie. It feels so good to fuck yourself on him. He is such a good dildo. The way his cock curves is so perfect for positions like tonight’s. You are getting stimulated at the deepest spots, making you wish that he could fucking live in you.
Taehyung is a mess behind you, drooling on your shoulder and spilling constant tears of pleasure. He knew that he missed you, that the long hours in his lonely office made him needy, but he wasn’t aware of how bad it actually was. He knows that he should be moving his hips right now, but he can’t. He is frozen in too much pleasure, reduced to serve as your dildo to fuck yourself on as he tries not to pass out in the process.
“Good boy, good fucking boy. Mommy’s good boy”, you chant, riding on a literal high.
“Mommyyy”, he keens, throbbing inside you.
“Soo good. Touch my clit.”
Taehyung obeys, moaning with you as you tighten around his cock.
“Good boy, ah!” you throw your head back, fucking him faster. The position you find yourself in, makes your tits naturally hang over the edge of the sofa. They are hurting from not being touched.
“Actually, changed my mind. Touch my fucking tits. They’re so heavy.”
Taehyung obeys instantly, holding your swollen tits in his big hands.
“Good boy. Fuck yes, hold Mommy’s heavy tits. Fuck baby…”
Taehyung bites your shoulder, hips stuttering as your words make them work against his will. No wonder he got you pregnant. Taehyung always forgets how good you are at sex and how much power you have over him until he is balls deep inside you and you literally ruin him. No wonder you managed to get yourself pregnant on him, when you fuck like this it is bound to happen that Taehyung nuts in you as deep as his seed can go and it actually fucking works. There is no way around it.
“Mommy, it’s too much”, he sobs.
“Too much? Need a break?”
“No. No, just too much. Too good. Aaah.”
“Mmh so good. Mommy’s so proud of you, baby. You’re fucking me so well”, you praise, fingers rubbing your clit vigorously.
“I have to cum again, Mommy.”
“Don’t hold back, fill me up.” You encourage him with clenches of your walls. “Make me a Mommy again.”
Taehyung breaks instantly, and with such utter need that he accidentally pins you against the sofa to rut into you. The praise you wanted to moan gets knocked out of you, loud wails replace it. Your eyes go cross, your limbs shake. He is fucking you just right, making your walls tremble as he fills them with his creamy cum.
He wants to slow down afterwards but you stop him with a yelp.
“Don’t stop! I’m close!”
Taehyung somehow growls and whimpers at the same time, hands kneading your tits to the point they leak against their will. His cock aches, but he can’t stop. Not when his beautiful, soft wife is so close to an explosive orgasm. He knows how sensitive you are, how much sex you need, how he had neglected you unwillingly. He needs to serve and please and submit to your pleasure to finally make up for what you had to miss out on.
“Mommy, my cock is so sensitive. Oh god Mommy”, he is still whining about his condition, crying into your shoulder.
“Soon. Soon. Please harder. Everything.”
Taehyung understands. He bites your shoulder again, speeding up his hips as he slams his cummy cock into your creamed walls repeatedly. He squeezes your tits harder, rubbing your swollen nipples between his fingers vigorously.
“Tae!” you scream, breaking apart simultaneously. It feels so good that you can’t tell if it started in your pussy, in your clit or in your nipples. All you know is that it makes you writhe and shake and sob because you haven’t had this kind of orgasm in so long. Taehyung fucks you through it, seeing light as he fears for his life. He keeps going despite all that, fucking you so good that have to squirt a second time, soiling his legs and the sofa with it.
“Urgh woah”, you let out once then give up, dropping into the backrest which forces his cock to slip out of you. You spill his cum instantly, groaning in relief.
Taehyung drops beside you into the sofa, burying his hands in his hair to twist it in disbelief. He can barely even breathe. What the fuck was this?
You pant next to him, feeling shocked as well.
It takes the two of you a while to recover from what just happened. The sex was just too intense and your bodies are too broken.
You are the one to end the forced silence.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know”, he whispers.
You and he turn your head slowly, locking eyes.
“I think I can’t move.”
“Me neither.”
You break first, Taehyung follows, showing you his prettiest boxy smile as he laughs with you wholeheartedly. You manage to get out of your trance as you laugh, falling into each other’s arms to hug.
“This was actually insane”, you say.
“Yeah, oh god, I can’t believe you let me call you Mommy.”
“Not gonna lie that was like super hot and sexy. I don’t know what this says about me. Or us for that matter.”
“That we’ll do it again one day?”
You lift your head to meet his gaze. He is giving you the cutest puppy eyes ever.
“Mhm definitely.” You cradle his flushed cheek, caressing his heated skin. “You’re actually the cutest and hottest man at the same time. I think I might be pregnant again just because you’re so sexy.”
He laughs, eyes glimmering shyly.
“Don’t say that”, he mumbles, playing with his own hair giddily.
“I mean it. Gosh you, you’re the best. Mwuah”, you say, giving him a big smooch.
He giggles, kicking his feet happily. You giggle with him, hugging him against your chest.
“You also seriously helped me with my tits. I thought that they would burst tonight.”
He hums, closing his eyes as he seeks your scent and rubs your back.
“I love helping you. Knowing that I can relieve some of that pressure is all I want.”
“You are helping, so much.”
You and he share a nice silence where you hug each other. It is so healing to be with each other. You love each other so much.
Taehyung’s rumbling stomach breaks the silence. You lift your head, meeting his embarrassed gaze.
“Are you hungry?”
“Did you hear my stomach?”
“Loud and clearly.”
Taehyung pouts, and huffs out air, “I haven’t eaten since lunch. I’m so hungry.”
“That’s not good. Luckily for you, Misses Choi made dinner before she left. Come on, we’ll clean up and then eat it together.”
“Really?” he gasps, eyes lighting up at the aspect of finally having dinner with you again.
“Of course. We have so many lost dinners to make up for and I’m hungry again. I’m always hungry lately.”
Taehyung giggles, letting you pull him to his feet so he could follow you to the bathroom hand in hand.
He came home grumpy tonight, but even the concept of this emotion is gone from his heart now that he can finally be with you again. Oh he is going to cuddle you so, so good tonight.
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cocoon | s.r.
in which your life is put in danger during an otherwise routine case, and you haven't even told Spencer about the baby
margotober masterlist
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: case violence, withholding information, miscarriage, pathologicalreid's first open-ended angst, fighting, alzheimers, schizophrenia, reader didn't necessarily want kids, mentions hospitals word count: 1.82k a/n: do i even dare tag this as the spencer reid dilf agenda? anyways: don't like? don't read!
Your hands were cold. They shake as you turn the key to your apartment, pushing the heavy door open and letting yourself trudge through. You hold the door for Spencer to come in, carrying both of your go bags after he had refused to let you carry your own.
Using the wall for support, you kick your shoes off, pushing them with your toes until they’re in their designated spot. Your eyes follow Spencer as he makes his way to your shared bedroom. You watch while he stares at the go bags he set on the dresser, seemingly deciding that he’s not willing to spare the energy that unpacking will take before returning to you in the living room.
Sometimes, coming back from cases, everything in the apartment felt welcoming, but now it all seems foreign to you. Home never feels quite right when you’re in the middle of a fight. “Couch or bed,” Spencer says, passing behind you but leaving nothing behind. There’s no tentative touch to your waist or kiss on your head, just the rush of air that follows his movements.
You hum absentmindedly, turning your head to follow his movements into the kitchen, rifling through the refrigerator, looking for something that had been lost to the back with time.
“Bed rest,” he reminds you, refusing to spare you a glance as his head stays in the refrigerator. “Couch or bed,” he repeats, maintaining a clipped tone.
Silently, your lips close to form a small ‘o’, the recognition flickering in your brain as you step around the couch and sit down on the couch. Staring out your sliding door, you watch the sun while it rises in the sky, light pouring through every window of the apartment. You find yourself wanting to shut the blinds and close yourself into the apartment, using the walls as a cocoon to protect yourself.
Trembling fingers pull the cuffs of your sweatshirt over your hands, simultaneously trying to keep yourself warm and put distance between your body and the rest of the world. You tuck your feet underneath you, leaning into the cushions behind you as Spencer finally reveals himself, standing on the opposite end of the coffee table with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
“How long are you going to be mad at me?” You ask him, your voice gravely from lack of use, the two of you having barely spoken over the last day.
The look he gives you is incredulous, “I don’t know, how long did you know you were pregnant without telling me?”
His eyes are darker than usual, the grief of the last twenty-four hours overshadowing the gold that usually rims his pupils. You avert your eyes to hide the tears that are pricking your eyes, avoiding his gaze and avoiding his question.
Two weeks. You had known you were pregnant for two weeks before yesterday. There hadn’t been a plan for how you wanted to tell him, but it certainly wouldn’t have been gasping it out after being tackled by an UnSub.
You weren’t in the line of danger, staying with the local police, Spencer, and JJ while the rest of the team cleared through a warehouse. No one suspected an inside job until it became glaringly obvious, with you being the target of the local officer’s rage when something inside him snapped.
Never in your wildest dreams have you ever imagined telling Spencer you’re pregnant with a gun to your head, but that’s exactly what you did.
The confession had startled the officer enough to give JJ a clear shot, and Spencer managed to catch you before you hit the ground in a puddle of tears and apologies.
He knows the answer to his question, but a small, vindictive piece of him wants to punish you with reminders of your mistake. You should’ve told him. It was too late to fix it now.
Wiping underneath your eyes with your sleeves, you watch in your periphery as he drags a chair across the floor, the worn feet scraping on the hardwood. “Here,” he says, holding out a small bottle with an orange cap. He shakes the sports drink in his hand, “You need the electrolytes.”
Your eyes narrow as you reach out and accept the drink, noticing how he’s already broken the seal for you when you hold the bottle close to your chest, “Thank you,” you breathe, emotion constricting your lungs, the bruise on your ribs further straining your breathing.
“Are you hungry?” He asks, and you look up at him. Something solemn and unspoken clouds the darkness in his eyes, and you wish he would just tell you what he’s thinking.
Uncertain, you shake your head. You’ve been nauseous all day, Gatorade was going to be a struggle—you didn’t need to know how getting food down would go. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, an ineffective repetition of an apology you know he won’t accept.
His expression doesn’t falter, “I’m sure you are.”
Your breathing hitches at his apathy, hugging yourself as tightly as you can without causing yourself any pain. “Go away,” the plea that escapes your mouth is weak, your tone as miserable as you feel, “I don’t need your punishment right now.”
“I’ll sit here until you explain why you didn’t tell me you were pregnant until it was between that or a bullet in your brain,” he vows, leaning back in his chair.
Holding back a reaction to his callousness, you avert your eyes again, instead looking at the care packet that the hospital sent you home with. Spencer wasn’t being hostile out of anger—he was doing this out of fear. “Don’t you think having a miscarriage will be punishment enough?”
For at least a moment, your question renders him speechless. “We don’t know that you’re going to miscarry,” he tries to assuage your concern.
You stare at him blankly, unable to form a coherent response to his attempt at reassurance. You thought you had been on the same side, but his consoling shows you a new perspective. While you had been starting the process of mourning your baby, Spencer was still holding onto the hope that your pregnancy would stick.
“We don’t,” he echoes, grabbing the packet off the coffee table and flipping to your care history. “Your HCG was almost 150,000 this morning, that’s really good. Fetal heart rate was 172, which is right on track for ten weeks,” he points to the percentile charts that the hospital provided for you.
Swallowing thickly, you unscrew the cap of your drink and take a small, calculated sip. The look that you previously hadn’t been able to name in his eyes was desperation, each breath a silent plea for you to not give up. “You want this baby,” you observe, studying the look in his eyes, a sorrowful gleam glossing over his brown irises.
Your comment throws him off balance, “I’ve always been unambiguous in my stance on having kids.” He stands up from the chair and starts pacing around the living room as if he’s expelling nervous energy.
“No, you haven’t,” you tell him, keeping your voice level and trying to stay calm.
Spencer’s footsteps faltered, “Okay, fine. Tell me when I somehow gave you the idea that I don’t want a family.”
Accepting his challenge, you lean your head back on the cushions, tracing the lines of the ceiling with your eyes. “When your mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and we were long-distance while you stayed with her in Vegas, we used to sit on the phone into all hours of the night and you would go on tangents. I mean… these animated rants about the genetic lottery and how the last thing you’d want to do is have a child just for them to inherit your problems.” Emotion burns your throat, but you keep speaking, “You told me you’d feel helpless having a child with your genes knowing that by the time they’re old enough to have a schizophrenic break, you won’t remember who they are.”
He's completely silent, his breathing so level that it doesn’t make a sound. Spencer was just standing in his reality.
“Then,” you take a deep breath, “After Cat.”
“Stop,” he says immediately, the word hoarse and miserable.
You press your lips together, “No,” you respond simply. “You told me you’d never be able to have a child without considering what might have happened had she been telling you the truth. I was fine with that, Spencer. I never wanted kids the way you did, the fervent way you used to talk about having a baby and being the father that you never had, it completely went away, and I was fine with that.”
You watch him push the heels of his hands into his eyes, halting his tears before they can fall.
“I could’ve been perfectly happy with the rest of our lives if it did turn out to just be us, until that little blue plus sign popped up,” you lament. “I tried,” you cry, unable to stop the tears that run down your face, “I stayed out of dangerous situations. I haven't drawn my gun since I found out. I asked Tara to go into that building because I thought I’d be safer outside with you, and I’m afraid to say it but… I don’t think anything would have changed even if you knew beforehand.”
Spencer drops his arms, kneeling in front of the couch as he gathers your hands in his and brings them to his mouth, whispering your name like a prayer. “I want this baby,” he confirms your earlier observation.
Your shoulders slouch in a mixture of disappointment and exhaustion, “Spence, I do too, but it’s not— the bleeding…” you blubber.
He shakes his head, “The bleeding resolved in the hospital,” he reminds you.
Peering down at him, you can’t help but wonder when he became so optimistic in the face of terrible things.
“Promise me,” he begs, “Promise me you’ll do the bed rest and listen to all of the doctor’s orders until we get to go to the obstetrician’s office on Monday.”
Tentatively, you nod at him, “You’ll come with me?” You hiccup a sob, unrelenting tears falling to the front of your sweatshirt.
He nods back, lifting himself so that he’s sitting next to you on the couch, pulling you into him, resting your head on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” he sniffles, carefully putting his arms around you, returning warmth to your body.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” you whisper, your voice unbelievably small as you gather the fabric of his cardigan in your fists.
He drops a gentle kiss to the side of your head—the only part of you he could reach without letting you go, which he wasn’t about to do. “I’m not,” he assures you, “I’m not.”
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