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a-kaash-me-outside · 7 months

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˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto.

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you.

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.”

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back.

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in.

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs.

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable.

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest.

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin.

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you.

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?”

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door.

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient.

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body.

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait.

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure.

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration.

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence.

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now.

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils.

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question.

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope.

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think.

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less.

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view.

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates.

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes.

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer.

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest.

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left.

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me.

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated.

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along.

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now.

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you��ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?”

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that.

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want.

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever.

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it.

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee.

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee.

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee.

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee.

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee.

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt.

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead.

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful.

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either.

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession.

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too.

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too.

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too.

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again.

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says.

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips.

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body.

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs.

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat.

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act.

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall.

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?”

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out.

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure.

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this.

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out.

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys.

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen.

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes.

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere.

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked.

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?”

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs.

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face.

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering.

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost.

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs.

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together.

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur.

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree.

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?”

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow.

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence.

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump.

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask.

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not.

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement.

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before.

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile.

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak.

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about.

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree.

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response.

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh.

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy.

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case.

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop.

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word.

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky.

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too.

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are.

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles.

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time.

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you.

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop.

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back.

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety.

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur.

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter.

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates.

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder.

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

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selene-writes · 28 days

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You-Me-Us

AHHHH Hey guys! There's lots of Logan craze on here thought I would try writing. Should this be a series? Its short and there's lot of places to go from here.

You had known Logan for fifteen years—technically, that had been your entire life, or at least as much of it as you could remember. Your earliest memory was of his face peering down at you with a mixture of concern and relief. You were in some sort of ruined laboratory, your body aching with a pain you couldn’t fully comprehend. You didn’t even know your own name at the time. Instead, you went by Artemis, a name you had chosen for yourself, though Logan often called you "bub."

Like Logan, you were a mutant, endowed with the gift of regeneration. This ability made it impossible to determine your exact age. In addition to your regenerative powers, you possessed the unique ability to manipulate atoms. This rare skill granted you control over all elements, a power that made you incredibly unique and powerful.

You had both decided to stick together, united in your quest to uncover the truth about who you were and why you had ended up there. It was evident that something significant had happened to both of you, something that had rendered you both invincible. Despite the mysteries that surrounded your origins, the bond between you and Logan only grew throughout time.

As time passed, the nature of your relationship evolved in ways neither of you had anticipated. Somehow, amidst the chaos and the search for answers, you had found yourselves tumbling into bed with each other. While the physical connection had become a part of your lives, nothing had fundamentally changed, and you never talked about it.

Even as you navigated your complicated relationship, your focus remained on the shared mission: to piece together the truth about your past and understand the full extent of your powers.

Everything happened so quickly. You and Logan were in the middle of your usual routine—hitting various bars and grifting people for money. It was a familiar pattern, one that had become almost comforting in its predictability. But that night, things took an unexpected turn.

A teenager—no older than seventeen—had sneaked into the back of your car. Her name was Rogue, and despite your initial reluctance, you and Logan ended up arguing about what to do with her. Logan, ever the soft-hearted one despite his gruff exterior, eventually agreed to give her a ride, though it was clear he would have done so regardless of your persuasion.

The situation quickly spiraled out of control. Out of nowhere—a caveman-like brute—attacked you. Logan was momentarily knocked out in the chaos, leaving you and Rogue vulnerable. The man’s strength was overwhelming, and before you could react, he hurled you against a tree. The impact was brutal, and you felt a jarring “crack” as your head struck the trunk.

You crumpled to the ground, falling into the snow. As the world around you dimmed, the last thing you saw was the silhouettes of the figures moving closer, their shapes growing more defined against the stark whiteness of the snow.

You woke with a groan, sitting up abruptly as if propelled by instinct. Your body felt as good as new, fully healed from the earlier impact. Instinctively, you scanned your surroundings, your mind racing with concern for Logan and his whereabouts.

As your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you noticed a bald man sitting in a wheelchair across the room. Despite his lack of visible movement, his voice seemed to come from all around you, resonating in your mind as much as your ears.

“There is no need to panic,” he said, his lips remaining still, not in sync with his words.

You tensed, on high alert. “How are you doing that?” you demanded, your voice edged with suspicion.

The bald man responded aloud this time, “How do we do anything? We’re mutants.”

Your frustration boiled over. “Where am I? Where is Logan?”

The man’s calm demeanor didn’t waver. “He is safe… you both are.” He began to wheel closer; his movements deliberate and smooth. “As for where you are… You are at my academy, where we help those like you. You are with… the X-Men.”

#james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett angst #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader angst #logan howlett #hugh jackman #wolverine x reader #the wolverine #the wolverine angst #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine imagine #wolverine x you #wolverine

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yumeka-sxf · 5 months

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Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family - part 3

Part 3 - Yor's keigo

I discussed in part 1 about the different levels of speech in Japanese, particularly how Twilight changes his speech depending on the persona he's donning. He uses keigo, the standard polite form of speech, when he's acting as Loid Forger, but uses casual speech as Twilight. Yor, however, uses keigo all the time, to a degree that some would feel is excessive, but also makes sense for her character.

Keigo is the most basic form of polite speech in Japanese. It's the speech that's taught in pretty much every beginner Japanese learning course because it's the "safest" for most situations. Without getting too technical, it basically involves using the polite conjugations of verbs. All verbs in Japanese have a "polite" conjugation form that's used in keigo. For example, the verb "to go," 行く (iku), will change to 行きます (ikimasu): change the く(ku) to き (ki) and add -ます (-masu). -masu itself is then conjugated further to show past tense, negative tense, etc. Likewise, one would use です (desu) as the "to be" verb instead of its casual equivalent だ (da). For example, saying 車です (kuruma desu), which means "there is a car" instead of 車だ (kuruma da). It's even more casual to leave out the "to be" verb altogether.

Unlike Twilight, who changes his speech depending on who he's talking to or which facade he's using, Yor consistently uses keigo, whether she's talking to an adult like Loid, a child like Anya, and even an animal like Bond. She uses keigo with strangers as well, even those who are antagonistic to her, like the other assassins in the cruise arc.

Even at times when using polite speech isn't warranted, like in her own thoughts, she still uses keigo regardless.

In addition to using keigo with pretty much everyone, she also uses the polite -さん (-san) honorific with everyone's names as well. It's not unusual to do this with fellow adults like Loid, Camilla, and Franky, but when it comes to kids, especially when they're not your own kids, other honorifics are also an option. For example, adults can use the honorifics -ちゃん (-chan) for little girls and -くん (-kun) for little boys, both of which denote endearment to someone young/cute. Loid calls Damian "Damian-kun" and Fiona calls Anya "Anya-chan" for example. But Yor uses "-san" for Anya, Damian, Becky, and probably every other kid she hasn't met yet! She uses "-san" with animals as well, which isn't nearly as common. She's the only one who calls Bond "Bond-san" and she even called the cat Kopi from chapter 43, "Kopi-san."

She also uses "-san" for people whose names she doesn't know, and in some cases, probably shouldn't show respect to. She calls the terrorists from the doggy crisis arc "terrorist-san", bad guys that she takes out on her missions "warumono-san," Olka's group "mafia-san," and the other assassins from the cruise arc "koroshiya-san."

The only exception to Yor's excessive use of keigo is Yuri, which makes sense since it's standard practice to be more casual with a younger relative than an older relative or someone outside the family. He's the only person she refers to without "-san" (she just calls him "Yuri"). And while she does use the informal verb forms with him, she still uses "desu" and its conjugations. So overall, she's more casual with him, but not completely so.

When talking about herself, Yor uses the standard, gender-neutral, polite word for "I"/"me," 私 (watashi). However, when talking to others, she never uses any form of "you." Like I mentioned in part 1 about how there's different ways of saying "I" and "me" in Japanese depending on the speech level, the same is true for "you." But it's always more polite to say someone's name or title instead of "you," and Yor does that all the time. Just like in part 2 how I couldn't recall any instance where Anya says "I" or "me" since she always refers to herself in third person, I can't recall any time Yor called someone "you" instead of saying their name or title.

While Loid uses the casual "you" word お前 (omae) when talking to Anya, Bond, Franky, and anyone else he doesn't have to be polite with, he doesn't use any form of "you" for Yor. He speaks to her the same way she does to him – saying her name plus "-san" instead of using "you."

Unlike English, Japanese is a language where you don't have to say pronouns if it's understood by the context, which is why something like this is difficult to convey in a translation.

I think it's an interesting contrast that Twilight is constantly changing how he speaks depending on whether he's acting as Loid Forger, as a spy, whether he's conversing with a fellow spy like Fiona, a casual friend like Franky, someone he respects but can't be fully open with like Yor, and even how he talks to himself in his head…yet Yor is the total opposite. As I've discussed in this post, she's extremely consistent in her speech, never straying from being polite no matter who she's speaking to or whether she's in her Thorn Princess role or not, or even whether she's speaking to herself in her head or not. This just further proves that, while Yor has to keep her assassin job a secret, she doesn't have to create a fake persona for it. Unlike Twilight, who acts one way as a spy and another way as Loid Forger, and perhaps another as his "true" self, Yor doesn't feel the need to hide anything about herself other than her job as an assassin – Thorn Princess and Yor Forger are the same person who shows respect for others no matter what her relationship is with them.

Such excessive use of keigo is odd for a fluent speaker, but it's not unheard of. There are plenty of examples of characters from other anime/manga who use keigo all the time too. I think it gives us an interesting, subtle look into their character. In Yor's case, I think her constant use of keigo comes from a combination of her sweet personality that never wants to offend anyone, but also her poor self-esteem. After all, keigo and other polite forms of Japanese speech are meant to elevate the listener while humbling the speaker. Yor speaks politely to everyone because she simply wants to be kind to everyone and make them feel comfortable, even those she has to kill, but at the same time, she often feels inferior to others.

However, there are rare exceptions where Yor stops using keigo which are, appropriately, during very suspenseful, high-stakes moments where politeness would be the least of her worries. For example, during her fight with Barnaby when she realizes she's holding back, she starts using casual speech. But she goes back to keigo before too long.

But probably the most notable example of her completely dropping keigo is near the end of her big battle against the assassins on the cruise ship, where she finally comes to realize what she's fighting for. During her whole epiphany scene – starting from when she thinks of Yuri and herself as kids until she stands up and says she won't stop fighting – she switches completely to casual speech.

There are many ways to interpret this, but I think it shows what an emotional revelation this was for her: she remembered that the suffering in the world is what caused her to want to protect Yuri from any kind of tragedy, and now the same can be said for Loid, Anya, and Bond. She remembered the words of acceptance she heard from Loid when they first met, words no one else had likely ever said to her before. She realized that she didn't care what happened to her as long as she could stop anything bad from happening to her loved ones – in that moment, no formalities were necessary with such intense self-reflection.

Continue to Part 4 ->

<- Return to Part 2

#sxf #spy x family #spy family #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #twiyor #sxf manga #sxf analysis #sxf manga spoilers #sxf meta

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reverie-starlight · 6 months

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{PR DAY ~ sakusa kiyoomi}

MSBY manager!reader my beloved <3

it’s PR Day for the jackals and you, their manager, have the day off. so why is your boyfriend trying so hard to convince you to go with him?

gn!reader, fluff, an attempt at humor, atsumu slander (as much as it pains me, it comes with the territory of writing a fic like this 😔) suggestive in some parts. not nsfw at all, but explicit language is used and one conversation surrounds that topic, so read at your own risk <3 also, intentional tense-switch in the beginning!!! and just like the first part, it’s not explicitly mentioned, but reader and atsumu have known each other since high school.

part 1 of the mini-series

managing MSBY came with its ups and downs.

on one hand, you wouldn’t have met your boyfriend if it weren’t for this job. and you've never laughed as hard as you have been these past three years with coworkers before meeting the current core line up of the jackals.

but on the other? you had three massive fully grown children under your care. four, technically, if they managed to annoy sakusa enough that he stoops to their level of childishness.

which was unfortunately very often.

…

nearly every week.

…

fine, basically everyday.

and ever since your relationship was revealed to the team nearly a year ago, the “trouble trio” had been behaving exactly like you expected them to. the whole team was slightly insufferable about it, sure, but atsumu, hinata and bokuto really took it too the next level.

so obviously you really valued your days off.

and today was the first day off you’ve had in months. you refused to take off days during the busiest weeks of the season, but today was a PR day.

interviews, promotional videos for the official social media accounts, a livestream or two- all things you were more than happy to leave in the hands of the team’s PR and social media managers.

the birds were singing, the sunlight was streaming through the bedroom window and a cool breeze could be felt against your skin. the day was calm and you were so excited to relax and do all the things you had planned.

but of course, your hopes are just that.

you see your boyfriend standing in the doorway of your bedroom, looking like he wants to say something. your heart lurches into your throat.

“soooo,” he starts, not looking directly at you as he moves to the bed and looks at his laid out clothes. you’re already shaking your head before he can say anything else. he ignores this and proceeds to betray you. “if you wanted to tag along today, you could or whatever.”

he’s shameless. he knows how much you’ve been looking forward to today.

“kiyoomi. love of my life. my darling. what the fuck?”

he lets out a snort and looks down at you semi-pleadingly- a rare sight. “I’ll buy you coffee on the way there.”

oh, he’s bargaining? you smirk. “aww, baby,” you stand up and make your way over to him, dramatically twirling and falling back into him with the back of your hand touching your forehead and the other pressed to your chest. “you just can’t bear to be apart from me, can you?”

the pleading look in his eye fades and he gives you a disgusted look you know he doesn’t mean. his arms stay wrapped around you so you don’t fall. “you wish.”

you shrug and move back to your chair, finishing up your morning routine. “hmm I guess I’ll stay here then.”

you enjoy the silence for a moment before he sighs. “fine, two coffees.”

a loud laugh leaves your mouth when he says that. your boyfriend would never put this performance on for anyone else. it was as close to begging as you’d ever get from sakusa kiyoomi.

you shake your head and sigh. “my love, you know I’ve been looking forward to my day off for so long. why are you so insistent about me going with you?”

suddenly he’s behind your chair and leaning down so his breath tickles your ear. “coffee and lunch and maybe when we get back I could be convinced to try that thing you were talking about…” the words are backed up by a kiss to your jaw and some pointed eye contact through the mirror.

you widen your eyes and search his expression for any trace of a lie.

none.

you cannot believe you’re letting him convince you into this, but the offer is far too good to pass up.

you pretend to mull it over, then meet his eyes in the mirror again. “make sure the trouble trio don’t try to coerce me into working and we have a deal.”

“well of course, I was going to yell at them if they tried anything like that anyway.”

“perfect, then let’s seal it with a kiss.”

“only a kiss, baby, I feel your hands wandering.” he pecks your lips quickly and pulls away before you can deepen it.

you pout. “can you blame me? you’ve got me all excited now.”

he shakes his head fondly and straightens up, moving to put the shirt his stylist had insisted upon for the upcoming interviews. you had to hand it to her- she knew exactly what she was doing.

you watch him with hawk eyes and he just turns his head to look at you in amusement. “stop staring at me and get ready, you perv, we have to leave soon.”

as soon as you step into the building where all the other jackals are, you’re bombarded with confused greetings.

“hey, I thought it was your day off?”

“ayy, manager’s here! good to see ya.”

“what are you doing here? you weren’t scheduled for today, were you?”

you sigh and sip your coffee, letting go of sakusa’s hand as you speak to the coach. “no, I wasn’t. I was kidnapped and brought here by one of your wing spikers.”

he chuckles and glances over at your boyfriend, who is looking up at the ceiling and avoiding eye contact. “I see. well, if anyone tries to get you to work today, just let me know and I’ll help sakusa put them in their places.”

you smile kindly. “thank you, sir, I appreciate it.”

as soon as he walks away, you’re surrounded by the three people you wanted to see least today.

a long sigh leaves your lips as atsumu, hinata and bokuto stare at you in wonder.

“just get it over with,” you grumble.

“how much do ya wanna bet he promised something outrageous?” atsumu.

“what, like an all expenses paid vacation?” hinata.

“no, it’s omi-omi, it wouldn’t make sense for him to take time off in the middle of game season.”

you roll your eyes at their back and forth and glance over at the man in question, who appears to be glowering. you can almost picture the scowl underneath his mask. “you’re all idiots,” he states.

“hey! I haven’t even said anything yet!” bokuto protests.

“yes, but I can practically hear the gears in your brain grinding.”

“I’ll bet it’s a sex thing,” atsumu interrupts just as bokuto is about to defend himself.

you all freeze and stare at him.

your boyfriend, deadly calm, says “miya, I will skin you alive.”

the blonde, who absolutely loves getting a rise out of sakusa, just smirks. “oh, so I’m right then?” he turns to you and slings an arm over your shoulder. “tell me, dear manager, what exactly did he have to agree to in order to get ya to show up on your day off?”

you flick his forehead and shake your head disapprovingly. “none of your business, you freak. just 'cause your dating life isn’t going too well right now doesn’t mean you can pry into mine. download tinder or something if you’re that bored.”

bokuto and hinata snicker at that, but straighten up quickly when he shoots them a glare. suddenly, meian stalks up behind the three of them and clears his throat.

“if you’re all done terrorizing our manager, our social media team is ready for us now. hurry up.” he nods at you with an apologetic smile and drags atsumu away from you. “sakusa, you too. we’ve been waiting for a while now.”

as soon as his teammates walk away and he’s sure they’re not watching him, he slumps a bit and you notice the tips of his ears have gone red. you smile at him in amusement and pat his cheek, the action only slightly awkward due to his mask.

“aw lighten up, kiyoomi, I’m used to dealing with atsumu by now. just ignore him, he wouldn’t dream of bringing that up again if he knows what’s good for him.”

he sighs and drops his shoulders, relief washing over him now that he knows you’re not regretting your decision to come with him. he slips off his mask and presses a quick kiss to your lips. “alright. I love you, just enjoy the show.”

you take his mask and walk with him to the rest of the group so that they can start with the promotional videos.

it’s fun to watch, honestly, because the team’s dynamic does work well for the cameras. they’re not even playing anything up.

you sit through the promo videos they need to film for upcoming games, the silly one-off fluff questions and the fan asks for their instagram page before they’re allowed a break.

sakusa stalks over to you with a small scowl and you smile. “you’re doing great, handsome.”

his expression softens a bit and he offers you a kiss on the forehead. “thank you, darling. care for some lunch?”

you nod and pull him out the door before a certain trio can invite themselves to the impromptu lunch date.

you walk in comfortable silence towards the building’s food court before something pops into your mind. “kiyoomi, you never answered my question from earlier.”

he hums in acknowledgment. “and what might that be?”

“why were you so insistent on me joining you today?”

he doesn’t answer for a moment, but you wait patiently. you know he’s not ignoring you.

finally he sighs and squeezes your hand. “I feel like we haven’t been spending much time together lately outside of work… and I was hoping that by bringing you with me today we’d be able to have at least some time together…” his voice is low, but he’s not shy about it.

you fiddle with the chain around your neck, one he bought for you a while back. "that's very sweet of you, kiyo."

"and..." he hesitates a bit, but you squeeze his hand in return to encourage him. "I feel more relaxed in front of the cameras when you're there."

you melt a little bit. "I'm happy I make you feel that way, kiyoomi. thank you for kidnapping me on my day off, I suppose."

he snorts and you smile. you're about to lean in to pull his mask down for a kiss, but you're interrupted. of course.

"hey, hey, hey! there you guys are! we saw you leaving so figured we'd get lunch with you!"

you honestly don't think you could ever be mad at bokuto, but he is seriously testing your patience right now. not far behind him are atsumu and hinata, one looking smug and the other a bit sheepish. one of them probably brought up your departure to bokuto, either on purpose or accidentally you'd never know.

you sigh and pat sakusa on the back. "yeah, come on. you're all paying for your own, though."

you both ignore the whines of the fully grown children behind you and continue walking hand in hand.

~~~~

BONUS:

"so this question is directed at sakusa..." atsumu reads the question silently and the team watches as he holds back a laugh.

you watch as your boyfriend narrows his eyes at the blonde in front of him and you sigh. things had been going so well up until now.

it’s past lunch break now, and their social media manager had just given them a box full of printed out tweets with fan questions to answer. she snickers to herself as if she knows which question it is and looks pointedly at you from behind the phone she’s recording on.

you blink in confusion, but everything is made clear when atsumu opens his mouth again.

“omi-omi, user @/kiyosdear wants to know if you’re single, or if you’re in need of a dog, because they’re more than willing to bark.”

the social media manager giggles, as does the rest of the team. you feel your eye twitch a bit, but you’re easily able to shove down any possession you feel in the moment.

it’s obviously impossible to ignore so many people vying for his attention all the time, but sometimes it could be a little funny to see how flustered your boyfriend could become from the unwanted attention.

you smile at the small scowl that forms. “no thank you. I’d want nothing less.”

atsumu snorts at his curt answer and hands the box to him. sakusa picks out a question and reads it to himself before blushing furiously and turning his face away from the camera. you watch curiously as meian looks over his shoulder to see what could have garnered that reaction from him and his eyes trail to you amusedly.

the social media manager looks like she’s having a field day, zooming in on sakusa’s red face for a moment. it’s not often something flusters him that badly after all. she’ll milk it for all it’s worth.

the captain pries the paper out of your boyfriend’s hand and reads it out loud.

“@/msby_luvr asks, yo @/sakusakiyoomi, is your team's manager single? totally unrelated, @/msbymanager, are you free on thursday?"”

it’s not exactly a secret to the public that there’s something going on between you two, they just don’t know what that something is.

of course neither of you ever confirm or deny anything, but you imagine being asked outright like that is what caught him off guard.

the camera cuts to you, “offstage” laughing at the question and shaking your head a little in amusement.

or maybe he’s not shy, but rather jealous?

that’s kind of sweet.

regardless, you speak up for him, knowing he wouldn't answer. "I am not single, but thanks for asking."

the camera pans back to the team, just in time to catch the tail end of atsumu clapping your boyfriend on the shoulder.

sakusa gives you a small smile, clearly relieved you took over for him, and goes back to focusing on the interview.

hinata, the poor thing, reads the next question. “oh boy… @/msbymanager asks, sakusa and atsumu rivals to lovers arc when?”

you cackle as both men whip their heads in your direction, betrayal and incredulity on their faces.

raising your hands, you said to them “in my defence, I was still miffed about being dragged here on my day off when I sent it in!”

atsumu loudly refuted the question and the jeers from his teammates, but that was all drowned out by the look your boyfriend sent your way.

you sighed. you were really in for it later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ll 100% be doing more MSBY manager!reader. and I’ll do more PR scenarios as well, bc as much fun as this was to write, it didn’t have as much as I wanted to include. but I’ll have to do more research. thank you for reading!! and happy birthday sakusa <3

tags: @dira333 (ty for inspiring me to turn it into a mini-series) @emmyrosee (Ik you love Sakusa and you wanted the WIP for this a long time ago)

#sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader fluff #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #haikyu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu x gender neutral reader

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months

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A Writing Refresher: Basic Grammatical Terms

Adjective: A word which qualifies or modifies the meaning of a noun; as in a 'red hat' or a 'quick fox'. They can be used to complement the verbs 'to be' or 'to seem' ('Sue seems happy today'). Adjectives are sometimes formed from nouns or verbs by the addition of a suffix such as '-able' (lovable), '-ful' (heedful), '-ic' (heroic), '-ish' (foolish), '-ive' (combative), '-ous' (famous), or '-y' (needy).

Adverb: A word which qualifies or adds to the action of a verb: as in 'he ran quickly', or 'he ran fast'. Adverbs can also qualify adjectives, as in 'the grass is intensely green'. They are usually formed by adding '-ly' to an adjective: 'playfully', 'combatively', 'foolishly'. They can also sometimes be formed by the addition of '-wise' to a noun ('the hands went round clockwise).

Clause: The word is often used but very hard to define. It is a sentence or sentence-like construction included within another sentence. A main clause might be a simple noun plus verb ('I did it'). A co-ordinate clause is of equal status with the main clause: 'I did it and she did it at the same time.' A subordinate clause might be nested within a sentence using the conjunction 'that': 'he said that the world was flat.' Here 'he said' is the main clause and the subordinate clause is 'the world was flat'. Relative clauses are usually introduced by a relative pronoun: 'I read the book which was falling to pieces'; 'She spoke to the man who was standing at the bar.'

Conjunction: A word used to connect words or constructions. Co-ordinating conjunctions such as 'and', and 'but' link together elements of equal importance in a sentence ('Fish and chips' are of equal importance). Subordinating conjunctions such as 'because', 'if', 'although', connect a subordinate clause to its superordinate clause ('We will do it if you insist'; 'We did it because he insisted).

Noun: A word used as the name or designation of a person or thing, such as 'duck' or 'river'. Abstract nouns denote abstract properties, such as 'invisibility', 'gentleness'. Proper nouns are nouns that designate one thing, as, for example, personal names.

Object: Usually the thing to which the action of a verb is done. More technically a substantive word, phrase, or clause, immediately dependent on, or ‘governed by’, a verb, as expressing, in the case of a verb of action, the person or thing to which the action is directed, or on which it is exerted; that which receives the action of the verb. So 'the man patted the dog', 'the woman was reading the book'. An indirect object of a verb denotes that which is indirectly affected by an action, but wihch is not the immediate product of it, as ‘Give him the book’, ‘Make me a coat’.

Participle: a word derived from a verb which functions like an adjective, as in 'let sleeping dogs lie'. More technically 'A word that partakes of the nature of a verb and an adjective; a derivative of a verb which has the function and construction of an adjective (qualifying a noun), while retaining some of those of the verb'. Present participles usually end in '-ing' and usually describe an action which is going on at the same time as the verb: so in the sentence '"Go and play on your own street," she said, kicking the ball', the saying and the kicking are simultaneous. Past participles usually end in '-ed' or '-en' ('the door was kicked in'; 'the door was broken'). They are used in two main ways: combined with the verb 'have' they form a past or 'perfect' tense (so called because it describes an action which has been completed or 'perfected'), as in 'I have smashed the plate'. Past participles can also be used in passive constructions (which describe what was done to something rather than what something did), as in 'the plate was smashed'.

Preposition: A part of speech which indicates a connection, between two other parts of speech, such as 'to', 'with', 'by' or 'from'. 'She came from China', 'He gave the chocolates to me'.

Pronoun: A part of speech which stands for a noun: 'he', 'she', 'him', 'her', 'them'. Possessive pronouns express ownership ('his', 'hers'). Reflexive pronouns are 'herself', 'himself', 'myself' and are used either for emphasis (he did it all himself'), or when an action reflects back on the agent who performs it ('he shot himself in the foot'). Relative pronouns include 'who', 'which', 'that' and are usually used in the form 'he rebuked the reader who had sung in the library'. Interrogative pronouns ask questions ('Who stole the pie?'; 'Which pie?'). Indefinite pronouns do not specify a particular person or thing: 'Anyone who studies grammar must be mad.' 'Somebody has to know about this stuff.'

Sentence: This is a term which professional linguists still find impossible to define adequately. It is usually supposed to be 'A sequence of words which makes complete sense, containing subject, object and main verb, and concluded by a full-stop'.

Subject: Usually the person or thing who is performing the action of a verb. More technically the grammatical subject is the part of a sentence of which an action is predicated: 'the man patted the dog'. It can be a single noun, or it can been a complex clause: 'the bald man who had just picked up the ball gave it to the dog.'

Syntax (Greek 'together arrangement'): a term designating the way in which words can be arranged and modified to construct sentences. Writers characteristically use syntactic sub-ordination when they aim for a highly formal effect, and syntactic co-ordination when they aim for a simpler, more straight-forward effect.

Verb: Usually a word which describes an action (such as 'he reads poems', 'she excels at cricket'). More technically 'That part of speech by which an assertion is made, or which serves to connect a subject with a predicate.' This technical definition includes the most frequent verb in the language: the verb 'to be' which can be used to connect a 'subject', such as 'he', with a 'predicate', such as 'good at hockey'. There are verbs which take an object ('he raps the desk'), which are called transitive verbs. Other verbs do not, and are termed intransitive verbs ('I sit, he lives'). Some verbs can be used either transitively or intransitively: 'I sing' is an intransitive usage; 'Paul McCartney sings "God save the Queen"' is a transitive usage. The main verb is the verb on which the structure of the sentence depends, and without which the sentence would not make any sense. In the following sentence the verb 'fell' is the main verb: 'The boy, who had run too quickly, fell'.

#writeblr #spilled ink #dark academia #studyblr #linguistics #grammar #writing prompt #writing refresher #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #literature #poetry #fiction #langblr #light academia #writing reference #writing resources #terminology

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dayyydr3amm3rr · 10 months

Text

IMAGINE*

Imagine meeting Jordan's parents...in an awkward situation

***************

Warnings: sexual contact, Jordan is female-presenting during spicy times, girl on (technically) girl action, cunnilingus, Reader goes down on Jordan. Jordan's unsupportive parents, Jordan's favorite word is fuck. Must be 18+ for this imagine.

Things to Know: Reader will be female in this imagine

***************

"Good fucking girl..." they arched their back, pushing themself deeper into you. Their delicate fingers curled tighter into your hair, pulling your mouth closer to their heat. The words they had just spoken were forced out of gritted teeth. Shivers escaped them after every brush of your tongue against their clit. "Fuck..." they breathed out, bucking their hips into your mouth again. You hummed against their heat, looking up at them from between their legs, your mouth continuing its onslaught of tongue against their clit.

Their legs were thrown over your shoulders, your fingers digging into the muscles of their thighs that were parted on either side of your cheeks. They looked down at you through lust-filled eyes. Jordan had been having a rough day. Their father had called and said that he and Kayla would be making their way down to GODU in the next few days. They never specified when—fucking parents and their lack of giving detailed info—so Jordan has been tense from the neck down. They had been snippy with you a few times, and you had finally had enough.

Jordan had been huffy all morning. They had woken up stressed, they had attended to Brink's every whim stressed, they went to class stressed, they trained stressed, they went to the gym stressed, and they came back to your shared dorm stressed. They were beginning to stress you out. Jordan had been pacing back and forth in front of their bed, ranting about their parents. "What if they just said that to get a rise out of me? I mean, it's been fucking days babe! And so far, they're a fucking no-show!" Your partner had decided to start off male-presenting, their tall frame towering over your sitting frame that was resting on their bed.

You were watching them pace, not sure if anything you said would help. "Maybe...Maybe they were lying!" Jordan continued, before nodding to themself. "Yeah! My dad wouldn't come all the way down here for nothing." You nodded in response. "Yeah. Maybe. If that is the case, then you've been stressed out for absolutely nothing." Jordan glared at you unamused. "I'm just saying, baby. All that stress over the past few days... can't be good for you." You pointed out. "Well, that's not exactly my fault babe! You know how my fucking parents are."

You raised an eyebrow and a finger, pointing it towards your partner. "Okay one, don't snip at me. And two...yes. I do know how your parents are. Even if I have yet to meet them..." you sent them a small smile, lowering your finger and nudging them with your foot. They were still uptight. Their shoulders were curled up to their neck, they didn't smile back, just grimaced in an attempted smile. You let out a sigh, dragging your eyes over your lover. They had just gotten back from the gym. They were wearing a dark blue sweatshirt with black spandex shorts. They had tossed their gym bag to the side as soon as they had walked in.

"Alright! That's it. You need to relax." You stated, standing before patting the bed with your hand. Jordan had scoffed at your words before looking between you and their bed in confusion. You rolled your eyes before patting the bed again. "Like I said; you need to relax. So...pull down your fucking shorts, lay down on your bed, and let me either suck your dick or eat you out so you can fucking relax." The surprised look on their face would have sent you into a fit of giggles if you hadn't been so serious.

They blinked in surprise, mouth hanging open. "You're...serious? Like actually? You want to give me an orgasm to relax me?" "I'd give you multiple if it meant getting you to relax and stop being so snippy." At your words, they had shifted to their female gender and lunged towards you, hands cupping your cheeks as they feverishly pressed their lips to yours. Which has led you to now. You between their legs, their fingers gripping your hair, scratching at your scalp. Your mouth was working overtime on their cunt. Your tongue doing most of the work.

Their eyes rolled back as they threw their head back against their pillows as moans escaped their mouth. They bucked their hips in time with your tongue. They were using you to get themself off—fuck that's hot. "Oh, fuck! Right there! Fuck...I'm gonna cum..." their fingers tightened in your hair, their hips bucking faster. You tightened your grip around their thighs, keeping them spread so you could continue your girl dinner. "Fuck-fuck-fuck..." Jordan hissed through their teeth, arching off their bed. You hummed against them as they came. Their legs trembled slightly from over your shoulders.

They twitched in your grasp when you didn't let up. They rode out their orgasm on your tongue, quickly getting overstimulated by your continuous movements. "Alright, alright!...Fuck..." Jordan had pulled on your hair strands a few times, letting you know that they had had enough. You unlatched yourself from their clit, letting out a giggle. "What? I told you I'd be more than happy to give you multiple orgasms to make sure you're relaxed..." you stated, letting your lips hover over their thigh before pressing wet kisses to it. Jordan used the grip they had on your hair to guide you up their body, legs falling from your shoulders and spreading so you could settle yourself between them.

"You fucking brat. You'll get what's coming to you." They murmured, giving you a small smile. "Is that a threat or a promise?" You asked, tilting your head to the side as you took in their flushed cheeks and heavy breathing. "That's a fucking promise sweetheart. It's my turn now." They smirked, curling their fingers into your hair that was at the back of your neck, pulling your head closer to theirs, catching your lips with theirs. They could taste themself on your tongue. Your partner was quick to switch positions with you, leaving you on your back against their bed, with them hovering over you.

The two of you shared kiss after kiss. They yanked your legs over their waist, keeping you against them. They were quick to yank off your shirt and kiss down your body. The pants you were wearing were next to go. "Fuck...someone's eager." Jordan smirked, looking at the wet spot that had formed in your panties. Those were quick to follow your pants, finding themselves tossed carelessly onto the floor. Your partner was quick to spread your legs and toss them over their shoulders. They shot you a quick smirk before diving straight into you. The grip they had on your thighs was sure to leave bruises once they were done with you.

Their tongue plunged into your wetness, causing you to moan out, one hand sliding down to grasp onto one of Jordan's, fingers intertwining so that you two were holding hands. They ate you out like they were starving. They had you writhing and twitching in their grasp. Their tongue had you gasping out their name, squeezing your thighs around their head. It wasn't like they were complaining. Their tongue was switching between gliding over your clit and entering your wetness. Their fingers held onto yours with a tightness that left only one hand of yours free to run through their bob. They let their tongue and lips wrap around your clit before they sucked. Hard.

Your upper body had almost launched itself off their bed, having your free hand scrambling to push on their shoulders, on their head, trying to unlatch their mouth from your cunt. "Fuck! Fuck!" Your thighs were trembling and you hadn't even cum yet. Jordan chuckled into your cunt, grabbing your other hand that was lightly smacking their head into their other hand, now trapping both of your hands in theirs. "I told you you'd get what was coming to you Y/n..." they murmured, looking up at you from between your legs. "Now, shut the fuck up and let me punish you."

They began to tongue at your cunt again, not leaving you anytime to give them a response. They held your hands hostage as they went to town on you. They hummed against you, feeling your thighs tremble in response. Jordan used their arms to pin you under them. You were writhing under them. They refused to slow down, continuing to eat you out at a torturously fast pace. And you were almost there. There was a chance that once you came, they wouldn't stop. But you sure as hell wasn't going to be complaining. Your partner was an overstimulating queen/king. They knew your limits. And they sure as hell wasn't afraid to push past them either.

The two of you were wrapped in one another. You were lost in the pleasure being given to you by your lover. Jordan was lost in your cunt, their eyes taking in every reaction you gave them. You were breathing fast and heavy. Jordan could tell you were getting close. Your fingers squeezed around theirs. The heels of your feet began to dig into their back. Their name was practically the only word you could formulate. You were almost fucking there...your head was thrown back against their bed, letting them have full control.

Their tongue was carving their name into your cunt. Just a little bit longer...just a few more swipes of their tongue and—there was a knock at the door—Jordan barely removed their mouth from you to answer. "Go away!" Before diving back into your cunt. "Jordan?" Was heard through the thick metal door. It sounded like a woman's voice. Jordan had froze, shooting up from their place between your legs. Your eyes widened as you sat up on your elbows, looking at one another in surprise. "Jordan! It's your parents! Open the door." Was heard, this time by a male voice.

"Shit!" Jordan hissed, immediately springing up and gathering clothes that were spread out all over their floor. "Just a second!" Jordan called out, their male voice filtering through their feminine body. You never got used to them being able to do that. Jordan tossed you your clothes and you shot up, yanking them on as fast as you could. The knocking had become persistent. "Jordan! Can you hear me? It's your parents!" Once dressed, you both began to hide Jordan's more feminine products in various places. "You so owe me an orgasm after they leave!" You hissed, causing Jordan to let out a snort.

You knocked all of their makeup into a drawer while Jordan hid their various bongs and other drug-related items in boxes and their closet. You quickly stashed the many nail polishes they had before Jordan made sure their hair was in place before they made their way to their door, shifting to their male counterpart as they opened it, putting on a tight smile for their parents. "Hey!" "Jordan! How's my boy!" You cringed silently behind Jordan after hearing Jordan's father say that. Jordan's mother held a bag of Vought-a-Burger up as she too embraced her child.

Kayla had noticed you first. "Oh! Hello!...and who are you?" Her question caught the attention of your partner and their father. Jordan seemed to balk completely. It wasn't hard to see that they weren't sure if they were ready for their parents to know about this part of their life. You threw on a dazzling smile, holding out your hand. "I'm so sorry! I should have introduced myself sooner! I'm Y/F/N Y/L/N. I'm Jordan's roommate."

Jordan's mother was the first to shake your hand, a knowing smile on her face as their father gave a smaller smile before shaking your hand, obviously feeling suspicious. "They let boys and girls...dorm together?" Mr. Li asked, looking between you and Jordan. Jordan shrugged, not sure what to say. "Total mixup!" You saved. "We've been trying to get it rectified but as of right now, all of the dorms are filled so I've had to stay here. But, I assure you Mr. and Mrs. Li, you raised a fine young man...he's been nothing but a gentleman."

Jordan's father regained his smile as he playfully punched at Jordan's stomach. "That's my boy! We definitely raised him right." Everyone in the room laughed. Only two of them sounded a bit forced. "Anyways...why are you here?...not that I'm not happy to see you guys...but you said you'd be here days ago." Jordan asked, opening up the bag of food their parents brought for them. Kayla took a seat at Jordan's desk, placing her purse on top of it. "Well, your father and I wanted to surprise you! That's why we didn't tell you exactly when we were planning on coming down."

Jordan's parents stuck around for a few hours. They seemed to like you. Kayla seemed to realize that there was something more than roommates going on between you and Jordan, based on how you two sat next to one another and Jordan shared their food with you. Although, you had an inkling that she knew from the get-go. Jordan's father seemed to slowly warm up to you. You could tell he didn't like the fact that you and his son were roommates, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it. When they were leaving, Kayla lingered, giving Jordan a kiss on their cheek before cupping it. She leaned in a bit closer to them, lowering her voice so her husband didn't overhear. "You make sure to treat her right, hmm? She seems lovely."

Jordan nodded, giving their mother a large smile. "That I can do." Kayla gave one more smile before officially leaving with her husband. After closing their door, Jordan let out a large sigh, slinking over to their bed tiredly. They shift as soon as they hit their bed, closing their eyes. You lay down next to them on your side, admiring them. "I can feel you staring you creep." They muttered, not opening their eyes. "Can't help it. You're just really pretty." Your lover gave a small scoff that sounded like a chuckle. You knew that if their eyes were open, they would have rolled them at you. It was silent for a beat or two before they brought their hand over their face. "Thanks for being with me...and for accepting me...or whatever. I...I appreciate it." They mumbled, hiding their face behind their arm.

You couldn't help the smile that crossed your face as your lover shared their appreciation for you. It wasn't very often that Jordan did that, they were a master at miscommunication and not sharing how they were feeling. So you always made a big deal whenever they decided to show you that rare side of themself. You pulled yourself up, throwing a leg over your lover, settling yourself on their stomach. Jordan's free hand came up automatically to curl around your waist. "Of course. I'd always except you. You're my person, and I love you."

You looked down at them as they slowly uncovered their eyes, a blush slowly fading away on their cheeks. "Aww, I made you blush and you hid it from me!" Jordan rolled their eyes at you, wrapping their other hand around you as well, curling their lips up in a small smirk. "Don't get too cocky Y/n." You tilted your head, looking very much like you had earlier when you first enticed your lover into relaxing just hours prior. "...I love you too...just so you know." "I know. You're my favorite person...just so you know." You teased, slowly leaned forwards, bringing your face closer to their's.

Jordan kept their smirk as their hands slid from your waist to your ass, squeezing the clothed flesh between their fingers. Jordan leaned forwards and kissed you, using their grip on your ass to grind you against their body. "What was it you said earlier? I owe you an orgasm?...I don't know what the fuck you're waiting for, but get up here and ride my fucking face..."

#jordan li x reader #gen v imagines #gen v amazon #derek luh #london thor #Jordan li

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ahaura · 10 months

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Title & subtitle:

[Nov. 21] The Harvard Law Review Refused to Run This Piece About Genocide in Gaza: The piece was nearing publication when the journal decided against publishing it. You can read the article here.

Article text:

On Saturday, the board of the Harvard Law Review voted not to publish “The Ongoing Nakba: Towards a Legal Framework for Palestine,” a piece by Rabea Eghbariah, a human rights attorney completing his doctoral studies at Harvard Law School. The vote followed what an editor at the law reviewdescribed in an e-mail to Eghbariah as “an unprecedented decision” by the leadership of the Harvard Law Review to prevent the piece’s publication.

Eghbariah told The Nation that the piece, which was intended for the HLR Blog, had been solicited by two of the journal’s online editors. It would have been the first piece written by a Palestinian scholar for the law review. The piece went through several rounds of edits, but before it was set to be published, the president stepped in. “The discussion did not involve any substantive or technical aspects of your piece,” online editor Tascha Shahriari-Parsa, wrote Eghbariah in an e-mail shared with The Nation. “Rather, the discussion revolved around concerns about editors who might oppose or be offended by the piece, as well as concerns that the piece might provoke a reaction from members of the public who might in turn harass, dox, or otherwise attempt to intimidate our editors, staff, and HLR leadership.”

On Saturday, following several days of debate and a nearly six-hour meeting, the Harvard Law Review’s full editorial body came together to vote on whether to publish the article. Sixty-three percent voted against publication. In an e-mail to Egbariah, HLR President Apsara Iyer wrote, “While this decision may reflect several factors specific to individual editors, it was not brd on your identity or viewpoint.”

In a statement that was shared with The Nation, a group of 25 HLR editors expressed their concerns about the decision. “At a time when the Law Review was facing a public intimidation and harassment campaign, the journal’s leadership intervened to stop publication,” they wrote. “The body of editors—none of whom are Palestinian—voted to sustain that decision. We are unaware of any other solicited piece that has been revoked by the Law Review in this way. “

When asked for comment, the leadership of the Harvard Law Review referred The Nation to a message posted on the journal’s website. “Like every academic journal, the Harvard Law Review has rigorous editorial processes governing how it solicits, evaluates, and determines when and whether to publish a piece…” the note began. ”Last week, the full body met and deliberated over whether to publish a particular Blog piece that had been solicited by two editors. A substantial majority voted not to proceed with publication.”

Today, The Nation is sharing the piece that the Harvard Law Review refused to run.

enocide is a crime. It is a legal framework. It is unfolding in Gaza. And yet, the inertia of legal academia, especially in the United States, has been chilling. Clearly, it is much easier to dissect the case law rather than navigate the reality of death. It is much easier to consider genocide in the past tense rather than contend with it in the present. Legal scholars tend to sharpen their pens after the smell of death has dissipated and moral clarity is no longer urgent.

Some may claim that the invocation of genocide, especially in Gaza, is fraught. But does one have to wait for a genocide to be successfully completed to name it? This logic contributes to the politics of denial. When it comes to Gaza, there is a sense of moral hypocrisy that undergirds Western epistemological approaches, one which mutes the ability to name the violence inflicted upon Palestinians. But naming injustice is crucial to claiming justice. If the international community takes its crimes seriously, then the discussion about the unfolding genocide in Gaza is not a matter of mere semantics.

The UN Genocide Convention defines the crime of genocide as certain acts “committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such.” These acts include “killing members of a protected group” or “causing serious bodily or mental harm” or “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part.”

Numerous statements made by top Israeli politicians affirm their intentions. There is a forming consensus among leading scholars in the field of genocide studies that “these statements could easily be construed as indicating a genocidal intent,” as Omer Bartov, an authority in the field, writes. More importantly, genocide is the material reality of Palestinians in Gaza: an entrapped, displaced, starved, water-deprived population of 2.3 million facing massive bombardments and a carnage in one of the most densely populated areas in the world. Over 11,000 people have already been killed. That is one person out of every 200 people in Gaza. Tens of thousands are injured, and over 45% of homes in Gaza have been destroyed. The United Nations Secretary General said that Gaza is becoming a “graveyard for children,” but a cessation of the carnage—a ceasefire—remains elusive. Israel continues to blatantly violate international law: dropping white phosphorus from the sky, dispersing death in all directions, shedding blood, shelling neighborhoods, striking schools, hospitals, and universities, bombing churches and mosques, wiping out families, and ethnically cleansing an entire region in both callous and systemic manner. What do you call this?

The Center for Constitutional Rights issued a thorough, 44-page, factual and legal analysis, asserting that “there is a plausible and credible case that Israel is committing genocide against the Palestinian population in Gaza.” Raz Segal, a historian of the Holocaust and genocide studies, calls the situation in Gaza “a textbook case of Genocide unfolding in front of our eyes.” The inaugural chief prosecutor of the International Criminal Court, Luis Moreno Ocampo, notes that “Just the blockade of Gaza—just that—could be genocide under Article 2(c) of the Genocide Convention, meaning they are creating conditions to destroy a group.” A group of over 800 academics and practitioners, including leading scholars in the fields of international law and genocide studies, warn of “a serious risk of genocide being committed in the Gaza Strip.” A group of seven UN Special Rapporteurs has alerted to the “risk of genocide against the Palestinian people” and reiterated that they “remain convinced that the Palestinian people are at grave risk of genocide.” Thirty-six UN experts now call the situation in Gaza “a genocide in the making.” How many other authorities should I cite? How many hyperlinks are enough?

And yet, leading law schools and legal scholars in the United States still fashion their silence as impartiality and their denial as nuance. Is genocide really the crime of all crimes if it is committed by Western allies against non-Western people?

This is the most important question that Palestine continues to pose to the international legal order. Palestine brings to legal analysis an unmasking force: It unveils and reminds us of the ongoing colonial condition that underpins Western legal institutions. In Palestine, there are two categories: mournable civilians and savage human-animals. Palestine helps us rediscover that these categories remain racialized along colonial lines in the 21st century: the first is reserved for Israelis, the latter for Palestinians. As Isaac Herzog, Israel’s supposed liberal President, asserts: “It’s an entire nation out there that is responsible. This rhetoric about civilians not aware, not involved, it’s absolutely not true.”

Palestinians simply cannot be innocent. They are innately guilty; potential “terrorists” to be “neutralized” or, at best, “human shields” obliterated as “collateral damage”. There is no number of Palestinian bodies that can move Western governments and institutions to “unequivocally condemn” Israel, let alone act in the present tense. When contrasted with Jewish-Israeli life—the ultimate victims of European genocidal ideologies—Palestinians stand no chance at humanization. Palestinians are rendered the contemporary “savages” of the international legal order, and Palestine becomes the frontier where the West redraws its discourse of civility and strips its domination in the most material way. Palestine is where genocide can be performed as a fight of “the civilized world” against the “enemies of civilization itself.” Indeed, a fight between the “children of light” versus the “children of darkness.”

The genocidal war waged against the people of Gaza since Hamas’s excruciating October 7th attacks against Israelis—attacks which amount to war crimes—has been the deadliest manifestation of Israeli colonial policies against Palestinians in decades. Some have long ago analyzed Israeli policies in Palestine through the lens of genocide. While the term genocide may have its own limitations to describe the Palestinian past, the Palestinian present was clearly preceded by a “politicide”: the extermination of the Palestinian body politic in Palestine, namely, the systematic eradication of the Palestinian ability to maintain an organized political community as a group.

This process of erasure has spanned over a hundred years through a combination of massacres, ethnic cleansing, dispossession, and the fragmentation of the remaining Palestinians into distinctive legal tiers with diverging material interests. Despite the partial success of this politicide—and the continued prevention of a political body that represents all Palestinians—the Palestinian political identity has endured. Across the besieged Gaza Strip, the occupied West Bank, Jerusalem, Israel’s 1948 territories, refugee camps, and diasporic communities, Palestinian nationalism lives.

What do we call this condition? How do we name this collective existence under a system of forced fragmentation and cruel domination? The human rights community has largely adopted a combination of occupation and apartheid to understand the situation in Palestine. Apartheid is a crime. It is a legal framework. It is committed in Palestine. And even though there is a consensus among the human rights community that Israel is perpetrating apartheid, the refusal of Western governments to come to terms with this material reality of Palestinians is revealing.

Once again, Palestine brings a special uncovering force to the discourse. It reveals how otherwise credible institutions, such as Amnesty International or Human Rights Watch, are no longer to be trusted. It shows how facts become disputable in a Trumpist fashion by liberals such as President Biden. Palestine allows us to see the line that bifurcates the binaries (e.g. trusted/untrusted) as much as it underscores the collapse of dichotomies (e.g. democrat/republican or fact/claim). It is in this liminal space that Palestine exists and continues to defy the distinction itself. It is the exception that reveals the rule and the subtext that is, in fact, the text: Palestine is the most vivid manifestation of the colonial condition upheld in the 21st century.

hat do you call this ongoing colonial condition? Just as the Holocaust introduced the term “Genocide” into the global and legal consciousness, the South African experience brought “Apartheid” into the global and legal lexicon. It is due to the work and sacrifice of far too many lives that genocide and apartheid have globalized, transcending these historical calamities. These terms became legal frameworks, crimes enshrined in international law, with the hope that their recognition will prevent their repetition. But in the process of abstraction, globalization, and readaptation, something was lost. Is it the affinity between the particular experience and the universalized abstraction of the crime that makes Palestine resistant to existing definitions?

Scholars have increasingly turned to settler-colonialism as the lens through which we assess Palestine. Settler-colonialism is a structure of erasure where the settler displaces and replaces the native. And while settler-colonialism, genocide, and apartheid are clearly not mutually exclusive, their ability to capture the material reality of Palestinians remains elusive. South Africa is a particular case of settler-colonialism. So are Israel, the United States, Australia, Canada, Algeria, and more. The framework of settler colonialism is both useful and insufficient. It does not provide meaningful ways to understand the nuance between these different historical processes and does not necessitate a particular outcome. Some settler colonial cases have been incredibly normalized at the expense of a completed genocide. Others have led to radically different end solutions. Palestine both fulfills and defies the settler-colonial condition.

We must consider Palestine through the iterations of Palestinians. If the Holocaust is the paradigmatic case for the crime of genocide and South Africa for that of apartheid, then the crime against the Palestinian people must be called the Nakba.

The term Nakba, meaning “Catastrophe,” is often used to refer to the making of the State of Israel in Palestine, a process that entailed the ethnic cleansing of over 750,000 Palestinians from their homes and destroying 531 Palestinian villages between 1947 to 1949. But the Nakba has never ceased; it is a structure not an event. Put shortly, the Nakba is ongoing.

In its most abstract form, the Nakba is a structure that serves to erase the group dynamic: the attempt to incapacitate the Palestinians from exercising their political will as a group. It is the continuous collusion of states and systems to exclude the Palestinians from materializing their right to self-determination. In its most material form, the Nakba is each Palestinian killed or injured, each Palestinian imprisoned or otherwise subjugated, and each Palestinian dispossessed or exiled.

The Nakba is both the material reality and the epistemic framework to understand the crimes committed against the Palestinian people. And these crimes—encapsulated in the framework of Nakba—are the result of the political ideology of Zionism, an ideology that originated in late nineteenth century Europe in response to the notions of nationalism, colonialism, and antisemitism.

As Edward Said reminds us, Zionism must be assessed from the standpoint of its victims, not its beneficiaries. Zionism can be simultaneously understood as a national movement for some Jews and a colonial project for Palestinians. The making of Israel in Palestine took the form of consolidating Jewish national life at the expense of shattering a Palestinian one. For those displaced, misplaced, bombed, and dispossessed, Zionism is never a story of Jewish emancipation; it is a story of Palestinian subjugation.

What is distinctive about the Nakba is that it has extended through the turn of the 21st century and evolved into a sophisticated system of domination that has fragmented and reorganized Palestinians into different legal categories, with each category subject to a distinctive type of violence. Fragmentation thus became the legal technology underlying the ongoing Nakba. The Nakba has encompassed both apartheid and genocidal violence in a way that makes it fulfill these legal definitions at various points in time while still evading their particular historical frames.

Palestinians have named and theorized the Nakba even in the face of persecution, erasure, and denial. This work has to continue in the legal domain. Gaza has reminded us that the Nakba is now. There are recurringthreats by Israeli politicians and other public figures to commit the crime of the Nakba, again. If Israeli politicians are admitting the Nakba in order to perpetuate it, the time has come for the world to also reckon with the Palestinian experience. The Nakba must globalize for it to end.

We must imagine that one day there will be a recognized crime of committing a Nakba, and a disapprobation of Zionism as an ideology brd on racial elimination. The road to get there remains long and challenging, but we do not have the privilege to relinquish any legal tools available to name the crimes against the Palestinian people in the present and attempt to stop them. The denial of the genocide in Gaza is rooted in the denial of the Nakba. And both must end, now.

#palestine #uspol #the nation #geopol #long post #the article is paywalled so here it is for ease of access #📁.zip

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desparaic · 6 months

Text

Imagine Rengoku's son traveling to the past pt.2

Rengoku X Fem! Reader

Also in the future, there’s a long pause after red light arc. Hence tengen already retired in Future Son’s timeline. and [spoiler alert] yes we will absolutely ignore the mark curse

read part 1 here.

“Oh, what breathing technique do you use?”

You ask your…. son? kid? dang you never thought you would be able to say that to a teenager this early in your life, especially when you’re not long into the marriage

“Flame breathing!” He says with a proud grin (why this kid so cute you wanna coddle him to death)

“Following your father’s footstep, I see! Did he teach you personally?” You smile, thinking about your husband teaching your son swordsmanship. Ugh the thought of it makes your heart melt.

“Nope. From Grandfather!”

huh?

tafa???

Grandfather??? Like Rengoku’s father??? Your father in law???? The man who can’t even get up and do something else other than drinking and yelling at other people?????

He taught your son flame breathing?????

You are confusion

You ask why didn’t his father teach him instead

“… Anyway! Do you want to spar?”

This kid—

okay, well, clearly he doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he’s on bad terms with his father???

But you can’t imagine Kyojuro being a bad father or someone who has a tense relationship with his kids. The last thing he wants to be is to be like his father. You know that. He himself told you that before.

So maybe he’s just in the middle of an argument with his father??? Like… a really long one…

yeah that could be it

So you decide to spar with him (you don’t have anything else to do anyway other than walking around the nearby village)

you kick his butt

It feels refreshing and fun. not because you’re beating your future child.

You never have this feeling sparring with anyone before. It’s cute. You’re experiencing a mother-son time except…. you ain’t a mother yet… but you are— will??? idk

In the middle of sparring (how many rounds has it been??), Kyojuro appears with a big grin, before it fades and he tilts his head confusedly.

“MY LOVE! WHO IS THIS PERSON??”

Hooo boy

Both of you whip your head to see him

“HE LOOKS JUST LIKE ME! HAHAHA!”

Bless your husband, he isn’t even phased that there’s a rando lookin like he’s his clone

BUT YOU HECKAAA EXCITED, about to tell Kyojuro that he’s—

You see your (future) son’s conflicted face contorted to anger, then calm. “Ah. I’ll take my leave right now. I’m thirsty.”

He leaves just like that.

You’re confused

has future you ever taught him manners

Is… Was the argument that bad????

Poor Kyojuro is so confused, looking at the boy leaving.

“Who was that young fellow?”

You explain that that’s his son

His face shows a split second of surprise before it immediately switches to excitement

(he doesn’t even ask how that’s possible like ok)

“HE’S MY SON??? OH WHAT JOY! S/O. THAT IS OUR SON!”

Yes, yes you just told him that of course you know lol

But you’re so confused as to why your son would just leave like that. You honestly expect him to be just as excited to see his dad like he did with you

and so

the chaos and conflicts and confusion and everything related ensues

Practically everyone knows your future son is here

They’re dying to meet him

Uzui is proud of what he has become. Man’s flamboyant. can even take a hard pat on his back! (he nearly died)

Mitsuri is so excited!!! She keeps giving him sakura mochi and all other snacks and talks to him a lot!!! Sees him as her lil bro ngl (tho technically it should be nephew)

Shinobu too is very sweet towards him and tells him he’s welcome anytime to the Butterfly Estate to just have tea and chat (every time they interact your son’s face turns tomato red. does he have a school boy crush????)

Tomioka is just happy the boy talks to him often

its cute. you can tell he admires the water hashira a lot

Sanemi scoffs and thinks he still has a long way until he is strong

like who tf think does this kid think he is

but he supposes the kid has potential

Obanai acknowledges him and greets him even though he scares your son sometimes

Gyomei. Cats. lots of pats. lots of fluff. nuff said

Muichiro always forgets his name

Tanjiro is super shocked but is happy to get along with Rengoku’s future son!! Nezuko takes a liking to him immediately and warms up to him (Zenitsu seething rn)

surprisingly inosuke oddly silent around him at first…. before he inevitably challenges him to a fight

The son ofc know who they all are (he still does not like young Zenitsu)

Also, he nearly spilled Tanjiro and Kanao’s future relationship oops ig at the present they aint tgt yet 🤷‍♂️

They all think he’s great!

But… there is one thing for sure

And what confuses them the most

is that he absolutely hates the mention of his father

Whenever someone brings up the fact he looks just like Rengoku or they compare the father and son, boy gets real upset and angry

Like??? huh???

You’d thinking a kid would be proud to have someone like Rengoku as their father

Apparently not

Kyojuro catches on to this.

I mean, its hard not to tell that every time he approaches the boy, he just pretends the hashira never exist

Kyojuro kinda concerned and worried

And frankly, he’s kinda sad too.

He wants to spend his time with his future son before who knows when he’ll return back to his time!

Eventually, Rengoku catches him a place where the kid can’t escape easily

He asks the kid what is wrong and what is really going on

Dang… it really hurt seeing your own kid (even though technically not yet) glaring at you like that

The kid only grumbles excuses and that’s it

Kyojuro gently tries to push him to open up

Really wants to know what’s going on poor man please give him a break

“I can tell you don’t like to converse with me… why is that? I would love to get to know my own son!”

Rengoku Kyojuro would never expect that sentence would completely make his own future kid snap.

“Son??? Hah. Sure.”

???????????

The??? Audacity???

My man Kyojuro isn’t even phased (again, bless his patient heart) he’s just confused

What does that mean?

“Did… I do something…?”

“Something???? Something…?????” the boy clenched his jaw, “Don’t act like you care.”

… But he does tho.

At this point the flame hashira just wants to know what he did wrong to make him so mad

“Oh, you really wanna know what you did?” He says in such a bitter tone. Whatever Kyojuro did, he musta pissed him reeaaal off.

“Y…Yes…?”

“… Fine. Not like it’ll change anyway considering how easily you threw us away.”

pardon?

“You hurt Mother. You left her when she needed you the most. You left us! Because you think your job is better than this little family!”

….huh?

“I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t und-“

“When she needed you the most, you just up and left her! Just like that! What do you think I’ll feel about that, huh?”

Kyojuro… did that? He can’t even fathom leaving you for a split second! What was future him thinking?

“You left Mother! When I was still… When she was still pregnant and needed you… You chose to go on a mission instead of being there for her!”

“Do you know how much my mother begged you not to go? How she endlessly express her worries and concerns, even though she never doubted you before??”

“Do you know how much it hurt her when you promised her nothing will happen, only for some crow to announce that you died in a fight with an Upper Moon, a fight you could’ve avoided! A FIGHT THAT YOU SO SELFISHLY WENT ON AND JUST DIED?!”

…

Hold on…

Hang on—

What?

—————————

I was supposed to finish this all in one post, but I reached the limit… Gonna post part 3 soon

#demon slayer #kny rengoku #demon slayer kyojuro #kny #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro rengoku #rengoku my beloved #rengoku x reader #demon slayer rengoku #kyojuro x reader #kny kyojuro #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku x you #rengoku x y/n #rengoku kyojuro x reader #hoo boy its angst time

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ominoose · 4 months

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𝐏𝐫𝐨'𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧'𝐬

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x GN!Reader Summary: You make a smash or pass spreadsheet with friends, Nathan finds his part. Warnings: Reader made fun of slightly but turns out well in the end, its just silly :) WC: 836

It was a silly, fun little game. A night to let loose with friends, not hold back, no thinking or worries. Just a light-hearted tease. Simple.

It was not supposed to lead to Nathan Bateman storming up to you like a man on a mission, pupils blown wide in fury behind gold frame glasses. Ordinarily he wasn’t a man to be trifled with, even on his best days (as far and few between as they were), and everyone that worked under him, no matter how distant their role, knew to tread lightly.

Nathan was not treading lightly. The crinkle of paper clutched and creasing in his fist was all that accompanied the stomps of his boots on the carpet until silence reigned as he stopped in front of you, nostrils flaring.

“'Arrogant, rich asshole'?!” You’d never heard his voice so angry, so loud from the get go, and if your blood didn’t go cold at the quote you would have had the good sense to be more scared.

"‘Chewtoy biceps’, ‘Condescending in a sexy way’, Sexier Elon Musk!". It wasn’t looking good for you.

The group Google Doc wasn’t even your idea, listing the singles in your lives with the pro’s and con’s of sleeping with them in a “Smash or Pass” group call also wasn't your usual friend-groups past time, but you didn’t need much persuading to join. Nathans name being added to the pool hardly came as a surprise, but you boldly stamping Smash next to his name was.

It was a night of giggles and gasps, losing self respect in the name of forging deeper bonds, like girls at their first high school sleepover. It was not meant to get back to him.

“Mansplaining snob?!” The sharp words snap you back into reality from where you’d rabidly been trying to recall the words you typed that would now serve as your death sentence.

“I-”

“It’s not mansplaining when I have to dumb down simple fucking concepts for you to understand, sweetheart.” Despite the pet name, the way he waves the printed out screenshot in your face made it clear he’d kill you by death of one thousand cuts if he could.

How could you get out of this? You couldn’t, there was no way you’d come out of this with a job or reputation intact. It was a miracle he didn’t wait until you were in the middle of the office cubicles or a meeting to humiliate you. Then again the fact that he was furious enough to come straight to you with fire at his heels was equally terrifying.

“Wanna know what’d I’d say about you, hm?” His weight shifted on his feet, shoulders squared as he used every inch of his height to leer over you.

“I-I didn’t say this to your face!” A pitiful attempt at reasoning, as if the word mercy wasn’t something Nathan Bateman boxed for his morning work-out. Technically it was his own fault, he didn’t own Google, he shouldn’t be snooping in his workers private documents.

“Oh, okay then.” A higher pitch, raised eyebrows, the ghost of a smile. God, you were absolutely fucked.

And then he walked away. No stomping, no clenched first. It was the strut of Nathan that had just had a breakthrough.

This was off script.

The next few days were absolute hell. It was paranoia akin to living under witness protection after whistleblowing a major government conspiracy. Every email that came, every task assigned had you tensing and assuming this was it, this was the deathly blow.

Turns out the deathly blow was even less exciting than an email. It was an A4 piece of paper left on the centre of your desk, perfectly straight and ivory white.

‘Cons: -Overly sensitive -Acne marks -Didn't go to Harvard -Needs validation -Buys shitty clothes, probably from Temu’

Maybe being simply fired when he first confronted you would’ve been the easier option, that or death by the thousand cuts.

Nathan was never a man to mince his words, if you had a weak point he’d punch it and blame you for having it in the first place. You also knew you weren’t perfect, this was a job you’d clawed your way to, losing several nails in the process. Half your mental capacity was spent simply trying to keep above water, who could blame you for wanting a little ‘Well done, good job!’ every once in a while. Clearly, Nathan could.

The paper became blurry, hot tears trembled in your eyes, threatening to spill right in the middle of the office buzz. And how would you explain? Getting fired while having every flaw listed by your incredibly wealthy, accomplished, genius boss?

Blinking back the tears, there’s only half the letter left to read and getting it over with sooner was better than later.

‘Pros: -Funny -Can keep up -Nice ass -Annoying smile -Not materialistic -Honest’

There was only one word left at the bottom, one line above a phone number.

'Smash.'

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman #omiwrites #forgot id written this like last month woopsie

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fortunapre · 19 days

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𝐀/𝐍: yes. Im aware its been more than 20 days... 𝐢𝐦 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐥, 𝐚𝐥𝐫? 𝐀 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 ma𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚y i𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰orld 𝐬𝐨𝐦ehow 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤..

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𖧞 16+ only for language and some mature jokes, nothing caliente, use of Y/n, mention of a sister (part of the plot), swearing

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𖧞 oscar piastri x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𖧞 (scene v) 2.9k

did i have to watch hours worth of edits to get motivated? yes. yes i did. Im not ashamed.

Go back? Or need a refresher? (scene iii) here

Go back? Or need a refresher? (scene iv) here

𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬 𖧞 scene v 𖧞 (𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤)

Saturday, December 15th

Ever since we were young, it’s been me and my siblings against the world. Our close ages made us closer than I was with any of my school friends. So, between us… secrets were limited. Any time one of us had heard a rumor or nasty gossip about a teacher, the drama was immediately shared between the 3 of us.

I think that’s why this is so difficult.

I mean… yeah. I lied to her but technically it was a lie by omission.

In books, though, lying by omission always seems to be the worst kind.

3 days ago, when my sister walked in on Oscar and I’s almost-fornication-position, she panicked and ran. Which makes sense because, honestly, if I saw either of my siblings in the same circumstance I’d bury myself in the snow outside.

Especially my brother. Just… eeugh…..

Anyways, for the past couple days, the cabin has just been filled with tense movements and glares. I haven’t spoken to Oscar, because I’m too worried about what my sister thinks and what she might say if she saw anything again. My sister has been refusing to make eye contact with me as well.

So, basically, the past few days have been boring to say the least. Anytime I want to leave the cabin and ask “does anybody wanna come with,” everyone either grumbled, shrugged or had a valid excuse.

Frankly, I’ve had enough.

Right now, I'm stood in front of the door waiting to leave. I’ve adorned my favorite fuzzy coat and boots along with warm layers to not catch a cold. I had a hand on my hip and was tapping my right foot on the hardwood floor- indicating I'm getting impatient. I was tapping for about a minute when I realized my stance was similar to those in a cartoon or a cringey Hallmark character and immediately stopped. Now, I'm just standing still, fiddling with the zipper of my jacket and looking around the room.

Safe to say, I’m not one for standing still. However, the reason I stood, waiting in front of the door is because for some miraculous reason, my sister agreed to head into town with me. I practically jumped when she agreed and now, because of how rushed I was to finally get some alone time with her, I'm waiting impatiently for her to finish getting ready.

“Are you almost ready!?!” I yelled throughout the cabin. At first I didn’t hear anything, but then I caught the smallest sound of feet traveling down the stairs. Now walking towards me and the door, finally, was my sister, all bundled up in cute but effective winter wear. She showed a tight smile (which, coming from her, means she's not actually excited) and walked out the door. I followed her into the cold and started towards the car.

The car ride was deadly silent the whole way into town. To try and ease the tension, I tried to wiggle my phone from my back pocket and fumbled with it, trying to play music. However, driving while looking at my phone was incredibly difficult and not to mention dangerous. My sister caught on to my struggle and instead of watching me, she took my phone and started to play music for me.

“Thanks.” I said shortly. Now that there was music playing, the ride wasn’t quiet but the tension never left. ‘Us.’ by Gracie Abrams started playing throughout the car.

I was driving slowly through downtown, towards main street, where all of the stores and boutiques were located. I parked- parallel parked, by the way, because yeah, I can do that- and turned off the car.

we both started unbuckling our seatbelts, ready to go, but before we got out of the car, I panicked and locked the door, therefore locking my sister in.

“Y/n. C’mon, I want to go shopping.” My sister tried to act playful but I could tell that her emotion was all for show; she’s trying to hide how hurt she feels that I lied to her.

“No.” I answered. She replaced her playful expression with a concerned look. She stopped reaching for the door and instead turned towards me fully.

“What? What’s going on?” She asked innocently.

“You tell me.”

She just stared at me first. Then she tried convincing me that there’s nothing wrong and I’m overthinking her actions, but I know her more than she gives me credit for.

All I did was raise my eyebrows and give her a look that said ‘ I know your lying.’ Sometimes, as an older sister, all it takes is one look…

She sighed and started to speak. “Y/n…. It’s just that it was extremely weird for me, I mean borderline-traumatic, puke-inducing, tattletale-worthy…” she just kept talking. “... god, I mean im surprised i didn’t hear Ellie Goulding playing her Fifty-shades of Gray soundtrack-”

…and they crack.

“Woah! Hey, nothing like that was even close to happening! Now your reaching…” I was lying to myself. “It was just a heat of the moment thing and I get it was weird for you… and, yeah, it was weird for me too! I mean, my little sister walked in on me-”

“Basically fucki-” My sister tried to finish my sentence.

“Hey! No…” I scolded trying to convince her otherwise. “We were not. I just…”

Believe it or not, it’s hard to describe to your sister the details in which you were practically grinding on your supposed enemy without making the conversation even weirder.

“Just…?” She looked expectant as she asked.

“Just… making out.” I replied while shrugging one shoulder. “Yeah, I just kissed him, alright? And, maybe it got heated, but trust me it didn't mean anything. I'm sure it was just hate-tension that needed to be relieved. And now that me and him are…”

“Relieved?” She looked at me with an amused expression, obviously feeding off of my awkwardness.

“Yeah. Now that we’re relieved of that tension, nothing like that will ever happen again…” I trailed off my words and looked past the windshield, away from my sister’s glare and into the busy street.

“Y/n?” My sister asked from beside me. She tilted her head to try and break my eye contact with my lap. Her movement caught my eye and I broke out of my short trance to look at her. She had a genuine smile on her face, something I’ve been missing. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

As we walked through the town square, Christmas desserts and holiday clothing grabbed our attention in decorated window displays. The cold was barely tickling my nose and feet to where I noticed the drop in temperature, but could still stay outside for a bit longer. I wanted to stay here, window shopping with my sister, but one look at her and I could tell she was on the verge of shattering like ice.

The rest of the trip was nice and genuine as we shared steaming cups of cocoa, and bought presents for people at the house. I was happy to be back on good terms with my sister again, but one thing still stuck in the back of my mind.

If I hadn’t mentioned it before, my sister is the encyclopedia-antonym of “subtle.” So, I'm worried about how she’s going to act once we get back to the cabin now that she seems to be back to her talkative mood. More specifically, how she’s going to act around Oscar.

We walked through the door of our holiday home and were met with the smell of pumpkin spice. There was new decor hanging around the entryway that looked to be both old and new. Our trek through the entryway consisted of dodging tubs of tinsel, to walking under a ladder holding my mom up.

“Oh, hello girls!” My mom said with more pep than usual. “Be honest, is it looking a bit more festive?” Her smile made her eyes crinkle with warmth and I couldn’t help but nod.

“Yes, mom. It looks gorgeous” I answered and continued walking until I set my bags on the kitchen island.

From the corner of my eye I saw a familiar shape walk into the living room. I didn’t turn to look at him and instead kept my focus on unpacking the shopping bag I’d brought in. Next to me, my sister followed my actions and started to unwrap something in brown paper to show my mother.

Socks… an ornament…a wool sweater…

I continued unpacking until everything I had bought was out on the counter. I admired what I’d gotten and the deals I scored. I turned around with the intention of also showing my mom my collection, but my eyesight was interrupted by someone in a dark blue hoodie. I could immediately tell who it was by the obvious ‘OP81’ printed near his left shoulder.

When I looked at him, he had an amused smirk. He made a show of folding his arms and nodding as his eyes went over everything I’d bought. “Didn’t know you went shopping.” Is all he said.

“I went with my sister.” I answered back. He was still looking over my shoulder at the counter. I raised one eyebrow at his interest. “What? See something you like?”

His eyes moved from the counter and met mine.

“Actually…”Oscar never got to finish his sentence because in less than a second, my sister quite literally shoved him away.

“Oh my Gosh! Y/N, I’m actually so happy you got that sweater! It’ll look so good on you. Trust.” She grabbed both of my hands and held them in between us, completely ignoring Oscar's presence. I let a small smile show at my sister’s attempt make Oscar feel ignored.

“Really? Because I was worried it had grandma-vibes…” I played along and told my sister as I looked back to the clothing she was referencing.

A voice from next to us started speaking instead: “Actually, now that you mention it, I think I’ve seen that sweater on Golden Girls. Yup, I remember, I believe it was Sophia who wore it…” Oscar intervened with his unnecessary humor like always.

“Oscar… I don’t believe either Y/n or I asked for your opinion.” Snap. My sister retorted with speed and pulled me away up to her room where she could speak freely.

“Jesus, y/n.” she said under her breath as she walked into her room.

I thought she was getting angry at me again. “What? What did i do now?”

“YOU haven’t done anything, I'm just trying to get my head straight. Actually, maybe I need glasses because I’ve been bliiinnnnddd.” She plopped on her bed while I stood by the door.

“Wait, what? Why?” I was confused with where she was going with this.

She just laughed at first but then she saw my concerned look. “You’re joking.” she sat up straight and looked at me with her eyebrows basically becoming a part of her hairline.

“Uh, no, I'm afraid not…”

“Y/n.”

“What?!”

“God, you’re serious! You mean you didn't just notice the flaming hot tension literally radiating off of Oscar just now?”

“No. Should I have?”

“YES!” her eyes widened as she spoke. “I swear his testosterone levels spiked as soon as you walked into the kitchen. That boy is just itching to get you back to his room to finish what he-”

“Whoa! That’s overdramatic.”

“Ok, maybe, but you get the point.” She looked at me with a look that showed she was expecting me to say something. Instead of answering or denying, I just rolled my eyes.

Once she saw I was still not understanding, she let out a dramatic huff and laid back on her bed in a starfish position. She relaxed with her eyes closed and arms spread out. Maybe a minute later, she peeked from her closed eyes to look at me and smile. I smiled back and shook my head at her ridiculousness.

Just as I was debating either jumping on top of her or laying next to her, there was a knock on her door. Whoever was on the other side didn’t bother waiting for an answer and began to creak the door open.

Oscar’s head popped into the room and at his surpise presence, my sister’s smile dropped. She shot back up with insane speed and began walking to the door, no doubt about to slam it on his face. Before she could push him out, he tried talking.

“Wait! I just want to say something” he said, slipping the rest of the way into the room before my sister had her chance to decapitate him via the door.

She backed away and stood next to me with a hand on her hip and an unimpressed face.

“Ok,” is all she said. When Oscar just stood, looking between the two of us, my sister spoke again, this time with a sharp edge. “I said speak! you do know how to do that, right? Oh, wait. Maybe your trainer only taught you ‘sit’ and ‘fetch.’” her voice had a sickly sweet tone as she spoke, making even me embarrassed.

“I can talk.” His eyebrows furrowed at her rude remark. “And i would have but you started talking right as I was about to say-”

“What?” she interrupted. “That you’re sorry for ravaging my sister, or sorry you were caught?”

My mouth practically dropped to the floor at my sister. She’s on a roll with torturing Oscar and I’m not sure I could stop her if I tried.

“Ok, first of all, there was no ‘Ravaging'” He spoke quickly, using air-quotes around ‘ravaging.’ “And second of all, I came to tell you guys that your mom wants your help with decorating the lounge room.”

My sister stopped immediately. Instead of feeling embarrassed by her words, she smiled. I’m guessing she knew what Oscar meant to say, but wanted to tease him anyway. She smiled and walked out of the door, past Oscar.

Oscar watched her leave, and I’m sure my sister made some vicious hand signals at him where I couldn’t see, because his face paled. He looked back into the room with an expression of worry.

“I think I’m afraid of your sister. No scratch that, I know. She scares the shit out of me.” He said the last part quieter. Oscar kept looking at the door then to me, like he was making sure she wasn’t hiding around the corner, ready to pounce.

I laughed lightly and looked down at my shoes, suddenly feeling awkward. I haven’t been alone anywhere with Oscar since… well, since you know what.

Before a tinge of red could reach my neck, I shook the memory out of my mind and stopped acting nervous. I don’t even know why it was affecting me so much.

I looked up to a smirking Oscar. Once I made eye contact with him, he spoke. “You good? You kind of spaced out for a bit.”

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms. “Peachy. Just have something on my mind.”

“Is it me? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” He teased and took a step closer, making my face heat up.

His steps closer made me nervous and annoyed so i did what i do best:

“Go take a shower, Piastri. You reek of desperation.” I teased him, my words laced with simmering anger.

“Care to join me?” He shot back, grinning.

I scoffed and looked away from him. “In your dreams.”

“Trust me, doll. If that was the case i’d be sleeping all day.” He said this with his consistent grin but the words didn’t seem as hard hitting as usual.

Like he was being hesitant, maybe? I raised my eyebrows and laughed with a teasing undertone.

“Liar.” I confidently called.

He looked amused by it and tilted his head, looking me up and down. He didn’t say anything but his gaze held all of the words he needed.

Before either of us spoke again, my mom called my name. I forgot she asked for both me and my sister, and I’d just been in here, bantering with Oscar. At the sound of my mother’s words, Oscar snapped his gaze back to my face. He made a show of extending his hand like a host towards the doorway, letting me walk. I followed his motion, but before I made it through the doorway, he stuck his foot out. I jumped right before his foot caught mine, saving myself from tripping.

“Oscar, I’m not sure you comprehend things the same as normal people but 4th grade was a decade ago. No need to trip girls to flirt with them.” I joked.

He ground his jaw then poked his tongue into his cheek- a tell that I got to him.

He followed me back out to the lounge room. I stopped in front of my mother and a bucket of decor, Oscar kept walking past me into the kitchen. His shoulder grazed mine, almost like he was going to shove me but noticed my mother watching.

When I looked at my mom and sister, my expression loosened and I raised my eyebrows.

“Well? Let’s get to decorating.” I said, grabbing a knotted bundle of tinsel and ornaments.

Next part ( scene vi) CLICK HEREEEEE

@zupercoolgirl here you are…💛

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #fanfiction #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #winter affairs ff

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hhighkey · 2 months

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Taken, part 2 // Uvogin, one shot - part of hhighkey's phantom troupe universe series

Rating: mature Story Contains: stockholm syndrome, love??, implied past kidnapping, implied references to depression, suicidal thoughts, unnamed chronic illness, medical inaccuracies, marriage, rough sex, size kink, lots of come im so sorry, manipulation, female reader Note: about 17k words, ao3 link: xxx, link to part 1

The union could never be legal, technically Uvogin didn’t exist, but that didn’t matter. Not to you when he confidently proposed with the biggest grin months after getting you back from Bates, going on a ramble about the thought of you being someone else’s wife terrified him. To him, it furthered his ownership of you, and was another way to show his utmost commitment and love. Not that kidnapping you four years ago was a total display of it or anything… That it took someone else trying to marry you for him to think of it.

Never sure what to categorize as the happiest day of your life, for now that day took the cake. How even on one knee he was taller than you, a gorgeous ring in hand (you could thank Chrollo for that as you found out later). The idea of being someone’s wife when you were little had been like a dream, you’d always gawk at wedding stores and the dresses on display. It was more of a fantasy to look the prettiest surrounded by even prettier decor, not necessarily about the concept of ‘in life and death.’ After so long with Uvogin you understood that marriage wasn’t about a gorgeous wedding but about the vows and status it brought. Because your relationship with Uvogin was the epitome of together until death. And with each day getting harder to get out of bed, blood painting your tissues after coughing, you realize that death is on the horizon.

However, for the last few weeks Uvogin was doing his best to avoid a certain group. The term ‘bachelorette party’ became a forbidden term to me murmured around him, it’d be a night where he’d have no control. However, three people weren’t letting him off easy as you found amusement in him trapped.

“Fuck no.” Uvogin grunted, eyes tensely looking over the three female Troupe members, “She doesn't leave my sight when I’m not workin’.”

“It’s a thing Uvo.” Machi said, “You’re not supposed to see the bride a few days leading up to the wedding, especially the night before and day of.”

“Okay so you can have her tomorrow then.” He waves them off, going to grab your arm, but Machi cuts him off stepping in front of you.

“No, you can survive two days without her.”

“Whaddya wanna do babe?” He focused on you, pretending not to hear the pink haired woman.

Your mouth falls open as you glance between Uvo and Machi. Your chest flutters with discomfort being in the middle of a strange face-off, where you particularly didn’t want to see Uvogin perturbed with you if you agreed with the girls. “Um..”

“The four of us are going to do something tonight.” Pakunoda steps in, her voice level like she were talking to an overly large toddler not getting its way.

“Like what?”

“None of your business.” She stared at the larger man down.

“Well Y/N’s my business so, anything she does is my business.”

“It’s bad enough we can’t force Phinks and Feitan to let us have their girls, but let the poor bride-to-be have a bachelorette party where nothing can possibly happen. Then she’ll be your wife in two days and you can dictate the rest of her life, how about that?” Machi huffs, annoyed, “Go bother Nobu if you get bored but we’re taking her.”

“Yeah, no you ain’t.” He went to push past her, but she shot a hand up pressing on his chest.

“What do you want to do, Y/N?” Machi asked.

“I- Uvo I would really like to spend time with them.” With a slowly ticking clock on your life due to the state of your health, you think you should say what you want. For a second you remember, like a little flicker at the back of your brain, times spent with friends shopping, movies, gossiping about boys. Makes your heart yearn for that type of connection again. Clarity seemed to leak into the depth of your mind the sicker you got.

He frowned at you and time seemed to stop until he nodded, “Alright.”

“That was easy, thought we’d have to steal her in the middle of the night.” Shizuku said absentmindedly, which earned her a few glares.

Uvo fretted over you before he let you go, fingers prodding along your delicate skin as if you were the most precious treasure, as if you’d break from one touch alone.

“Behave.” His words come across as a warning but you hear the depth to it, the worry rather than a threat.

“I always do.” You tease, moving to hug his thick, muscular torso. A small part of you wants him to scoop you up and lock you away with him, your heart beginning to panic at the idea of separating from him. Yet your mind told you to stay strong no matter how badly you wanted to melt right into him.

Uvogin made a few more tiny threats towards the girls before he finally left, telling you he’d be at the Base. For a moment your chest twisted in pain knowing he’d be hours away, not working. You could survive being without him due to his job, but not knowing he was free.

So you stood in your townhome with Machi, Paku and Shizuku watching you. Sure, you considered them your friends at this point, slowly considered most members of the Troupe your friends. Yet you knew their loyalty to you was really loyalty to Uvogin, the help protecting you, keeping you healthy, keeping you happy- was all for him. While you’re sure they care for you as a person enough to make small talk, you’re Uvogin’s property through and through. But this moment as you debated what to do, made you want to feel hopeful. The three of them didn’t need to do this. It made no sense for them to fight with Uvo for days to let them host something.

How Machi’s fingers dug into your bicep as you involuntarily took steps forward,

“Don’t.”

You didn’t know how to be without him. Your body was slowly dying, and not the dramatic bullshit of aging. So perhaps it was quickly dying. The ever exhausting fog you lived in where all you had was Uvogin to care for you. His warmth disappearing from the room settled a chill and awareness.

Machi has her normal blank expression, but she seems pleased when you nod, “So, what are we doing tonight?”

The looks exchanged made you wary.

The devilish upturn of Machi’s lips makes you wonder if you should go run back to Uvo. But the part of you, stuck oh so deep down, that couldn’t rebel for years was overjoyed as it wretched its way out.

“We are going out.”

“Out..?”

“You know, what normal girls do, dress up and get drunk, flirt with men.”

You cringe at the last part, discomfort swirling in your gut. Normality. Normal girls. You play the words over and over, hearing her words echo as a harsh reminder. But also self reflection as these three weren’t normal either. Farther from it and yourself. Perhaps you nodded, agreeing to the location they wanted, because you’d missed out on so much. Though the sour taste in your mouth lingers as you all get ready as if it were any other night- that everyone in the Troupe was all aware of the fact Uvo kidnapped you. No one told him that he should reconsider, that it’d be selfish. But did you even want that? Would you have wanted Machi or Nobu to tell him to let you go? Because the thought makes your stomach flutter with wrenching nerves you don’t want to think about, as society’s version of normal wasn’t yours. And like that, you snapped back to the image staring back at you in the mirror, the girl chronically ill yet irrevocably in love with someone they shouldn’t be.

You look- strange. Yet you’re taken aback by the beautiful girl Paku had turned you into, makeup breathing life back into your sullen state. A flash of somebody else, a younger version of you reflected, prior to knowing what you’d become and with who. It’s nostalgic almost, thinking about the minimal times you’d gone to a bar with a coworker or an old school friend, how you debated over what to wear or how to do your hair. With Uvo it was simple- he didn’t care what was on your body, or if you had makeup, he controlled everything you could and couldn’t do and it simplified everything.

The dress fit you like a glove, pushing cleavage up and you wanted to retreat into yourself.

The night sky preys down on you. Buildings feeling like they were closing in, the openness of the town, the fresh air felt like a jail. The fact you were in the open with options was suffocating, but you walked with your arm linked with Paku’s trying to save face. Trying to push down your insecurities and thoughts of Uvo getting angry with you. He’d never have let you wear this, never had let Machi push a shot of vodka down your throat prior to leaving. Thrilling. Yet terrifying. The best way to sum up what coursed through your veins while wanting to turn around at the same time.

The lack of alcohol the last five or so years was clear, the shot made your cheeks tinged pink and a dazed smile on your lips. You tried hard now to sway as you walked and luckily the cool breeze against you the last few minutes helped to bring you back down. The taste of it was exhilarating- dancing on the edge of inebriation and the thoughts that came with it!

“I- Can’t.” You take a step back, “Too many people- I can’t.”

“Hey- Y/N.”

You stare at the ground as you stumble back to some steps, letting the cold pavement press against you. Stuck inside yourself as your world spun you began to ramble,

“I- Only people I’ve been around are the Troupe. No more than 12, never more. A-And Bates kept people away from me. No- No, too many. Feels suffocating, like I can’t breathe.” You look at them with terror written across your face, “Why are you all doing this for me? Because you know I’ll die? Or because you feel bad for me? Y-You know he kidnapped me, I’m not allowed to use phones or see my old friends, my family thinks I’m dead. Yet…”

Machi crouches down to get eye level with you, “You deserve a night of freedom and fun you should have had. You’ve given all of us more kindness than we deserve all these years. And Uvo has never been happier in all the time we’ve known him. We want to repay it back before you die as his wife.”

“We’ll take any backlash that comes of this, with your state Uvo wouldn’t dare to upset you.” Paku said, correctly inferring the nagging at the back of your mind that this would make him furious.

“You could get away with a lot more than you realize because he’s terrified of you dying, remember that.” Machi’s intensity bores into you in a way that makes you sit straight up. Either from the fact her nen could kill you in an instant or she was trying to instill you with a backbone.

“How much longer do you have, Y/N?” Shizuku asked.

“I… Don’t know.” You push your fingers against your temple, trying to stifle the weight of everything on your shoulders. The sting of the vodka still in the back of your throat, your eyes focused on the heels you wore.

“A year at most, probably eight months.” Machi replied.

“Why- Why would Uvo be scared to upset me? Hasn’t stopped him before.” You flinch at the reminder of your impending doom, no matter how much you were coming to terms with it; It was Uvogin’s karma.

“With my non-professional medical guess, who's been there since the start, is that there’s so much medicine can do if you’re giving up. Uvo doesn’t want you to want to die, selfishly wants you to hang on for as long as possible even if you’re in pain.”

Oh. It felt like you hit a wall. A harsh wave of soberness and the realization of where you were, “I wondered, why it took him so long to think of marrying me? Did Bates love me more to go through those lengths? What did I do to deserve all this?”

No one spoke. It would have been hypocritical for them to, they were just as big of monsters as Uvo. That they didn’t need you looking at the situation from an outsider’s viewpoint anymore, a discomfort settled within their guts.

“Can we- still go to that bar?” You ask, breaking the silence you caused.

As much as you spilled to them unprompted, knowing your words wouldn’t spur them emotionally to do anything, you were always smart not to let anyone in on the doubt you felt. On the anxiousness since Bates, on the second guessing if your emotions for Uvo were real. You knew everyone would take it wrong, that you’d been indoctrinated or rebelling.

Because hadn’t Uvo washed away every insecurity that made you doubt your love? All this hushed proclamations whilst his cock was buried in your guts. The small touches and the fact you no longer had to lift a finger. His ever permanent seeming presence. Right? Ringing struck up in your ears forcing you to shake it off, Right. Right. No question about it as you stared at the ring on your left finger. You were excited to be his wife, to further cement your love. You had to be.

“Of course,” Paku said, “Let’s go. You can hold onto us as much as you need.”

Everything was a blur after they helped you up from the step, urging you to forget about your woes. The line wasn’t a long wait before you’re stepping into what felt like an alternate dimension. Thick sweat-infused-air with the smell of alcohol, bodies shoved like sardines, and strobe lights beamed around.

Music. Music! Oh it made you sway in utter glee as the bass reverberated in the depth of your soul. You felt like a fish out of water with your fingers intertwined with Paku’s, looking around the room like an awe struck child seeing the world for the first time.

A glass was shoved in your hand and you indulged, then again, and again. Uncaring for the strength of the liquor or the overly sweet syrups, the taste of freedom was absolutely addicting. How you’d missed alcohol in all this time, you’d beg Uvo to let you drink again. Soon your vision blurred along with your doubts.

It was tiring always worrying. Always wondering. Being on edge. Doubting. It made you suffocate and being able to let go was pure relief. Giggle and laugh with the three Troupe members like any other friend group would. Even if they weren’t as into or as relaxed as you, watching your every move, you didn’t mind. They were doing this for you.

Any man that approached you was shooed off with a threatening glance from Machi. You were encapsulated in a perfect bubble as you bounced around sucking down another tequila infused drink. Not caring that you didn’t know any of the lyrics because this was music you’d never heard before. When was the last time you’d listened to music? You stop as you warm, bodies pressing to you, and you realize you don’t know.

You tug your dress further down your thighs, attempting to cover more. You falter in your steps and arms are on your waist in an instant.

“Ready?” Shizuku stares through her glasses at you.

You nod. Was it late? How long had you been inside the club dancing to your heart's content as your mind went to mush.

The air outside was frigid compared to your body’s temperature, to the red flush along your skin and sweat beading at your hairline. Hair a frizzy mess. Mascara smeared under your eyes with the glitter from atop your lids. You hadn’t smiled so big in so long, to the point your cheeks ached as you tried to skip along the paved sidewalks, giggling like a madwoman. Pakunoda never let you get far though, listened and responded to your entertainingly slurred words and statements. And how you slowly began to wear down, to slow in your steps as you wrapped an arm around her. Contentment resonated from you.

They’re on edge first, you not noticing the sudden change in atmosphere. That the aura around you all dropped, anger seething through it. Three forms stood past the turn. One particularly large.

Uvogin. Flanked by Nobu and Phinks, who looked more annoyed than anything. Yet it wasn’t them that brought concern, because Uvo looked halfway ready to destroy the local buildings.

“The fuck are you all doin’? Thinking you can take my soon to be wife out to get drunk, take ‘er somewhere I don’t fucking know.” He’s rigid, a murderous aura surrounding him. Muscles flexing as his jaw locked. Oh Uvogin was a big and terrifying man yet you looked at him like the dark, bustling city was naught.

“Uvo!” You squeal, delighted, your core flush with warmth as you don’t notice his anger. Your thoughts are screaming for him, chanting his name like a prayer because there he is! He’s suddenly in your sights, though you aren’t sure why there’s two of him, but all you want is to squeeze him, take him for yourself. The way his thighs squeezed against the fabric of his shorts you narrowed in on, thinking about running your hands against them, prodding into the skin. Massaging and kissing and moving to his thick co- your core goes warm, such liquid goodness that you can’t fathom being away from him any longer, your daydream making you go numb.

You push off Paku and skip over to Uvo, practically throwing yourself into him. Which he caught you with ease even without prior notice. You nuzzled into his warmth, feeling his calloused fingers run along your arms. You don’t feel how he tugged down your dress as it’d ridden up, or as he checked for any marks. And you certainly didn’t feel the genuine panic, terror past jealousy of you drunk around others. The fear of you out without him. Finding someone else more interesting upon realizing how much he’d taken from you. Living a life that didn’t include him. And if you wanted said life back over what you two built on the cracked foundations only help up on your (possibly) messed up sense of reality.

“Hi baby.” Uvo said in a fairly choked back tone; his attempt to seem relaxed towards you while he was really seething. In his mind he had to blame his fellow Spiders, that this was on them, not you.

“Want you.” You whined softly, eyes filled with heated want that bore into him. Your palms flat on his chest feeling his erratic heart beat like it was your lifeline, “Missed you.”

You don’t remember much, not as you swayed in his grasp, vision splitting your environment from doubles to triples. The hazed joy settled into a comfortable exhaustion as your eyelids drooped, uncaring for the voices that argued around you. It doesn’t matter that it’s getting heated, not to you, this night has been better than the stars above. Topped off with Uvogin at the end. As your head falls limp, knees buckling, your last drunken thought is on the wedding.

Feeling your body beginning to go limp as you mewled into him, Uvo picks you up cradling you into him. Your touch grounded him. Your excitement to see him might have been what stopped a possible massacre powered by his anger and fists alone. You’d missed him terribly even when you had the whole world at your fingers, and he loved that. Filled him with a sense of pride.

“We’re going.” Uvogin nodded to Nobu and Phinks.

“Good fucking thing I didn’t let my girl come. Will have to tell Feitan ‘bout this.” Phinks grumbled under his breath.

“We’re heading back to Base.” Nobunaga tells the girls, “Come if you want, will be a tight squeeze.”

The group began their departure, silence amongst a still bustling town. Tension thick enough to cut with a knife, trepidation building within a few of the Spiders. Strange looks from some, especially at the large man carrying a girl who looked like she had a rough night out.

Soon buildings died out. Lights limited. Roads turning to dirt, fences showcasing expansive private overgrown property. Countryside came into view with a car waiting, as Phinks pulled out the keys. For a second they all share uncomfortable glances unsure how they’ll all fit, but one person in particular had a dark cloud above her.

“Uvogin.” Machi said dangerously low, fists clenched and Shizuku ready to grab her if needed. “How long have you had her now, four years, or is it five? She’s not going anywhere she’s in love with you, as much as she’s able. She doesn’t know how to think without you telling her what to think about, nonetheless run away anywhere. Where would she go? She relies on you for everything and more, you are her life. And she’s happy about it I guess, babbled about you all night. She doesn’t have long and you know it, don’t let her go it’ll do more harm than good but… let her say goodbyes. Proper ones to those you took her from.”

“No.” He responded without pause, “You’ve gone soft, Machi I’m surprised. I ain’t letting her out my sight from here on out, I’ll let Chrollo know I need a fucking sabbatical or something. You’ll be lucky if I let any of you see her again.”

“She’d be upset about that.”

“Whatever.”

“You say that now.” She knew he was bluffing, and of course he was.

He squeezed your sleeping frame before settling into the passenger seat of the car, keeping you tight to him. He stared at your angelic form feeling his heart squeeze, “Don’t do something like this again. And one day maybe you might understand a sliver of what I feel for her and why I do what I do.”

Uvogin couldn’t fathom missing another one of your breaths. Not a single one. Because from here on out he’d claim them all as his.

This was how it was meant to be- your wedding day- you realize as you stare at your reflection. You remember the attempted one with Bates felt like walking to your doom, while this time around with Uvo? It felt like you were walking through a floralled field surrounded by a thick lavender odor, heading towards the rest of your life. It felt right.

A white gown flows along your emaciated body that has a faint golden sheen from the joy swirling within you. Excitement coursed in your veins as you finished final touches for your hair and makeup, relying on Paku heavily for assistance.

It’s Fall, the orange and red leaves falling delicately around you as you carefully walk along a gravel path with grass laying flat from overuse. The cooling air filled with a cinnamon spice odor so acutely that of the lengthening nights as Hallow’s Eve was around the corner. Feeling wrapped in the comfort of your favorite season, a molten liquid spread as you inched closer and closer to the altar. Arm looped in Paku’s, a smile lives etched on your face as tears prick at your eyes, swirling sentient settling within. After much convincing, Uvogin agreed to an outdoor wedding at sunset, not being able to say no to you. The Trope had done an immaculate job at setting up a cozy venue

It was a whirlwind. Walking down the aisle to Uvogin. How he looked at you with misty eyes and utter happiness, looking devilishly handsome in a tailored suit, something you never imagined seeing him in. He towered over you with a powerful aura that made you feel safe. Nothing else existed when in Uvogin’s orbit. How his hands held yours, staring so intently like you were the entire world. That you were all that existed on this plane, that all he wanted was to whisk you away as soon as vows were shared.

You were always his, but to Uvogin this tied you to him forever. Emotionally linked your cute self to him in a way that meant everything to you, while to him the title of marriage did little to change his feelings. It made your heart swell and your face beam with love, making this worth it in his eyes.

And it was worth it to see you walking down the aisle to him. His pupils dilated, shoulders dropping, mouth quirked up at the sight of you in a white gown. An angel. His heart soared and he stood a tad straighter beaming with pride.

Closer. Closer to him. Time seemed to slow as you both became so consciously aware of the other, of how your hearts raced in rhythm combining. Circulating souls, winding and meshing, flowing together like pieces of twine twisting and twisting. Paku handed you off to him and he’s lit with a burning need as your smaller hands slot into his perfectly. A necessity so pure, like a starving man who’d kill for his survival, burn the world to the ground to have you.

Nothing else mattered besides you; not Chrollo who began the ceremony, not the eyes and pleasant words of the other Spiders and their partners (who stared hopeful at their lovers).

Only your tears of merriment as you peered up at him like he was your savior, mattered. He was your salvation. The sweet words that left your lips as you cried through your vows with breathy laughs, built him up more and more. Uvogin’s vows were strong, filled with his promises of protection and love, his thinly-veiled apologies for the past and the excitement to continue as husband and wife.

A faint cinnamon smell wafted on the breeze, heavy earthy-spice amongst the falling leaves. The sun is setting beyond the horizon. Dimming violet skies flourished as the ceremony ended- you in Uvogin’s arms as vows sealed with a kiss. A symphony of harmonious noises blurred out your surroundings, a deafening buzzing that should have made your stomach churn and your instincts blare red. Instead it’s elation that spurred your tunnel vision as you kiss your husband passionately uncaring for anything else.

Maybe you were too far gone from the clarity you’d had, from the questions of Uvo’s real feelings you once picked apart. All of it drowned and stamped out. Glowing delight crammed into every vein and bone, to your most miniscule of nerves. Plugged up so thick with the taste of Uvogin that you’re almost drunk off his scent alone, off the way his eyes raked along your body. The thought of him looking and touching anywhere else made you want to die. Like he was the oxygen you breathed. A fresh intake of air seeping with amber and intoxicating caramel, the taste of a maple tree’s smoky bark going up your nostrils to the tip of your head.

Dizzied by his musk. Dizzies as your mind buzzed like a million honey bees flew about in crazed circles. Unable to wipe the grin off your face as Uvogin picks you up Bridal style to carry you off. Marital bliss is already consuming the two of you whole, Uvogin’s aura a violent red as his chest swelled with possession.

Every inch of Uvogin; from his flexing muscles to his grueling height where his toes tingle with want. He was wounded so tight. Chords pulling and pulling, fraying as they did, and any moment they’d snap. He’d snap. Flustering begins to control him and you can see it in his eyes. The fire. The lust. All of it.

Uvogin wastes no time getting to his corridor of the Base, since everyone wanted the loud man in his own area to reprieve them of his usual antics.

And he wasted no time placing you on the bed with a thump, your giggles music to his ears. Pure joy shimmered across your features and it had been far too long since he’d seen it. Uvo relishes in it as he helps you out of the wedding gown (tries to help while you beg for him not to rip it). Because for the rest of the night he has plans that will keep you a mess on his cock as you cry and scream for more, drunk off overstimulation, none of your innocent happiness to be found. Only your reliance on him. Your need for him.

You’re on your back faster than you can blink, Uvogin pulling you to the edge of the bed. On his knees between your thighs you watch him with insatiable lust clouding your eyes, your senses, sending little volts of electricity up your spine as his rough fingers traced the skin of your inner thighs. How he kneaded and stoked, your mewls and constant jerking making a devious look fall over him.

“I ain’t gonna be nice, gonna fuck my pretty little wife til’ she can’t take it. Then I’m gonna keep going.” His breaths fans along your clothed cunt, your liquids beginning to soak through the white fabric.

You nod, feeling the numb tingle of anticipation wash over your body. Your mind as if it hung out to dry, lust dulling your senses.

The sudden onslaught of his tongue has you seeing stars. He knows exactly how to tease your entrance to make you squirm and gasp, knows how you like how he oscillates his long tongue inside you to pull out an orgasm. Stroking your inner thighs so playfully and feather like,

“Uvo- pl-please!” You beg, fingers yanking at his scalp. You need him like you need oxygen to breathe. Your senses are so dull, the air smelling thick of your juices and sex, a tangy musk that is sweet because it’s because of your love for him that you feel this way.

“Need somethin’?” The vibrations of his deep voice sent shivers up your spine, your mind spinning in lust as with a flick of his tongue, the way it then drags along your folds brings you back to your high.

Sobbing for him as you snap, squirt dribbles and he laps it up, sucking your engorged clit to make you shake. To make you tremble and jerk and try to push his face away as slurping noises fill the room.

“Ne-ed you!” You sob, “In me!” Your head is spinning and all you can think about is having his cock stretching you out.

He relinquishes with a final kiss above your clit, pulling to strip himself of his clothes.

Uvogin is more than aware of the size difference between you two, you’re so small beneath him, just so cute laying in awe at his naked hulking body as his hand goes to stroke his godly length. You’re so tiny, so breakable and while he is always as careful as a man like him can muster, right now all he wants to do fragment you into a thousand little pieces.

“You’re so damn tiny, wife.” Blood rushes to his cock, hardening it even more as the tip leaks precum swollen and red. The way his hand engulfs parts of your leg as he gropes makes him burn and he knows he can’t hold back much longer.

“You want this fat cock in your tight cunt? You wanna be nice and full, all stretched out? Gonna take all I give you?”

“God yes, Uvo.” You keen, “Please, fill me.”

“Who do ya belong to, wife?” His eyes darken as he lines his cockhead up to your dripping entrance.

You squirm and moan lewdly, unable to focus as pleasure grinds at your core, “Y-You Uvo! My husband, I’m yours- your wife- yours.” You babble as his swollen tip continues to tease you.

“Cunt is mine.” He thrusts in fully, a silent scream escapes you as your eyes roll back. Uvogin’s cock pulses and he groans in pleasure, muscled legs trembling as his nerves are shot full of an addictive high from your body, “Tits are mine.” He engulfs one of your breasts in his hand, thumb rubbing over a pebbled nipple. “Whole damn body is mine. Your fucking mind is mine, I own you.” His thrusts turn erratic, slapping skin reverberates in the room as your little pussy takes his ginormous size and violent force behind each fuck against your cervix.

Already a mess, you’re easy to move, easy to morph as Uvo adjusts you on the bed. Angle was just right, your ankles held down at your head and his hips just so to drive into you so deep you won’t be able to walk. Your orgasm blossoms as squirt juts from your hole as Uvogin’s long cock spreads you too wide and too deep, the pain electric and overwhelming but your hips shake.

“You’re so pretty baby, so damn good takin’ me like this.” He grunts, throwing his head back as he continues to fuck into you, his balls slapping against your ass. “I love ya, love how you squeeze me. You want my cum this bad? I’ll give it to you, get you nice and full from it. Take me deeper now, you can do it, yeah?”

His vulgar words are disoriented in your ears but they make you feel obscene, make you smile sordidly with tears in your eyes, and nod like your life depended on it.

You’re lost in his wicked aura. Your wedding night lived up to all you would have hoped for it, as your dress lay discarded and you were folded in different positions as your husband drove the both of you to pleasured highs again and again. Heavy spurts of come coated your insides, too much so that it trickled out and painted your thighs, painted the sheets. Again and again he plugged you with his cock and filled you with heavy grunts, letting you feel the hot come shooting out from him for far too long, far too much that you could almost taste it in your throat. He hit every sensitive spot you loved that made you feel mushy and braindead, just a reliant little thing on him.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You could barely hold your head up or moan how much you loved him and his cock. Your eyelids grew heavier, while your body shook from the continued rapture.

Uvogin kissed you so lovingly, so much so that it hid his true malicious intents you couldn’t understand in your fucked out state, “I got you baby, gonna let me use you?”

You nod. Smile like a drunken idiot, and go lax. You feel every thrust, every pulse and curve of his cock, each slap against your ass, each kiss, lick, grope along every open inch of skin. You knew this was heaven. Heaven as he pushed you to your chest, hiking back your ass and slamming in. Your poor cunt quivered, gaping wide from his girth as his come leaked out, lower tummy inflated and Uvogin watched you with a glint in his eyes, and he couldn’t keep his emotions in. He let out a monstrous roar, one the brute was known for, and he let you take every inch of him uncaring if you broke or said it was too much. But you took it. You always did. Even if your gummy walls tried to force him out, tried to tighten up too much but he’d always push past the defenses to claim you and feel your clamping cunt as it came, as it squirted. And god as he’d toy with your aching clit he’d see you spasm even in your passed out state.

His fingers gripped your hips, they’d leave bruises he’d stare at proudly tomorrow. And he knows more marks will follow, he needs to mark you, to show anyone who you belonged to on all open parts of your skin. Your eyelids were finally permanently closed at this point, once done-up hair a mess, makeup all smeared. Tiny mewls all that escaped your parted lips. Yet your pussy still squeezed him like a vice, milking him for all it was worth begging for more, “Still so fucking needy for me aren’t ya? Don’t worry I’ll fill you all night till I got nothing left, you know your husband will always take care of you.”

Uvogin could never help himself when it came to you from the second he laid eyes upon you. His feelings are too intense and overpowering of his superb fortitude, years of destruction and rigidness in his work. And it took awhile the first few months before he took you because he adored who you were, and did not want you to become a shallow version of yourself. But he always knew it was his job to protect you as your friend turned captor, turned partner, turned husband.

What type of man was he if he couldn’t keep his love safe? He’d spent years diligently watching over you, even going as far as to check your body for harm. Make sure you ate well, slept enough, and had a good amount of things to keep you mentally entertained. He knew you like the back of his hand and it was why he struggled from the start when you couldn’t get healthy. But with his mind set on it, it would happen, he was sure.

Uvogin wasn’t always suited for tough conversations when it came to you, overall happy with everything. Never complaining about not being able to contact anyone outside the Troupe or go outside without him or an escort. You stopped going stir crazy after accepting your feelings for home were true all those years ago, loving his clingy touches and loud humor.

But as the weeks went on after the wedding, your state got worse. And so did his helplessness, the gut feeling that he was still not doing enough. His optimism wore on himself as much as it did you.

Everything about you makes his heart race at such a speed he wonders if one day you’ll give him a heart attack. Simply based on his overly obsessive actions and thoughts, his every waking being is all for you.

“Uvo, stop it.” You swat at his large hand that held a protein bar, “I’ll just throw it up. Don’t wanna.”

So maybe it was all coming to head after almost two years. Exasperation with the situation that turned into taking it out on the other. More or less you wanted a break from the pity, the treating you like a little porcelain doll by your lover.

“You gotta eat, babe. Can’t survive off that baby food shit.” He sighed referencing the nasty apple sauces, ground up food into weird shakes that made him gag.

“Better than nothing.” You murmur, staring aimlessly at the blankets you sat under.

Uvogin ran a hand through his hair, feeling disgruntled by your frail form not even looking at him. He moved towards the bathroom, dropping the bar in the trash. He wants to scoop you up, pin your chest to the mattress to fuck into you to hear you chant his name.

He doesn’t mean to snap at you. But god he can’t fucking stand to watch what you’re doing, because he’s not stupid. He missed his girl, her smiles and snark, how she’d be equally all over him as he was towards her. His best friend and lover wrapped up in one. While he wasn’t cruel, swore if you were in pain then so was he, but he was tired of this push and pull.

“You’re giving up.” His words come out harsher than he intended, but the bitterness bubbling up his throat spurred them on.

“Stop.”

You wipe at your eyes because of the sudden tear that fell down your cheek. His words feel like a painful stab to the gut.

“I can’t- I won’t watch you die, Y/N. Not even thinking about what this is doing to me. I can’t be without you.”

Anger filled you but you couldn’t breathe, dry heaving through your sudden sobs that hit you like an avalanche, “Doing to you? I’m the one dying, Uvogin. I’m the one in pain every day and every breath.”

He flinched at the usage of his full name.

“Let me die, please it hurts so bad and I have fought. Fought for you, for us but I’m so tired. You need to let me go so you can move on with your life rather than be stuck as my caretaker.” Desperation laces your words, all you want is for him to hold you in his arms. Not for him to stand by the door with a faraway look. The sorrow on his features and the regret swirling in his eyes. You know he’s hurting, but this is destroying you.

“Is that what you think?” His fists clench, muscles going taut as they strain against his shirt, “That you’re a burden? That I’m better off without you? I take care of you because I love you, not out of some stupid fucking caretaker duty I’m obligated to.”

“But aren’t you? You are the one who kidnapped me, you have to care for me or throw me to the curb if I’m not fulfilling my duties.” You spat, and you don’t regret the words as they slap him in the face making it twist in a dark glare.

His brows pinched together, lips purse as he exhaled jadedly. The fierce mocking chuckle spewing out made your blood run cold, “We going there?”

“Maybe we should. We never have properly, always joking about it because it worked out for us. I downplayed what you did because you always respected me, kept me as me. Didn’t force me to fuck you, or be with you. And we always had amazing rapport even before that.” The aggravation of talking to him like he was a non-receptive 8ft plus wall made you want to rip your hair out. Not a flash of any emotions on his face leaving you to reel and second guess.

“What’s the point of this babe? Gonna start throwin’ shit at me again? Begging me to let you go?”

“No!” You sit up straight, rolling your shoulders back feeling frustration and the sudden want to rip your hair out, “I love you. Only way I’ll ever want to leave is if you no longer feel the same, or if you hurt me. But jesus Uvogin, put yourself in my shoes even with your limited fucking ability to empathise. Because sometimes I wonder if you love me the way I love you, or if I have fucking stockholm syndrome!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth, how you really feel.” You press, almost as if you wanted him to snap. You’re tired of half truths, of him dumbing everything down like you’re a child.

“The truth?” His eyes narrowed as his chest thumped, felt like his insides were turning inside out in absolute agony, “Truth is I feel fuckin’ useless and you no longer care about living. You are leaving me, you’ll be dead. And now I’m hearin’ you think your feelings are fake? What a fucking time this is.”

“How am I supposed to not die, Uvogin? Tell me. I sleep all day, take handfuls of pills, IV for fluids. My body is rejecting it all and you don’t care that I’m in pain, you care more about having me around so you can get off.”

An explosion of red aura escapes him with a growl, his fist coming down on the closest piece of furniture. You gasp, heavy sobs returning as you recoil in ear. Realizing what he’d done, he tried to approach you, but you cried for him to stay away. Fear. Dizzied confusion written on you and Uvogin doesn’t know how to take it away. Not even the first few months after taking you, had you looked at him like that. And it made him want to die.

“Y/N, M’sorry. Fuck. You’re my life, I love you. You aren’t some fucktoy to me, you’re the reason I breathe. And I’m so scared of the day I gotta live without you. It’s no excuse, but please. Would never hurt you, you’ve gotta know that right?”

You stare at him. Blank. Fingers gripping the blankets you used as a shield until your knuckles turned white. Wet streaks falling down your face, off your jaw staining the fabric.

“By begging me to stay alive… You are hurting me.” You whisper, but he can hear.

“Fine,” He growls needing to leave your presence before he lashed out more, “Then you got my fucking permission to die, wife. I’m done.”

He spares you no other glance as the door slammed behind him. You’re left trying to pick up the pieces, pick apart his words. Unable to hold back the flood of sorrow that seeped out, hysterical, airy cries as you heave. Pathetically quivering as you hugged yourself, slowly rocking back and forth atop the bed as it sets in. You think he means he’s done, he doesn’t want you, this is him washing his hands of you and your fate.

You call for him, his name falling onto nothing, sniveling and blubbering like a mess. The air suffocates you, thick as it wrung you out. Dull skin prickling like a thousand needles inserting within you. Searing pain behind your brows and temples as it felt like your head was being crushed as your eyes went puffy and red.

Stuck in limbo staring at the wall. For months you’d been living under pitying glances, careful words, and locked up in an ivory tower of protection against the world. Even yourself.

Your actions not your own as you move like a woman possessed, a ghost haunting the halls of its resting place. How you dressed for the colder weather outside the Base, discarding the disaster of splintered wood Uvogin left during his outburst. You moved with whimsical intent and glazed over eyes. In a trance as you padded along the eerily quiet halls then the main room, not a Spider in sight. Not that they could have stopped you, or even noticed as Uvogin’s screaming caused them to scatter. Pity as they had no choice but to listen as his deep voice echoed through every cranny spewing hurtful words.

Nobody stopped you as you opened the door to the outside. As you stand in the doorway contemplating stepping out, you realize it’s the first time you’ve been able to go somewhere without permission, with your own autonomy. With that you leave, crossing an invisible boundary that leaves you feeling lighter.

You walk, slow, stumbling as your lungs struggle to adapt.

Unable to get far, you collapse unto a patch of grass, overlooking an expansive patch of trees overgrown with weeds and vines.

On replay in your mind is the fight you’d just had with Uvogin, how his words sliced you deep. How he struggled with your pain, and how you spent too much time keeping your thoughts from him to ease his own. A selfish feat. But they were fearful, self deprecating thoughts that plagued you day in and out. The heaviness of accepting an eventual death that could be at any turn. The realization of your complacency and how the doubt Bates’s kidnapping of you set a spiraling turn of events. That you doubted your love feeling anxiety over his touch or telling him those three words- and how it made you selfish. More than ever. That you now saw Uvogin’s actions in the evil, manipulative light they were, and you did not care. Not anymore. His charismatic, strong nature over you was irrevocably his property, his wife, and this would have happened kidnapping or not.

The cold, you feel yourself becoming one with it as your shallow breaths exhale fog around you. Your body feels numb as your pulse slows at an alarming pace. It’s comforting, serenely quiet before a high pitched noise sounds in your ears. The scenery is beautiful, you admire it as your eyelids droop, this was a good place to pass. To rest. The sky so blue, the sun high and bright, alluding to a perfect Summer day yet you shiver from the almost freezing temperature.

You hear footsteps approaching and you hope it’s Uvo, that he’d get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness, that he’d make it up to you. But it’s not and you almost laugh, maybe he really did mean he was done with you.

“Chrollo?” You jolted back to reality at the sight of the Phantom Troupe leader, at first having thought the figure was imaginary. In all these years you never conversed much, Uvogin having said the passing of his wife permanently altered him.

“Y/N, dear.” His tone is gentle. He approaches and you see the heavy coat and blanket he carries.

“Don’t.” You stammer, “I’ve made my choice, I ask you to respect it. Just make sure he’s okay once I die. I used to think he deserved it after everything, after taking me but- god,” You let out an insane sounding laugh, “I don’t want to leave him, but I can’t live like this. Coughing up my lungs, blood, always tired, unable to eat. My body is giving out on me.”

“When I lost her, I thought my life was ending.” Chrollo laments, closing in on you to wrap you in the warm fabric. He takes a seat beside you, “It did. I’m forever stuck, unable to move on. And truly? I am okay with it. But there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for any members of the Troupe so they never have to experience the magnitude of losing your wife.”

“I understand but-”

“I want you to tell me what it is you truly want. If you could have one wish.”

You respond instantly, not needing to think of your answer, “To be healthy and live the rest of my life with Uvo.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I believe you.” Chrollo sighed, “I wanted to respect your wishes but I had a feeling you were accepting the path of a martyr as all roads appeared exhausted. I found someone, a skilled doctor from another continent who has treated and helped patients with symptoms similar to or more extreme than yours. He likes the challenges of strange chronic illnesses.”

You straighten, an invisible weight feeling like it’d been lifted off of you. Your mind is short circuiting however, as if you’d been unplugged. You’d had to come to terms with your impending doom after a multitude of medical avenues were taken at no expense. But Chrollo’s outreach must have been intense, it must have taken ages to discover if you’re only now hearing of it.

Hope rushed into you. A re-ignited fire burning bright within, making the idea of living another day plausible. Something you wanted.

“Does Uvo know? Where is he? He left me I… Thought he was done. That he didn’t want me-”

“I sent Feitan to find him, I wanted to talk to you first. The doctor is already on his way. I did not want to waste time if you agreed. And if you truly wanted to rest for eternity, I’d have sent him back.”

“How.. But the Troupe- please don’t kill him after.”

“No, it would be a waste. He is miniscule as a threat to us, I actually thought him to be dead all these years. I knew him briefly in Meteor City, he would come to treat the children.”

“Ah.” Knowing the doctor wouldn’t die for helping you released you from any possible qualms you’d have had, “Chrollo?”

“Yes?”

“I appreciate it, and I apologize for making you come out here.”

“Do not. Uvogin should be the one apologizing to you.” Chrollo stands with ease, then helps you stand, “I wouldn’t let him off easy, while we all deal with things in our own way, he’d have always regret walking out on you if it were the final time. We should never take time with our loved ones for granted. I am only glad I could find a possible solution for you.”

You’re swelling with appreciation, genuine happiness that you don’t think you’ve felt since the wedding. And before that? Prior to your initial pneumonia diagnosis almost 18 months ago. And definitely prior to Bates. With the burst of joy through your veins you want to throw your arms around Chrollo and thank him profusely some more, but that’s not something you’re physically capable of. Your legs can hardly hold you upwards as you two walk, him having to keep a firm grasp on your waist and arm in case. Slowly the path turned into the walkway for the Troupe’s base, the walking time taking practically double what it should have. But that’s okay, you’re too filled with ambition dreaming about having a normal functioning body once more even if Uvogin still wants to be done with you.

Your teeth chatter, tips of your extremities a bright red from the chill. Unable to stop shaking even from the sudden heat inside.

Chrollo helped you into your bed in Uvogin’s room, telling you he’ll have Machi swing by. The warmth of the room and the mound of blankets covering you, it’s suddenly easier to sleep than ever. For now you let yourself dream about good health, about treatments working, but still worry scraped the back of your mind when it came to your husband. Burning deep in your gut at the thought of your vows meaning nothing. As you begin to drift off–

You hear a deep voice yelling laced with panic. Uvogin sounded ready to rage, to throw furniture across the room, you could picture the anger radiating from him through his tone. Because his words are hazy to you, and even as the door bursts open you’re unable to look. The feeling of large hands combing along your cool skin was the last thing you felt before falling into darkness.

Uvogin shudders in relief as he watches your chest rise then fall. Your wind stained cheeks still pink as his thumb dragged along your face. He’s coming down from an intense adrenaline fueled high, his heart hammering in his chest ready to burst. How angry he’d been as Nobunaga followed hot on his trail attempting to put reason into him. And how Feitan appeared out of thin air with a look mixed with pity and contempt, saying Chrollo needed him for an emergency. How his stomach dropped filled with nauseating butterflies as his mind jumped to you, that him storming out left you vulnerable. That you fucking died somehow, as he’d let you think he was done. His selfishness towards his lack of control wracked him with guilt as he raced back to the Base.

But instead Chrollo awaited him with a stern lecture even as he tried to push back yelling for you, body screaming for you to be against him. Yet Chrollo sat there amused over his idea to let Uvogin’s thoughts run rampant to a worse case scenario, sickeningly wanting him to feel the sorrow, the agony of losing you to get it through his thick head this wasn’t all about him. Then the leader informed him of the doctor on his way, giving one final effort to help you.

“I’m so sorry.”

Uvogin repeated as he pressed wet kisses to your skin, inhaling your scent like it was his own personal drug. His addiction to your frame in his as the bed creaked when he joined you under the blankets.

How tiny you are compared to his monstrous form, precious and fragile as you subconsciously nuzzled into his warmth even in a half conscious slumber. He can feel all the cold that rattled you melt from your body due to his own heat, how you no longer shuddered as you fell further limp with relaxation. Little mewls escaping your lips. The jerk reaction of your leg twitching as you murmured something under your breath. Not quite actual words but always made his lips quirk.

“Uvo?” You exhale with a smacking of your lips, a whimper as you attempt to shift. Arms and legs trembling as you stretch out waking from your quick douse of sleep, “You’re back?”

Your delicate lashes flutter as you languidly look about.

“Do… You still want me?”

Oh his heart shattered from your frail words as you rubbed at your eyes, eyes glittering from the wetness in your lash line. Your bottom lip trembling that all Uvogin can do to show you his devotion is press a chaste kiss to you.

“Always.” He grunted before deepening his lips against yours with force, slipping his tongue inside your mouth to taste and to claim.

You gripped his bicep, head spinning from the suddenness of his stealing your breath. Now suffocating in his warmth, his scent, and his touch as you lose yourself in the pleasure running down your spine. Emotions all over. Anger at him for leaving, for yelling. Relief he’d come back. His hands roam underneath your clothes to lay ownership over your body, a heavy groan vibrating into you as he tugged you closer. If it were even possible. He’d tie you to him if he could, keep you glued to him, be inside you to be molded as one.

As you become more aware, your feelings of betrayal towards him coming back, you push on his pectorals. And when he doesn’t budge you push again harder, words laced with venom shooting from your mouth.

“I want you off me.”

He looked like a kicked puppy, surprised as he pulled away. Someone so big with his bulking muscles looked like he wanted to shrivel up before he regained his senses, then attempted to entrap you in his arms.

“You don’t get to crawl into bed and kiss me after what you said. Would you have come back? Would you be this happy if Chrollo didn’t tell you about the doctor?”

“Baby.” He murmured miffed as you squirmed from his grasp, “I-”

“He found me outside, I was so cold and lost, going to just die there.” Uvogin’s face twists to something unreadable and devastating, but you continue, “He asked me what I wanted. If I would accept help from one last doctor, it would be okay if I said no. Uvo I’ve had to come to terms with all of this on my own, you’ve always been so convinced it would be okay. But don’t you understand we were out of options? We have limited time, all I wanted was to rest, to enjoy whatever I had left with you. Yet you storm off. I know it’s been taxing for you but I have tried so hard to stay alive.”

You don’t want to cry, you don’t want him to see you suffer more. You get up from the bed, seeing how his arm twinged as he held himself back from grabbing you, Uvogin was smart enough to understand times you needed autonomy to stick it in your head that you had a semblance of control.

“And I am going to do whatever it is this doctor wants to try, but if it doesn’t work you need to accept that I’m letting fate have its turn with me.”

It felt like an eternity as you and Uvogin stared into the depths of the others eyes, watching every movement the large man could make. The apprehension in his body language as the gears turned in his head put you on edge. For he was stubborn.

“Alright.”

Alright. He says it like it’s a defeat but offers a faint smile to follow it up. You sigh from the comfort it brought you, physically allowing your shoulders to relax from where you stood. The bed served as a thick barrier between you physically, but the expanse there mentally was like a cavern.

“Uvo.” You sniffled, lips quivering as the necessity for him brought you to tears. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t as you remembered his words from earlier.

“C’mere baby.”

“No.”

He says nothing though you have ideas what he’s debating doing.

“I can’t. Not after what you said. How willing you were to tell me to die, then walk away.”

From words spoken out of quick anger, Uvogin watched as the relationship cultivated between you two seemingly came crashing down. A thread wound so tight, pulling and pulling for months, finally snapped. And he knows he needs to patch it back up as quickly as possible, get you back into his orbit.

He groans into his hands, pushing against his cheeks running his fingers against his skin down to his jaw, eyes moist. An incredulous look flashed across his face as his mouth opened then closed, then opened back up to speak but with no words to follow.

A standstill, you wipe at your tears, “I think we need some time apart.”

“No. Absolutely not, you’re out your fuckin’ mind if you think I’m leaving your side.” From confusion to immediate discontent, his chest overflowing with annoyance at your stupidity thinking he’d give you space.

“But you did. Earlier.”

Uvogin had nothing to retort back for once as his brows pinched together. His thick fingers flexed as he focused on containing his growing temper he felt towards himself, the divide he put between you two.

“And I fucked up. Got no excuse for my behavior besides I was pissed, I know I’m big and breaking shit around you isn’t the answer. Walking away won’t fix it but I had to leave before I did anything I’d regret. Couldn’t scare you further or risk hurting you. The thought of me being the reason you’re ever hurt makes me fucking ill, I’d rather break every bone in my body. I love you, and I’ll prove it to you every single day over and over if I gotta. But I’m not giving you space.”

It’s the most genuine apology that’s ever left his lips, has you warm inside and brain flitting to accept immediately. You see and hear the regret, it pulls at your heart making your stomach flutter with butterflies. He knew exactly what you needed to hear but this time around he said nothing he didn’t mean in an attempt to sway you back into his arms. He was a truthful, passionate man overall, only straying when absolutely necessary in keeping you happy with him. And he sees you perk up. Knows he’s got you.

“I’ll hold you to that.” It’s hard to hide the twinkle in your eyes, the involuntary upturn of your lips, or your reddened face because of him. How you know you’re giving in to him too easily and that you should make him work for it more. Get on his knees and beg, maybe do a few things while down there too.

Because against better judgment you’re across the room and straddling the expanse of his large hips. Your lips desperately pressing into his uncaring for the way your lungs throbbed within you, not until you’re pulling back. A coughing fit comes over you, heavy and mucus filled, from the depths of you making you shudder. Uvogin holds you, petting your back as you hack against his chest. Burning. You felt so hot it was almost unbearable as the intake of any air was torturous for your frail body.

He sighed into your hair, listening to your erratic pulse, “My sweetest girl. I got you. No matter what happens with this doctor, I’m here.”

And you believe him, whether or not out of necessity. It doesn’t really matter anymore.

You fall into a strange cycle with him the following days. Uvogin becomes your ever present, ever hovering gigantic shadow that moved precisely when you did. His intense gaze feels like a permanent fixture upon you, watching, assessing every move you made. From the food you consumed so that it was up to his standards of health, to taking over shaving your legs, to not letting a single person touch you besides himself… It brings you back to the first year you spent with him before the relationship blossomed, to how robotically he controlled your life.

Pieces of you wanted to brush him off, punish him as exasperation boiled within you. Unable to push his hands away without a glare. His gigantic form pressing against you constantly.

But this was different, you had to believe so. He was scared to lose you. Bad enough you wandered outside with him knowing because he stormed off, almost leaving you to freeze to death. So day in and day out you're met with an onslaught of kisses and tender touches along with his over-protective barrage. In your soul you feel it though, the light at the end of the tunnel slowly approaching. Just what that light was- you weren’t certain.

Two weeks later on the dot does Chrollo arrive with the mysterious doctor in tow. You’re nervous sitting atop the table in the small infirmary in the Troupe’s basement. You remember the medicinal scent from the one other time you’d been down here and it makes you squirm, palms sweating as you fiddle with Uvogin’s fingers. .

Uvogin had pulled a chair to be beside you, a large hand engulfing one of your own as the doctor carefully looked you over, taking vitals, and a few vials of blood. You’d pouted at the sight of the needles, begging Uvo for some help which only brought a wicked grin to his face. You knew he liked how hard you’d squeezed him as blood was drawn, making a face at the nauseous feeling it brought. He’s trying so hard to keep your spirits up and you daresay it’s working?

Things had been strange, more tense in some ways, Uvogin seemingly walking on eggshells around you. Scared to upset you. Overly doting if that were even possible for the clingy man who would choose to spend time with you over Troupe business. (Which took you far too long to realize how serious he was the first time he told you that.)

“I’m going to run these tests I need real quick. I need to be able to count out a few possibilities to confirm what I think our path is. My nen will speed up the process so sit tight.” The doctor, who was a short man with an overgrown beard, said offering a kind smile.

“Thank you.” You take a sharp breath in and glance at Uvo. The door clicked close, leaving the two of you to sit in heavy silence.

You watched him slowly kiss your knuckles one at a time, expelling the unruly feelings of obsessive jealousy coursing through him. His overly possessive nature regardless of your health, hated the doctor’s hands on you. Was grounding himself as his lips dragged along your skin, “Feeling okay?”

“Nervous. Hated describing everything I’ve dealt with, though I know he needed to hear it.” You sighed. The insurmountable effort to get out of bed each day was wearing you down, at this point you’re surprised you’re able to at all. Mornings begin with faint cries and whimpers as Uvo helps you up. Then you stay placated in the same spots, droning away at whatever is shoved in front of you. And night time was when your bones could relax and mind could have its reprieve from the constant synapses shooting aching pain through you.

You didn’t speak much as butterflies spurred from Uvogin’s invasive touching, continuing to claim parts of you as his own as you wait. But there was a twisting past the sparks he made you feel, one dreadful and sickening. A wandering mind down alleyways of deceit telling yourself there’d be no magical cure or good news; that you’d spend your remaining time wasting away in suffering.

Eventually the door creaked open and the doctor strode in, head stuck in a clipboard, “Alright.”

You’re sitting straight, electricity shooting through your spine. Uvo tenses next to you, his grip on your thigh tightening ever so slightly.

The diagnosis was in the air of what you’d expected. Pneumonia from the time before Bates kidnapped you never properly healed. It expanded into more. Your respiratory tract was giving up and the rest of your body did too. It wouldn’t be long before you’d begin coughing up blood per the doctor, the statement shaking you to your core.

“I see antibiotics have not done much, which are always the first line of defense. Which I believe a more aggressive track should be taken.”

“And what is that?” Uvogin asked in a low voice, fringing on threatening.

“I would like to put you into a medical nen induced coma.”

“No.”

“Uvo.” You grab his wrist as a silent plea, “He’d know better than us on treatment.”

Your insistence has Uvogin backing down, as in his body physically relaxing. His muscles twitch in the arm you grasp.

“I have seen and treated 3 cases of hemoptysis or pneumonia successfully this way. And have studied cases of past colleagues too. We are in the unique situation where my nen would be the driving factor rather than what a normal hospital would use. Your body would be given complete rest, no need to fight each day to walk or eat, or even rest. It would give your white blood cells the ability to fight this intense infection. This has turned a lung infection into something chronic, this is the only route that makes sense to take.”

“How long will the coma be for?” You race to articulate your swarming thoughts. They’re all jumbled due to your lack of medical understanding and the fear seeping in. But between you and Uvo, you need to be calm so he is. Because when it came to you, any sense went out the window.

“Two weeks. But I would be able to tell from test results if you’d need longer. Then afterwards for 3 months there’d be a strict regimen of pills.”

You take a deep breath in, “And if this doesn’t work?”

The doctor gives you a solemn look, which you understand, “Then we’d want to make you comfortable.”

It was a scary thought. Going to sleep and not waking up one day. One that you’d rather prefer than a malicious death, like torture at the hands of Feitan. While you feel confidence in this doctor, in that you’d wake up from the nen coma, it’s what comes after that makes bile churn in your gut.

The doctor wants to put you into the coma pronto.

Uvogin wants to argue, you see the fire in his eyes, the desperation on his face. The silent anger vibrates in him as he wants to scoop you, his wife, up and leave. His silent pent up feelings of failing you coming to the surface.

He holds your hand as your body goes limp. The pink glow of the doctor’s nen cocooning you inside, not allowing Uvogin to touch you. He hates it.

The days go painfully slow.

An hour felt like twenty.

The first week felt like a year.

Uvogin was more combative than normal, aggressive with his words when he used them. Abnormally quiet but everyone knew to steer clear of him. Leaving your side was an absolute no-go for the large man, needing to watch every delicate breath to prove to himself you’re still breathing.

If someone like Uvogin was truly capable of true self reflection- he probably would have during this time. Sure, his mind occasionally filled him with doubt, if his life choices were some fateful cause of your doom. Much like his thoughts had when Bates had you, at least this time he had his eyes on you.

When the second week finally came to an end and the doctor confirmed it was safe for you to be woken up, that your vitals showed drastic improvement, Uvogin was elated.

How endearing it was as you whined, eyes fluttering as you struggled to wake. Limbs heavy as you reach in the air through blurry vision, attempting to claw at your face. How you mewled for him relishing in his suffocating touch, fueling his protective instincts more than ever.

You properly wake to lips against your own, stealing your breath before moving to your jaw. Through heavy eyelids you can make out the side of Uvo’s head, then threading a hand through his wild locks. You can feel his burning lips kissing, the nipping down your neck as he sucks the delicate skin between his teeth to leave marks. A fast sigh of pain leaves your lips as a jolt inside you grounds you to your surroundings.

“Uvo?” You croak, voice betraying you as it doesn’t sound like your own. Throat dry and hoarse, it hurts to speak so you don’t.

He doesn’t respond to you right away, Uvogin groping and squeezing at your skin. Swirling heat envelopes your weary limbs, sweat pooling along your hairline as your core goes flush with molten liquid. Sleep still dragged on your eyelids. You could barely move your own legs from the exhaustion and traces of medical nen pricking along you.

Your legs move, Uvogin spreading your thighs wide. The bed creaks as his weight presses on it. His body exudes searing heat. Burning you as you squirm and mewl about the heavy fog weighing down on you. Chest heavy, heart hammering so much that you hear the blood pounding in your ears as you swallow in anticipation.

The feeling of your nightgown hiking makes you gasp. Your panties peeled off your form felt like jabs of knives down your numbly tingling skin.

Uvogin’s thick cockhead prods at your folds, “Fuckin’ hell your soaked. Thinkin’ of me in your dreams?” He chuckled cruelly.

You whimper as a moistness between your legs fill you with shame, his words only prodding it further.

Mind lit in static fire, blue and orange with smoke paralyzing your brain as your hips jerk to meet his involuntarily. Body blistering from head to toe, confusing lust settled in you as you feel a pained stretch through your smoky mind.

“Fuck you’re tight.” Uvogin grunted as he sank his cock further.

He’s splitting you apart. You cry out, a ghastly moan as your walls spasm around the large length forcing its way in. Dazed and overwhelmed. Impossibly full before you could properly register you were even alive. That you’d been in a coma for two weeks. That now, your poor cunt was shoved full of cock and your stomach expanded as Uvogin grunted with each vicious inch he pushed further in. Fingers seized at his biceps nails drawing blood, toes curled as your legs trembled with feathery pleasure whilst all you felt was unnatural.

You’re being pushed and pulled every which way, caught in a dangerous undercurrent that shows no reprieve to let you swim upwards. Extraordinary pleasure blossoms within you, petal by petal unfolding and its bright colors glimmering in ecstasy. Ecstasy that choked you up to where you couldn’t breathe as tears brimmed at your eyes, desperately trying to gain senses.

Uvogin began to fuck into you slow, uncaring for the lack of prep, primarily driven by his insatiable want for you. Driven by the fear over your health and his lack of control. That shoving his cock into you to feel your poor gummy walls squeeze the life out of him, settled his churning emotions. That the incessant burn of anxiety in his chest was being snuffed out, and all because the electric pleasure of being one with you brought him.

“Uvo!” You cry so sweetly for him, all hoarse and face filled with confusion. He was your lifeline in the storm. A storm he brought upon you. One that lifted you and dropped you as his cock hit your most sensitive spots, nestling up against your cervix only to pull out and thrust in again.

Your lust filled whimpers only grow as Uvogin manhandled your thighs further apart, resting them on his biceps as he towered over you. His thick muscles corded with each push to the hilt of his hips flush to yours. Smacking of skin filled the dry air, your pain still twisting with rapture as his name repeats off your tongue.

He leans to capture your lips, an inhuman-like groan from the back of his throat tickles your ears. It was one of desperation, higher pitched and letting you see him with shields down. His gigantic body practically trembles upon you as he picks the pace up, pistoning his hard cock over and over, and over. Mind blurring. Squirt dripples from your abused hole as you reach your high through a giant wave of pleasure.

“Missed you.” Is all he moans. Again. And again.

Your arms move around his neck, legs attempting to wrap around his expansive waist. You can’t imagine him being any further, needing him closer, even closer than the part of him inside you. Because as you blink furiously, registering in your post orgasm haze, about the medical nen coma. That you don’t know the state of your health or the day of the month it is, instead all you can feel is your husband’s cock burying deeper into your guts like he’d never get to again. Overstimulated and too full, Uvogin roared as he came feeling your perfect velvet walls so tight, his vision whiting out. The way the bulge in your lower tummy inflated, the way he re-hardened in seconds to empty you to slam back in. A silent scream all that escapes you.

Fucking through each other’s highs there was nothing you could have ever wanted more than him like this. Maybe you would have wanted him to wake you properly to meet with the doctor to know whether or not you’d live or die. But you’d take this heated moment as you lose your mind as he fucks your sensitive nerves and toys with your clit, murmuring loving yet intense proclamations into your ears.

Blissed-out face. Uvogin’s eyes burning into yours. Sweat falling from your foreheads. Cries of love. Heavy breaths. Electricity swarms you two, bodies lit in flames of passion and his possession over your body, mind and soul. As he comes again, letting your tiny cunt greedily take his warm seed, your chest sores and a pathetic smile tugs at your lips. You’re babbling incoherent words. Letting him grope you and kiss, and nip and play with your most sensitive areas even as you cried for a reprieve. His come leaked from your folds, an intense river of the warm seed trickling down to the bed, leaving you oh so empty from it and the aftermath of losing his cock. You cried for him to go back inside, that you needed to feel close to him to be one with him. Your hips bucked and jerked as tears fell, pitiful pouts before he laughed.

He sucks and licks along your cunt, slurping your juices and his own seed. Playing with your sensitive and enlarged clit as tingles shoot along your core, twisting so good in your belly. Sweet salvation as you sigh in joy and blurry vision from the pleasure his mouth gave you, collapsing further into the pillows and opening your legs further to welcome him. Fingers threading into his hair to keep his head in the very spot you needed.

A whimper bubbles from you as he kisses up your aching slit, before leisurely dragging along your sensitive bud that feels just right. Furiously working you to another climax as he suckled your clit, a finger stroking inwards of your thigh. He pads along your sopping entrance and you shudder, watching as two fingers sink into your cunt. Two of his large fingers, which one alone bigger than most cocks. Stretching you out so good as he pumped and curled to your liking, stimulating all the spots that he knew made you go dumb. Uvogin thinks he wants to watch you lose yourself to him but he knows this is a fine line he’s on already, taking advantage of you in such a vulnerable state. But he can’t help himself! You’re just so cute and he’d been so scared the last two weeks. He needed to have his cock deep in your little pussy, the one he’d been so good not to fuck whilst you were in your coma. He wonders if you’d let him fill you again as he jerked his hips against the mattress as his cock began to harden again.

You’re grinding against him, he smirks before latching back onto your clit and listens to every vibrato of each moan. Of each cry and beg as your slick rushes from your tight cunt, ecstasy blossoming inside you once more as he coaxes orgasm after orgasm from you, him allowing your roadmap of pleasure to lead back to the thick tip of his cock prodding at your slit once more. You smile, so stupidly with a wet face and flushed skin, hardened nipples and asking for him to fill you up again.

And he does.

Until you're leaking of him. Barely conscious and not able to even moan in pleasure. Until you're trembling and neither your arms or legs can support you anymore. Till he’s shooting blanks and still nudging himself back into you even as you drift off.

Uvogin ruts into your barely there form, pulling you to the edge of the bed so he can have a better view. His come dried and caked onto your skin. Hair a mess. Face swelled red and dried with streaked tears. He grunts as his feet garner support from the ground so he can pound back into you without worrying about the mattress holding him. He doesn’t care that you aren’t crying his name or begging for more. All he sees and cares about how you still squirt little streaks of juices from your hole and across his abdomen. How your body is so obsessed with his touch that he can still make you orgasm even as you lull in and out of sleep. Your clit is so engorged, pink and sensitive but he can’t stop playing with it, rolling it between his calloused fingers as you squirm. Or sucking on it so harshly you passed out earlier, only awoken by him tapping your cheek, pulling the back of your head up so you could watch his cock morph your insides to him as you barely understood what was going on before spasming and blanking out again. Staring into your blank eyes, mouth open in an O-shape, he tells you how much he loves you, and that everything is going to be okay. And of course you believe him, he’s your husband after all, the only man you’d let use you like a fuckdoll in your sickly state to the point your tummy inflated from his thick spurts of come.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll come back to the reality of your situation. Tomorrow. For now you’ll bask in your husband as an escape.

It’s the next day, your legs and core are so sore, when you meet with the doctor. It felt like the pink blush was permanently painted along your cheeks as he checked over your vitals. Uvogin watched you smug, one hand tracing circles along the low of your back. The memories of yesterday are prevalent in the air, the thought of it makes you go flush. Uvogin knows the effects he has on you even in such a serious moment that you almost want to smack him for it.

This was it. The moment of truth.

You're fluttering with anxious nerves, stomach churning and you’re eyeing the garbage can for the chance you puke. Thundering in your ears as your heart hammers and blood rushes. It’s like your surroundings were null as you carefully watch the doctor’s every move, listen to his every breath and word to analyze what they mean. Looking for any sign in his body language that you’re fucked, that it failed and you’re officially out of options.

But it doesn’t come. He smiled warmly between you and Uvogin.

“As I expected, my nen coma was a success.”

As he expected? Had he seemed so certain two weeks ago? You didn’t think so, but apparently he believed off of past patients that you’d recover?

He continues, “Your body was able to replenish itself not having to strain itself the last two weeks. You’re out of the danger zones to where traditional medicine will be able to bring you back to around 90% of your strength. While it’ll never be completely perfect, permanent damage has been done, you’ll no longer be in chronic pain day in or day out, or worrying about coughing up blood. You can go up stairs without stopping and go for walks without needing someone’s assistance. You’ll have energy, an appetite, no longer with permanent symptoms of pneumonia, and excitement towards the future once more.”

You immediately look to Uvogin, who for once looks pleasantly surprised. His eyes glitter as he meets your gaze, and he smiles. It’s genuine, not forced like everything had been at one point to keep your spirits high. Immediately, you fling your arms around him, tears prick at your lash line. Hugging him as tight as you can knowing you couldn’t hurt him, while his boisterous laugh is like music to your ears.

The doctor sends Uvogin out of the room to fetch food, saying he’ll go over your medications now.

For a second you stutter, your whole body short circuiting as you don’t want Uvo to leave. But his encouraging nod your way before he closes the door helps you relax.

You quickly discover why the doctor wanted time alone with you.

“It’s fairly simple, these two bottles of faint coral-pink pills are for the next two months. They’re high dosages which is why they’re rather large pills, do your best to get them down. Take them with food as well.”

The doctor grabs two other bottles, your stomach drops as you feel a change in the air.

“Now, I’ll keep it simple. I can’t tell if you’re happy, what kind of doctor would I be if I helped you recover just to keep you with a dangerous band of criminals?” He laments, “The pale yellow pills are for the final month, they’ll cement the work of my nen and the pink pills. You should not regress for the rest of your life, they’re strong and will kill off any remaining infections or diseases. You’ll be lethargic so I recommend taking them at night.”

“What about the blue ones?” You ask, stomach feeling like it was in the pits of hell the way it violently churned within you.

“They’ll undo mine and the pill’s work and will allow you to pass peacefully. Take them for a final way out.”

“You- How could…”

“I’ll write down directions, yellow pills if you feel like the pink ones worked. Blue is needed if more aggressive medications are needed after the two months. At your discretion, who would argue?”

For a split second you wonder if this was a test. But you just smile at him, “I really appreciate your help. It’ll be nice to breathe normally again.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

It took all your strength to not focus too intently on the blue pills as the doctor explained to Uvogin what they meant. He was completely bought in by the ‘deceiving’ explanations, no inkling present that one of the bottles could kill you.

You don’t want to think about it, not too much. You want to think about having autonomy once more. To breathe without hacking, to walk without needing help, to eat without getting sick.

Month one- you take the bottle of pink pills. Each day, you aren’t sure if you’re truly feeling better or if it’s a placebo. A week of getting out of bed without tears or an aching body, is when you realize recovery was possible. You begin to enjoy full meals with Uvo, seeing the delight on his face when you bake for the first time in over a year. You two laugh at the mess, how half the pastries were burnt but it’s progress as you salvage the edible parts to feed the other. Your deep, nasty cough still surfaced each day. Less and less mucus each time. You’d sleep through the nights, once again becoming the one to wake up first like a waiting puppy for its owner, how expectantly you stared down at him nudging him to wake. How for the first time you were able to initiate sex with no worries of getting sick or him hurting you, as you took his swollen lengthy cock into your mouth. Him standing over you as he lets you explore him with your tongue. He’s so heavy and you giggle, warm and needy as you suck and kiss, lick along his thick veins to the point he can’t handle your teasing. You cry as he fucks your face but they’re good tears, and he watches as you swallow and then open your mouth to show him. Uvogin never leaves your side but for once you feel joy towards it, not frustration.

Month two- you still take the pink pills and the improvement is astronomical. You giggle like a maniac as you skip about the fluttering grass outside the Troupe’s Base. Uvo watches you spin about before falling to the ground in exhaustion, he smiles as you bask in the sun. You’re breathing heavily but no coughing fits come. You’re bright red and clearly tired but you can still get up to keep going. He’s relaxing under a tree and you’re running around like your life depended on it, he thinks you’re just so damn cute. This is the month you return to more hobbies, become more talkative and want to watch more shows or finally give him back snarky remarks. Uvogin almost dies from the elation, the lightness of his chest at how life returned to you, how you were you. Not the husk of a person stolen away because of disease, you’re happy. Right?

It’s now month three- you stare between the two bottles. ‘Take the blue pills for a way out.’ The doctor's words reverberate, you’d ignored them for the first two months not wanting to worry about it. Not wanting to get in your head before making a decision.

You sit in the main room of the Troupe’s Base, Chrollo had called a last minute meeting the night before so Uvogin had to cart you out of bed, ruining a rather good dream. You’re staring at the medications on the counter, then eyes flickering to the clock. Today was the first day you needed to make your choice, the one you’d avoided for so long.

Sickness numbed your mind at times, while at others allowed you to see things for what they really were. You think. You’d been ready to die, to be released from chronic neverending pain, but now having life back changed your mind. Little things you’d always taken more granted were now things you would never want to lose again. Maybe you’d lost yourself a long time ago, maybe you were always a horrible person to love Uvogin, but as you recount all these years with him you don’t want to lose him. Or the way he loved you. The doubt you’d had towards him after Bates was finally washing away, you walled all the incessant ringing you’d have in your ears off. No more were you susceptible to the common sense you had at the start of your captivity to always hang onto the truth about him. You walled it all off, brick by brick in your head.

Maybe a part of you wants him to suffer. Wondering how he’d react when you suddenly fell sick again and passed, would he be ruined? Would he move on? You figured he’d do something dumb, find a way to get himself killed more likely. So you walled those feelings off too.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You smile as Uvo walks out from one of the halls. You mewl into his large hand as he cups the side of your head before moving so you could lean back into him. He’s so large over you that when you lean back on the side of your chair that you only reach up to his thighs.

You crane your neck to look up, “Everything okay?”

“Yep. Nothin’ for you to worry about.” He looks at the bottles on the table, “So, what ones you thinking? Can you mix them depending on how you feel each day?”

“Uh, don’t know about that, doubt it? I’ve been trying to recount everything to make a decision. Because I mean… I can’t complain, I feel good.”

“Right.” Uvogin held a hand for you to take, then he grabbed your waist to help you up, “Up to you then, babe.”

The feeling of his thumb circling against your clothed side and the suddenness of standing makes your head spin. In a moment of striking clarity you reach to grab one of the bottles, certain in your choice.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” You grin up at him, squeezing his hand as you lace your fingers with his.

The bottle of yellow pills rattles in your hand as you two make your way to his room. The blue pills sit forgotten, almost screaming out for you to change your mind, to think things through again. That you needed to at least leave cracks in the wall you created to protect yourself, just in case. But you didn’t. You coated it in shiny protective layers of something in your mind, causing your chest to surge in feelings of love and all things gooey and over the top. Just stars left shining in your eyes as you look at him.

The month of taking the yellow pills passed, they made you lethargic like the doctor said they would, causing you to get mass amounts of sleep. But he was right, they made you feel good as new.

You sit cross legged in the townhome, leafing through pages of your book as Uvogin shuffles around in the kitchen. He’d insisted that he’d make dinner tonight, which you told him takeout would be just as satisfactory (and probably better anyways).

After multiple interventions on your part you two finally sit connected at the hip as your weekly show plays, food in hand. When Uvo finishes he tucks an arm around your waist pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your hair. A heaviness in your chest suddenly becomes apparent, each time you swallow the food seeming dry and tasteless.

“Uvo?”

He sensed the tension in your small body immediately, but didn’t say anything as he knew you were still adjusting. While physically you could handle a lot from long walks or eating actual food, mentally you were still catching up with the changes.

“What’s up?”

“Can I tell you something?” You ask meekly. Your fingers feel sweaty, you have to set the food down on the coffee table immediately. A storm rages within you. One side telling you to spill, the other telling you to let this be a secret you die with.

“Anything.”

“The- You remember the blue pills I could have taken instead of the yellow ones?” More screaming within you to stop. Like hands were physically trying to drag your voice back down, that this would only anger him.

“I do.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, focusing on your hands in your lap. You’re more aware of his hulking presence holding you to him than before. You’re more aware of his steady heartbeat and breaths as you wait for them to speed up, to show his anger.

“You can’t get mad.”

“Mad ‘bout what? You end up taking any?”

Your heart is hammering in your ribs, like it’d burst out ripping you and all your biggest fears into the open. It’s giving you away, you know it. The room felt like it was closing in, suffocating you until you took a deep breath in. No lies. You were given a new chance at life and you would not keep this from him. Couldn’t. It was best it came from you rather than someone else somehow down the road.

“They would have actually killed me.”

Silence.

“Uvo?”

“Yeah?”

He’s not reacting how you thought he would. He starts to fucking laugh and you’re staring at him like a deer in headlights. It makes feelings of annoyance bubble in your chest, anger as your nose flares and your pupils dilate.

“Why… Are you laughing? It’s not funny.”

“Course it’s not, babe, but I already knew.” He shrugged.

“How?”

“Shalnark. Guess he got curious what was in them after you said you wouldn’t be taking them. I said he could have ‘em to do whatever that tech freak does.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Came to me and told me they would have regressed your pneumonia and caused you to pass in your sleep eventually. So I assumed you were aware of that, the doctor probably lied to me, and you made the choice to live. Of course I had to wonder what if you didn’t know and it was all luck you didn’t take them, now I know it wasn’t.”

“That’s why you didn’t say anything?”

“Yep, figured if you didn’t know you’d have flipped shit.”

“Why are you acting so calm? You’re freaking me out.”

Uvogin forced you to look up at him. He pulled you in for a quick kiss, “Because you chose me. You had all that time to think about it so you must have known for certain you wanted to be with me.” He grinned deviously, “Course I’m a little irked but, I do deserve some shit still for kidnapping you. I’d say it all worked out though, huh?”

You playfully smacked his chest, unable to hide your grin, “You know I looked at the blue pills as a way out if the medical coma and pink pills didn’t work. That if I was back in pain, I couldn’t believe it almost, I was ready to suffer again. Not once did I want to use them because I wanted to be away from you. Sure I wondered if you deserved to suffer for the shit you do, but I love you. I wanted help from that doctor because I want more time with you, I could have said no to Chrollo three months ago. So I knew what my choice was from the start. You’re all I wanted those months with Bates, I had time to think, unravel my feelings yet you’re it for me Uvo. Guess you’ll get your karma in another way.”

“So fucking cute, wife.” His lips crushed onto yours again, his tongue shoving inside claiming you. He pulled you to straddle his lap before he pulled away to rest his forehead against yours, “You had me believing in that stupid karma shit, you know that? Glad you’re finally passed me being a mass murderer and all that.”

“Don’t say it like that!” You groan, shame prickling the back of your neck making you go warm. The wall is still strong in your mind, keeping you happy, keeping you from fully feeling that shame that should have made you go comatose. Instead it allowed you to kiss him with all your might, tugging at the shirt he wore. A kiss turned to desperate chaos as teeth gnashed and lips fought for dominance, saliva shared and dripping as lewd moans began to fill the air. Carnal touches. Salacious grunts. Swirling hot sex filled air controlled you two as clothes thrown discarded and forgotten, unneeded.

You’d made your decision. How much of it was really your own, was left up for discussion. You’d never know how much of this you really wanted, or if you’d fallen in love out of necessity for survival. Or if Uvogin really was who you were meant to be with. But all you knew as Uvogin forced his swollen cock passed your tight unprepped walls, you’d never want anything more than this man as you cried. You who practically passed out as he breached your aching cunt and to the hilt of your cervix, outlining your tummy and pushing to stretch you even more as he yelled out for you. This man who loved you furiously and would destroy the whole world for you if you asked. And that- wasn’t that the grandest declaration of one’s feelings you could receive?

Right?

authors note on an alternate ending— i view it as if reader were to die than this would head towards canon where uvogin dies by kurapika’s hand and he’s all content because he gets to see you again :))

110 notes · View notes

icallhimjoey · 10 months

Note

request: we have a panic attack and joe's there

MMM chefs kiss this is how to do a request, i fucking LOVE this, because, yes, we can have a panic attack and yes, joe can be there, but you know what ????? joe doesn't know how to fucking help at ALL (bcos useless clueless idiot) thanks for requesting! Wordcount: 2.1K

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Heartbeats All Chaos

Joe had never seen an actual panic attack up close.

He’d heard of people having them, someone not making it to whatever was planned because they’d had a panic attack earlier and everyone would always frown and nod and be so very understanding.

Once at school, he’d heard a girl cry and then was later told she was having a panic attack. It had just looked like crying to him, but what did he know?

Well, he knew technically what they were, knew that people who had them felt like they were actively dying.

And he knew what being panicked felt like.

But when he got out of the shower and found you sat on the edge of bed, unresponsive to how he shook his hair like a dog when he walked past you, that was...

Unusual. To say the least.

His own smile turned into a frown, looking back at you over his shoulder as he opened the wardrobe.

“Hey,”

You just stared ahead, chest heaving, nostrils flared.

“Hey are you all right?”

Just... nothing.

You had a weird relationship with panic. You knew it liked you a bit too much, and when you were younger, you’d been forced to become acquainted with it. Had to learn the tell-tale signs of when it would try to grab hold of you. Had to learn how to prevent an attack, avoid whatever could potentially trigger it. Had to learn what to do when its long, cold arms still managed to wrap themselves around your ribcage where it would squeeze you tightly.

You knew how to pull yourself through an attack.

You’d learnt breathing techniques.

You’d learnt how to mentally ground yourself.

You’d learnt where to take your mind and how to keep your focus there.

Joe walking past in just a towel wrapped around his hips, bending slightly towards you and shaking his head to get little droplets of water on you broke that focus.

You could feel pressure build in your chest as the ringing in your ears got louder. Joe’d asked you a question. You’d heard him fine. It just took a little longer to answer.

Joe took the silence to mean you were upset.

He pulled a T-shirt out of the wardrobe after stepping into a fresh pair of boxer briefs and let his mind wander, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

“Did I do something wrong? Did I, oh shit, did I forget– what day is it? I forgot something important, didn’t I?”

With every passing second, your lungs allowed you less and less oxygen and your peripheral vision got smaller and smaller. Shrunk away from the sides and made you feel like your balance was off.

You gasped for air.

“Hey, are you crying? I’m– I fucked up, didn’t I? What did I do?”

You held an arm out, eyes on the floor where you could see your feet touch the carpet, and you shook your head.

Mistake.

Instantly made you feel dizzy, and nausea introduced itself thickly in your throat.

“No, it’s,” you winced, because, yes you were crying. It was just that the crying was a side-effect of the uneasy sensation of fear that tried to swallow you whole. You knew there was no external reason for it, just something that tricked your body into activating its fight-or-flight response. Made your heart rate pick up until it felt like it was going to break your ribs and escape from your chest. Made your muscles tense up enough to have you shaking all over.

Scared.

You were really fucking scared.

You felt how Joe took hold of the hand you held out for him, and were quick to squeeze.

“Oh my– hey, calm down,”

“Panic,” you managed to squeeze from your throat, hiccuping and gasping through breaths.

What were the techniques?

Think of the techniques.

Breathe in through nose, out through mouth. Focus attention outside of your own body. Think of three things you can see. You can hear. You can smell. Sit and let the symptoms pass on their own. They will pass. This is uncomfortable but not life-threatening. Uncomfortable but not life-threatening. Uncomfortable but not–

Yea, nothing was working.

“Are you having a panic attack?”

You were just going to have to ride this one out.

And Joe was just... he was just useless.

He didn’t know what to do, and so he kind of just... stood there. Got a bit closer as he held the hand that you were currently digging your nails into.

Your eyes found him before they squeezed shut, and you felt how his other hand grabbed onto your bicep. Kneaded the muscles there, squeezed and moved his hand down a bit to squeeze once more.

“Yea, you’re having a panic attack. Right now. Jesus, you’re having a pani– what do I do? What do you– do you need–”

Joe panicked. Did exactly what you didn’t need him doing.

You were still on the up-climb, and everything got steadily worse. Muscles tightening. Vision narrowing still. Heart rate increasing still. You needed... you needed... a parent? Someone to take over, someone who you trusted would know what to do.

“Arms up,” Joe suddenly said, voice a little steadier than before, like he was glad he’d thought of something that would help, that would make breathing a little easier for you.

“Come on, up, over your head.”

He took hold of you by the elbows and pushed both your arms up, which, yes, you knew technically that really should’ve made breathing easier. But your muscles were tensed up, and it hurt your chest, and all your body wanted to do was to curl up into a ball so your face could hide and cry into your knees.

Joe had a hard time fighting your arms that were desperately pulling down, and said, “Slow breaths, slow deep breaths...” whilst trying to demonstrate.

It was of no use.

You were choking on gulps of air.

“Hey. Relax!” Joe made eye-contact, eyebrows raised, like getting a little stern would shock the system into relaxing.

“No,” you sobbed weakly, eyes squeezed firmly shut as you shook your head from side to side. Telling you to relax when you literally couldn’t was the exact opposite of helping.

“No?” Joe immediately went soft again as he let go of your arms, his own eyes wet now too. That same unsure tremor found his voice again as he kneeled in front of you and said, “What do you need? How do you– oh my God, you have to breathe, baby.”

You gestured around wordlessly, gasping through stuttered inhales, and you saw Joe look, frown at it, thinking, deciphering.

“Sit?”

“Hmm,” you nodded, and started shifting, turning on the bed, but Joe’s hands squeezed your thighs and pushed them into the mattress as he got up. He climbed onto the bed, hands not leaving your body once and moved to sit behind you, legs around your hips, arms around your front.

Your hands immediately found his arm to grab and dig nails into, and the added warmth to your back made you let out a short soft hum that almost sounded like a whimper.

“Lean back, I got you,” Joe whispered, his head now resting on your own as he pulled you closer. With your back pressed against his chest, head firmly slotted into place underneath his chin, you could feel your shoulders slump down a little bit.

“Good. Yea, that’s good.” Joe cooed before he softly shushed you, stopping when he heard your throat make a noise.

“Can you,” you start through a shuddering breath, “Squeeze?”

Joe didn’t need asking twice, arms slowly wrapping around further, tentative and careful in case it was all too much, squeezing your ribcage right against his.

It made you sigh.

Feeling pressure from an actual outside source made it easier to accept the constriction of your chest. Made it make sense a little more.

“There you go,” Joe muttered as you sagged into him, your head falling forward for a moment as a small sigh escaped you. “This good? Or do you want it tighter?”

You squeezed fingers into his forearm by ways of answering, heartbeat all chaos.

“Here, pull your knees up, get them in here,” Joe said, reaching, leaning back for a second and taking you with him. You managed to plant both feet onto the mattress, knees drawing up to your chest and Joe reached both arms around, pulling you into him fully.

Yes.

Curled up and hidden.

Compressed into warmth.

This helped.

You sat like that for a while, locked into Joe completely. His grip didn’t waver once, until you’d slowly stopped crying. But even then, Joe wasn’t just going to let go of you easily. He’d let go once he’d be told to do so.

Joe tilted his head to look at you when you started sliding your hands over Joe’s forearms, running slowly up to the hems of the sleeves of his T-shirt where they played with the soft fabric. He could barely see you at all, but he was able to catch the tear stains, the worry-lines, the rosy cheeks.

Made him hug you tighter, squeezing you once more as his face buried into your neck on the side.

“You OK?”

You nodded, small little up and down movements of your head, mostly because you didn’t want to test if your throat felt normal again when you spoke.

“I know you said,” Joe started, softly whispering, not needing to speak any louder, you were so close. “You said you sometimes got unprovoked, what’d you call them? Freak outs?”

You nodded again, breathing slowly, using fingernails to trace lines over the back of Joe’s hand.

“We never talked about what I should do to help when you have one...”

You spasmed on a deeper inhale, before you said, “I know, maybe we should have,” and you tried thinking of what you would’ve told him. What would you have said for Joe to do? Asking him to compress you the way you’d only just managed to do this time was a spur of the moment thing that ended up helping a lot. However, you wouldn’t have known that beforehand.

You noticed Joe had started swaying, rocking back and forth with you.

“This OK?”

“Yea,”

“Is this... was this how it usually goes?”

“Hmm, they normally last longer,”

Your faces were so close, you were fine murmuring in your softest whispers. With Joe’s chin digging into your shoulder now, you exhaled and let your legs fall down, knees over the edge of the bed again. Joe took the moment to shift and get a proper look at your face and you might as well have slapped him right across his.

There was practically nothing left of you.

Tiny.

So fucking small.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked, entirely unconvinced that you were.

“Tired,”

Yea, Joe could imagine. Look at you.

“Are you all right?” you asked, and Joe had to really try to not pinch you in the side at the sound of your smile seeping through.

“No, that was fucking terrifying,”

You chuckled softly, immediately winced at how sore your muscles felt.

“Sorry,”

“No don’t,” Joe took a sharp breath as he watched his own hand find yours over your front to intertwine fingers together. “Don’t apologise. Just tell me what to do.”

“This was good.”

“Yea?”

“Hmm.”

Joe did so good.

“I think it’s why this one didn’t take so long,” you said quietly, and you felt Joe squeeze your hand as he hugged tighter once more as he actively tried to keep his own tears at bay. Realising that you’d struggled through panic attacks on your own without someone to hold you more often than not, was stupidly heart-breaking.

He thought back to that girl he’d seen cry at school when he was 14 and felt guilty over his lack of empathy then.

“Hey,” you whispered, feeling how Joe was holding his breath, feeling his heartbeat slowly stumble in chaos of its own now.

“Relax,” you repeated Joe from before, same tone of voice, but way softer. It instantly got a huff of laughter from him before he groaned softly and pressed his head against yours.

“Don’t apologise,” you said, full on grinning now, turning your head to look at him. “Just tell me what to do.”

Joe looked at you a second, happy to see you smile, overwhelmed with how you managed to fill his insides with all things soft so strongly.

Fingers took hold of you by the chin and pulled you in closer for a kiss that you hummed into. When Joe was about to pull back, you got him by the neck and lengthened it. Made Joe hum into your mouth in return, until you finally broke and gave each other dopey smiles.

“This was good.” Joe said, mimicking you now.

“Yea?”

All chaos gone.

“Hmm.”

So good.

---

The Taglisted

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#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey #heartbeats all chaos

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swagammemnon · 3 months

Text

Caught in Honey

Prev | Chp 3

Ao3

Fiddling with the hem of your skirt, you try to ignore the nerves trying to eat at your stomach. John reassured you that you had nothing to worry about, just a couple of idiots on leave hanging around the base. You've been there a few times; surprised John with lunch or bringing whatever he'd forgotten at your place. Or if he had to stay late, you brought him a few creature comforts. And maybe a quickie or two.

But you've never met his teammates. They've always cleared out post-mission relatively quickly after the paperwork was done to their own little corners. To lick their wounds or make the most of their leave.

Or sleeping.

So, having John’s bear paw spread out over your thigh while he drives the both of you to base for the explicit purpose of meeting them has you a bit… antsy.

“Jus’ a couple idiots, love,” John rumbles after passing the ID checkpoint, gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze. “Nothing to worry about, hmm?”

You smile at your boyfriend, warmth spreading in your chest. He’s almost too good to you sometimes, reads you too easily. You splay your hand over his, letting out a tense sigh as he drives down the main thoroughfare, past the barracks and the gym. On the track, a small unit is doing laps.

John's office and his team's private quarters are nearly on the opposite side of base, a five minute drive from the entrance. His thumb flicks idly over your knuckles the whole time as you take in the base in springtime. It’s quiet and easy, John’s mere presence a warm cocoon around you—though it’s possibly augmented due to your time apart. More palpable after its absence. You don’t mind.

“Come on, love,” comes John’s deep voice as he helps you down from his truck. You can’t help but bite your lip as he tucks your hand in the crook of his elbow like a proper gentleman. Such cordial, old-timey displays still make heat rush to your cheeks—you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. You squeeze his bicep, bathing in the sensation of hard muscle beneath your fingers as you enter the small building claimed by John and his team. He’d explained once that they are a high profile, and technically off-the-books team. So the isolation helps maintain their security. Allows them a space to debrief, unwind, and recover in privacy while still at the beck and call of their superiors.

John takes you to the common room—a living room of sorts with several comfy lounge chairs, a couch across from a television and chest of drawers, a small dining table, and a kitchen. You know the whole reason for your visit is to meet his teammates, his friends. His very secret, elusive, lethal friends. But it doesn’t stop your grip from digging into John’s bicep when you see a pair of cargo pant and boot-clad legs sprawled out in front of the couch, some noise playing on the TV.

“Oi, Johnny,” John snaps, your head tilting curiously. John has only ever told you his teammates’ callsigns. So “Johnny” was new. You wonder which of the three he is. “Show some proper manners.”

A dark mohawk pops over the back of the couch, a flash of blue before Johnny is throwing himself to his feet. Practically jumping to stand before you and John. You blink at the glowing smile, the stunning blue eyes set in a pretty boy face you know has charmed many a woman into his bed. He extends a callused hand, which you take with a knowing smile.

“Apologies, lass,” he says, Scottish brogue surprising you as he brings your knuckles to his lips. “Weren’t expecting ye till later.” John grumbles something when Johnny kisses the back of your hand, but allows the man to continue. “It’s wonderful tae put a face to the name Cap’s been fawnin’ over. And what a bonnie face at that.”

Oh, definitely a charmer. A dangerous one who knows it.

“All right, paws off,” John clips, swatting Johnny’s hand from where he still holds yours. Smirking at Johnny’s boyish charm, and John’s clear annoyance with him as you hang your free hand back around John’s arm, you say, “I don’t think I would ever associate the word ‘fawning’ with John.”

Johnny’s eyebrows quirk, playful game caught in his eyes.

“Aye, can barely go a day without moaning over how much he misses ye. Even heard him whisper yer name in his sleep.”

You snort, even as John swipes at Johnny, who ducks the blow, dancing nimbly out of your boyfriend’s reach. Yanking you in close, John rotates slightly to put himself between you and Johnny. The move only makes you grin wider, squeezing John’s arm even as he refuses to meet your eyes.

“Shut your yap,” John gripes, huffing, “where’re the rest o’ you shites?”

Johnny throws a wink at you before tucking his hands behind his back.

“Ghost is sulking ‘round somewhere, Gaz went to the mess to grab some food. Should be back any minute.”

Now those names you recognize, making Johnny = Soap by process of elimination.

Almost as if on cue, another man strolls into the common room with an armful of assorted packaged foods. Dumping his cache on the dining table he spins, and once more you’re smacked with a ridiculously pretty face. Not a blemish in sight, full lips, romantic eyes. You glance at John, who smiles at you, wondering if your boyfriend likes to collect pretty men. The newcomer slides up to you, a smooth walk that barely makes a sound.

John says your name, briefly catching your attention. “This is Kyle, love. Gaz,” he says, nodding at the man.

“Pleasure to meet you, lovely,” he coos in a smooth, shaking your hand with a firm grip.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, taking in the joggers and compression shirt he has on with a raised eyebrow. He’s certainly got the body for it, tight and trim. “When did you all get back?”

Kyle gives you an easy smile, nodding everyone over to the dining table. You give a warm smile to John as he pulls out your chair for you, tucking you in once you’ve sat. Johnny takes the seat to your left while John angles his chair at your right so he can sling his arm over the back of yours, knees knocking together. Kyle sits across from you.

“Yesterday afternoon,” he says, popping open a bag of chips. Glancing at John, your look is teasing. He was home when you’d arrived a little before six. He either neglected to fill out paperwork–doubtful–or set the boys on the grindstone so he could be done and home with dinner and a good pussy-eating ready for you.

John shrugs, claiming a bag of chips for the two of you.

You and the three men chat for a while. Johnny takes a keen interest in your veterinary work and you pass around photos of some of your international research projects. John practically preens as you excitedly explain your job and how much you love it. Kyle is more of a rapt, quiet attention type than rapid fire questions like Johnny. It’s tempting to ask about their jobs, and you make the mistake of asking a single question, to which you get a playful, “That’s above yer pay grade, lass.”

But still, the thought of these three men, cozy and lounging and smiling, becoming a coordinated, lethal unit has something thrilling running through your veins. And the feeling of John only edging closer and closer to you throughout the conversation until he’s practically glued to your side does nothing to curb the buzz.

Sometime later, Kyle’s warm eyes flick behind you, nodding.

“Finally decided to join us, mate?”

John hand slithers around your nape as you turn, rumbling out, “‘bout time, Ghost.”

When your eyes land on a familiar skeleton mask, barely hiding the mountain of a man now frozen in his tracks, you barely hide your gasp. Stomach dropping out your ass. White noise roars in your ears.

He's staring at you, blue eyes rounded and familiar brick-sized boots planted. That fucking balaclava too.

Your voice is choked, “Simon?”

“Did you know?”

John is lent against his desk, ankles crossed at the end of his stretched out legs. Stupid burly biceps crossed over his chest. Blue eyes trained on you as you pace a stripe into his office rug.

“No,” he says matter-of-factly, frustratingly calm.

Your scowl only deepens as you halt and point yourself at him like a loaded gun, hands on your hips.

“You mean to tell me, when I talked about my exes, one of which was a Simon, who worked as a soldier on an army spec ops team, your teammate that you have seen and done unspeakable things with, didn’t cross your fucking mind?”

John is in no way happy with your temper, but he isn’t trying to slake it. If he was, you’d probably drive your fist into his face, take the truck keys, and drive yourself home. Instead, he says, in his even, rough voice, “Of course, he did,” you open your mouth to yell at him but one raise of his bushy brow has you pausing, anger simmering, “but I could name ya ‘bout three Simons I’ve met in this line o’ work. I thought it was a coincidence, love.”

Curling your lip in a nasty snarl you’ll feel bad about later, you turn away. “Don’t love me,” you gripe, resuming your pacing. “Not every Simon wears a damn mask all the time.”

“You never mentioned a mask.”

You shoot him a glare, but you chew on the statement. Simon had been… an odd end. He’d burrowed under your skin with a disconcerting stubbornness. Courting you like he was a fucking three-hundred year old vampire with flowers and food, showing up at your work to force you to take lunch when he knew you rarely ever did. Waiting until the third date to ask to kiss you–a soft little thing that devolved into being pinned against your door. Left breathless and wet as he parted with an accented goodbye.

Almost with the same old world charm John bathes you in on the daily. You should have known.

Six-months—a soft, intimate thing that bloomed like a flower in love with the moon. You’d shared your secrets, he’d share his (even if he never spoke of his job outside ‘it’s confidential, for your safety’ or his friends). Cared for you. Loved you. Fucked you silly. So silly that you didn’t see his fear. Of commitment, of ‘I love you,’ of a future. You think it had to do with his past, a fear of being a monster he wasn’t if any of his childhood vignettes were anything to go by. And you’d tried to get him to open up, to convince him he wasn’t protecting you.. He was hurting you. Mistrusting you in not letting you be a place he could safely change and grow. To take risks.

It felt like you’d had to rip out your own heart when you broke up with him.

Leave him, still as a craggy peak, empty-handed and buffeted, frozen outside the last cafe you’d had lunch at together.

Simon was—is private. Something sacred that you tore apart alone, searching for what went wrong, even as your heart bellowed rage and grief as you broke it. You learned from it, built walls around it—him—yourself, as a result. Even if your therapist encouraged you to remain open-hearted once you’d mourned.

So, no. Telling John about him at all, let alone the emotion and insecurity and vulnerability Simon had poured into his mask—borne to you when he took it off with you and you alone—hadn’t been a thought in your head.

Your pacing halts, your hands rubbing up and down your thighs as all the emotions you thought you’d processed, healed, forgotten come riling up at the mere sight of Simon’s skull embellished mask. Tears prick your eyes and you want to scream as your heart pounds in your chest, lurching between anger and hurt and—

John calls your name softly, drawing your shimmering eyes towards him. You did tell him, however, how heartbroken you were. Ending things with Simon. How you tried and tried to pry happiness from the man, to show him he could trust you, and ending up empty handed.

John crooks a single finger at you, and like a magnet, you go. Lips bite swollen and throat sore, hands shaking with the sheer amplitude of feeling battering through you. He opens his legs for you, and you automatically slot yourself between them. Even though you stubbornly fold your arms over your chest. You must look like a stubborn toddler, because John gives you the softest smile, enfolding your hips with his large hands to tug you closer.

“I can’t believe you’re his captain,” you grumble, trying not to unspool beneath the mindless circles his thumb traces over your ribs. His trenchant gaze settles into yours, annoyingly soothing. You can feel your hackles relaxing without your consent.

“What do you need?” he states with a small tilt of his chin, those eyes flicking down to your lips before trailing back up. Damn him.

You huff, squeezing your biceps. “I don’t know,” you whisper pathetically, frustrated with yourself. With John. With Simon.

John squeezes your hips, drawing you close enough to be firmly squished between his muscled thighs. Defeated, you look at him through your lashes, frazzled pout swelling your lips. Those encompassing hands slide up your waist, calluses catching on the fabric of your skirt, dragging it up with them. John cocks his head, just enough so his nose brushes yours. You can smell his aftershave—the aftershave you patted on his cheeks yourself yesterday. It makes the frenetic part of your mind blur a little.

John’s voice drops an octave, a rhythm that fingers through your belly. “Would you like me to decide?”

Sinful temptation in the form of a man. An emissary from some celestial plane—heaven or hell, you always waffle sometimes. But always revel in the divinity this man forces upon you.

Your shoulders slump, throat baring as you whine at the offer. He’s holding your gaze, waiting for an answer. You already know what you want to say. Are already set on placing your control in his hands because right now, it’s too much. And he’s right here, a safe place to lay yourself down. But it’s still so embarrassing, after almost nine months together, it’s still fucking embarrassing. This delicate transition of power.

Still hugging yourself, you drop your pouting face into the crook of John’s shoulder. Hiding your face as you nod with the smallest movement you can.

John’s answering hum has goosebumps rolling across your skin, his large hands circling your ribcage. His lips, framed by his soft beard, press a kiss to your throat. Deft fingers slip the broad straps of your dress off your shoulders, his warm palms following behind to rub over your skin. Sighing, you begin to melt into John’s front, a surprised moan slipping out when he grabs your nape and squeezes. The taut muscles protesting before they submit to the strong grip.

His massage works its way down your neck, bullying your shoulders into relaxing, pressing into your biceps. Hands gently pry your arms apart, thumbs circling over the tendons of your forearms. Your fingers spasm, the release tangible.

John’s pleased groan has you pressing your forehead against his neck, stepping closer as his hands plaster over your ass. Kneading the flesh until your knees knock and you’re bracing on his thighs. Those tricky fingers bunch up your skirt, sweeping across the rounded globes in search of something that isn’t there.

“This for me, sweet girl?”

Your fingers bunch into his loose pant legs, legs flexing as his own fingertips dribble over the crease of your ass and thighs. Timidly, you nod in the safety of John’s neck, sighing as he pulls your cheeks apart.

“You’re too good to me.” He sets a kiss against the curve of your shoulder, enjoying the shiver he gets as he inches closer to your pussy. “My good girl.”

You ignore the pulse of self-disgust in favor of sinking further into that fuzzy space inside your head.

“You were planning on having this little pussy ruined today, weren’t you?” That enticement has your spine shuddering with pleasure. The click of his tongue has you wanting to sink to your knees and say yes to anything he wanted. You know he would take good care of you. “Wrapping those perky little tits up in such a cute dress. Wanting a reward for how good she did, like a bratty little slut.”

Your eyes flutter, a wet moan sliding from your lips.

He gives your ass a rough squeeze, wrenching a startled yelp from you as your arm around his neck for support.

“Showing off to my mates,” his voice drops lower and you almost pull back, but he yanks you closer. “No runnin’ darlin’,” he whispers, “You just wanted ‘em to see how good I had it. Tease ‘em a bit with this delicious body.”

His hum of approval carves into your skin as those lethal fingers slip between your legs. Finding warm dampness.

“Practically had ‘em drooling over ya.” His voice turns, dark, conspiratorial, “Did ya see ‘em?” His nose grazes across the shell of your ear. No, you hadn’t. Your mind had been fixated on the heat of John along your side, his possessive arm, the safety in which you’d felt enveloped. But the picture John is painting…

You whine as a callus catches your clit, sparkling sensation through your tummy.

“They’re good boys though,” he continues, bathing his middle finger between the wet folds of your pussy. Knuckles rubbing on your clit as the tip plays with your hole. “Won’t go touching what’s mine.” His nip a sting into your neck, and your body gives him a shiver. “At least not without permission.”

Stupid, delicious man. Your hips roll forward without your consent, a breathless sigh escaping your lips. His mean smirk brands into your throat. He knows—knows what the lascivious masterpiece he’s laid before you is doing, but he keeps the victory quiet. In reward, he sinks his middle finger into your dripping pussy. You can’t help but clench around him, welcoming him even deeper. John breathes you in, coaxing more slick down to coat his finger. And you just linger in the warm cloud he’s made around you.

But then he’s gone, and you’re straightening with a protest on your lips as he stands up. So fast, you practically have to stumble back. You can’t help the pleading swirl in your eyes, a rosy pout to your lips as John merely smiles down at you. Using his slick knuckle to tilt your chin up.

“You gonna be good f’me?” His other hand molds your hip, spinning the two of you in a slow dance. Putting your back to his desk and the door to his office.

“Always,” you breathe, the fog in your mind making your blood soft. Your desire reaching and pleading. Supplicating.

“Fuck,” John groans, teasing a kiss with a brush of his nose to yours. You try to follow the dance steps, chasing the promise of his kiss. But he pulls back. “How’d I get so lucky? Beau’iful thing like you.”

“Please, John,” your voice quiet and round. You drop your eyes to his lips, hands bunching in his shirt. Your boyfriend gives in, leans down to brush a tender kiss to your lips.

“Sit on my desk f’me,” he mutters against your pleading mouth.

Reluctant to pull away, you only go with the promise of more waiting on the tips of his fingers digging into your skin. You shimmy onto his desk, feet dangling as you perch on the edge. John tilts his head, a fondness warming his eyes as he takes in your pretty form. It makes butterflies flutter in your stomach—his open perusal, the undercurrent of heat. You could be a virgin school girl for how… vulnerable he makes you feel. But safe, protected within his space, his arms. Laid on his desk.

“Spread ‘em,” he rumbles, eyes dropping to the V of your hips. Without hesitation, you open your thighs, skirt slinging between them to cover the wetness still dribbling out. You can almost feel the heat of his gaze, dragging over your pussy—a jolt of it straight to your womb when he commands, “Show me.”

You let out a shy sigh, lips parting as color rises to your cheeks. Even as you bunch up your skirt, baring your soaked panties to his hungry gaze. John practically growls, the black of his eyes swallowing the blue.

“Obedient today,” he praises in that syrupy voice that has slick glistening on your naked thighs. Your pussy throbs as he steps up between your plush legs, lent over you like a predator, slow and lazy as they play with their prey. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. His heat sears into your skin as he grazes his knuckles along your cheek.

Admiring. Affectionate.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, canting his lips just against yours, “you know that, right darlin’?”

You shiver, nodding emphatically as you unspool like loose thread into his hands.

“Good girl.” You jump at the hard press of his full cock against your stomach. Still clothed—John makes no move to free himself. “Now, wrap your arms around my neck.”

Your skirt flutters to your knees as you obey, and he follows the weight of your arms, fixing his lips against yours. Thighs squeezing around his hips, you barely feel tangible as he kisses you sweetly. Warm and adoring as he parts his lips, tongue running the seam of your mouth. You’re turning into nothing but sweet, viscous honey, melting into his skin as you open beneath him. His tongue dips into your mouth as he slides a palm up your thigh, fingers grazing over your mound.

Then his middle finger is sinking in between your folds, pressure from your clit to where the fingertip plays with your hole. You moan softly, hips flexing, rolling yourself into his palm. His mouth becomes more insistent, sloppy and indulgent, that finger dipping into you, swirling before pulling back out. Your mouths part as you try to catch your breath but John plunges you back under, his other arm circling your back. Yanking you against him as he roughly plunges his entire finger into you.

A groan slips through your nose, jaw slackening as he hooks that finger inside you and drags out. Raking against your G-spot. You break away, a high moan of near discomfort in your mouth as he reaches the end of his finger only to press harder. Shooting a splitting bolt of pleasure through your pelvis and legs. John merely recaptures your lips and presses back in, a second finger sliding alongside the first. You’re too aroused for the stretch to even hurt. It’s delicious, rough as he pulls in and out, making sure to press into your gummy little spot of pleasure until your thighs begin to shake.

But it’s not enough.

Like he can read your mind—sometimes you think he can—a third finger joins, side by side and stretching. He rotates his wrist as he scoops his fingers into you, coaxing forth more slick to pool in his palm. He repeats the motion, twisting up your insides until you can’t kiss anymore, only moan and whine and squirm against his hand. You’re so pretty like this, John thinks, continuing to ravage your mouth as his fingers coil up your pleasure. Sweet little pussy dripping into his hand like the good little girl you are.

Fuck, you’re gorgeous.

And while John is arching you against him, scrambling your pretty brain, you don’t notice the door to his office opening. John knows exactly who it is, before the burly man even steps inside. You’re lost in your pleasure, slapping a palm against the desk as leverage as you roll your hips into his insistent fingers. John’s eyes hook onto the other man’s, teeth baring in a satisfied grin against your cheek.

Simon stands frozen in his captain’s doorway, watching your darling, achingly familiar silhouette squirm on the desk. His cheeks heat, blood rushing and pooling south. John gives a rough thrust into your pussy, so your gorgeous moan bursts out—muffling the click of the door closing. He’s brutal on each upward stroke, punching out a little staccato whine on each go. John watches the younger man’s fingers twitch, eyes darkening as they catch on the warm flash of your bare thighs. Split open around John’s waist.

Might as well have been the devil in John’s gleaming white smile, tucked into your shoulder.

Your captain can practically see the chub growing in his lieutenant’s pants. He hums, deeply satisfied, dark. It washes over your skin like a salve, your head falling back as your hips buck into John’s hand. His eyes don’t leave his lieutenant’s.

“That feel good?” John mutters, harsh. He yanks out his fingers, palm cracking on your soaking pussy. You scream, short and wet, fingers scraping into John’s skin. “Pretty pussy all wet for me.”

“John,” you moan, hole clenching on pitiful emptiness. Curling into your man, you seek out the softness of his beard, rubbing your cheek along the newly trimmed stubble.

“So sweet,” he preens, tongue dragging along the line of your throat. Simon’s eyes follow, mouth dry. “Just a little kitten f’me.”

“John, please—” you yelp when he slaps your pussy again, blood pulsing tightly in your clit, hips grinding into his palm, “---please. I need you.”

John chuckles, watching his lieutenant palm his cock, shifting on his feet like a shy school boy.

“Need me,” he echoes, taunting, “I’m here, darlin’. I got you.”

Your breath sticks in your throat as he shoves all three fingers back inside you with one quick move.

“Oh, fuuuccckkk.” Your voice warbles, slick dripping from your folds, smearing on John’s desk. A permanent stain he intends to preserve.

“Mmm, good,” John praises, goosebumps prickling his skin at the filthy way you clench around him

“Fuck, baby. Right there,” you breathe, setting your weight into the arm around his neck. Dragging him closer. He needs to be closer. “Right there.”

John pulls kisses along your neck, baring his teeth before he sinks them into your shoulder. The shudder seizes your body, shaking another moan from your lips Eyes locked with Simon’s, John releases your skin, tonguing the throbbing flesh as he flushes his palm against your clit and curls those devil fingers inside you.

Simon fists his cock through his pants, tension limning his body as he watches the way your thighs shake. He has to bite his cheek to muffle his moan just as you try to slide your free hand to your neglected clit.

“Ah ah,” John chides, digging in his fingers until you’re throbbing with a nasty ache. “No touching,” he commands. For both his girl and his lieutenant. You both listen too, your hand hesitating just at his wrist. Simon’s pauses at the button of his cargo pants, gorgeous eyes crinkling with burgeoning pain.

“Good,” John praises, pouring warm honey into his deep, gravelly voice. His teeth nibble on your earlobe, knees tightening around John’s hips in a delicious vice. John wants nothing more than to sink to his knees and bury his face in your sloppy pussy, but that would release Simon from the spell. Probably send him skittering back to his room like a spooked rabbit. Shutting himself into his bathroom where he would fist his painful, angry cock and think of his Captain ramming his load into you.

No, no. John wanted Simon to stay right where he was, cock leaking a stain into his pants as you dribbled and trembled all over his desk.

The captain grinds his own hard dick against your thigh, working his fingers to the filthy squelch between your thighs.

“Wanna bend you over this desk and fuck your little brains out,” John murmurs against your ear, fingers stilling inside you. Only to hook on your pubic bone, pressing deep against your gummy G-spott. He wraps your swaying curtain of curls into his fist, yanking your head back to expose the vulnerable line of your throat. “You don’t need one, huh? You’ve got Daddy ta take care o’ ye.” Drool falls from the corner of your mouth, tongue lolling out. His hips grind down into your thigh, shuddering at the sound of your short pants, cunt spasming around his fingers. “Fill this pretty cunt with my cum, hmm? Maybe let the boys see it slip down your pretty legs as we leave. So they really know who you belong to. That sound good, swee’art?”

Your lids are split the barest millimeter, mouth slack and John aches to feed you his cock. Watch you choke a little as he bottoms out, nose buried in the dark hair there. And you can see that voracious hunger in his eyes as he leans back to smile down at you. Tomcat with his meal. What a pretty picture you make. John’s smirk is blended with adoration, but there’s an edge of tartarean cruelty that has your bones jittering with excitement. He cuts the picture of a dark god preparing to play with his sacrifice. And you willingly lay yourself at his altar—spreading your legs wider, yanking your dress up over your full breasts, and tempting him with a pretty, “Please.”

John sees his lieutenant’s mouth fall open beneath his mask at the sound of your plea. Another supplicant eager to even come near the altar. A lesser god maybe, with a dearth of beautiful sacrifices and now longs to touch the work of art so, so close. His gaze scrapes over your creamy breasts, bouncing with your breath.

He snatches one in his palm, squeezing like a brute, tugging it into his mouth when he leans down. What he wouldn’t give to see these tits swollen and leaking. Your tummy rounded and heavy with his kids. He lets his cloying desire burn in his eyes as he flicks them back to Simon, tongue dragging over your nipple. His lieutenant’s knuckles are white. John can see the precum stain from here.

“Fuck,” John groans, shoulders slumping as he tugs your hair, baring more of your tantilizing throat. His mouth pouncing on the new flesh. “Aren’t you a beautiful slut?”

Your eyes close fully, letting the warmth wash over you and John steps back into your body.

Simon dares a step closer, catching his captain’s liquid gaze as he stuffs his fingers back into you. You moan, slipping your hand into his shaggy hair. Your hips roll, his thumb pressing into your clit in some twisted act of mercy. Pleasure coils once more behind your navel, wringing out cute little whimpers that make Simon’s cock twitch his pants. The lieutenant’s tongue is heavy, lips chapped. His eyes are glued to your writhing silhouette, images of you and his captain in even filthier positions.

This is the bird he’s been shacking up with these past months? The one who’s turned his captain soft and loving, domestic? The one who has him bolting from base as soon as they touch down on the tarmac? The one Simon has been endlessly pining over like a miserable lech ever since you ended your relationship last year?

Simon can’t even bring himself to be pissed.

Not when your whines turn high and constant, following the beckon of John’s fingers, your cunt twitching as your orgasm teeters on the ledge. Not when John mouths the soft curve of your freckled shoulder.

“That’s it,” John coos, looking back to his lieutenant as his own hips grind along your leg. “That’s it, darlin’.”

Simon’s hand twitches towards his dick, desperate to grip it, to fuck his hand to the real sight of you for the first time in nearly a year instead of just the memory. But John tsks, a jolt traveling down both your and Simon’s spines at the demanding tone. Simon’s hand hesitates, but you get harsher thrusts, a concentrated massage of your clit and G-spot that has you bucking. Whining and yanking on his hair as your ankles lock at the small of his back.

“Fuck, John,” you groan, “just like that. Just like that.” You’re nearly sobbing, care for your volume gone out the window.

“I got you, lovie. Can feel your cunt twitching.” John presses a possessive kiss to your temple, grinning as Simon soundlessly groans, his neglected cock hanging heavy and abandoned in his pants. “Cum on my fingers, sweet thing, cum for me.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you beg, ass clenching as your legs tremble. Simon’s hips buck. “Right there, baby, right there. Right there. Right there.”

John’s mouth parts just as he feels you tip over the edge. Balls tightening as your walls clamp down on his hand, imagining your pussy choking his cock. You come with an aborted cry, slick gushing down John’s fingers, dripping onto his forearm. One last tight grind against your thigh, taste spread over his tongue, he paints the inside of his briefs with a rumbling moan.

And poor Simon is left blue-balled by the door like a kicked pup. Fucking deserves it, moping around base and acting no more than a pitiful mutt ever since you’d kicked him to the curb. Nearly endangering the team those first few missions after you’d broken his heart. John’s hand uncurls from your hair, splaying across the expanse of your bare shoulders, the smooth lines of your upper back as you pant through the aftershocks.

Precious little thing.

His lieutenant doesn’t deserve to see how soft you are for John as you come down. Not after how he fumbled you. So he jerks his chin at the door, effectively dismissing his subordinate. He sees Simon’s eyes round, indignant, surprised. But John merely raises a challenging brow, rubbing your spine as your forehead drops onto his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, staring his lieutenant down until the younger man slips out of his office with an obvious tent in his cargo pants. As soon as the door snicks shut, John gathers you into his arms—limp, shaky body warm and pliant in his arms. He sits back into his office chair, pooling you across his lap with quiet coos and praises.

Petting your wild curls, John closes his eyes, soaking in your aftershocks.

Tracking you down all those months ago was the best thing he’d ever decided to do.

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