#agon festival | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckets-and-trees · 3 months ago

Text

Now That I Saw You

Characters/Pairings: lawyer!Bucky x curvy!female assistant reader Word Count: 4k Summary: Finally home from the work trip to Norway where things changed with your boss, you are uncertain about what the future means exactly, but eager to see him again. Sequel to What You Want.

Content Warnings: modern AU, slight power dynamic, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, body reverence/worship, use of "plum" as a term of endearment, sex in a semi-public place

Logistical Notes: My August entry for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky-Bingo using the BODY WORSHIP prompt and week 3 of Hot Bucky Summer hitting up that SOMEONE ELSE'S HOUSE prompt.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Normal breathing, you thought to yourself as the driver pulled up the drive of the massive estate of Alexander Pierce, one of the senior partners of the law firm where you worked. This was your first time attending the firm’s New Year’s Eve party since you’d only begun working for Bucky in the early spring, and although you were only Bucky’s assistant, you had heard enough directly and indirectly to know that making an appearance here mattered. Bucky had insisted that you didn’t need to feel obligated to come – especially since he’d kept you away from your family over Christmas when the weather had made it impossible to fly home from the business trip to Norway. He had even insisted on paying for flights for you to go straight home instead of making the long drive to your hometown.

What he didn’t know was that you had called and changed your return flight from January 2 to December 31.

Bucky was close to making partner, and you wanted to show that you were one of the small but dedicated team he had in his office that took their work supporting Bucky seriously.

And while being home for some delayed holiday time with your family had been nice, the longer you were there, the more you were itching to get back to New York and figure out what life was going to look like with your boss post-Norway.

Five days of normal business followed by the three “stranded” days of Nordic adventures, shopping, sightseeing, dining, spoiling, and so much sex. So much sex.

With Bucky.

Your boss.

A valet stepped up to open your door as the Uber driver stopped in the circular receiving area of the driveway at the front of the mansion. As you stepped out and began walking up the steps, you were glad you went with the modest heels rather than the strappy high heels your best friend had tried to coax you to pick when you FaceTimed her while getting ready. Since you were nervous about enough other things, you didn’t need to worry about your shoes tonight.

Things like the bolder shade of lipstick you’d put on, or the sexiest dress you’d ever worn, or simply the fact that you didn’t know where everything that happened in Norway left you with Bucky Barnes.

Minor things to trifle over, really.

You gave your name to an attendant at the front. They scanned the list, smiled, welcomed you to the festivities, and gestured toward the staff taking care of a coat check just inside, off to the right of the grand foyer.

As you approached the coat check, you couldn't help but marvel at the opulence surrounding you. The foyer was a masterpiece of marble and gold, with a grand staircase sweeping upwards and crystal chandeliers twinkling overhead. You were enveloped by a pleasantly thick scent of gardenias and champagne, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and tinkling laughter from the rooms beyond.

You slipped off your coat, revealing the dress you'd agonized over for hours. It was a deep emerald green, hugging your curves before falling in a silky waterfall to your ankles. The neckline dipped low, and the back was even lower, leaving you feeling both sophisticated and slightly exposed.

The attendant handed you a small golden ticket in exchange for your coat, and you tucked it carefully into your clutch. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the evening ahead. The butterflies in your stomach were performing an intricate ballet, a mix of excitement and nerves that left you feeling slightly lightheaded.

As you turned to face the grand ballroom, you were immediately enveloped by the soft glow of candlelight and the gentle tinkling of champagne glasses. The room was a vision of elegance, with towering floral arrangements adorning every table and shimmering gold accents catching the light. The air was filled with the gentle hum of conversation and laughter, the tinkling of champagne flutes, and the soft strains of a live orchestra.

You took a tentative step forward, your eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. The sea of designer gowns and tailored suits was intimidating, and you found yourself second-guessing your decision to attend. Just as you were considering a hasty retreat, a warm, familiar voice called your name.

"Hey there, stranger! I was hoping you'd make it tonight."

You turned to see Steve Rogers, Bucky's best friend and fellow lawyer at the firm. He approached, moving with a swift grace as he always did, his broad shoulders filling out an impeccably tailored navy suit, a glass of champagne in each hand. He’d be intimidating if you hadn’t forged a wonderfully warm friendship over the past months working in the office. You admired how much he wanted to take care of those around him, unafraid to speak up whenever needed, and equally ready to make someone smile.

Even now, the tension in your shoulders eased at the sight of him and his bright smile.

“Bucky will be happy to see you!”

You ducked your head a moment, taking a sip of the champagne he offered. “He will?”

“I don’t think he could tie his shoes anymore without you,” Steve exaggerated, but the compliment warmed your insides anyway.

Steve offered you his arm and then led you further into the party.

Your senses were overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of the event. Everywhere you looked, your eyes drank in more exquisite details infusing the atmosphere. You passed by a magnificent ice sculpture of the firm's logo, its edges glinting in the candlelight. You passed by tables laden with delicacies from around the world - tiny caviar-topped blinis, glistening oysters nestled in beds of ice, and delicate pastries that looked almost too beautiful to eat. Waiters in crisp white jackets glided effortlessly through the crowd, their trays balanced with flutes of golden champagne and jewel-toned cocktails.

You couldn't help but feel a bit like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. Each new sight was more wondrous than the last. To your left, a living statue covered in shimmering gold paint posed gracefully atop a pedestal, her movements so subtle you had to blink to be sure she was real. To your right, an aerialist in a glittering silver bodysuit performed breathtaking feats on silks suspended from the vaulted ceiling, twirling and spinning in mesmerizing patterns.

Near them, a group of women in shimmering gowns laughed melodiously, their jewelry catching the light with every gesture. You nodded politely at a few familiar faces from the office, but your attention was divided, always seeking. You noticed Alexander Pierce himself holding court near a grand fireplace, his silver hair gleaming as he regaled a captive audience with what was surely a riveting anecdote.

As you and Steve wove through the crowd, your eyes continued to roam, searching for one face in particular. The anticipation built with each passing moment, your heart quickening its pace. You nodded politely at a few familiar faces from the office, but your attention was divided, always seeking.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, your gaze was pulled across the room to finally land on Bucky Barnes, looking devastatingly handsome in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. His dark hair was newly trimmed since you last saw him, sleek in a way that made your fingers itch to rake through it and over his scalp. He was engaged in conversation with a small group, his head thrown back in laughter at something someone had said.

Suddenly, Bucky's attention shifted to you, his eyes locking onto yours across the bustling room. The laughter died on his lips, replaced with a bit of wonder and an impossibly charming grin. Immediately heat was pooling in your stomach, nerves somewhat calmed, but a different itch pitching inside you.

The world seemed to slow down as Bucky excused himself from his group and began making his way towards you. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him approach, his eyes never leaving yours. The crowded room seemed to part for him, or perhaps it was just your imagination playing tricks on you.

As he drew closer, you could see the slight widening of his eyes as he took in your appearance. His gaze traveled slowly from your face down to your toes and back up again, lingering on the curves accentuated by your dress. When his eyes met yours again, they were dark with an intensity that made your skin tingle and memories of your time in Norway together flash vividly through your mind.

"You're here," Bucky said softly as he reached you, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I thought you were still with your family."

You smiled, trying to keep your voice steady. "I wanted to surprise you. I hope that's okay?"

"More than okay," he murmured, his eyes still roaming over you appreciatively. "You look absolutely stunning."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his compliment. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself," you replied, taking in his impeccably tailored tuxedo.

Steve cleared his throat beside you, reminding you both of his presence. "I'll leave you two to catch up," he said with a knowing smile, giving Bucky a pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Suddenly alone with Bucky, you felt the air between you crackle with tension. The noise of the party faded into the background as you stood there, lost in each other's gaze.

"Can I get you a drink?" Bucky asked, gesturing towards the bar.

You lifted your half-empty champagne flute. "I could use a refill," you said with a smile.

Bucky's hand found the small of your back as he guided you towards the bar, the possessive heat of his touch sending flames radiating across your skin. You were acutely aware of every point of contact between you, rejoicing and regretting over choosing the dangerously low and exposed back that allowed him skin to skin access in this moment.

As you waited for your drinks, Bucky leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "I can't believe you're here," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Since Norway, you’ve been on my mind constantly.

Your heart raced at his words, memories of passionate nights, morning, afternoons, and so many stolen kisses streaming through your mind. "I couldn't stay away," you admitted softly. "I needed to see you."

Bucky's eyes darkened with desire, his gaze dropping to your lips. For a moment, you thought Bucky might kiss you right there, in full view of everyone. But he seemed to catch himself, remembering where you were. Instead, he reached past you to collect your drinks from the bartender - a flute of golden champagne for you and a tumbler of amber whiskey for himself.

"Come with me," he murmured, his voice husky and filled with promise. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he led you away from the crowded ballroom.

Your heart raced as you followed him down a dimly lit corridor, the sounds of the party fading behind you. Moonlight streamed through tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. His fingers tightened around yours as he glanced back, a roguish glint in his eyes.

At the end of the hall, he paused before an ornate wooden door. With a quick look around, he turned the handle and drew you inside. You found yourself in a luxurious study, shelves of leather-bound books lining the walls and a grand desk dominating the center of the room.

Bucky took your glass and his and set them on the desk. Then his strong arms encircled your waist and drew you to him. "We shouldn't be in here," you whispered, even as excitement coursed through your veins.

"Shh," he replied, pulling you closer. His lips found yours in a searing kiss that made your knees weak. You melted against him, hands roaming over the broad planes of his shoulders.

As Bucky's lips moved against yours, all thoughts of propriety and caution melted away. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers curling into the lapels of his tuxedo jacket as you pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, pent-up longing and desire pouring out between you.

Bucky's hands roamed your back, tracing the exposed skin left bare by your daring dress. And the way he touched you? Reverently worshipping the curves and plump flesh you were usually so insecure about? This was why you dared to show more than you typically did. He made you believe you were gorgeous. His touch ignited sparks along your spine, each caress stoking the fire building within you. You gasped as he nipped at your lower lip, using the opportunity to sweep his tongue into your mouth.

The taste of whiskey on his lips mingled with the lingering champagne on yours, creating an intoxicating blend that left you dizzy with want. You pressed yourself closer, desperate to eliminate any space between your bodies. He slipped a finger beneath the strap on your shoulder and pushed it down, tugging until he freed one of your breasts. He hummed as he began to palm it with his large hand, and you arched into his touch.

Suddenly, Bucky broke the kiss, and spun you around. You gasped and brought both hands out to steady yourself on the edge of the desk.

Bucky's lips traced a burning path down the curve of your neck, pausing to nip gently at the sensitive spot where it met your shoulder. You shivered as his warm breath ghosted across your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. His kisses continued their southward journey, open-mouthed heat following the elegant line of your spine.

Each press of his lips felt like a spark igniting your nerve endings. The cool air of the study contrasted sharply with the heat of his mouth, creating a delicious tension that had you trembling. As he moved lower, his hands skimmed down your sides, fingers tracing the curves of your waist and hips with reverent appreciation.

As Bucky sank to his knees behind you, his hands slid down to your hips, his breath now teasing the small of your back. The anticipation built, your heart racing as you felt him gather the silky fabric of your dress in his hands, lifting it inch by tantalizing inch. The whisper of the material against your skin was electric, heightening every sensation. When he reached your hips, he paused, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your panties.

"You're exquisite," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

Slowly, reverently, he began to peel your panties down. The delicate lace clung to your curves before giving way, sliding down your thighs.

You shivered as the cool air hit your exposed skin, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through you. Bucky's hands caressed your thighs, urging them apart, his touch both soothing and electrifying. You could feel his hot breath against your most intimate areas, causing a fresh wave of arousal to wash over you.

"God, I've missed you," Bucky groaned, his voice husky with desire. "Missed tasting you."

Without further preamble, he leaned in and ran his tongue along your slit, eliciting a gasp from you. Your fingers gripped the edge of the desk tighter as he began to explore you with his mouth, his skilled tongue alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing flicks.

You bit your lip to stifle a moan, acutely aware of the party continuing just down the hall. One of his hands snaked around to caress your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. The dual sensations had you panting, struggling to keep quiet as waves of pleasure washed over you. The thought of being caught only added to the intensity of sensations swirling through your body.

Bucky's tongue worked magic between your thighs, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your most sensitive spots. Your legs trembled as the pleasure built, threatening to overwhelm you. You bit down on your lip, desperately trying to muffle the moans that threatened to escape.

"Let me hear you, plum," Bucky murmured against your heated flesh. "I want to know how good I'm making you feel."

His words sent a shiver through you, and you allowed a soft whimper to escape.

Encouraged, Bucky redoubled his efforts, his tongue circling your clit with increasing pressure. One of his hands slid up your inner thigh, and you gasped as he slowly pushed two fingers inside you.

The dual sensations of his tongue on your clit and his fingers curling inside you had you seeing stars. Your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against his face as you chased your release. The coil of tension in your core wound tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment.

Just as you were about to tumble over the precipice, the sound of approaching voices in the hallway made you freeze. Panic mingled with arousal as you realized how exposed you were, bent over the desk of what had to be Alexander Pierce’s private study.

But Bucky was undeterred, and you bit your lip to stifle your moans, acutely aware that you were in a semi-public space. The thought of getting caught only added to the thrill, your arousal only surging more, lapped up by his wicked tongue. He worshipped at the altar of your sex with so much devotion, you weren’t quite ready to think about the implications of yet.

Bucky's fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your toes curl. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. The voices in the hallway grew closer, and your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

"Bucky," you whispered urgently, your voice trembling. "Someone's coming."

He hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. "Then you better come first," he murmured, his voice muffled but determined.

The voices in the hallway grew louder, and you could make out snippets of conversation about quarterly reports and market projections. Your heart raced, torn between the need for release and the fear of discovery.

Bucky, however, seemed to relish the added excitement. His ministrations became more intense, his tongue flicking rapidly against your sensitive bud while his fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot with each thrust. The combination of pleasure and danger pushed you closer to the edge.

"Come for me," Bucky whispered against your heated flesh, his breath sending shivers through your body. "Let go, plum. I've got you."

His words were your undoing. The tension that had been building inside you finally snapped, and you came with a silent scream, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure washed over you. Bucky's mouth and fingers worked you through your orgasm. Your legs trembled as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you. Bucky's touch gentled, his fingers slipping out of you as he pressed soft kisses to your inner thighs. The voices in the hallway faded, moving past the study door without pause.

With shaky hands, you pushed yourself up from the desk, your breath still coming in quick passes. Bucky helped drop the fabric of your dress back down to the floor and rose to his feet behind you. He turned you back around to face him and brought you back into his arms. You could feel the hard line of his arousal pressing against you, but he seemed unconcerned over seeking his own relief.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his lips brushing your forehead. "So beautiful when you come undone for me."

He dipped down and pressed a kiss to the swell of your still exposed breast before then bringing your dress back up and over your shoulder, setting it completely right again.

Your hands slid up to loop around his neck. His eyes were dark with desire, his lips slightly swollen from his ministrations.

"That was…" you trailed off, unable to find the right words.

"Amazing," Bucky finished for you. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it sent a fresh wave of arousal through you.

But before either of you could be tempted into anything else, the voices in the hall returned.

"I'm telling you, Alexander, the Ultron account is a goldmine waiting to happen," a booming voice declared footsteps drew closer.

Bucky quickly reached for the drinks on the desk, pressing your champagne flute into your fingers. The he dipped to the floor, snatched up your panties, and pocketed them. You bit your lip, and he smirked at you.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, Wilson, but I'm not convinced the risk is worth the potential reward," came Alexander Pierce's measured reply as the door opened.

"Barnes! There you are," Alexander Pierce's voice boomed as he entered the study, followed by two other senior partners. "We've been looking for you."

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it.

Bucky turned, his body language relaxed and confident despite almost being caught in a compromising position.

"Mr. Pierce," Bucky greeted smoothly, his voice betraying none of the tension you felt. "I was just showing my assistant the impressive library you have here. We both share a passion for rare first editions."

You nodded. "It's truly remarkable," you managed, proud of how steady your voice sounded.

Pierce's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked between you and Bucky, but his expression remained neutral. "Indeed it is," he said, moving towards one of the bookshelves. His hand swept over one of the shelves. "I'm particularly fond of this Hemingway collection. However, I’m afraid I can’t entertain you with its history and how I had to hunt them down presently. I’m actually glad we found you, Barnes. We have some urgent matters to discuss regarding the Stark Industries merger. I’d like to bring you in on it, if you’re game."

"Of course, sir,” Bucky nodded, his professional mask slipping for only the briefest of moments, but you saw the excitement there for the opportunity presented.

"Excellent," Pierce said, clapping his hands together. "Gentlemen, have a seat." He turned to you, his smile polite but dismissive. "Thank you for your interest in the collection, and, please, enjoy the rest of the party."

You nodded, understanding the clear directive. "Of course, Mr. Pierce. Thank you for your hospitality."

As you moved to leave, Bucky caught your eye. His gaze was intense, filled with unspoken promises. "I'll find you," he mouthed silently, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you slipped out of the study, leaving Bucky to his impromptu meeting. Your mind was reeling from the events of the last few minutes - the passionate encounter with Bucky, the near-miss of being caught. Mostly, though, you were happy you had come after all and were eager to spend the rest of the evening with Bucky. At a party like this where business and pleasure stood side by side, you knew the host couldn’t be gone in his study for long, and then Bucky would return to your side, and you’d be able to ring in the New Year just right.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!

It's been SO LONG since we've seen these two! I hope it was a nice return to them.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #female reader #babb2023 #hotbuckysummer2024 #aspen wrote something #what you want #deliciously debauched labor day weekend

514 notes · View notes

perfectlyoongi · 4 months ago

Text

DAD!JUNGKOOK who sings the nursery rhymes as if they were songs from his own show. with microphone in his hand, Jungkook began to use his sweet voice to entertain your child, making them dance between laughter and screams, helping them spin with his free hand; Jungkook jumped, taught your kid basic dance steps and did everything to ensure that those songs were something important and unique to your child. “the next song is dedicated to all the kids with big dreams! never give up on them! itsy-bitsy spider climbed up…”

DAD!JUNGKOOK who flooded the bathroom when bathing your child. whenever Jungkook offered to bathe your kid, you knew that endless moments of heartfelt laughter awaited you as well as several minutes of mopping; because, with rubber ducks and plastic boats, Jungkook always created a story without beginning or end, making your kid the great god who guided the little duckling back home — it was only natural for the great god to want a little turbulence in that sea so calm, right? “what if today we take the duck with us to the bathtub and take him to fairy island, popcorn?”

DAD!JUNGKOOK who buys matching pajamas for the whole family to wear during winter festivities. the arrival of the cold months brought with it the welcoming knowledge that family nights were just around the corner; to complement all the laughter and stories shared, Jungkook thought it best to ask santa for comfortable clothes for the whole family — it was just a coincidence that you received a reindeer onesie, Jungkook a snowman onesie, and your kid a little onesie of a gingerbread man. “what do you say we call your dami and we go create gingerbread houses before we go to bed?”

DAD!JUNGKOOK who builds a fort out of boxes and sheets to play magic with your child. in your back garden, boxes of the most varied sizes were strategically placed in a small castle adorned with old sheets from your old house; on the hottest summer days, when you went to drink lemonade on your patio, your relaxation time was complete with the sight of Jungkook on all fours roaring like a dragon while your kid, wearing a paper hat bigger than their head, shouted gibberish so that their wooden wand could defeat the great dragon Kook. “today i am going to tear down the entire castle and take the great magician Jeon to my cave!”

DAD!JUNGKOOK who paints the pavement with chalk with your child. on the most boring days, when Jungkook missed you and your child just wanted you to get home quickly, your husband would carry your little baby out on his back; with a bucket of chalk in hand, Jungkook and your kid spent hours painting the sidewalk in front of your house, creating a complex game of hopscotch, preparing a new game in colorful tones to be played when you got home. “your dami will love your idea of popping the bubbles that you painted. you are as creative as your father.”

DAD!JUNGKOOK who offered his childhood stuffed toy to your child when they had their first nightmare. you had been out with your friends the first night your child had a nightmare; awakened by their screams in the middle of the night, Jungkook quickly ran to your kid's room, seeing tears wiping their innocent face, making Jungkook's heart squeeze at such an agonizing sight. after calming your child with a hug filled with endless kisses, Jungkook would momentarily leave their room, only to return with a slightly grubby but very loved rabbit. “when i was little, here Mr. Hoppy fought all the monsters that wanted to take me. he told me it was his job to protect you now.”

DAD!JUNGKOOK who got a matching tattoo with your child when they turned 18. a heart made from the fingerprint of Jungkook's thumb and your kid's thumb gained a special place on their bodies; on the day your child turned eighteen, before going to celebrate with their friends, Jungkook took them to his favorite studio and, after deciding to wear the tattoo on their left ribs, your husband and son spent hours lying down exchanging small talk as they waited for the art to form within them. “don’t tell your dami it was my idea or i’ll sleep on the couch. say this was the gift you wanted, okay? please.”

579 notes · View notes

joyful-enchantress · 2 years ago

Text

Spring Heat (18+) | Loki x Fem!Reader

banner created by the amazing @springdandelixn

A/N: You help your husband through his yearly heat, which is part of the Jotun mating cycle. He's afraid he might hurt you, but you are determined to stay... I wrote this for @springdandelixn and her Double-Trouble Sleepover! Congratulations, Beanie, my love! I hope you enjoy this little fic that I put together for you 🖤

Genre/Warnings: Jotun mating cycle AU, smut (18+), rough sex, choking, dubcon? (everything is consensual but Loki is not entirely in control of himself), language, light angst, fluff too, filth with feeling, established relationship

Word Count: 3182

The sights and sounds of springtime were all around you as you strolled through the palace grounds —

The busy twittering of birds as they searched for food and fought over tree branches on which to build their nests.

The chattering of squirrels and rabbits and other small animals as they came out of hiding to begin a new season of life.

The rich shade of green returning to the grass in the meadow, speckled with pops of color where wildflowers were beginning to bloom.

Speaking of blooming flowers -- the palace gardens were thriving, and in the next couple of weeks were sure to become a spectacle of color, ranging from delicate pastel hues to bright, vibrant tones. Just in time for the Spring Festival that would be held at the end of the month.

Yes, spring was upon you. Your favorite season. It meant warmer temperatures and sunshine and new life.

But despite all the bright cheerfulness that spring brought with it, for your husband, Loki, it also brought with it a certain darkness.

His heat.

Loki was of Jotun blood; a Frost Giant. And with that heritage came certain Jotun traits, some more easily embraced than others. One such trait that your husband found more loathsome than the rest was the Jotun mating cycle.

Each year since his body matured, around the time of the Spring Equinox, Loki would find himself at the mercy of his primal instincts. Unable to control his animalistic urges to mate, he’d lock himself in his chambers until it would pass.

That is, until you had something to say about it.

When you learned of the agony he endured — both physically and emotionally — locked in his chambers for anywhere from one week to one month until his heat cycle passed, you couldn’t bear it. You had to do something to help, if you could.

You remembered the conversation you’d had with him well. It was shortly after your wedding…

————

“Loki, isn’t there anything that would make it easier to endure? Or at least make it come to an end more quickly? I can’t imagine a week of that, let alone a month.”

“Unfortunately, no, darling. There isn’t really anything that can be safely done to help it. The healers can give me an elixir that will suppress it, but I can’t take it every year, or it would lose its effectiveness. And besides, a heat the year after a suppressed heat is always more intense and agonizing.”

Your eyebrow cocked, looking at him with curiosity. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience…?”

He took a deep breath before answering, “Yes, I’ve taken suppressants occasionally in the past. The temptation of a year of reprieve was too great for me to resist at times. But I always found that the following year’s heat was far worse than what is typical. More desperation, more madness, more… pain.”

Your heart broke for him in that moment.

“Why does it last so long, Loki?”

He gave a mirthless chuckle. “It lasts as long as it takes for one of two things to happen. Either it quite literally burns its way out of my system, like a fever that takes weeks to break. Or…”

His voice trailed off, and he looked off into the distance, as if he was searching for his thought amongst the forests and rolling hills.

“Or…?” You gently encouraged him to continue.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh and quietly admitted, “Or… I mate. Breed. Fuck.”

Something about the way he enunciated the hard ‘k’, his Adam’s apple bobbing sinfully as the sound clicked in his throat, had your core throbbing with need and a wave of hot arousal unfolding over your body.

You blinked a few times as you contemplated what he said. “Well that seems easy enough,” you replied cooly, as if you were discussing the weather.

“What…?” He looked at you, perplexed.

“If having a good fuck will bring your agony to an end, then that seems like an easy solution to me. I can help you with that —”

“NO!” His rich baritone voice boomed as it cut you off, dripping with authority, anger, and — was that fear? “You don’t understand, my love. I am not myself when this happens. I lose myself, I lose control. I no longer am capable of keeping up the Asgardian façade; my Jotun form takes over and I am overcome with the primal desire to mate. I lose all regard for decency, I become… a monster. I am a monster.”

“Loki…” you reached a hand up to caress the side of his stupidly beautiful face, running your thumb soothingly along his sharp cheekbone and slotting your palm against his chiseled jaw, which was tightly clenched. A sign of his distress. “I love you, Loki. Let me help you through this.”

“I love you too, darling. More than my life itself. Which is exactly why I can’t let you do this.” He wrapped his large hand around the back of yours and turned his head to the side to tenderly kiss your palm. “It isn’t safe. I could hurt you. Badly.”

“I trust you, Loki. I trust you with my life, no matter what physical form you assume.” The next words you uttered came to you as easily as breathing, “I want to do this. Please. Use me. Use my body to sate your desires and end your own suffering.”

His emerald eyes widened at your words, most likely shocked at how brazen and self-assured they were. But swirling behind the shock was something else. Reverence. Trepidation. And lust.

He slowly swallowed, gathering himself together and collecting his thoughts after you scrambled them with your salacious plea.

“Alright then, darling.” He cautiously relented, his eyes boring into yours, searching for any sign that you were having second thoughts or hints of doubt. “Come springtime, when my next heat cycle is upon me, I’ll let you help me. I’ll let you be the balm that soothes my burning, searing ache.”

————

And now, spring was upon you. And any day now, it would be time to make good on your promise to him. For better or worse. You suddenly had a renewed appreciation for the words you spoke in your wedding vows to him, just 8 months ago.

Loki has been warning you for the past few days that his heat is imminent, and could take over at any time. He could feel it; all the warning signs were there. The restlessness. The irritability. The discomfort. Crawling under his skin like an itch he can't scratch. Until it makes him snap.

Each and every time, he asked if you were still sure. He reminded you that you could change your mind, that he didn't expect you to do this. That he'd never expect you to do this. It was entirely your choice.

And each and every time, you stood firm in your decision. You wanted to help him. You would do this.

The sun was beginning to set on your evening stroll, so you altered your route so that it would lead you back towards the private chambers that you shared with Loki. As you approached the hallway which led to your shared door, you could feel a distinct, unseasonal chill in the air.

Was this it? Was tonight the night?

Once you reached the ornate wooden door, you noticed a thin blanket of frost coating the edges of it, as if, behind the door, was the force of winter itself, its icy chill seeping through the gaps between the door and the frame.

You reflected for a moment on the irony that all this frost and chill was the result of something called a heat, and you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself.

But then you remembered that not just fire, but ice, too, can burn.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and the cold seeping through the doorframe wasn't entirely to blame.

You took a moment to gather your courage, reminding yourself that this was Loki. Your husband. Your one true love.

You could do this.

You softly knocked, each tap of your knuckles against the cold wood sending a jolt of bravery through you.

"Loki... can I come in?"

"Pet..." The voice that answered you was familiar, but more... ragged. It was deeper, if that was even possible, and assumed a huskiness that made your usually gentle husband sound nothing short of feral.

It sent a surge of hot, wet arousal through you, which pooled between your thighs.

"I'm here, Loki..." you whispered like a prayer. "Let me help you."

"This is your last chance, pet," he warned. "You can still change your mind. But the moment you open the door, I'm afraid there will be no going back."

Good thing you had no plans of going back.

You opened the door and stepped into your chambers; after ensuring the door was closed and locked, you took a deep breath. This was it.

As you turned around, you came face to face with your husband.

Except he wasn't quite the Loki you knew. For one thing, he was taller. Much taller. At least 8 feet tall. You briefly wondered how you'd be able to take him in this form. His usually porcelain skin was replaced with a brilliant cerulean, and across every bit of blue that your hungry eyes could find, were ridges that swept across his skin in bold strokes and delicate lines, forming intricate patterns that you longed to trace with your fingers. As your eyes settled on his face, you found some familiarity there. You recognized the bone structure and the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips; the luscious raven locks that framed his angular face were unchanged. But in place of the emerald orbs that you knew and loved were two glistening rubies, staring at you with an intensity that could only be described as ferocious.

He was beautiful. Flawless. You saw no monster before you. Only your husband. Showing you a side of himself that he has kept hidden from you. Until now.

You broke the silence first, and simply muttered, "I love you, and I am here. Use me."

And that was all the permission he needed.

He closed the distance between you impossibly fast, like a predator stalking its prey, and wrapped an icy hand around your throat, squeezing firmly, the coldness stinging like pins and needles against your skin.

His lips met yours with an urgency that you hadn't experienced before; any hint of gentleness was gone and in its place a brutal clash of tongues and teeth as he claimed your mouth, a throaty growl slipping past his lips as he basked in the taste of you on his tongue.

Fear crept up your spine for the first time since you entered, and you brought your small hands up to claw at his wrist, a desperate attempt to let him know that you needed a break; you needed to breathe.

Something within him seemed to get the message, because he peeled his mouth away from yours and released your throat, repurposing his hand to wrap around your midsection and toss you unceremoniously onto the large bed in the center of the room.

You had to admit that part of you enjoyed the way he was manhandling you.

He wasted no time freeing himself from his garments and strode towards the bed, where he situated himself over you, caging in your small frame like a hungry animal about to enjoy the spoils of its hunt.

You gulped at the sight of his enormous cock, as it bobbed angrily against his stomach, covered in the same ridges that decorated the rest of his body, the tip weeping with the evidence of his primal desire. For you.

"These pretty silks have got to go," he rasped against your ear, his breath somehow both hot and cold.

He roughly grabbed the fine fabric and you winced as you heard him rip it to shreds as easily as if your dress was made of flower petals from the garden.

Within seconds, you were bare before him, and his ravenous gaze lazily roamed over your body, savoring every dip and every curve like the sight of you alone could sate him.

Even though that couldn't be further from the truth.

When he decided that his eyes had had their fill, he brought two fingers up to prod against your lips, his gaze meeting yours, daring you to defy him.

But you didn't dare.

You submissively parted your lips and wrapped your mouth around his fingers, astonished at how much your mouth had to stretch just to accommodate them. A wicked smile tugged at his lips as your tongue danced over his digits, preparing them for exploration of another warm, wet hole.

A gasp escaped your lips as his fingers were abruptly pulled from your mouth and pushed inside your weeping cunt. They pumped and stretched you almost as much as his normal cock would, and you shuddered at the thought of what was to come.

The nerves melted away though, as his thumb found your clit and worked the sensitive nub in sweeping circles, pleasure taking over your senses and lulling you into a state of calm.

"Loki..." you whispered softly between your whimpers and pants.

He growled in response, withdrawing his fingers from your soaked pussy and wrapping his hand around your thigh, forcing your legs open as wide as they would go.

Before you had a chance to adjust to the new position, his huge cock was at your slick entrance and he thrust forward, forcing as much of himself inside you as he could, his girth stretching your walls and the tip pushing against your cervix. The sudden intrusion took your breath away, and the stinging pain you felt caused unshed tears to well in your eyes. The coldness of his skin only heightened the sensations, forcing your mouth open in a silent scream as he claimed you.

You loved him. You wanted this. You silently reminded yourself as a large blue hand found your throat once again and wrapped around tightly.

A feral moan left his lips as he began to rut into you roughly. Pushing himself in as far as your body would allow. Over and over. Chasing his own pleasure without regard for your own.

"So warm... So tight... You take me so well, pet." He grunted between thrusts. "You're mine."

You couldn't help the fresh pool of arousal that gushed between your legs in response to his words. Even as he wrecked your body and used it like a toy, you loved nothing more than being his.

His rhythm became sloppy and you knew he was close.

With a wild growl, he pulled out of you and violently flipped you over onto your stomach. You were thankful you were on the mattress and not on the floor in that moment.

His large hands dug into your hips, pulling them upwards and angling you so that he could sink himself once again into your tight cunt. You turned your head to the side, gasping for air between shameless moans as he pounded into you from behind like an animal.

It didn't take long for him to reach his peak; he let out a primal roar as he came, pumping you full of his seed. You felt it leaking out of you, dripping down your inner thighs as he continued to shallowly thrust into you while he rode out his high.

And that was the last thing you remembered before darkness blurred the edges of your vision and you succumbed to exhaustion, your body limp and spent.

Later, when you came to, you wiggled your fingers and toes first and slowly worked your way to moving each limb, assessing the soreness. There was an undeniable ache, but nothing you couldn't manage. You sat up in the bed and looked around the room, searching for Loki. Your eyes settled upon his familiar Asgardian form, huddled on the chair in the corner, as if he was putting as much distance as possible between the two of you without leaving you alone. His eyes were red, but not because of his Jotun blood. Because he had been crying.

"Loki, what's wrong?!" you frantically asked.

When he realized you were awake, he rushed to your side. "What's wrong? Love, look at what I've done to you!" He gestured to your body, to the bruises on your inner thighs, your hips, your wrists, your neck. He pointed to the mess between your thighs, to the bit of blood that was on the sheets between your legs. "I'm a monster. A vile, disgusting creature. I should have never let you do this!"

He looked away from you, ashamed.

You reached for his hand, in an effort to reassure him. "Loki, I wanted this. I wanted to help you. I insisted." Your thumb stroked the back of his hand in soothing circles, willing him to believe that you were okay. "And look! It worked. Your heat lasted only a few hours instead of weeks!"

"But at what cost?" He muttered, without meeting your gaze.

"I am your wife. We are a team, in everything. I vowed to be there for you and to love you no matter what, for better or for worse. A few bruises and some soreness are a small price to pay once a year if it means my husband isn't in agony for weeks at a time."

He sheepishly met your gaze then, peering up at you from under his eyelashes.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered softly.

"Yes you do. Because you are the most amazing person I know," you smiled easily as you said it. "Now, I did say we are a team, so if you're done sulking, I do believe it is your turn to do your part. Don't you have some magic healing powers that could soothe some of my aches, or am I misremembering?"

Now it was his turn to smile at you. He got to work straight away, a blanket of green seidr engulfing your body and buzzing through you, soothing away the worst of your residual pain. Then he spent the day spoiling you, running you a hot bath with your favorite rose scented bath oil, pampering you with a massage, and waiting on you hand and foot.

"Darling?"

"Yes, Loki?"

A wolfish grin crept across his lips. "When you've had a day or two to recover, I intend to make last night up to you, tenfold. To drown you in so much pleasure that the only word you'll remember is my name as it falls from your lips like a mantra."

You met his grin with your own cheeky smile. "And I intend to hold you to that, Laufeyson."

His lips met yours, then, in a passionate kiss; one that conveyed all the love and adoration he held for you. Your lover. Your husband. Your everything.

Spring was definitely your favorite season.

Tagging some lovely people who might be interested. No worries though if not, of course! @lokisgoodgirl @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @cheekyscamp @give-me-a-moose @sarahscribbles @gigglingtigger @ladyofthestayingpower @mischief2sarawr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @wheredafandomat @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @loopsreacts @maple-seed @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @thomase1 @peachyjinx @superficialdomina @peaches1958 @evelyn-kingsley @simplyholl @tallseaweed @cake-writes @tripleyeeet @lokiandbuckysdoll @vbecker10 @lovelysizzlingbluebird

#rolling into spring writing challenge #beanie's double trouble sleepover #beanie's sleepover #spring writing challenge #milestone sleepover #loki #loki laufeyson #jotun loki #jotun loki x reader #loki x reader #loki x you #loki smut #loki imagine #loki fic

4K notes · View notes

delicrieux · 2 months ago

Text

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ chapter summary. the fireworks festival.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader warnings for this chapter. swearing, character death (off screen, dw) wc. 6.3k author’s note. gege deserves to be charged for war crimes for what he's done, but besides that, thank u for reading once again. i really loved writing this story and agonizing about what it would be like to be with our dear satoru. he is, without doubt, a character that deserved so much better. but anyway, thank you again!!!! c u at the end of this xx

ੈ ✩‧₊˚

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | twny masterlist | < back |

CHAPTER 14: you know where to find me & i know where to look

you will not lie and tell yourself that being away from gojo isn’t strange and off-putting, even if you would like to. it’s different when either of you are on a mission, because, theoretically, now you know he’s just on the other side of the wall and you have chosen to not curl up beside him. you have slept alone for a long time, and it had never been an issue until now – there’s no one to be too warm against, no one to hog the sheets, no one to chew on your hair dreaming of something sweet.

the stockholm syndrome really got you, huh?

still, you sleep well. there’s enough space and you awake refreshed, with no limbs tingly or numb, but a bit lonely. the room is too big, and even if the view behind the curtain is nice enough to snap a picture, it’s not as charming without gojo pointing and saying, “heh, look, a bit more rain and it’s gonna be a landslide,” and you, naturally, nodding along, because he must be right.

you dress and douse yourself in a heavy, heavy cloud of the perfume he got you. gojo insisted on this one because he liked the way it smelled, and you are feeling better today and are willing to hear out another heartfelt apology. you are very nice and very merciful and deserve the very best for your endless efforts to steer this relationship into something at least vaguely harmonious.

maybe you can reconcile during a tasty breakfast with a cappuccino syruped with caramel and the foam resembling a cat. yes, you have put the pieces together – normally, you wouldn’t consider yourself a great strategist, but surprisingly, last night you had ran this situation through your head over and over and over again till every possible scenario and an equally possible outcome was engraved into the squiggly lines of your brain. you have never been more prepared for anything in your entirely life.

“i’ve learned my lesson,” are the very first words you hear when you open the door, met with a head hung low and an unhappy gojo satoru.

alright, this you did not anticipate. he looks a bit miserable. gojo always hated the silent treatment or the ignore policy the most, even when he was harassing you for his personal entertainment, but you didn’t think eight hours apart would make him like this. suppose he might not have slept at all; suppose you did leave on a sour note, a small good night and a strained smile he tried to mimic but failed, waiting till you shut the door before heading to his room.

you wonder how long he’s been antsy behind your door, waiting like a lost pet. you decide to assume he just got here instead of thinking of the more likely scenario that he sensed your cursed energy spike once you rolled out of bed and was at attention ever since.

“that’s nice,” you tell him. a soft kiss to his cheek seals the deal for both of you, and an ache you didn’t realize you were suffering from lifts seeing him instantly brighten.

“you smell nice,” he leans in, happily nosing the side of your neck, “and look nice. super nice. hello.”

“hi, good morning.”

“yes,” a toothy smile, and your fingers twining with his, “great, even, actually. didja miss me?”

you will not lie to yourself, but you will lie to him. you shake your head, as though disappointed by such an unfair and silly line of questioning, “it’s barely been a night. i was relieved, if anything.”

he wrinkles his nose, a look that borders on not so playful if taking in the arctic gleam of his eyes, “not funny,” the comedy will have to wait, it seems, he’s serious, “no jokes about that. or separation. ever. you and i are conjoined twins from now on. we could be permanently glues together by my infinity. now that’s an idea.”

a bit too frankensteinian for you, so you have to pass, “let’s leave the morally questionable experiments to shoko, please.”

“if you insist,”

well, now that the apology is out of the way and the awkwardness is cleared, you are prepared for a feast that he will pay for, “let’s go down to eat?”

if it weren’t for the slight downward twitch of the corners of his lips, you might’ve been fooled that all is fine and dandy. apparently, it is not. hesitation, from him, only comes when he’s preparing for something major and likely emotionally taxing. this, on an empty stomach, will not do, but drawing it out isn’t an option, either.

he squeezes your hand before you can come up with an excuse to avoid breakfast or this conversation, as this isn’t going at all like you have pedantically strung together. another squeeze, and you decide to never plan anything ever again, “…can we order room service instead?” he inquires, and you relax a little, glad you won’t have to have this conversation mid-hallway where any other guest could sneak up, “i, uh,” he won’t meet your eyes, “i’d like to talk a bit. first. if that’s okay?”

your insides are twisting into knots – not from the present anxiety but from the honesty in his quiet voice.

“sure,” you settle.

he nods and takes the lead, hand a little sweaty, face a little flustered – all very out of character, but very sweet. you let him drag you the whole of the next door down and you’re graciously let into the spotless, untouched space he had spent the night in. the curtains are open, the bed is pristine, and gojo is never this clean so it can only mean he hasn’t used it. you glance at him with a wordless question but he’s still avoiding your gaze.

has he really agonized over this the whole night? you have, too, a bit, but seemingly not nearly enough. maybe it’s his first time having a fight with someone; maybe it’s his first time being in the wrong and knowing that he is and actually doing something about it. too many maybes. you think he might be just as confused as you.

once the door is shut, he breathes out. perks up, finally, once you’re safely secured in his perimeter. he gestures toward the expanse of the bed, face morphing back into a rather placid expression that betrays nothing but an odd edge that doesn’t manage to leave his eyes entirely.

“after you,” he announces chivalrously. no ulterior motives there.

“uh-huh,” you sound, toeing the slippers off and climbing in. you scoot back till you’re pressed against the pillows, leaving ample space for him to join. he chooses a spot by your thigh, warmth pickling against your skin, and you really do forgive him, you decide, and you would probably forgive him again even he pulled the same stunt at this very moment. no, that is terrible, how has this idiot managed to ensnare you so completely?

once he’s fidgeted enough, he moves onto his next agenda, “the menu,” he pulls out a booklet from the drawer, placing it on your bent knees like a little gift. this all feels vaguely rehearsed, “pick what you want.”

that was always the intention, but you see that he’s trying very hard to work up the courage to something he wants to say, so maybe some good old fashioned enthusiasm from you will help him relax, “alright,” a hum for added measure, “hmmm…. mhmmm…. ooh, pancakes sound nice. like, maybe a mountain of them.”

“yeah?” his chin finds its usual spot on your shoulder, “pick between the triple and a tower.”

the picture showing off the pancake tower does look very impressive, not to mention delicious. however, you aren’t entirely certain you would finish one, as the heading reads over one meter!, which is simply ridiculous. thankfully, you have a man with a black hole for a stomach right next to you, “i’d like a tower.”

“sure, whatever you want.”

“and a cappuccino,” you’re not skimming out on that, even if it’s unlikely the barista will make you cat-shaped foam. maybe you can press gojo to bully them into doing it, but pressing gojo into anything at this moment would likely lead to another disaster, “with a double shot. possibly triple. how many shots do they do?”

“think one’s plenty enough,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. they appear bit chapped, but nothing you can’t fix, “…can i get a kiss?”

…so much for wanting to talk. this is already familiar. he’s trying to change the subject.

“for good behavior?” you venture coyly, peeling your gaze away from the breakfast details to gauge his expression.

it makes him smile, small and wicked, “yup. best behavior, actually. i said sorry, it counts. right? say yes.”

“mmm,” you manage, thinking up another scheme. you would like to keep this on track. it’s likely he won’t dare to say it again and the implication of it will hang between the two of you until another fight, and another, and it’ll keep stacking up and up and likely higher than the famed pancake tower. his pupils grow larger the longer he waits for your permission. a small sigh, and your nails scratch at the nape, “maybe let’s eat first?”

his gaze flickers for a second, and then he gives you a kind, patient smile, “alright,” because he meant it when he said whatever you want.

“so nice of you,” you praise. his grin shifts. you recognize i – it’s the one he dons when he’s winning.

a quick call to reception, gojo’s back to holding your hand again, softly as not to crowd you. his fingers really are much longer than yours, and he measures them idly, more than used to the sight but still somehow mesmerized by it.

“i don’t like fighting with you,” he starts, voice even, though low, “the rest i don’t really care about, but you,” he tugs on your finger, “you just, doesn’t…” he trails off, confidence shaken by something invisible.

“i don’t like fighting with you either,” you share, hoping it will ease him. it seems to work, but only a little, “it sucks.”

“yeah,” he huffs, “super major sucks,” he draws closer and the mattress shifts. he finds home beside you, head once again nestled into your shoulder, like it’s the safest place on planet earth.

gojo always seeks refuge in physical affection. it’s a way he can express himself without using words. suppose you can pull him into your embrace and calm him like that; suppose he’ll feel a bit braver without your eyes so deeply focused on him, even if there’s always a chance he’ll take the easy way out and refuse to speak at all.

but that’s not what happens, “i just wanted to find a spot where we could watch the stars together.”

“oh,” you utter, unsure what to make of this yet. you are glad he has finally told you, but that still doesn’t explain why he was acting, dare you say, nervous before the argument. there has to be more. there always is, but you will never pry, because it’s painful enough for him already.

“didn’t work out the way i had hoped it would, though,” and now he sounds genuinely sad. a horrible feeling surfaces in you, “but we can still watch them tonight. if you want.”

“i do,” you assure him, “but you have to talk about what’s bothering you. i can’t read your mind.”

“thank god you can’t,” a hollow chuckle follows, “it’s a secret anyway. none of your beeswax.”

impossible, like always, but you wouldn’t really have it any other way. you card your fingers through his hair and he relaxes further, warm breath tickling the side of your neck. a small sigh, this time from him. now that he’s said all that he has wanted to say – which still doesn’t really explain anything, but is more than enough – he can pretend to be an overgrown cat and bask in your affectionate gestures.

it’s going to be okay. you hope he doesn’t see your little smile. lucky.

“is this supposed to be a white tiger?” you inquire, holding up a glass phone charm for his inspection. another pale, blue-eyed thing that has caught your fancy. soon, your dorm room will also include a private zoo of all the cute plushies and ornaments you’ve managed to collect with gojo’s money.

“doesn’t have any stripes,” he hums, twisting and turning the vaguely animal-shaped object in his palm. dusk falls on his shoulders, tinting the edges of his hair a soft lilac, “maybe a polar bear?”

suppose it doesn’t really matter, since all charms displayed at this stall look the same, and it surely has nothing to do with the talent of the man that made them. he gazes over them proudly, each sat in a small leather box with a lavish seat, ready to be taken home and hung by the mirror or looped around a cellphone. the monkey ones could maybe resemble monkeys if you squinted and took a lot of creative liberties, and the rest are just shapes with four legs and a snout. oddly cute, in an incompetent, unexplainable way.

“you wanna…?” gojo raises a brow, shades blocking the double-check he no doubt sends you. you nod vigorously.

he has learned his lesson from last time and carries a concerning amount of cash in his wallet. your tiger-bear is placed in its box and then wrapped in a little bow before being hidden in a colorful plastic bag that eventually makes its way to you. you bow in thank you.

the matsuri continues. the winding streets are blocked from traffic yet crowd with too many patrons; gojo pinches your sleeve and tugs when a particularly large wave of people try to separate you. even when they manage, and you’re momentarily disoriented from the sounds and smells and sights, he always manages to spot you first. maybe he just knows where to look.

gojo has changed from his usual garbs into a baby blue yukata. blue really is his color, and he looks so infuriatingly handsome that you have to glare at a sizable amount of people to let them know he is not available to be admired now, or ever, really. you have contemplated buying him a kabuki mask, but even then, his height and broad shoulders – not to mention that unshakable gait and all-over enticing confidence! – would somehow reveal him, and people would still stare or try to grab his attention. perhaps the mystery of the mask would be even more alluring. your hairs stand on end at the thought.

“m?” gojo, never one to miss anything and still latched onto your sleeve, tilts his head, “are you hungry? i sensed murderous intent.”

you hide your lips behind your fan – an expensive trinket gojo insisted to get you since it would match your baby pink yukata. yes, you have come in matching bubble gum ice cream flavors. when your head moves even slightly, the hairpins clink. the sound is light and satisfying, or so he said. you can’t hear it over the noise.

“no, not really,” you say, though the dango stand does look delicious, and the twinkling lights are inviting. your displeased eyes do not leave the group of high school girls donning their flowery yukata and giggling into their kakigori bowls. it is truly a blessing you have been born with a useless amount of cursed energy, because you would definitely use it for evil.

maybe gojo knows, and he graciously steps forward, blocking your sight from the rest of the people. another tug, and you snap into motion.

around you, lanterns sway, alight and warm; they cast low over the sidewalks and shine bright against the cobblestone walkways. in the corners of your vision, the glow swirls into endless rainbow-colored ribbons.

“how good are you at shooting?” he asks.

all dolled up and pretty, you can only clap your lashes few times at the absurd question, “really well, why?”

“like, a bow or a gun?”

“does it matter? both require concentration and precision,” you explain, “still, are we planning a heist or something? i don’t have any cursed tools on me,” and while the prospect of danger and adventure is enticing, you really are having fun just being here with him and would rather stay.

“nah, just a bit of friendly competition,” he grins, glasses drooping just enough to catch the mischievous twinkle in his eye, “wanna go against the strongest? you’ll be the only one to that lived to tell the tale.”

wanna do this, wanna do that? want food, a plushie, something absurdly expensive? if you asked for the moon, you wonder if he’d try to retrieve it. perhaps calculate if a missing edge wouldn’t spin the planet out of orbit and bring it back to you as a souvenir.

“i’d like a soda,” you say.

“let’s get you a cola,” he switches directions so quickly you almost collide into an equally mushy couple enjoying their date.

only you and gojo are not a couple, and this is not a date, and each time he recalls an insignificant detail about you and goes out of his way to do something small for you only because he wants to do it, it becomes harder and harder to remember the fact. pretending is awful, and it burns strangely acidic in the back of your throat. but it’s so warm, too, and you want to cling to his arm and press your cheek against his yukata. hide there, in his sleeve, like he always does in the crook of your neck.

gojo wouldn’t mind. once he gets you your tasty drink, you paint a kiss mark on his cheekbone with your lips. it’s faint and pink, glossy against the rose that steadily rises onto his face, and he doesn’t wipe it off, only smiles sheepishly.

eventually, you make it to the shooting range. it’s a large stall decorated with sea creatures and varying shades of purple and blue. you’re handed a large water gun and told to hold till the targets – large jellyfish – fall over, officially earning you a point. depending on the amount of points one receives, one might win a prize, or so the man in a pirate costume explained.

“ready?” gojo asks, fixing his glasses. you’re not sure how serious you should take this. your pride may be on the line, but this game is likely extremely rigged. he’s already the strongest, and whatever he’d receive from the pirate would ultimately make it into your hold without you having to steal or resort to anything desperate, like politely asking.

still, you are a sorcerer. if a friend and colleague is requesting, you must put on a brave front. it is the morally righteous thing to do, after all.

you put your hand on your hip and nod.

the game begins. three seconds into it you realize that the water stream is much too weak for you to successfully take down a significant number in the modest time allocated for this quest. still, you keep going, and several jellyfish fall by your skillful hand and steadfast accuracy.

no matter the physical differences or innate abilities, there should not be a lead in this competition, and if there were to be one, it would be you and your clear head compared to gojo’s impatience and petulant whining. as a matter of fact, he is not whining, nor is he sulking in defeat or trying to sabotage your chances.

he is barely containing his cackle over tightly pressed lips and quivering shoulders, his grip on the plastic so tight the bright red grip cracks a little.

the jellyfish stood in his path to victory keep falling one by one so quickly you take a second glance to ensure he’s not using an actual gun to knock them over. cursed energy permeates in the air like static after a storm, and you sigh, lowering your water gun before the timer’s up.

he's cheating. somehow you didn’t expect this, even if it was obvious from the start. should you scold him and be disappointed, thus ruining the fun for everyone out of principle?

you feel like he’s been through enough. even a fake argument would leave him discontent, and you even more so. besides, you doubt either of you would have won even the most useless trinket if you played fair and square. this you judge from the absolutely aghast expression of the stall’s owner, who might snap his neck at any moment if he keeps swinging it from jellyfish to gojo and back.

the bells chime. the game ends. with trembling hands, the pirate picks up the stuffed animal gojo pointed at and hands it over.

“there you go,” gojo thrusts the penguin in your arms, and you take it, all fluff and cold seams, “for you.”

“okay,” you concede, cradling the stupid looking bird. it's cute.

you do not miss the owner checking gojo's gun for a malfunction. he does not miss the sly look you send his way before departing.

“where to next?” you can't wait. you have had fizzy drinks, munched on so many yakitori skewers you've lost count, watched a truly horrendous standup comedian and stayed till the end of the performance out of pity, and exchanged three handmade charms for a total of two plushies. your penguin will be named yukihira because that was the name of gojo's pet koi fish.

pet, as in it was in the pond, and gojo liked looking at it the most, hence he named it. there were no pets allowed in the gojo household, or any fun, for that matter. you didn't understand, not entirely, but you wanted to. a lackluster childhood burdened with responsibility so vast and complex it's hardly comprehensible. he wouldn't elaborate further, simply bury his face into the bend of your neck and kiss until the memory had finally, and perfectly, faded from your mind, and you could breathe just a bit easier.

“to sit,” gojo says, indicating the lone bench beneath the awning across the stall, “exhausted. gotta recharge for the next conquest.”

“how dramatic,” you comment, but take his extended arm and accompany him.

together, you remain unbothered, a tiny island amidst a current of shifting yukata, cork shoes, and the occasional colorful sandal. fireflies wink around, chasing each other like sparklers.

gojo fishes out his phone and clicks his tongue, reading the message you know is there. most likely another important thing to deal with. you wish he wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again, but that sounds ridiculous even to you.

“what's up?” you lean your shoulder on his. the penguin sits on your lap, quietly reflecting your somber gaze. it's round, black eyes are welcoming, so you poke its nose.

“nothing,” he decides, waving the thought away, “it can wait, probably.”

you make a face, “that doesn't sound very assuring.”

“unlike some, i have a healthy respect for privacy,” he grins, not taking his eyes off the device even when his tone softens considerably, “i won't interrogate you if you don't want me to. so the same goes for me.”

you snort. that's a lie if you've ever heard one, because he has never shied away of reading your messages along with you or providing helpful responses. still, you won't push. you trust him. if he says it's nothing, it means it's nothing.

a short silence settles. the air feels balmy, and a phantom wind circles you. one of the lanterns has blown out, and a little trail of smoke floats to the sky.

“huh,” you blink, the information suddenly resurfacing in your brain, “the sister event is next week.”

“ugh,” he shoves his phone back into his pocket only so he could rub the disgust off of his face, “don't remind me.”

you grin, “heh, how come? we can just send you alone. we'll win anyway.”

“always gotta do all the work,” he groans, then leans his head back, fixing you with a knowing look from the corner of his eye, “aren't you going to hold my hand?”

“want me to?”

his throat bobs, the simple question alone making his breath stumble as if he was walking down a dark alley, and hearing your voice had given him goosebumps. his voice is steady when he answers, “yeah.”

with one arm securing your precious yukihara, you reach over and take his hand. his larger fingers slide over yours, catching.

“so spoiled,” you tease. he lifts your hand to press his lips to your skin. now it's your heart's turn to waver. his eyes are crinkled happily, the crescent of his smile lighting up in the growing shadows. there's something playful hiding there, too, something secretive that he wouldn't share until he was sure you'd like it, and that patience of his, newfound and endearing, spreads like sweet nectar down your throat and bubbles a giggle.

“yep,” he agrees, so delighted his nose scrunches adorably.

you could stay like this forever, watching and enjoying the thrum and beat of a summer festival. the atmosphere, the laughter and tittering, the low chatter as people find their way from one thing to another. live in this moment, like a firefly caught in a glass jar.

at one point, gojo's cheek rests on your head, and you soak in the warmth. perhaps this is his favorite part. the glow of the lanterns is just the right side of orange and highlights the angles and divots of his face, while his other hand stays coiled around yours, and his thumb rubs small, soothing patterns into your knuckles.

“let's sit it out.”

“hm?”

“the sister exchange event. haibara-kun, nanami-kun, and suguru can participate for us,” you tell him, “we could hide in the clinic with shoko.”

he pulls back from his position, but only so he could survey you properly. his stare is less calculating than it is contemplative. behind his glasses, his eyes are burning quietly. at times, there's something almost solemn glazing over his expression, softening the sharp lines and allowing his features to relax. it makes him seem so much more mature and so unlike himself that you never know how to react.

“can't,” he says with a small sigh, finally coming to stand. he pulls on your hand and you scramble, grappling to keep yukihara from falling along with all of your things, “yaga would definitely beat my ass if i ever tried pulling something. but that doesn't mean i don't want to,” his smile widens, “thank you for the offer, though.”

“wow, a sincere and gracious rejection. thanks, satoru.”

“anytime,” he winks. you flick his forehead.

no pouting this time, though, no furrowed brows or crossed arms. instead, he bites his lower lip and seems to be wrestling with himself not to jump you. he is behaving extremely well by comparison, his touches never bordering on anything even remotely inappropriate for a public settling.

you appreciate the consideration. even despite the crowded space, he is focused solely on you, his finger grazing along your palm, tickling your wrist. if you smile any wider, your cheeks will start hurting. and if he continues looking at you like that over the rim of his sunglasses, your heart will start hurting instead.

“should we head to ashinoko?” you ask, keeping yukihara close, “or will there be too many people there?”

“probably, but it doesn't matter,” he reassures, “we'll find a spot. worst case scenario i'll let you sit on me. my shoulders, to be exact.”

how would you explain the sudden rush of blood to your head? “that won't be necessary...”

“why not? can't get much of a better view. and you get to play with my hair, too,” he tacks on, “or maybe i could hold your legs and give your-”

you take back everything you thought of good behavior and growth as a person, he is nothing but a lewd pest wanting to embarrass you in the middle of a romantic setting, the absolute traitor, and you have half a mind to stomp him to death right then and there. all the private tutors in the world couldn't teach him manners, and no stifling house rules could condition him out of his shit eating grin.

he is terrible, and you like him still, more and more each day. even now, when he looks on the verge of laughing, so pleased to have flustered you, while you try and fail not to panic.

“kidding,” he assures, “mostly. i would, if you asked.”

“satoru, pl-”

“wouldn't even question it.”

“sa-”

“got a list of places i could put my mouth. just say the word.”

you've lost. completely and irrecoverably. your shoulders slump, too tired to continue picking the pieces of your shattered dignity, “yes, yes, i get it. please stop talking.”

he shrugs, unbearably nonchalant considering he basically propositioned to make you cum between fireworks displays, “if you insist.”

unruffled by any objections, like he'd simply whisk you away to somewhere secluded should you demand him to, and it would be so easy. like he's itching for a chance, a sign, a simple smile. like he'd drop to his knees if you only said yes. you're almost appalled by his shamelessness, yet that, unfortunately, is part of his charm as well.

still, what a tease. you wish yukihara wouldn't have to hear such things. your dear penguin doesn't deserve to experience such trauma so early into your care. you are so very sorry.

“then...” you steer the topic back to where it's mostly harmless, not counting his smug look that would haunt you till the end of days, “let's go?”

“okie-dokie.”

you fall back into the crowd and lose all traces of rhythm. children push past you, twittering and shrieking, with their chaperones stumbling after them and rapidly bowing apologies left and right. the ground is smooth beneath your feet, stone flattened in ages by carts and soles alike. the two of you branch off and enter a lesser known forest path to avoid the onslaught of people rushing to see the performance at the hakone shrine before the fireworks.

the change in scenery is instantaneous. the suffocating density of bodies disappears, as well as the oppressive humidity. it's darker without the fairy lights and lampposts, the cicadas overlapping everything else. the air smells like fern, cut grass, and wet tree bark, oddly fresh and cool closer to the lake.

gojo stores his sunglasses into a discreet inner pocket. his eyes glint under a stretch of tree shadow, emitting a faint bluish glow, not bright enough to lighten his features yet remaining ever present. ever so beautiful. the woods seem to sigh around you, branches fluttering nervously above as he leans in, almost a specter.

“what's wrong?” your question brushes against the fringes of his hair.

“you're looking at me funny.”

“i am? sorry.”

“like you have so much you want to say.”

“oh,” you blink, then stare down at your shoes. a fallen maple leaf rustles when you step on it, giving a dry crunch, “not really.”

“yeah, well,” he scratches his cheek, “me too, kinda.”

a soft smile, this time, something private and indulging.

for a while you don't speak, not because you can't think of anything to say, but rather can't choose the right words. none of them seem enough, too sweet or too plain. the small trek through the damp forest path leaves your shoes a bit muddy and the hems of your yukata covered in dry flakes and pine needles, most having already blown away.

you hear it first – the deep, thunderous sounds of drums coming from the direction of the shrine. then, ways down the twisting tree line, you spot dancing lights. closer and closer, and the sounds become powerful enough to shake you, vibrating through the ground up to your legs. you hold on just a bit tighter, and gojo returns the gesture firmly.

he is quiet. his head is bowed, gaze focused ahead and somewhere else at the same time, like he's thinking about other things, which, knowing him, can be anything. he leads you off the path and you follow, passing between the foliage and low hanging branches. the weather grows colder. you're approaching the shore.

finally, the landscape clears. a thin border of black pines separates water from earth. wisteria vines drape over the whole scene like curtains on windows, billowing gently. the noise of the show is still loud and beats to the drum of your heart, each thud somehow too close and too obvious. from here, you can see the massive red torii gate stood in the shallows.

the water sloshes by your feet, and the sandy soil squishes pleasantly. far and wide, there are others waiting, too, all finding their own spots amongst the reeds and gravel. a few lanterns float in the moonlit surface of lake ashinoko, bright and orange, like the ones in the market district, and you watch, captivated, as their reflections spill over the shifting water. the chimes wind up to a symphony. it's beautiful.

gojo tilts his head to you, and his lips move, but you can't hear what he's saying.

“what?” you call, ticking a waiting ear in his direction.

the boom cuts through everything, the flash of gold drowning out his face, and you realize way too late what's happening. the crackle continues, and the air trembles, releasing another burst of fireworks. the light leaves fractals dancing over him, each one landing just so, as if aimed, cascading over his eyelashes.

he repeats the words, and something about his expression makes your heart stutter: longing and apprehension quickly replaced with shyness, almost endearing as he watches you expectantly. the sky glitters around, awash in blues and greens and whites, brilliant enough to blind. you can't look away from him.

he says it again, and again, and again, and you can't read the shape of his mouth because you're too afraid of what you will find there. the drums, the cheers, the changing lights, the words airy against your lips. he kisses you. you understand the phrase now, or you hope that you do, so you tell it back, quietly, so he couldn't hear you either:

“i like you.”

your hand finds purchase on the fabric at his chest. it's tight, and his grip is strong, cradling you with such care you can't help but shiver. each kiss is like that, little sips of air, barely enough to sustain either of you, and then he holds you and you let him, boneless, allowing yourself melt into the sure, enveloping warmth.

the light is dying, and you're dizzy. yukihara sits as a witness between your pounding hearts.

eventually, the display fades away into starlight. you want to say it again, but neither of you are brave enough to do it.

gojo: just waved nanamin and haibara bye bye on their mission 4:56pm

gojo: can’t believe you all left me w ijichi ( ⩌'︿'⩌) 4:57pm

you: where’s shoko? 4:57pm

gojo: clinic like a loser i dont wanna go down there lol might catch smth 4:59pm

gojo: when are u coming back 5:00pm

you: i just got here (˶˃⤙˂˶) but probably in a few hours, i won’t stay overnight 5:01pm

gojo: yeah u wont the hell 5:02pm

gojo: my girl gotta get back to me asap ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧waiting impatinetlyyyyyyy 5:03pm

you: omg lol just bumped into some salaryman and he almost knocked me over. i think he was frightened of my poorly concealed weapon and apologized heh 5:05pm

gojo: where is he? give him ur phone i wanna talk 5:05pm

you: he left already, it’s ok 5:05pm

gojo: teleporting rn 5:06pm

you: ? you can’t do long distances stupid 5:06pm

gojo: yeah and he better be grateful that i cant 5:07pm

gojo: r u done yet want u home 5:41pm

gojo: hello? no ‘yes my gorgeous blue eyed king'? rude 5:42pm

gojo: ok it has been an hour im gonna be serious, did you meet another boy or something? cant wait to murder him 6:33pm

gojo: dont tell me you got kidnapped. i will purple the planet 7:01pm

gojo: 10 mins until i start ripping at the seams and go psycho and rip the roof off the entire city. call me rn, and then, when youre done, i'm stealing you away for a month 7:15pm

gojo: ok in a bad mood now 7:46pm

gojo: we’re talking cthulu levels of bad 8:00pm

gojo: would it be dramatic if i were to jump over a cliff 8:10pm

gojo: hi this is principal yaga gojo has jumped to his death please text back and list everything you love and find sexy about him 8:12pm

gojo: ok ur freaking me the fuck out im coming to get u u can cry abt it later and yaga can scream and shit all he wants grade 3s shouldn’t take this long 8:25pm

gojo: gonna text u till you respond, u know that, right? 2:00am

MISSION REPORT: 15.08.2009

LEAD ASSIGNED OFFICIAL: YAGA MASAMICHI, 1ST GRADE

SORCERER: KAWAKAMI Y/N, 1ST GRADE

PROBLEM DESCRIPTIONS: 3RD CLASS CURSE CONFIRMED DISPELLING PROCESS (UNKNOWN – FIRST RESPONSE TEAMS)

REPORT REGARDING JOB ACCOMPLISHED: KAWAKAMI LOCATED CURSE SITE (CHICHIBU STATION UNDERGROUND) – SCAN FOR TARGET, CRITICAL INJURY; CURSED INHERITANCE-TYPE SPECIAL GRADE – ATTEMPT AT SEALING PROCESS FAILED, DISEASED APPENDAGES, LIMBS & 80% NECROTISED FLESH - UNKNOWN ANGULATION - TIME OF DEATH, 15.08.2009. 5.13PM.

CURSE CONFIRMED DESTROYED: 15.08.2009, 9.59PM, GOJO SATORU.

DEATH REPORTED: 15.08.2009, 11.03PM, GOJO SATORU. BODY RETRIEVED: 12.15AM, MEDICAL TEAM. FINAL EXAMINATION: 2:02AM, IEIRI SHOKO.

ACCELERATED FUNERAL CEREMONY IN EFFECT AS NEXT OF KIN; NONE.

JOB SOLVED: GOJO SATORU.

MISSION REPORT SUBMITTED: NANAMI KENTO, 18.08.2009.

CLOSED.

author's note:

1) so sorry it was planned from the start 2) i do wonder how long satoru would have really sat there in the ground levels of a train station when the fight was over. he did for an hour, but if he had the time, he would likely have spent more time saying goodbye 3) now u know why the cover image of the masterlist is the specific one where gojo wakes up w tears from a dream he had about his school days

before you lynch me, the technique of our dear reader really was in her lastname - kawakami. i'm a big fan of junji ito, and since there's already a ref in jjk of his manga (uzumaki), i though "huh, it would be sooo cool if the mc had a power like tomie!!!" so i wrote this. i wrote a lot of versions, some were a bit scary, so i scrapped them. tomie kawakami's power is essentially being able to clone and heal herself from a single strand of dna, along with a bunch of disturbing stuff, but that's one of the main components of her power.

so here, i present to you an endless amount of endings (2): a) reader has really died, getou has defected, more nice trauma b) reader has not died and returns at any point after the report is submitted, as per her cool powers. getou still defects im sorry some things are doomed by the narrative

either way, u can't get over something like this. megumi? satoru? suguru? shoko? they could never heal from this, no matter if reader came back or not xx

next time i promise to write something where no one dies and there is a happy ending. but for now, that's all, folks! i love u even tho u probably hate me. that's ok. i, too, am gracious and merciful.

tags (couldn't tag in bold!). @shokosbunny , @jotarohat , @fortunatelyfurrygiver , @alygator77 , @finnydraws , @mastermasterlist1p1 , @eolivy , @letsmyy , @staruus , @k0z3me , @damnshorty , @kaeyakaikai , @n4melesspers0n , @midnightwriter21 , @sillymercury , @byakuya61085 , @stillnotherapy , @mydearchoso , @plutoisaghoul , @byerno6 , @bqvz , @harryzcherry , @noira-l , @your-sleeparalysisdem0n , @satoryaa , @cccandynecklaces , @stuffeddeer , @cherriee-ee , @ducky1232

207 notes · View notes

flowersforchoso · 1 year ago

Text

Bi-han Marriage Headcanons

he takes his role as your husband seriously. perhaps a little too seriously

since he is a traditional man and a bit sexist, expect a very traditional marriage with you relegated to the domestic sphere

he goes straight home after completing his duties as grandmaster. there's no lingering. no extra hours. no night out with anyone. his routine is simple: work, then home & vice-versa.

strictly refers to you as wife while pet names are more of your thing

going out on dates is a rare occurrence (you'd have to bring it up) and when you do, he takes you to a restaurant or festival.

he is not too keen on pda; even holding hands is an issue that makes one wonder how you got together, but he insists you stay close beside him.

in short, he's very much reserved when you're both out in public because he doesn't want to give the impression that he's softened.

but he takes good care of you. being a man of actions afterall.

and since he's your provider & protector, its only right that he excels at it by meeting your material and physical needs

massages are a thing. he does it to help you relax since you always do that whenever he's stressed. starts with your feet, a little tease here and there then it turns into body worship, and ends with you on your back

also bathing together is a must when he's not too busy. its bonding time and wants to spend it refreshed

when you become pregnant, his care intensifies

he takes care of everything around the house, from cooking to cleaning (he's not above doing chores), not allowing you lift a finger

at first, he didn't know how to cook outside of making soup, but he likes to challenge himself. so he gets recipes from madame bo and follows through on them

surprisingly, the meals turn out great

he's much more present at home since he delegated his tasks to be able to spend more time with you

and after you give birth, this doesn't change.

he was with you all through. giving words of encouragement during that agonizing time

the baby is here and he never lets go. whether its a girl or boy, the gender matters not. he cares for the little one so much that he only ever hands them over to you when its time to feed.

if you're having issues with your self-esteem or health like postpartum depression, he will be by your side tending to you. bathe and feed you; if you found it difficult to do basic care. he's worried but would not allow his face betray such emotion.

aids you back to health. you would have to convince him you are well enough to care for yourself, but he would keep monitoring you just to be sure, before leaving to attend to other things.

he is very caring towards you and ensures you're always comfortable.

your marriage is relatively peaceful but that doesn't mean its devoid of conflict

and since bi han is quite stubborn, that would be the source of any rift between the both of you—his obstinacy

it happens every time you express your dissatisfaction with his prioritisation of the lin kuei. they took precedence over his family, making him unavailable and unattending to your emotional needs, which he takes offence to. because they were accusations, and no matter how soft and placating your delivery was, he didn't appreciate it, even if it was true

he makes a big deal out of being told not to take on dangerous missions when he returns injured, which leads to full blown arguments because he considers it infantilizing. he doesn't want to be babied; he commands hundreds. what kind of leader would he be if he didn't take charge of his fleet?

bi han would leave the house for days on end and when he gets back, he's still passive aggressive towards you.

because of this, you give him space but it only worsens his attitude—he doesn't want you to impose distance on him.

he is the classic example of not wanting to be paid back in the same coin. his attitude towards you might be nasty, but don't you dare retaliate

and he doesn't apologize either. it can be frustrating putting up with him.

you'd need to be patient, understanding and respectful of his role as grandmaster because thats a position he's trained all his life for. its a touchy subject. don't try to make him choose between the lin kuei or you

you'd have to extend the olive branch first by apologizing because the tension would be too much to bear

it'll take a while for normalcy to return with bi han coming to you (he's very prideful so don't rush anything)

he'll get you things of sentimental value like a trinket, or a necklace or a bracelet—this is his way of saying sorry

make up sex would be much more passionate because he needs to connect with you again. fighting puts a strain on the relationship no matter how little and makes his insecurities rear its head, one of which is the fear that you might leave him someday and go be with someone else. he doesn't want that, he wants to retrace his steps and do right by you.

it's at this point that he verbally professes his love for you to assuage whatever negative feelings you might harbor and since he rarely ever say the words, they are much more valued

overall, being married to him would be very fulfilling. nothing too crazy or difficult to navigate

#bi han x reader #bi han x you #bi han mk1 #sub zero x you #bi han sub zero #mk1 sub zero #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 sub zero x reader

867 notes · View notes

philhoffman · 10 months ago

Text

I'm not sure I've ever really fully made the emotional connection that one of the last direct quotes we have from Phil is him talking about how safe he felt

One of my favorite photos of Phil at the Sundance premiere of God's Pocket, exactly 10 years ago tonight (January 17, 2014). It was one of the first times he'd watched one of his own films with an audience in nearly a decade and he said it was "a rare enjoyable experience... This time I really felt safe—I don’t know why. I felt really safe watching it."

#like of course I was glad to know he loved that night and that festival so much #but I never thought about it as. one of the last times he spoke. one of the last things he said ever #I’ve worried and agonized and had nightmares about those weeks leading up to his death #it means a lot to know he felt safe for at least a while is all

8 notes · View notes

mothshrub · 4 months ago

Text

I'm not sure I've ever seen world-building that's as intensely trans-positive as Vaugarde.

Like--I've seen 'yeah sure nobody cares if you're trans, it's all fine!', but Vaugarde is a country whose main religion literally reveres change as a central tenet. Followers are supposed to actively aspire to change as a way of life. Major institutions host classes so people can constantly try new things and potentially find new paths to explore. There's yearly festivals to show off how much you've changed. It's an established common and accepted thing that regular-ass people (not just devout followers) will withdraw for a while, change everything about their appearance and personality (including voice training if they want) and appear one day like a butterfly from a cocoon and everyone welcomes the new person without missing a beat. Isabeau is an example of this, and although he's vague about his younger self's gender, everything about his personal plot quest outlines a story of someone who hated their past self and pushed hard to embrace presenting differently to be someone Isa could love more.

Everything about Isa's story is so profoundly trans, and it's not just a regular phenomenon in Vaugarde--it's kind of expected. Sometimes people go through a Change multiple times in their life. Mirabelle regularly agonizes that she hasn't radically changed herself enough, and when change as a concept is inherently a trans-themed...

Just--it's all kind of on a different level. There's "'sure we'll use your pronouns", and then there's 'self transformation is a revered way of life'.

#isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #isat isabeau #trans #world building #meta #isat meta #Ok I've finished the game now #I'm removing my 'no spoilers please' tags

179 notes · View notes

rafesapologist · 10 months ago

Text

the set up — rafe cameron; part fifteen

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

warnings: angst, mentions of violence and injury, blood, sad rafe, mentions of guns, swearing

The world swirled in a hazy blur as you fought to regain your senses. The pain in your side radiated with each labored breath, and the darkness that enveloped you seemed impenetrable. For a moment, the events of the night blurred together—the urgency of leaving, the revelation about Rafe, and now, the mysterious and agonizing encounter in the chateau's yard.

As your vision gradually cleared, the moonlit night unveiled the chateau's surroundings. The distant sounds of Midsummers festivities lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the chilling breeze that swept through the quiet yard. A surge of pain jolted through your side as you attempted to rise, prompting a cry of anguish to escape your lips.

The scream echoed through the night, a haunting sound that caught the attention of anyone nearby. In the moments that followed, Rafe, who had been frantically searching for you, heard your cry and rushed towards the source of the pain. Panic etched his features as he reached you, a torrent of apologies tumbling from his lips.

"Y/n! Holy shit, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I didn't know it was you!" Rafe's words spilled out in a desperate rush as he knelt beside you, his eyes wide with shock and regret.

Crying out in pain, you clutched your side, the reality of the situation sinking in. Rafe, overcome with concern, tore off a portion of his tuxedo and attempted to fashion a makeshift bandage. His hands worked quickly, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and guilt, as he tried to stem the bleeding and alleviate your pain.

As the Pogues rushed outside and witnessed the chaotic scene, shock and concern etched their faces. The realization of your injuries, coupled with the presence of a gun next to Rafe, painted a grim picture. JJ's expression darkened with anger, his fists clenched as he put two and two together.

"You did this?!" JJ's voice thundered, the anger simmering beneath the surface as he stormed towards Rafe. The atmosphere crackled with tension as the Pogues grappled with the sudden turn of events.

Kiara and Sarah attempted to intervene, their voices raised in urgency. "JJ, calm down! Let's figure out what happened first!" Kiara pleaded, her eyes darting between JJ and Rafe.

But JJ's anger was palpable, and he continued his approach, fury burning in his eyes. "You hurt her, you bastard! What were you thinking?" he yelled, shoving Rafe back with a forceful push.

The clash between JJ and Rafe intensified, the air thick with unresolved tension. Kiara and Sarah desperately called for restraint, but JJ's anger seemed to overshadow reason in that moment.

As JJ shoved Rafe away, he turned back to you, his anger momentarily set aside as he knelt down to help. "Hey, hey, we need to get you inside. Can you stand?" he asked, concern replacing the rage in his voice. The urgency to tend to your injuries took precedence over the conflict, the makeshift family now facing a new challenge—navigating the aftermath of a night filled with unexpected twists and turns.

As Rafe looked down at you, tears welled in his eyes, his heart heavy with the weight of the pain he had inadvertently caused. The sight of you in distress, and the realization of his role in it, shook him to the core. John B rushed over to understand the situation, only to find JJ in a frenzy, attempting to aid you.

Frustration and anger seethed in John B's expression as he turned towards Rafe. "What the hell happened?!" he demanded, his voice laced with anger and concern.

Rafe paced the ground, running a hand through his hair in a display of remorse. "I didn't know it was her. I didn't mean to hurt her," he stammered, tears streaming down his face as he attempted to explain, the weight of guilt bearing down on him.

The continuous stream of apologies from Rafe became overwhelming, his words blending together in a desperate attempt to convey his remorse. However, the chaos escalated when Sarah stepped forward, her expression firm. "Enough, Rafe. You need to leave," she stated, cutting through the torrent of apologies.

Rafe fell silent, uncertainty and desperation evident in his eyes. He hesitated, torn between wanting to make amends and respecting the decision to remove himself from the situation. The turmoil within him was palpable as he looked at you, still in pain, and the friends who were rightfully furious with him.

In the midst of the emotional whirlwind, Rafe found himself at a loss for words, caught between the desire to fix what he had broken and the understanding that, in this moment, leaving might be the only way to begin the process of healing.

Silent apologies hung in the air as Rafe, with teary eyes, cast a pleading look towards you. The weight of regret and helplessness etched on his face was a silent acknowledgment of the pain he had caused. He retreated to his car, leaving the chateau grounds with a heavy heart.

Meanwhile, your cries of pain echoed in the night as JJ, with gentleness in his eyes, lifted you into his arms. The Pogues, their faces etched with concern, huddled around you as JJ laid you on the couch in the chateau's living room. Kiara scurried to search for first aid supplies in the cabinets, a sense of urgency in her movements.

As you lay on the couch, the pain etched on your face, the Pogues gathered around you, each expressing their concern. JJ, in particular, took charge, trying to assess the severity of your injuries. Kiara returned with first aid supplies, and together, they worked to tend to your wounds.

The atmosphere in the chateau was heavy with tension and worry. The discussion of taking you to the hospital lingered in the air, a shared concern among your makeshift family. JJ looked at you with a mix of guilt and determination, his priority now focused on providing whatever care he could to alleviate your suffering.

As the Pogues gathered around you, the severity of your injuries evident, John B took charge. He looked at JJ with a determined expression, his voice carrying a sense of urgency.

"JJ, we need to get her to the hospital. Help me get her into the van. We don't have time to waste," John B directed, the gravity of the situation pushing them into swift action.

JJ nodded, his face tense with a mixture of guilt and determination. Together, they carefully lifted you into the van, the makeshift family now rallying together to address the immediate crisis. The urgency in John B's voice reflected the understanding that time was of the essence, and the hospital was the best place for you to receive the care you needed.

As the van's engine roared to life, the Pogues, their faces etched with worry, shared a collective determination to navigate the challenges that lay ahead. The night, which had begun with the promise of celebration, had unraveled into a series of unforeseen events, each demanding resilience and unity from your makeshift family.

In the back of the van, as it sped towards the hospital, you lay with your head resting on JJ's lap. His fingers gently combed through your hair as he spoke reassuring words, his voice a comforting anchor in the midst of the chaos.

"You're going to be okay, alright? We're getting you help as quickly as possible," JJ murmured, the sincerity in his voice meant to provide you with a sense of comfort. The urgency of the situation hung heavy in the air, but JJ's attempts to soothe you were a testament to the unspoken bond that tied your friends together.

As the van cut through the night, the headlights illuminating the road ahead, the collective focus remained on getting you to the hospital. The van carried not only the weight of your pain but also the hope for a resolution—a beacon in the darkness, symbolizing the shared determination to navigate the challenges that lay ahead.

JJ's attempts at reassurance seemed to briefly register as you nodded, your face reflecting a momentary acceptance of his comforting words. However, the respite was short-lived as a sudden wave of pain washed over you. Your body curled up instinctively, seeking solace in the proximity of JJ, tears streaming down your face.

The dual sources of anguish—the physical pain you endured and the emotional weight of Rafe's inadvertent actions—intertwined, creating a complex tapestry of suffering. In that vulnerable moment, your tears became a silent testament to the multifaceted challenges that the night had unleashed.

JJ, recognizing the depth of your distress, tightened his grip gently, offering silent support as the van continued its hurried journey towards the hospital. The road ahead, both literal and metaphorical, remained uncertain, the night unfolding in unexpected ways, leaving behind a trail of pain, regret, and the collective resolve of your makeshift family to confront the challenges that lay ahead.

As your pain persisted in the back of the van, JJ, growing increasingly anxious, urged John B to hurry. "Come on, John B, we can't waste any time. She's in pain," JJ insisted, his concern palpable.

John B, focused on navigating the van through the night, responded with a reassuring tone, "We're just five minutes away, JJ. Hang in there. We'll get her the help she needs as soon as we can."

The urgency in JJ's plea mirrored the collective anxiety of the group, each passing second amplifying the weight of the situation. The van pressed forward, hurtling through the darkness towards the hospital, a beacon of hope on the horizon as your friends rallied to address the challenges that unfolded with every passing moment.

The van came to a sudden stop, and Pope, recognizing the urgency of the situation, swiftly moved to open the side door. The cool night air rushed in as JJ carefully lifted you out of the van, cradling you in his arms.

Pope, with a sense of urgency, led the way, guiding JJ towards the entrance of the Emergency Room. The hospital doors swung open, revealing the bustling environment within. JJ, his expression tense with worry, followed Pope's lead, ensuring you received the care you desperately needed.

As JJ carried you into the Emergency Room, panic etched on his face, he approached the medical staff urgently. "Help! We need help here! She's been shot, and she's in a lot of pain!" JJ pleaded with the medical staff, his voice a desperate cry for immediate assistance.

The ER staff, well-trained to handle emergencies, swiftly responded. They rushed to your side, taking in the severity of the situation. With a sense of urgency, they guided JJ to a bed, the wheels squeaking as they maneuvered it towards the treatment area. The medical team surrounded you, their swift movements and focused expressions reflecting the gravity of the situation.

As you were taken into surgery, JJ, anxiety etched on his face, watched helplessly. His plea for immediate assistance echoed in the ER, the urgency of the moment underscoring the unpredictable nature of the night and the challenges that now unfolded within the sterile walls of the hospital.

The Pogues hurried into the Emergency Room, finding JJ in a state of distress near the entrance. Pope, Kiara, Sarah, and John B gathered around him, concern etched on their faces as they assessed the gravity of the situation.

"JJ, she's in good hands. The hospital staff knows what they're doing," Pope reassured, placing a comforting hand on JJ's shoulder.

Kiara nodded in agreement, offering words of comfort. "They'll take care of her. She's strong, JJ. She'll get through this."

Despite their attempts to console him, JJ's worry remained evident. He couldn't shake the image of the blood and the pain you had endured. The weight of the night hung heavy on their makeshift family, the hospital walls echoing with a mix of anxiety and hope as they awaited news on your condition.

As the agonizing hours passed, the Pogues waited anxiously in the hospital, their worry palpable in the sterile environment. Finally, a doctor emerged from the ER, approaching the group with a measured expression.

"The surgery went well. She's in stable condition now," the doctor informed them, a collective sigh of relief escaping the Pogues. The news brought a momentary reprieve from the tension that had gripped them since the night unfolded.

With a sense of gratitude, the doctor continued, "One of you can go back and see her now. She's in Room 213."

JJ, his worry still etched on his face, immediately volunteered. "I'll go," he stated, determination in his voice. The group exchanged encouraging glances, silently acknowledging the unspoken bond that had brought them together in moments of crisis.

JJ made his way to Room 213, the anticipation building as he approached the door. The sight of you, battered but stable, offered a glimmer of hope in the aftermath of a night filled with unexpected twists and turns. He entered the room with a mix of relief and concern etched on his face. As he approached your bedside, you greeted him with a weak but genuine smile. The sight of you, still in recovery, brought a sense of solace to JJ.

He took your hand gently as you reached out for him, the touch a silent reassurance. The room was hushed, the only sound the soft hum of medical equipment and the quiet exchange between you and JJ.

You spoke through the oxygen mask, your voice muffled but filled with gratitude. "I'm so glad you're here, JJ. Thank you for sticking beside me through all of it," you expressed, the weight of the night apparent in your eyes.

JJ squeezed your hand gently, a silent promise of continued support. In the quiet of the hospital room, the bond between you and JJ remained unspoken but palpable.

JJ looked down at you with a mix of relief and vulnerability. "I'm so glad you're okay," he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of the fear he had experienced during those harrowing hours. The genuine concern in his eyes mirrored the depth of the connection he felt with you.

"I was scared, you know? Scared of what could have happened," JJ confessed, his voice sincere. "I don't know what I would've done if…" He trailed off, the unspoken fear of losing you lingering in the air.

He gently squeezed your hand, a silent reassurance that he was there, that you were still with him. "I care about you a lot, and the thought of losing you scared the hell out of me," he admitted, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

In that vulnerable moment, the weight of the night, the relief of your recovery, and the shared emotions between you and JJ hung in the air. The hospital room, once filled with tension, now bore witness to a conversation that transcended words, the unspoken bond between the two of you deepening in the aftermath of the unexpected events.

You managed a reassuring smile through the oxygen mask, your eyes reflecting understanding and warmth. "I know you were scared, JJ. But you couldn't lose me. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere," you reassured him, your voice gentle yet firm.

"I'll always be with you, in any way possible," you added, emphasizing the enduring nature of your connection. The hospital room, for a moment, became a sanctuary where the bond between you and JJ transcended the immediate challenges of the night.

JJ's eyes softened with gratitude, grateful for your words and the assurance they carried. In the quiet of the hospital room, the unspoken understanding between you and JJ became a source of strength, a reminder that, no matter the obstacles, your connection was resilient and enduring.

JJ, moved by the tender moment and your reassuring words, leaned down and gently kissed your forehead. The gesture was a silent expression of care and affection in the aftermath of the challenging night.

As he pulled back, he noticed a tear that had escaped your eye. Concern flashed in his eyes, and he frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of empathy and worry.

You took a deep breath before admitting, "I'm upset about Rafe. Everything that happened tonight, it's a lot to process." The events of the night had taken an emotional toll on you, and the mention of Rafe brought forth a mix of conflicting emotions that added to the complexity of the situation.

JJ listened to your words with a heavy heart, understanding the weight of the emotions you were carrying. As you expressed your disbelief and sorrow over Rafe's actions, more tears fell from your eyes.

"I can't believe he did that," you murmured, your voice choked with a mix of disappointment and hurt.

JJ, wanting to offer comfort, shook his head. "None of this is your fault. It's not on you. I blame myself more than anything. I should've seen it coming, should've protected you from all of this mess," he admitted, his expression filled with self-blame.

The complex web of emotions, blame, and regret lingered in the hospital room as you and JJ navigated the aftermath of the night's events. The makeshift family had faced unexpected challenges, and the scars left behind were not just physical but emotional, creating a tense atmosphere that would take time and resilience to unravel.

As you shared your internal struggle with JJ, the weight of the emotions in the room became palpable. "I don't know if I can continue this deal with Rafe," you admitted, a sense of fear and uncertainty in your voice. The realization of the danger you might face by continuing the arrangement hung heavy in the air.

Internally, your heart felt heavy, torn between the rational fear for your safety and the emotional complexities tied to your feelings for Rafe. The internal conflict mirrored the intricate web of emotions that had unfolded throughout the night.

JJ, sensing the internal struggle, offered a reassuring touch and spoke with understanding. "You don't have to put yourself in danger for anyone, y/n. We'll figure this out together," he assured you, a pledge of support and unity in the face of the challenges that lay ahead. The hospital room, once a sanctuary of relief, became a space where difficult decisions and emotional battles unfolded—a reflection of the intricate dance between reason and emotion.

As the emotional weight of the night pressed on, you looked at JJ with teary eyes, silently seeking comfort and solace. With a gentle nod, he obliged, carefully settling beside you on the hospital bed. His arms enveloped you in a warm embrace as you nestled into his chest, seeking refuge from the storm of emotions that raged within.

JJ held you tenderly, understanding that words weren't always enough to heal the wounds left by a night of unexpected twists. The hospital room, usually sterile and clinical, became a haven for vulnerability and shared pain as you allowed yourself to break down, the weight of the events too heavy to bear alone.

In the intimate space of the hospital room, amid tears and shared vulnerability, you found the courage to speak your truth. Looking into JJ's eyes, you whispered, "I love you, JJ. And I'm sorry for all the conflict we've been through."

JJ's gaze softened, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. He took a deep breath before opening up, "I've always loved you, y/n. No matter what happened or what choices you made, I was always going to support you."

As the night drew to a close, the hospital room became a haven of solace. Exhausted by the emotional turbulence of the night, you found comfort in JJ's arms. Clutching onto his shirt, you sought solace against his chest, finding a sense of security in the midst of uncertainty.

JJ held you gently, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a soothing lullaby. The hospital room, once filled with tension and worry, transformed into a tranquil space where the weight of the night gradually lifted.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, gently waking you from the solace of sleep. As you blinked away the remnants of a night filled with turmoil, you found yourself alone in the hospital room. The absence of JJ beside you stirred a moment of disorientation, and you rubbed your eyes as you surveyed the space around.

Your phone lay on the table beside the bed, and as you reached for it, a flood of missed calls and messages caught your attention. Twenty missed calls from Rafe and a barrage of texts indicated his relentless attempts to reach you. The weight of the unread messages hinted at the urgency and concern in his attempts to connect with you.

As you scrolled through the messages, a mix of emotions stirred within you. The events of the previous night, the conflicts, and the revelations left you grappling with decisions that now demanded attention. The hospital room, once a sanctuary of quiet moments with JJ, became a crossroads where the choices you made would shape the path ahead.

As you listened to Rafe's voicemail, his voice carried a sense of distress and urgency. The apology in his tone weighed heavy, and the sincerity in his plea to talk to you was evident. He mentioned how he had begged Sarah to provide information about your condition, and after persistence, she had eventually shared that you were in the hospital recovering.

"I need to see you, just to talk. Please, give me a chance," Rafe pleaded through the voicemail, his desperation evident in every word. The complex emotions that had accompanied the events of the previous night resurfaced as you grappled with the decision of whether to face Rafe and confront the aftermath of his actions.

You composed a short and simple text message to Rafe, cutting through the tension with a straightforward offer. "You can see me at the hospital if you want to talk. Room 213," you typed and sent the message, your phone buzzing with the delivery confirmation.

The hospital room, now charged with anticipation, awaited the potential reunion and the conversations that would unfold. The choices made in the coming moments would shape the dynamics of the relationships and set the course for what lay ahead.

Suddenly, JJ entered the room with a warm smile, a coffee cup in one hand, and a blueberry bagel in the other. "Hey," he greeted, setting the treats down on the bedside table. "I went to grab breakfast while you were still asleep. Thought you might be hungry."

The aroma of coffee and the sight of the blueberry bagel provided a comforting contrast to the tension of the previous night. As JJ sat down beside the bed, the makeshift breakfast became a simple yet thoughtful gesture, a moment of normalcy amid the complexities that surrounded you.

As you took a sip of the coffee JJ had brought, you felt a surge of gratitude for his considerate gesture. Setting the cup down, you sat up in the bed, a quiet determination in your eyes. Sensing the need for a serious conversation, you turned to JJ and spoke, "I want to tell you something, but I need you to listen before you get upset."

The atmosphere in the room shifted, becoming charged with the weight of the unspoken words. JJ's eyes met yours, a mix of curiosity and concern reflected in his gaze as he prepared to listen to whatever you had to share. The hospital room, a witness to both vulnerability and strength, became the backdrop for a conversation that could shape the path ahead.

As JJ waited with a mix of curiosity and concern, you took a deep breath before opening up about the voicemail Rafe had left. "Rafe called," you began, explaining the distress in his voice and the plea to talk. "I texted him back and told him to come to the hospital. I want to hear what he has to say."

JJ's reaction was immediate, and his rejection of the idea was palpable. His brows furrowed with concern as he processed the information. "Y/n, that's a bad idea," he stated firmly, his worry evident in his expression. "After everything that happened last night, do you really think he deserves another chance?"

You met JJ's concerned gaze with a resolute expression. "You're right, he doesn't deserve another chance," you conceded, acknowledging the validity of JJ's point. "But I need to hear him out, maybe for closure. For my own peace of mind."

JJ sighed, recognizing your stubborn determination. He nodded in understanding, the worry still etched on his face. "Alright," he conceded. "But if Rafe tries anything, I'll be right there to kick his ass."

You chuckled, shaking your head at JJ's protective stance. "Always the knight in shining armor, huh?" you teased, a lighthearted comment aimed at easing the tension in the room.

JJ grinned, a hint of playfulness breaking through the seriousness of the conversation. "Someone's gotta keep you out of trouble," he quipped, the banter offering a momentary reprieve from the weighty discussions that surrounded you.

The lighthearted banter between you and JJ was interrupted by the entrance of a nurse, her presence announcing a visitor waiting to see you. JJ glanced at you, silently assessing your expression, and you offered a soft look, assuring him that it was okay for him to leave the room.

As the nurse mentioned your visitor, JJ nodded and turned to the nurse. "Send him in," he said, a mix of concern and curiosity in his eyes. The hospital room, now a stage for potential resolutions, held a tension that awaited the impending conversation with Rafe.

The moments stretched in suspense as you anxiously awaited Rafe's arrival. Your heart seemed to beat at a rapid pace, a palpable nervousness settling in. The anticipation hung thick in the air, and as the door creaked open, a lump caught in your throat. Footsteps echoed in the room, and with bated breath, you turned your attention to the entrance, ready to face the conversation that awaited.

Rafe entered the room, his gaze immediately drawn to the consequences of the previous night's events. He stood in silence for a few moments, taking in the damage and the toll it had taken on you. His eyes, filled with sorrow and guilt, shook his head slowly, a visible weight on his shoulders.

"Y/n," he started, his voice heavy with regret. "I can't even begin to say how sorry I am for doing this to you." The sincerity in his words resonated, the air heavy with the weight of emotions.

Rafe's voice carried the weight of regret as he continued, "I messed up, y/n. I should've never let it get this far. Seeing you like this, it's… it's killing me."

He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes locked on yours, searching for a reaction. "I don't deserve forgiveness, but I need you to know how sorry I am. I never wanted to hurt you."

You met his gaze, a mixture of emotions playing on your face. "Rafe, what happened was unforgivable. I don't know if I can look past it," you admitted, your voice wavering with a mix of pain and anger.

He nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. "I understand. I just needed you to hear how sorry I am. You deserve better."

You took a deep breath, meeting Rafe's tearful gaze as you began to express the turmoil within. "Rafe, what hurts the most is that I loved you, and I trusted you," you confessed, your voice tinged with sadness. "I never thought you'd let your emotions lead to something like this."

The sincerity in your words echoed in the room, emphasizing the depth of the emotional wounds caused by the breach of trust. Rafe's tearful eyes reflected a mixture of regret and understanding as he absorbed the weight of your disappointment and pain. The hospital room, a witness to the complexities of love and betrayal, held the remnants of a shattered connection.

Rafe's shoulders slumped under the weight of his remorse, and he took a moment before responding. "I messed up, Y/n. I let my jealousy get the best of me," he admitted, his voice strained with regret. "When I heard you left with JJ, I let irrational thoughts take over, and I lashed out. It's no excuse, but I need you to know where it came from."

His eyes remained fixed on yours, pleading for understanding as he continued, "I shouldn't have let my emotions control me like that. It's on me, and I'm sorry for what I've done to you."

As Rafe continued to apologize, the tears welled up in your eyes, and you held up a hand to stop him mid-sentence. "Stop, Rafe. I've heard enough," you said, your voice quivering with a mix of emotions.

A heavy silence settled in the room as you gathered your thoughts. When you spoke again, your words carried a weight of fear and uncertainty. "Part of me is afraid, Rafe. Afraid of what could happen if I stay around you. Afraid of the danger I might be putting myself in," you confessed. Rafe's face registered shock and sadness, the reality of the consequences sinking in.

Rafe, desperate to salvage what remained, spoke with earnestness in his eyes. "Y/n, I swear I'll never let something like this happen again. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, to be better for you," he promised, his voice laced with sincerity.

However, your expression remained conflicted, unsure of how to process the promises being offered. "Rafe, I don't know what to think anymore," you admitted, your voice a mixture of confusion and hurt. The trust that had once been a foundation in your relationship now lay shattered, and the path forward seemed uncertain.

Rafe's plea hung in the air, the sincerity in his eyes pleading for a chance at redemption. "Please, Y/n, let me show you that I can change. I'll do whatever it takes to prove it to you," he implored, his voice desperate for a glimmer of hope.

Silence enveloped the room as you sat there, staring back at him with uncertainty. The weight of the moment hung heavily, the room a canvas for the intricate dance of pain, regret, and the possibility of healing.

As Rafe looked into your eyes, he could see the reflection of a shattered trust, a fracture that ran deep. The weight of his actions weighed heavily on him as he witnessed the toll it had taken on you. In the silence between you, he mentally punished himself for the irreparable damage he had caused.

You finally broke the silence, your voice soft but firm. "Rafe, I need some time alone to think, to figure out what I want moving forward," you said, your gaze still clouded with uncertainty.

He nodded, a mix of understanding and regret in his eyes. "I get it. Take all the time you need," Rafe replied, standing up. He leaned down, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead, a gesture filled with tenderness and apology. His thumb brushed away a single tear that trailed down your cheek.

Without another word, Rafe left the room, the door closing behind him. The space that remained held a mix of emotions, as you grappled with the weight of your decision and the echoes of a relationship that now hung in the balance.

The drive home felt longer than usual for Rafe, each passing mile carrying the weight of guilt and somber reflection. The echoes of the hurt he had caused you reverberated in his mind, and the once-familiar roads seemed to twist and turn with the turmoil of his own emotions.

As he pulled up to his house, the grandeur of the Cameron estate loomed before him. His father, Ward Cameron, was waiting, a questioning look etched on his face. Ward inquired about Rafe's whereabouts and the visible distress on his face.

Brushing off Ward's concern, Rafe attempted to head inside, but his father halted him. "What's truly going on, Rafe?" Ward pressed, his tone demanding an answer.

Rafe hesitated for a moment before subtly revealing the connection to you. "It's about her, Dad. The girl I've been seeing," he confessed, a weight in his words.

Ward's eyes narrowed, piecing together the situation. "And have you hurt her?" he asked, a mix of concern and disappointment in his gaze.

Rafe nodded, not meeting his father's eyes. "In some way, yeah. I messed up."

Ward's expression shifted from concern to distress as he grasped the gravity of the situation. He grabbed Rafe's face, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Why would you do such a thing?" Ward demanded, the disappointment evident in his voice.

Rafe swallowed hard, unable to offer a clear answer, and the strained atmosphere hung between father and son, laden with the consequences of Rafe's impulsive actions.

Ward's grip on Rafe's face tightened as he continued to reprimand his son. "Rafe, you can't keep being so stupid with your actions. You're only digging yourself a deeper hole," Ward admonished, his voice stern and tinged with disappointment.

As Ward's words sank in, Rafe felt a lump forming in his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes once again, the weight of his own mistakes and the disapproval from his father pressing down on him. The realization of the mess he had created, not just for himself but for the people he cared about, hung heavily in the air.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry," Rafe choked out the words, the weight of his remorse evident in his teary eyes. He repeated the apologies like a desperate plea for forgiveness.

Ward, after a moment of holding Rafe's gaze, finally let go and nodded. "Go inside, Rafe. Get yourself together," he instructed, the disappointment still lingering in his eyes but with a hint of understanding beneath it. Rafe nodded in response, wiping away the tears as he turned to enter the house, leaving the gravity of his mistakes hanging in the air.

In the solitude of his bedroom, Rafe walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. As he faced the mirror, the reflection staring back at him was a disheveled portrait of remorse and sorrow. His hands gripped the sink counter, and the weight of his actions pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Tears welled up in Rafe's eyes as he confronted the damage that had been done, not only to your relationship but to the trust and connection he had once held so dear. The sobs echoed in the quiet space, a testament to the pain he had inflicted on both himself and you.

taglist: @ellesalazar, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday, @haroldpotterson, @i-love-rafe, @ellesalazar, @calmoistorm, @abundantxadorations, @fals3-g0d, @gillybear17, @oiiviagrande, @hockeybabe87, @augustlikesdeath, @wpdailyminimeta, @palmwinemami, @loxleys-blog, @ikisscline, @flyestvenustrap, @ilovesteveharrngton, @ijustwanttoreadlols, @wickedlovely121, @fals3-g0d

322 notes · View notes