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alygator77 · 8 months ago

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ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 5 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru)

ꨄ words: 8.3k

ꨄ a/n. here we go guys 🫣 idk what to even say, so i'll see ya'll at the bottom. enjoy♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 5 // a leap of faith

You stare out the window of Satoru’s limousine, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as the world rushes by—but your thoughts are too loud to let you fully take it in.

You’d think the upcoming interview at the gala would be your primary concern, considering that’s where you’re currently headed, but instead, your mind is trapped in a loop—the memory of Satoru’s phone call.

Do you really know him at all?

The bone chilling temper you overheard has left you questioning everything, only heightening your doubts in him.

There was something in his voice that you can’t shake—a bite that fills you with fear, a kind of fear that whispers in the back of your mind, warning that one day his icy detachment could be directed at you the moment you fail him.

Satoru sits across from you in the luxurious backseat, but despite the close proximity, it feels as though a vast distance separates you now—a chasm of unspoken thoughts and lingering doubts.

And you—so consumed by the questions swirling in your mind—fail to notice that Satoru is watching you—his gaze steady, searching, as if he’s trying to read something in your expression.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” he observes, “Is everything okay?”

You stiffen, pulse quickening.

Fuck.

Can he see right through you? Does he know about the doubts gnawing at you, the secrets you’ve been keeping?

His eyes search your face for something you’re not ready to reveal, and your defenses go up instinctively.

“I’m fine,” you blurt out, but the moment the words leave your lips, you inwardly cringe, the tonality of your voice holding an unintentional harshness.

Well, shit… it wasn’t meant to come out like that. But it did.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Uh…you sure?”

“Yes,” you counter abruptly, too abruptly, and your gaze darts away from his as if meeting his eyes might unravel the carefully constructed facade you’re desperately clinging to.

You feel the anxiety begin to bubble, threatening to spill over, and as your eyes fix on the window, you watch the world blur by, anything to avoid the weight of his scrutiny.

But Satoru’s sapphire eyes remain steady, unwavering. He rakes a hand through his tousled white hair and lets out a soft sigh, laced with a quiet frustration.

“You know… we’ve been living together for a while now,” his tone gentle, yet probing, “I think I can pick up when something’s up. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think. I mean, you tried to put the TV remote in the fridge this morning.”

A flush of embarrassment colors your cheeks.

Okay…rude, why does he have to call you out like that? Yeah sure, you have been out of it today—but how can you not be? The pressure you’re feeling is unbearable.

You let out a small, forced laugh, trying to brush it off, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in your tone.

“Uhh, it’s called ‘mom brain,’ Satoru.”

He furrows his brow, his expression softening even as a playful grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Mom brain? What the heck is that?”

Your eyes meet his for a brief moment, and in that split second, you catch a glimpse of the genuine concern lurking behind his playful facade. Your heart drops at the sight, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest.

Dammit, why does he have to look at you like that?

Why does he have to make this so much harder?

The frustration bubbles up inside you, not just at the situation, but at him—at the whole confusing mess that’s become your life. You don’t know what to believe anymore, and that uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving you feeling raw and exposed.

You break eye contact, looking away from him yet again, and an exasperated sigh escapes your lips.

“It’s what happens when you’re a mom and you’ve got a million things on your mind at once. Sometimes, your brain just… short circuits. It’s like, where did I put the keys? Oh, they’re in the fridge next to the remote. No big deal.”

Satoru chuckles, the sound low and warm. For a moment, it feels like the tension might ease.

“Sounds like a pretty convenient excuse to me,” he remarks playfully, but as his voice softens, the teasing edge gives way to genuine concern.

His gaze turns serious as his eyes search yours, intent and piercing, as if he’s trying to see past the walls you’ve put up.

“Mom brain or not… I know you, y/n. And I know when something’s really bothering you.”

Double fuck.

There’s a moment of panic, a fear that he might see right through you. The truth you’ve been burying deep inside threatens to surface, and the pressure of keeping it hidden feels suffocating.

You can’t let him see it. You can’t let him know.

“I’m…I’m just nervous about the interview,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate attempt to deflect, to steer him away from the dark, treacherous waters he’s unknowingly wading into.

But the excuse feels flimsy, like a poorly constructed lie that could crumble under the slightest scrutiny—and so you reach deep within yourself, trying to find a way to make it more believable.

“Not everyone can be like you Satoru, all carefree with no worries in the world. Must be nice.”

The moment the words escape, you feel them slicing through the air, sharp and jagged, and you know you’ve made a mistake. Regret twists in your gut like a knife, its cold blade cutting deep as you realize the bitterness laced in your voice, bitterness that surprises even you.

Triple fuck.

What the hell are you doing? Why are you attacking him like this?

The resentment, the fear, the overwhelming sense of inadequacy—all of it comes crashing to the surface, bubbling over before you can shove it back down where it belongs.

Great. Now you’re lashing out, emotions spiraling out of control, your composure slipping through your fingers like sand.

You can practically see the words hanging in the air between you, ugly and heavy, and the guilt that follows is instant, a crushing weight on your chest.

God, get it together.

For a moment, Satoru says nothing, his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt, or simply trying to process your outburst.

You bite your lip, a nervous habit you’ve never been able to shake, and you force yourself to look away. Satoru does the same, both of your eyes falling yet again on the familiar blurred scenery outside the window, searching for answers that aren’t there.

The silence stretches, thick with tension, until finally, Satoru shifts across from you. He turns his head just enough that you catch the movement out of the corner of your eye, and you force yourself to glance back at him.

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, but there’s no humor in the gesture, just a faint, almost imperceptible sadness.

“You think I don’t worry?” he murmurs, voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it.

The rawness in his tone cuts through you like a blade, slicing through the walls you’ve built around your heart.

You turn to face him fully, really looking at him, and for the first time, you notice the subtle signs of weariness etched into his features—the shadows beneath his eyes, darker and more pronounced than you remember, the way the light in his eyes seems… dimmed, like a flame that’s burning too low.

Has he always looked this… tired? Or is it only now that you’re seeing it?

“Well…you’re always so confident and composed. It’s hard to even imagine you worrying,” you admit softly, and the defensiveness that had been there moments ago slips away like water through your fingers. “You’re able to handle all this with such ease. It’s like… nothing ever phases you.”

Satoru lets out a soft, almost bitter chuckle, the sound tinged with disbelief, as if your words are some kind of cruel joke.

“Yeah, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he shakes his head slightly, “It’s not that I don’t worry. It’s that I can’t show it. People expect me to be… well, this,” he gestures vaguely to himself, “Confident, capable, always in control.”

You blink. The realization hitting you like a wave, washing over you and leaving you unsettled.

All this time, you’ve seen him as an invincible force, someone who could handle anything with a smile, who never let the pressures of his life touch him. You’ve relied on that image, drawn strength from it, without ever questioning the reality behind it.

But that’s not the case, is it?

Beneath the polished exterior, behind the confident facade, he’s been playing a role, just like you. He’s been hiding his fears and insecurities, presenting a version of himself that the world expects to see, while the real him remains concealed.

Your heart aches at the thought, a pang of guilt threading through the tenderness you feel for him. He’s been carrying this burden, this expectation of perfection, and you’ve been too wrapped up in your own struggles to see it.

You were right—you truly don’t know the real him. But… you want to. Desperately.

You take a deep breath, eyes searching his face for the truth behind his words.

“But… why?” you ask gently, “Why is it so important to you to keep up this image? Why can’t you just… be yourself?”

There’s a moment of silence, a heartbeat where you think he might not answer, where the vulnerability in his eyes seems to retreat behind the familiar walls he’s built. But then, he speaks, and the words that spill from his lips are raw, tinged with a quiet resignation that cuts through you.

“Because ‘myself’ isn’t good enough,” he admits quietly. “Not in this world. Not with the expectations people have of me.”

The sheer weight of his words, pierces through you, and your heart aches with an almost unbearable tenderness. There is a deep vulnerability in his admission, and the need to reach out, to comfort him, burns within you.

But would he even accept it? Could you close this growing chasm between you, this distance that feels both vast and fragile?

“But Satoru, who says you have to meet these expectations?” you whisper, voice trembling with emotion.

He lets out a bitter laugh, the sound devoid of any real humor, and the gesture is almost painful to witness, as if he’s mocking himself more than anything else. When his eyes finally meet yours, there’s an emptiness in them that chills you to the core, as though he’s become a shell of the person he once was.

“I’m a Gojo, y/n. There’s a certain… standard that comes with that name. It’s not just an image, it’s a legacy.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting away from yours and settling on the passing scenery outside the window yet again. There’s something almost haunting in the way he stares out, as if he’s lost in a world you can’t reach.

“People look at me and they see the name before they see the person. And if I don’t live up to that legacy… if I don’t maintain it…”

“—but doesn’t that mean you’re living for them, and not for yourself?” you interject softly, the question hanging in the air between you like a lifeline.

Satoru’s eyes flicker to yours quickly, a flash of something unidentifiable crossing his features, but then he looks away again, his gaze returning to the window. This time, there’s a distant sadness in his eyes, a melancholy that seems to settle over him like a heavy shroud.

“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice who you are just to fit into a mold that someone else created. That’s not living, Satoru. That’s just… existing.”

The silence that follows is thick and palpable, stretching out between you as if the very air around you has become denser. You watch him closely, searching his face for any sign that your words have reached him, that they’ve touched something deep within.

But as the moments pass, a new question begins to form in the back of your mind, creeping in slowly with an undeniable urgency.

Is Satoru truly happy with this life he’s been forced to live?

Or has he become so accustomed to the role he’s been given, the expectations he’s been made to carry, that he’s forgotten what it means to live for himself?

The smile he often wears—the one that dazzles everyone around him—feels different now as you think about it. It seems less like a genuine expression of joy and more like a carefully crafted mask, designed to hide the cracks beneath.

But then there’s the smile you’ve seen when he’s with you and Haru, one that’s softer, more genuine, like a fleeting glimpse of the man he could be if he weren’t weighed down by the immense burden of his family’s legacy.

If Satoru were truly as calculating, as cold and self-serving as you once thought, then why does he seem so… trapped?

Why does it feel like he’s just as much a prisoner of his circumstances as you’ve felt in your own life?

The thought sends a pang of guilt through you, a realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been too quick to judge, too quick to believe the worst without truly understanding the complexities of the man sitting in front of you.

You know that feeling all too well—the suffocating pressure to be someone you’re not, to live up to the expectations others have placed on you.

It’s a burden you wouldn’t wish on anyone, least of all someone who, despite everything, has shown you kindness and care.

“You know…there was a time in my life when I was just… existing, too,” you murmur, the words fragile yet heavy as they slip from your lips.

His eyes flicker to yours briefly, a small spark of interest igniting in the blue depths, but he doesn’t turn to face you. His posture remains angled toward the window, his gaze distant and unfocused, as if the world outside holds the answers he’s searching for.

“When I was with Naoya,” you continue, the name tasting bitter on your tongue, “it felt like every day was a performance. I had to be what he wanted, do what he expected, or face the consequences. It was like I was living in a cage, unable to be myself because ‘myself’ wasn’t what he wanted.”

You steal another glance at him, wondering if he understands, if he sees the parallels between your experiences. The memories flood back with each word you utter, their weight pressing down on your chest.

“I was just going through the motions, trying to survive,” you admit, voice trembling slightly. “It was… exhausting. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t, always afraid of what might happen if I let the mask slip.”

Satoru remains silent, his profile bathed in the soft glow of the city lights as they pass by outside the window—but, in the dim light of the limousine, you catch sight of his expression—thoughtful, pensive, as if your words have found their way into a place in his mind where he rarely allows anything to dwell.

“It sounds… suffocating,” he finally says, his voice quiet, almost reverent. His gaze remains on the world outside the window, though you know his words are meant for you. “Living like that, always having to be someone else. I can imagine… how hard that must have been for you.”

“It was,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart drops as you experience a sudden realization—a realization that…with Satoru you are falling into that same pattern.

Forcing yourself to put on this façade of being the perfect wife of a Gojo—trapped in a life that doesn’t feel like yours, performing a role that someone else wrote for you.

How is it that your entire life, you have been a victim of control—first by Naoya, the man you once loved, and now by Satoru, the man you are beginning to care for?

All you have ever wanted is what’s best for you daughter.

“But… I did what I needed to do, for Haru’s sake.”

Haru’s sake.

The words echo in your mind, a reminder of the choices you’ve made, the sacrifices you endured to protect her. And as you sit across from Satoru in this limousine, another question lingers at the edge of your thoughts—a question that fills you with uncertainty.

…what is the right choice to make for Haru’s sake?

Would staying with Satoru mean condemning yourself to another life of pretenses and expectations? A life where you continue to lose pieces of yourself, where you’re forced to hide behind yet another mask?

You steal a glance at Satoru, searching his face for answers you’re not sure you’ll find. His expression, though calm, doesn’t give much away, and it only deepens your turmoil.

Could he break free of these shackles with you?

Could he let go of the image he’s been forced to uphold, and be the person he truly is, without fear of judgment or rejection? Without being dictated by the weight of legacy and obligation?

The questions whirl in your mind.

Do you risk telling him everything, laying your soul bare in the hope that he will abandon this life for you? That he will choose you and Haru over the cold, unyielding expectations that have bound him for so long?

Or do you betray the man you’ve come to admire so deeply, the man who, despite his outward strength, is already so fragile, so vulnerable, hidden behind a mask of confidence?

As the silence stretches between you, you realize that the answer to one question in particular might be more important than anything else.

Because if Satoru can’t break free—if he can’t be himself, even with you—then what kind of future could you possibly have together? What kind of life could you offer Haru if you’re both trapped in a web of lies and half-truths, forced to play roles that don’t fit?

Your heart clenches painfully at the thought, and for the first time, you begin to doubt whether you can keep playing this role, whether you can keep pretending that everything is okay when deep down, you know it’s not.

But…you want to believe in him. So, so badly.

You want to believe that Satoru is different, that he’s capable of more than just playing the part assigned to him. You want to believe that, together, you can carve out a life that’s real, that’s yours, free from the weight of expectation and the shadow of legacy.

The desire to believe in him, to trust him, is almost overwhelming, and it takes every ounce of your strength not to reach out to him, to demand answers, to plead for him to show you that he’s more than just the image he projects to the world.

“So how did you break free?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he’s afraid of the answer.

Your breath hitches as his words hang in the air, and for a moment, the weight of his question feels like it might crush you.

You let out a trembling exhale, your emotions teetering on the edge of control, threatening to consume you whole.

“Just… a leap of faith,” you manage.

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve survived. And in that moment, you hope—no, you pray—that it’s enough.

Enough to show him that there’s a way out, that there’s more to life than the roles you’ve been forced to play. Enough to convince him that he can take that same leap, that he can be more than just the legacy he’s been bound to.

Because if he can’t… then you’re not sure you’ll survive another fall.

ꨄ︎

The rest of the car ride passes in an unusual, heavy silence, but as the limousine nears the dazzling venue that will soon thrust you both into the public eye, you steel yourself for what’s to come.

The quiet, introspective moments you shared with Satoru within the backseat of this vehicle start to morph into something else—an unspoken agreement that whatever doubts, fears, or conflicts surfaced during this ride must now be hidden, locked away beneath yet another carefully constructed facade.

After all—in this world you are both living in, there can be no room for hesitation, no cracks in the image you both must maintain.

Satoru straightens in his seat, his expression sharpening into the confident mask you’ve seen him wear so many times before—like an actor preparing for a role.

It’s as if every trace of the man who moments ago, shared his deepest insecurities with you is now tucked away, replaced by the flawless persona the world expects to see.

And the way he does it so effortlessly—well, it only intensifies the ache in your heart.

But you have no choice to follow suit—the night is just beginning, and so, just as he did, you force your own worries into the back of your mind as you too prepare to play your part.

The limousine comes to a smooth halt at the gala’s entrance, and your eyes widen in awe.

It’s not as if the last charity gala you attended wasn’t elegant, certainly it was, but this—this is on an entirely different scale, a spectacle of grandeur that borders on the surreal.

The venue—a massive hotel nestled in the heart of the city—stands like a beacon of luxury. Its grand entrance a marvel, adorned with sparkling lights that bathe the surrounding area in a warm, golden glow.

The red carpet stretches out like a river of crimson, flowing beside the gleaming wheels of limousines that pull up one after another.

Their doors open to reveal the crème de la crème of society—elegantly dressed attendees stepping out, their outfits glittering under the lights and the air filled with the lively murmur of conversation and bright flashes of cameras.

You recognize several faces in the crowd—renowned actors whose performances have moved you to tears, musicians whose songs have been the soundtrack to your life, influencers who have set trends you've tried to keep up with.

These are the people who’ve always seemed larger than life—whose lives have played out on magazine covers and in the flicker of movie screens. And now, here they are, mere feet away from you, mingling in the same space, breathing the same air.

God, this is terrifying.

You’ve stepped into the domain where every glance, every whisper holds weight—every word you utter, every expression that crosses your face, will be scrutinized, dissected, and judged.

The world is watching you.

Bright lights from cameras flare up, nearly blinding you as your foot touches the red carpet.

The media presence is quite overwhelming, and instinctively, you reach for Satoru’s hand, seeking some sort of anchor in the chaos—without even considering how, just moments ago, you could barely bring yourself to meet his eyes.

As soon as your fingers brush against his, you hesitate, unsure if it’s the right move.

You steal a quick glance at Satoru, trying to gauge his mood, to see if he’s feeling the same dissonance. But before you can pull away, he responds immediately, his hand closing around yours with a gentle squeeze, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His expression remains carefully composed, and he offers you a small, comforting smile—one that feels reassuring in its familiarity.

But… isn’t that just how it is between you two?

Pretending like nothing happened, like there isn’t a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

His smile is a mask, you know that, but despite it all, it’s still a small comfort—a quiet reminder that, despite everything, you’re not alone in this.

At least, you’re in it together.

As Satoru leads you down the red carpet, carrying that familiar unshakeable confidence—the second skin he effortlessly slips into—you can’t help but feel a subtle tension in the air of attendees, an undercurrent you can’t quite shake.

Why is it that the media’s gaze feels sharper…more pointed, as though they’re all waiting with bated breath for the slightest crack in the façade, for a single moment of vulnerability to pounce on?

And you can’t help but feel like that crack might come from you.

You catch sight of the interview station ahead—a stage set for judgment with its sleek, modern setup. The charity event’s logo glows prominently against a backdrop, creating a space to remind everyone of the event’s significance, yet for you it feels more like a gauntlet.

Oh, God…

Suddenly everything feels unbearably heavy, magnified under the relentless scrutiny of so many watchful eyes: Naoya’s threat, loosing Haru, Satoru’s intentions and your conflicted feelings for him.

Guests are ushered forward one by one with rehearsed smiles and practiced answers ready for the waiting reporters, and microphones glisten under the harsh lights, capturing every word, every inflection, while cameras click and whir, immortalizing each moment.

Throughout the chatter, you overhear a famous actress gushing about the importance of supporting children in need, her voice carrying a practiced sincerity. Next to her, a well-known musician is cracking a joke, easing into the limelight as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They make it look so easy.

But for you, every step closer to the cluster of reporters feels like a step closer to the edge of a cliff. The knot in your stomach tightens, coiling like a snake ready to strike. The distance between you and the flashing cameras, the probing questions, the scrutinizing eyes—it’s closing in too fast, and there’s no escape.

This is it. This night will test your resolve and your ability to maintain this façade, perhaps more than any before it, and the cost of failure is far too high.

Satoru glances at you, his expression a mask of calm and composure, but there’s something more in the way his thumb traces soothing circles against your skin.

A silent reassurance—one not for the cameras. A promise that, despite everything that happened in the limo, despite the unresolved tension still hanging between you, he’s here.

He’s with you.

You look up at him, and for a moment, the noise and chaos around you fade into the background. In his eyes, you see a softness that’s only privy to you—a vulnerability that he keeps hidden from the world.

It’s a look that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest, a look that almost makes you believe that maybe everything will be okay.

“You ready?” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within, nodding slightly as you force a smile onto your face. The muscles in your cheeks feel tight, strained, but you hope—desperately—that it’s convincing enough.

“Yeah,” the word sticks in your throat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

As the reporters spot you, you can practically feel their collective gaze zeroing in. The intensity of it is suffocating, and as you step into the designated interview area, the cameras flare to life, their bright lights nearly blinding you.

A female reporter steps forward, her smile bright and impeccably professional. She’s poised, microphone at the ready, her demeanor polished to perfection, as if she’s trained her whole life for this moment.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, you both look absolutely stunning tonight,” she begins, voice smooth and tailored for the camera.

“Thank you,” Satoru responds effortlessly, slipping into his role with grace. “We’re both so honored to be able to attend.”

“You’re one of the most talked-about couples this evening,” the reporter continues, her eyes gleaming with interest as she watches you both closely. “Tell us, how does it feel to be here supporting such a noble cause?”

Your heart races, pounding so hard in your chest that you wonder if she can hear it over the noise of the crowd. But you can’t let it show—this is the moment where the facade must hold, where you must be the perfect wife, the perfect partner, the perfect everything.

And so, you force yourself to smile again—stepping into the role you’ve rehearsed in your mind a thousand times.

“We’re here to support a cause that’s very close to our hearts,” your voice is steady, though beneath the surface, you feel a faint tremor threatening to break through. “The work this charity does for children in need is truly incredible… and we’re honored to be a part of it.”

Satoru steps in smoothly, his voice rich with a warmth that seems to effortlessly draw everyone’s attention.

“Absolutely,” he adds. “As parents ourselves, we understand the importance of giving every child a chance at a brighter future. We’re here to do whatever we can to help make that happen.”

There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes it easy to forget the mask he wears, eliciting nods and approving smiles from the reporters.

For a moment, even you are almost convinced, but you know the script, know the words.

You catch a subtle glance he throws your way—a silent check-in, his eyes asking the unspoken question: Are you okay? And you manage a small, almost imperceptible nod in return, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to the reporter.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she responds. “And how have you both been? The public is so curious about Haru.”

Here it is—the anxiety settles as you transition from the safe ground of charity work to the more precarious territory of your personal life.

You can feel the eyes of the crowd on you, the cameras zooming in, capturing every flicker of emotion, every nuance of your body language—as though the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for you to falter.

Satoru’s hand releases yours only to wrap around your waist, pulling you close, and the warmth he provides brings you a fleeting moment of comfort.

“We’ve been great,” his smile unwavering. “Life has been busy, but we’re grateful for every moment we get to spend together with our little one. Haru keeps us on our toes, that’s for sure.”

There’s a practiced charm in Satoru’s voice, the kind that can turn any situation into a favorable one. You muster a smile, trying to match his composure, nodding in agreement.

“Yes, she does,” you add, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “It’s a whirlwind, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The reporter’s smile widens, clearly pleased with the smooth delivery, but there’s a lingering tension in the air, a sense that she’s searching for more, for a crack in the veneer.

“There’s been a lot of speculation about Haru,” her voice soft yet probing. “Many are wondering Satoru… is she your biological daughter?”

The question hangs in the air like a loaded gun, the implication sharp and clear.

The crowd seems to lean in, the cameras zooming closer, waiting for your reaction, for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

But Satoru anticipated this moment—it was one of the questions he had prepared for, a part of the script meticulously crafted to navigate the murky waters of public scrutiny.

The media has been relentless, swirling with unanswered questions about Haru, speculating about who she is and what she’s like.

It’s no secret that you’ve both been fiercely protective of her, keeping her out of the spotlight, away from the prying eyes that would dissect her every move.

For that, you’ve always been deeply grateful to Satoru.

And so, he handles the question with the same effortless grace that he’s maintained throughout the evening.

He chuckles softly—a sound that feels almost disarming warm in its sincerity, as if the question is nothing more than a casual curiosity, easily addressed and dismissed.

“Haru is my daughter in every way that matters,” his tone firm yet kind. “She’s our pride and joy, and we love her more than anything in this world.”

His answer is flawless, designed to reinforce the image of a perfect family. Yet, as the conviction in his words leave his lips, you feel a surge of bittersweetness.

Haru deserves what he is saying…she deserves that reality.

But alas, it’s nothing more than a rehearsed line delivered in front of an audience that’s eager to believe in the fairy tale.

The reporter shifts slightly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she continues.

“I see. It’s clear that family is important to both of you. What’s the secret to balancing your high-profile lives with raising a young child?”

You force yourself to smile, the answer ready on your lips.

“We just focus on what’s important,” you begin, the words flowing smoothly despite the tightness in your chest. “We make sure to carve out time for each other and for Haru. It’s all about prioritizing what really matters.”

“It’s not always easy,” Satoru nods in agreement, “but we cherish our time away from the spotlight, and we’re very protective of Haru’s privacy. At the end of the day, we’re just like any other parent—we want what’s best for Haru, and we do our best to make that happen.”

Another perfectly crafted answer, one that’s sure to satisfy the reporter and the audience watching from behind their screens. You can almost see the checkmark being made in her mind—a box ticked off; a line drawn under the discussion of family life.

The reporter, sensing she’s reached the natural conclusion of the topic, shifts her stance slightly.

“Thank you for sharing. It’s clear that Haru is very lucky to have you both.”

Her gaze sharpens, the glint of professional interest cutting through the pleasantries.

“And what about your own relationship? How do you manage to keep the spark alive amidst all the chaos?”

Here it comes. The question you were dreading, the one you hoped she’d skip over.

It’s one thing to talk about Haru, to present a united front when it comes to your daughter...

But your relationship?

That’s a minefield, one littered with unspoken truths and half-hearted lies. And it sucks. It really sucks that Satoru has to deal with this kind of intrusion daily—a life where privacy is a luxury you can barely afford.

“Communication is key,” you begin, the words flowing out of you like second nature. Lies. “We make sure to talk about everything—our hopes, our fears, our plans.” Lies. “And we make an effort to have regular date nights, just to reconnect and remind ourselves of why we fell in love in the first place.” Lies.

As the words leave your lips, you can almost hear the hollow echo of them in your mind, a mantra you’ve repeated so many times it’s lost all meaning. You know it, and Satoru knows it, too.

But he plays his part flawlessly—lifting your hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss on the back of it. It’s a small gesture, one that seems innocent enough, but you feel the weight of it—the expectation, the need to present a united front, to sell the illusion.

As the warmth of his lips lingers on your skin, your heart clenches with yearning.

“That’s right,” Satoru adds, his voice carrying that practiced sincerity that makes everything he says sound like the absolute truth. “We support each other, and I’m so lucky that y/n is my biggest cheerleader. We’re a team, and that makes all the difference.”

The reporter nods thoughtfully, her smile curling up in a way that suggests she’s found the narrative she’s been looking for.

“You know,” she begins, her tone shifting into something more conspiratorial, as if she’s about to reveal a tantalizing secret, “speaking of… you two have quickly become the talk of the town—everyone’s eager to know more about your story. Satoru, you were once considered the world’s most eligible bachelor, but now… here you are. How did this all begin?”

There it is—the question that forces you both to delve into the past, to recount a story that’s been polished and perfected, but one that still feels strangely disconnected from the reality you’re living.

You shift slightly in Satoru’s hold, the rehearsed answer poised on your tongue, designed to fit the narrative you both agreed upon—but before you can even open your mouth to speak, Satoru takes the lead.

“Well," he starts, calm and measured, "Y/n was looking for a new job, and I needed someone with her expertise. It was professional at first, but we just… clicked. Like it was meant to be.”

The familiar words from the script slip effortlessly from his lips, just like you practiced, and the interviewer’s eyes light up, clearly pleased with the response—at least on the surface. But there’s a glint in her eyes, a spark of curiosity that suggests she’s not quite done yet.

The microphone inches closer, capturing every word, every inflection, as if she’s trying to draw out something deeper, something more than the polished story you’re offering.

“That’s wonderful,” her voice takes a more intimate tone as she leans in. “But Satoru, what was it about y/n that made you realize she was the one? I mean, surely there was something that stood out, something that made you think, ‘This is the woman I want to spend my life with.’”

“I’ve always admired how she puts Haru first," he begins reciting the script, voice steady and composed. "Her dedication to being a mother, to making sure Haru has everything she needs, it’s something I truly respect…”

But then, there’s a pause—a brief, almost imperceptible silence that stretches time, making your heart skip a beat.

Did he just hesitate?

His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, the practiced facade slips. There’s a softness in his eyes that makes your breath catch—but before you can process it, he continues.

“Actually, you know… when I first met y/n, there was something about her that I couldn’t ignore. She was different from anyone I’ve ever met—strong, intelligent, and fiercely independent."

Wait… did he just change the script?

An unexpected flutter stirs in your stomach, and your pulse quickens as the weight of his words sinks in. This wasn’t part of the agreed-upon answer… so why is he veering off course?

Your eyes narrow slightly as you search his face, trying to decode the sudden change.

"It’s strange,” he continues, his voice softer now, more introspective, “because at first, I thought it was just her strength that drew me in."

A small, almost nostalgic smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and there’s a warmth in his expression that makes something inside you twist.

"But as I got to know her, I realized it was more than that. Y/n has this incredible ability to make everyone around her feel seen and valued… she’s honest, sometimes brutally so, but she’s also kind in a way that’s rare."

The interviewer’s expression changes, the curiosity in her eyes deepening as she senses a sincerity in his words.

Is he… speaking from the heart?

It feels like a quiet confession, one meant only for you, despite the audience that surrounds you both.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself holding it, afraid to let go of this moment, afraid to shatter the delicate truth he seems to be laying bare. His words wrap around you like a cocoon, drawing you in, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

This isn’t the Satoru you’ve come to expect—the one who carefully controls every word, every expression, ensuring that nothing slips through the cracks. It’s as if he’s just lifted a curtain, showing you a glimpse of something real, something you didn’t think you’d ever see.

But why now? Why here, in front of all these people?

Is…he willing to take that leap of faith?

In that instant, the hope blooming inside you feels almost tangible, like a fragile flower unfurling its petals for the first time. It’s delicate, yes, but unmistakable, and it fills you with a warmth that you’ve longed for—something you thought you’d never find again. It’s enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, everything can change.

For so long, you’ve hidden behind masks, playing roles that never truly belonged to you. But now, if Satoru is willing to step beyond the boundaries you both created…

The world around you—the blinding lights, the flashing cameras, the buzz of the crowd—seems to fade into the background, blurring into insignificance.

All that remains is the two of you, as if you’ve stepped into a world of your own making, where nothing else matters.

Satoru shifts slightly, and when his eyes find yours, there’s a depth and intensity in them that you’ve never seen before.

It’s as if he’s seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you—not the roles you’ve played, not the masks you’ve worn, but you, the person beneath it all. In that moment, it feels like you’re the only person who matters.

“For the first time in my life, I feel like I have someone I can truly trust. Someone who doesn’t just see me as ‘Gojo Satoru,’ but as a regular person, with all my flaws and imperfections.”

Trust.

A knot forms in your chest, constricting each beat of your heart as Satoru’s confession echoes in your mind.

The burden of that single word feels unbearable as the guilt you’ve been suppressing resurfaces, suddenly making it hard to focus on anything else.

Here Satoru is, baring his soul to you in a way you never expected, revealing the depth of his feelings, his vulnerabilities, and all the while, you’ve been holding onto a secret—a lie that could shatter everything.

No… it’s not just a lie—it’s a betrayal, and the full weight of it settles on your shoulders, heavy and suffocating.

Fuck, you’re losing your composure.

You’re acutely aware of the cameras, their lenses trained on you, capturing every fleeting emotion that flickers across your face.

The pressure is immeasurable and you swallow hard, desperately trying to hold his gaze, to anchor yourself in the sincerity you see there, but your smile feels brittle, like it might crack at any moment.

Satoru leans in closer and instinctively, you want to pull away—terrified that the closer he gets, the more he’ll see, the more he’ll understand the depths of your turmoil. But you’re trapped, rooted in place, every movement scrutinized, recorded, and you know you can’t falter.

His breath is warm against your skin as he places a gentle kiss on your temple, a touch so gentle that it nearly undoes you. This wasn’t part of the script, unlike the calculated kiss on your hand earlier, and the tenderness behind it, is almost too much to bear.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, and his words—intended for the camera—feel like they’re meant for you alone.

“I guess you could say that y/n has this way of making me feel… grounded. Like I can be myself, and that’s enough.”

His words cut through you like a knife. What are you doing? You can’t keep lying to him, not after this.

As the crowd around you buzzes with life and the cameras continue to flash, capturing this moment of intimacy, all you can think about is the price you might pay for this secret you’ve kept.

Once he realizes you’ve been hiding this from him, will he ever be able to look at you the same way again? Will he still see you as someone he can trust?

This new fear surges forward, and you feel your composure slipping, the mask you wear cracking.

Fuck. Is it obvious?

Can they all see the turmoil roiling inside you, the fear that everything is about to come crashing down?

Is your panic written across your face, as clear as day for the world to see?

“That’s such a beautiful sentiment,” the reporter’s approving voice cuts through the haze, snapping you back to the present with a jolt.

But before you can fully regain your bearings, her gaze shifts, locking onto you with an intensity that makes your heart pound against your ribcage.

Her eyes seem to bore into you, searching for something beneath the surface, and suddenly, you’re terrified that she might find it.

“And how does it feel to hear him say that, y/n? To know that you have such a profound effect on someone like Satoru?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, you’re frozen, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a physical force.

What are you even supposed to say?

You practiced for this, rehearsed the lines until they were second nature, but nothing could have prepared you for the raw honesty in Satoru’s words.

How does it feel?

God, the truth is, you don’t know how to feel—happy, surprised, comforted, terrified…there are too many emotions surging through you at this moment, too many to untangle and make sense of.

But…you have to say something, the world is watching.

Blood rushes in your ears, drowning out the noise of the crowd, and you force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels, searching for the right words, the ones that will satisfy the reporter.

“It’s… I’m so lucky,” you manage to say, stammering slightly. “Knowing that I have that kind of impact on him… it’s an honor. I just hope I can continue to be that person for him.”

Is it enough?

The words feel hollow, a weak echo of the truth, but they’re all you can manage. You just hope they’ll hold the world at bay, at least for now.

The reporter nods, her professional smile unwavering, but you can’t shake the feeling she’s watching you closely, searching for any cracks in your veneer.

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if weighing the sincerity of your words, but then she steps back with a practiced ease, seemingly satisfied.

“Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with us, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As she moves away, you experience a fleeting sense of relief once the crowd’s attention shifts, the cameras swiveling to capture the next moment.

Satoru’s hand finds yours, guiding you away from the spotlight as the next couple in line takes your place under the glaring lights.

The silence between you is thick, and around you, the crowd blurs into a haze of indistinct faces and flashing lights.

You try to decipher Satoru’s mood, searching his face for any clue, but his expression remains an unreadable mask as you both maneuver through the throng of people, each step carrying you further from the intensity of the interview and deeper into the swirling uncertainty of the night.

Then, as you cross the threshold into the grand ballroom, the change in atmosphere is immediate with the soaring ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and the soft hum of polite conversations—yet, despite the grandeur surrounding you, your focus is entirely on the man beside you—the one who just moments ago bared a piece of his soul to you in front of everyone.

Almost instantly, Satoru is swarmed by people—important figures and familiar faces, all eager to exchange pleasantries with the man of the hour.

You watch as he slips effortlessly into casual conversation, his charm and charisma on full display—a scene you’ve witnessed countless times before.

But that’s because, to the outside world, nothing has changed—he’s the same confident, untouchable figure he’s always been. It’s as if the heartfelt words he spoke moments ago, laying his heart bare before you, were never uttered. As if they were just another part of the performance.

But you know better.

You saw the look in his eyes, felt the sincerity in his voice. And now, as he engages in yet another conversation, flashing that same easy smile, you can’t help but wonder…

What is he really thinking?

His gaze lingers on you as he effortlessly navigates each conversation, and there’s something in his eyes—an almost imperceptible signal, like he’s reaching out to you, a silent communication that only the two of you can understand.

You’ve made up your mind.

You want more with Satoru—something real, something unburdened by the lies and pretenses that have cast shadows over your relationship.

You can no longer allow this secret to fester, growing like a dark cloud that threatens to eclipse whatever light might still exist between you.

To truly move forward, you have to release the fear that’s been holding you back—you have to come clean, to trust him, just as he has placed his trust in you.

But you know the timing isn’t right—not here, not now, surrounded by the glittering facade of this world you’ve both learned to navigate so well.

When you finally lay bare the truth you’ve been hiding, hopefully Satoru will understand.

All you can do is wait, hope, and wonder what the night will bring.

hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading and supporting my fic 😭 i cannot tell you how much it brightens my day to read your comments! to be completely honest, i really wasn't expecting much with this fic, it has really transformed into something that i had no intention of doing, but the thing is, i'm really enjoying writing it, so SO much, and i'm glad ya'll are enjoying reading it 🥲🫶🏻 this is only 2/3rds of the original chapter 4 i wrote...lol. i still have to edit the last 1/3 (apparently i cannot stop yapping) so it just seemed right to split it up and let this section breathe a little bit too, it felt like a natural stopping point before we delve into y/n getting that closure with satoru. y/n finally got the push she needed to make up her mind 🥲 i know it took her a bit, but being in an emotionally abusive relationship has left her with a lot of trust issues, and seeing satoru open up to her made her realize that despite their differences, they are going through similar struggles. poor baby satoru 😭 he needs a hug. like my heart literally breaks for him. this chapter felt really vulnerable to write...maybe that's why i was so hesitant on posting it. like it just hurts my soul lol. anyways, i wanna let you know that with this month coming to an end, my schedule is going to be getting pretty busy as i will be starting classes. it's my first time returning to school after 10 years...and i'll be doing it while still being a mom and working. i'm literally gonna be feeling like y/n, juggling a lot (the mom brain is a REAL THING YA'LL) so if my updates take longer that is why. much love to you all, and again thanks so much 🤗 -aly 💕 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

taglist :

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer

@stevenknightmarc @maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@alwaysfreakingout @valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @evalynanne @tbzzluvr

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citygirlyuno305 · 11 days ago

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Yuno

This is weird but I’m going to speak as a person right now just generally, rather than as any kind of professional or anything. I’ve hesitated to say this for a while, and to speak on Yuno at all, because of my own complicated feelings and because I fear the fallout. But with the new cover and everything I feel like I have to, or I have to get it off my chest. So if you read this, I’m sorry in advance for indulging in what is undeniable projection and bias. I have to put a content warning for harmful sexual relationships and violence here.

I’ve never admitted this to anyone beyond those who already knew, or with my actual public profile or name/ID attached. At age 17, I’m already fucking cringing, I was involved in a sugar-daddy situation. Me, age 17, and a man who was about 40. He had a daughter two years younger than me. I met her. We were friends on facebook. We would eat dinner and I’d have sex with her dad for money after she left to go to her mom’s house. No, I did not need the money. I can’t begin to go into what motivated it at this time because it’s like scratching a barely healed scab. God, I feel gross even thinking about it. Engaging in things like that is unsafe for ANY high schooler. No one stopped me though. My parents didn’t know, and it was shockingly easy to conceal from them, but my friends and siblings did know. Some simply shrugged. Some asked to see pictures of the guy, encouraged it. Some even asked me to ask him if he had friends who wanted to do the same thing with them.

This was obviously disgustingly predatory, but also, just disregarding our ages, it was an extremely violent sexual relationship just generally. Any ‘I worship my sweet sugar baby’ shit when we spoke was significantly outweighed by the things I had to to do. But I did them and even managed not to feel dehumanized at the time because I literally hated myself. So his depreciation fed my own self-hatred. It became very out of control, very quickly.

Predictably, I got pregnant after a little while. Again, I was 17. It was legal, so I had to get an abortion myself. I was pro-choice my entire life- still am. Guess what? Despite that, I felt like shit about that abortion for years. Sometimes I still feel like shit about it. Does that make me getting an abortion less forgivable?

I ask because it seems to be how some are framing their view of Yuno’s innocence or guilt. And I’ve been nice about it or I’ve ignored it up until now, but it’s gotten to a point where it just makes me realize that a lot of people are selfishly self-imposing their own opinions on the character without taking the time to understand what the character themselves needs to heal- like it doesn’t matter to you whether she’s mentally well, or safe. If this doesnt apply to you I hope you take no offense. Is the abortion a huge part of her character? Of course. But it is far from her entire character, and I can’t help but feel like we failed her by not even considering other aspects of her mentality, even if our votes wouldnt change.

To the extent that she regrets her choice, I get that. For the great many people (mainly on twitter) who seem to think abortion is something you can “girlboss queen never cry” your way out of feeling anything for, you’re so woefully wrong that it’s almost alarming. First, being that Yuno’s seemed to be self-inflicted by throwing herself down fucking STAIRS, i can’t even begin to imagine the level of pain she felt. Even when I took that goddamn pill I felt like shit for a week. But more than the physical pain, there IS an emotional pain and a mental pain that just dulls everything else around you. Its more than just societal, the actual biological impact, the abrupt halt of natural processes and jarring hormonal shifts, it literally fucks with your body and your head. I did not want a baby at 17. I did not regret the choice. But I can fully see how some people do once they get an abortion because even for me, it literally felt like a part of me was missing. Gone. Like a part of ME was ripped out. I genuinely hope no one reading this ever has to go through that. And I can’t fathom how much worse that mental pain must be when the abortion is nonmedical.

Is that a reason to make abortion illegal? Fuck no. But I have to make that clear because even saying that has gotten me bombarded with accusations of being prolife, when I’m not.

And you know what, everyone was so kind to me about it, I’m so lucky, really, in retrospect I see that. But when I was SEVENTEEN, it became something that made me so blindingly mad- “its not your fault, youre just a kid, you didnt know.” Yes, I was a kid- but I did KNOW. It felt like that part of me that I killed-because yes, thats how it truly felt-also took my agency with it when it left. Like no one gave a shit enough to tell me that I made a shitty call insofar as getting into that relationship in the first place, and now I’m sitting there with this immeasurable feeling of self-hatred and guilt over something that I did willingly and knowingly (from my POV), I’m feeling this insane emptiness and pain and numbness and I have no one around me to blame so I internalize this self hate even more. Because I couldnt even be angry and upset without simultaneously feeling MORE guilt when the people around me weren’t lashing out at me. I don’t know how to describe this. It felt like no one was holding me accountable for hurting myself, and it was alarming and driving me insane to toe the line between being a victim of my own exercise of choice, and to have no one hold me accountable for the exercise of that choice, even though I myself would not hold anyone else accountable or call them guilty for making the same choice. It felt like no one gaf because those absolving comments designed to make me feel better also somehow felt like I was also being deprived of recognition for the somewhat traumatic experience that it truly was. And even now I really struggle to call it trauma because I still grapple with the idea that I cannot exercise a choice and call it trauma. But its like, no one is angry at the perpetrator (me) for what they did to the victim (also me). And if thats the case, do you really care about me at all? I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words. But that’s where I’m like, we have kind of deprived Yuno of her own victimhood by insisting her actions were victimless.

That said, seeing the line “I wanted you to care enough to scold me and tell me I was wrong” actually hit me pretty hard. I don’t blame Yuno for wanting people to care. Because it truly doesnt feel like it in this instance sometimes.

Double it and pass it to the next person if Yuno really did kill herself when she did it. Because at that point, we’re telling her two things- 1) abortion is okay you didn’t commit murder- okay, fine. But ALSO 2) its okay that you killed yourself, no harm done. No wonder she thinks we don’t give a shit about her, we were too busy politicizing her to consider the fact that we were telling her she didnt err when she fucking offed herself.

And I want this part to be absolutely, abundantly clear: I do not say any of this to demonize SWs. In a manner of speaking I was one. I’m not sure how similar it is to Yuno’s situation but broadly speaking, we live in a world that is generally unsafe for women. Particularly young women, and even more so teenage girls. And we shouldn’t be indifferent to a high schooler showing us that she was having sex with grown men for cash. We shouldn’t demonize her for it, but we shouldve cared enough to probe into what caused her to think this was something she should do. Her friends and parents didnt. I wasnt mentally well when I did it. And call it a girlboss queen shit thing all you want, it fucked me up monumentally after. I still cant think about it without feeling disgusted with myself. And I dont want Yuno to he disgusted with herself but I also dont want to affirm a belief that its genuinely not a problem for high schoolers to do this. People can scream about “well 18 is legal!!!!” all day- its a shitty argument to begin with, though. (If the law said 12 was the age of consent, would you feel comfortable saying “Well its legal!!!” to a relationship between a 12 year old and a 30 year old? No, right? Because the law is not always the baseline of morality). But- and again this is in no way designed to demonize sex workers- situations like Yuno’s are undeniably dangerous.

Is it her fault that something happens if she is attacked? Absolutely NOT. But I still wish someone had given a shit enough about me, my friends, siblings, anyone, to tell me to stop putting myself in a position where it could easily occur. They didnt even tell me that after I got the abortion. Its not that I wanted them to scold me for the abortion-I wanted ANYTHING, but if I’m specific, I wanted them to scold me for what led to it. I wanted them to yell at me for even getting into the sugar daddy situation, which I engaged in willfully because of my OWN self-loathing and need for some form of attention, my OWN warped perception of what constitutes positive attention and what I had to be of value and worthy of that attention. Because I was 17 and I knew that most every time I was yelled at by someone or scolded it was because they cared about me in some form, even if yelling was inappropriate in a given situation. Its weird- without giving too much away here, I managed to keep my abortion from my parents despite being a minor. Maybe half a year after the fact, I told my mom, and only because she was expressing this deep concern that I was suicidal, telling me I wasn’t myself. She wasn’t wrong, of course, I was completely different, idk about suicidal, but certainly depressed. When I told her, she cried, not because shes prolife or anything, but because she was so distraught that she didn’t see what was happening. Frankly she couldn’t have, with the way I went about it and how our lives are structured. And I hate when my mother cries, I love her to death. But her crying felt good. Not like weird masochism good, but like vindication good. Because I knew something was wrong but no one else seemed to think something was wrong for so long, and her weeping over this confirmed for me that yes, I’m right, something- anything- was materially, truly, WRONG with this situation. And when she probed for details I cried too because I forgot how good it felt to have someone who cared enough about me personally to go deeper than superficial opinions on political things, to actually form a personalized opinion or seek more detail as to me specifically. She begged me not to keep up the sugar baby thing, and she was right to do that, and it simultaneously fed my need for care while also maintaining my agency. I am truly lucky beyond words for getting to be my mother’s child.

Anyway, that said, I see how Yuno probably also wanted that from us. To care about the why, and not the what. It didn’t seem like her parents were super involved. Unless I’m missing something.

But that’s the thing, its complicated. I’m pro choice but I hated my choice, but I dont regret my choice, but I do regret it and don’t hate it- I literally can’t put it into words. Its not so black and white. And I think demonizing Yuno for maybe wanting that or harboring the same complicated feelings about her own situation is antithetical to the entire purpose of pro-choice ideology. Is her exercise of choice somehow less forgivable because she might regret her choice?

The answer should be no. To me, anyway.

I would like it if people gave Yuno the same energy that they give any other character. She is a person. She is not just a medium to express any given ideology. And give her the courtesy of trying to understand how it feels to be forgiven for something that you don’t forgive yourself for. Because it doesn’t feel good. I’m in my 20s now and still cannot forgive myself sometimes.

I’m not saying we should have voted X or Y or advocating that Yuno is some kind of monster for what she did. That’d be pretty hypocritical. I’m not unilaterally placing blame on Yuno for her actions either. I’m also not pretending we’re the same person- though the timeline conversation with Shidou where he tells her she’d be good as a healthcare professional, is alarmingly similar to something that happened to me. And that same “Haha, quit playing around,” that’s exactly what I did too. Because I hated myself too much to think it was true. And it took a lot of work to crawl out of that hole. Like, yeah, I’m a lawyer now. I have a different life. I do not require validation from sexual partners to feel joy, I understand the difference between good and bad attention. But part of me will always be partially submerged in it. I think ignorance to the reality that even something that isn’t itself immoral can have dire consequences on the actor goes unrecognized sometimes.

If someone called me a girlboss after my abortion, knowing the circumstances that gave rise to it, or not even bothering to address them, I would’ve blown my fucking brains out.

#the milgram project #milgram yuno #yuno milgram #yuno kashiki #milgram

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mimble-sparklepudding · 6 months ago

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Ship and OC Relationship Creative Process Ask List.

I am still pondering how best to approach some sort of "ship" for one of my OCs, but it's proving to be quite the challenge to wrap my head around. So what better way to learn more about how other people approach the topics of sex and relationships with their characters than to put together a little Ask List. Not just focussed on ships between OCs and canon characters, but also open to relationships between your OCs - or your OC and someone else's OC (or OCs, as we are all very polyamory inclusive around here).

Did you create your OC with a plan to ship them with a specific character or another OC? Or was their relationship something that evolved all by itself?

How important is your OCs relationship(s) to their story? Would it still make sense without it? Or is their connection to this other character integral to their development?

Were there any barriers to you establishing your OCs relationship? Perhaps social or cultural stigma? Or a concern that "ships" with that character were already overdone? Or simply a fear of being seen as "cringe"? If so then how did you overcome this?

How graphic or explicit are your explorations of sexual interactions involving your OC? Do you happily name body parts and actions? Or do you prefer to leave the mechanical details to the imagination?

If your OC's relationship involves a gender or orientation different to your own then how confident did you feel about exploring or writing this? If your OC and the character(s) with whom they are in a relationship are the same as you in terms of gender/orientation then was this a conscious decision?

How easy do you find it to write (or otherwise portray) non-sexual affection between characters? This might include terms of endearment, "pet-names", descriptions of cuddling or stroking the other's head in their lap etc.

How important is other people's investment in (or enthusiasm for) your character's relationship? Was this a consideration when you were planning it? Have you ever changed a character's relationship(s) due to other people's response to it?

To what degree do you use your OC as a means to explore your own romantic proclivities (or shortcomings)? Is your OC a self-insert and the relationship a form of wish-fulfilment and/or an means to explore certain fantasies? Or do you enjoy exploring something completely different to your own experiences and preferences?

How confident are you in writing about or otherwise portraying kissing between characters? Did this take practice? How much detail is enough? How much is too much?

Is it important to include tension or outright areas of conflict in a relationship? If so then how do you explore these? Or does this not appeal to you?

Does it matter to you how many other people also ship their OC with a particular character? Would this make it more likely that you will compare your material to theirs? Or does this not enter into your thinking?

How much does your OC's background and origin affect their approach to relationships? Are there specific insecurities or preferences that lead on from their past?

How easy do you find it to write romantic (or sexual) dialogue for your OC? If they are in a relationship with a canon character then how difficult is it to keep these interactions faithful to their established character and communication style?

How do you feel about answering questions about your characters sexual/romantic activities or preferences in character?

Did you build up to your OC being in their relationship? Or did you put them into it quite quickly and then filled in the background in retrospect.

Is there a relationship between characters in another setting that particularly inspired you? What is it about this portrayal that you enjoy?

Does it matter whether other people consider your OC sexually attractive? Did this inform your thinking when you were creating them? Also was it important that you put them in a relationship with a character who is generally considered "attractive"?

Do you have specific music that makes you think about your OCs relationship?

Do you have a sense of how your OCs relationship will evolve in the future? Or is it quite a fixed in terms of dynamics and story?

Is it easy to write or otherwise portray other characters (or OCs) reactions to your OCs relationship? Are these interactions important to your characters story? For example, is the relationship one that can be publically acknowledged?

How important is it that your OCs relationship is "realistic" for the setting in terms of the characters values and attitudes? Or are you happy to explore psychological or sexual issues that might more reflect contemporary concerns?

Do you consider your OC to be sexually attractive? Or pretty/handsome? Would you still be able to write about their relationship if you didn't?

What is something you feel you have improved at in terms of portraying sexual or romantic relationships?

How do you feel about people producing fanart of your character's relationship or ship? If this were NSFW would you want to be asked first?

Other than your own characters' relationships, can you give an example of someone who is particularly good at writing or otherwise portraying romantic and/or sexual relationships? What is it about their work that really stands out for you?

Have you given much consideration to specific "kinks" or sexual likes and dislikes for your character? If so then is this something you feel comfortable talking about or describing?

Is there a particular "trope" for relationships that you especially enjoy - e.g. enemies to lovers etc - and is this something that you set out intending to explore?

Is there something you historically felt (or still feel) awkard about describing in terms of your character's relationships? Whether sexual acts, bodyparts, pillow talk, romantic declarations or using the "L word". How did you overcome this (if you ever have)?

What makes a scene or situation "romantic" in your opinion? Is this something you find easy to portray?

What advice do you have for someone considering creating a ship for their character? Or for someone unsure about writing relationships and/or sexual scenarios?

When portraying romantic or sexual scenarios involving your OC, do you aim to inspire a particular response in the reader or viewer? Whether a warm fuzzy feeling, or getting really quite turned on (or possibly both)?

If you ship your OC with a particular canon character, then what was it about that character that drew you to them? Is it that you have a certain "type" when it comes to shipping? Or did you surprise yourself with who you felt drawn towards? If your OC is in a relationship with another OC then did you change any aspects of either of their backstories or personalities to make this work?

To what degree is your OC a self-insert, particularly in terms of their relationship? Do you sometimes use your character's relationship to explore your own feelings about a canon character or another OC?

How confident are you in writing angst or portraying conflict or tension within a relationship? Or is this something you avoid? If so is this because it doesn't much interest you? Or because you're unsure how to approach it?

Is there a way in which your portrayal of your character's relationship subverts the reader or viewer's expectations? Was this deliberate?

How do you ensure that the dialogue (or other portrayal) of a canon character is true to their personality and (more importantly) way of speaking? Do you spend time studying their "official" dialogue in order to get it sounding authentic? Or did it just come naturally?

What is something you try to avoid - or think everyone should try to avoid - when portraying sex and/or relationships with their characters?

What is your favourite depiction of romance (or sex if you prefer) that you have produced? Or if you haven't produced one yet, then what is your favourite example from another creator?

What, if any, is your biggest source of fear or anxiety when it comes to writing or otherwise portraying romantic or sexual scenarios?

What is something that your friends or mutuals could do to support and encourage you when it comes to your creativity around your OCs relationship(s)?

#probably not worth sending to me #as I have no idea about most of this stuff #oc ask list #ship ask game #oc relationship ask game #oc relationships #ffxiv oc

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k8martins · 10 months ago

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*✸ naked in manhattan

summary: reader is kate martin’s first love and wants to reconnect after she comes to new york for the draft, based on naked in manhattan by chappell roan

request: no / yes

warnings: some suggestive stuff towards the end

a/n: i lovvvved this rec i really hope i did it justice… got carried away again and i’m lowkey drunk rn so

“hey kate, it’s me… congrats on the draft! i know we haven’t talked in forever and you’re busy but um… i don’t know, maybe we could meet up sometime? if you want? just let me know. bye.”

the fact kate didn’t answer the call at all made you rethink your choices of not just calling her, but buying a ticket to the draft. your stomach churned after leaving the voicemail, cringing at all of the awkward pauses. you spoke cautiously out of fear of misspeaking somehow, even though you rehearsed the message a thousand times beforehand. it’s like you knew she wouldn’t answer, but still anxious that she didn’t. did she choose not to pick up? is she even thinking of me? all of the torturous scenarios ran through your thoughts, but you ultimately chalked it up to her being obviously busy.

either way, kate had to have at least acknowledged being in the same state as you again; new york. there’s no way she could’ve simply forgotten all the years of dating through high school, and eventually the painful breakup early into freshman year of college. the relationship between you and kate was near perfect; you complimented each other physically and emotionally, and everyone considered you and her as a power couple. there was no doubt that you wouldn’t stop loving kate even after breaking up for the sake of long distance. you had tried to make it work, but kate’s busy schedule and being in different states made for a rough patch in the relationship. the break up inevitably left both of you on good terms, but the constant busyness in both your lives ended up drifting you away from each other. you still exchanged small texts here and there for birthdays or holidays but both of you simply let it happen, since there was pretty much no time to work things out. days without talking turned into weeks, then months, then years without a full and genuine conversation. it broke your heart, but you knew kate was pursuing her dreams out in iowa, and you were doing the same in new york.

you stared at tomorrow’s wnba draft ticket sitting on your desk in your small apartment. it was a sign of a girl that you once knew inside and out; a girl you still tended to imagine roaming through your apartment as if you lived together, as if things were still the way they were before. your mind analyzed the times both of you would talk about eventually living together, and experiencing future years together. the way kate’s eyes would light up at the possibilities of doing anything with you; the mundane or the magical. the more you thought about your old relationship with kate, the more it validated you in wanting to meet up with her. it didn’t have to be anything more than a friendly hang out, but deep down you wanted her back more than anything. realizing these thoughts took your breath away, you forced yourself to breathe deeply and shake kate away from your mind. at least for a little bit.

——————————————————————————

your playlist wasn’t exactly helping you stay calm while getting ready for the draft. listening to music was always a way you tried to get your mind off things, but as chappell roan sang her song it was like she knew about your situation with kate.

“in new york, you can try things,

an inch away from more than just friends”

you skipped the song and continued applying mascara. still, your heart pounded at the thought of seeing kate at the draft. even before you bought a ticket, you envisioned the night in your head; tall and beautiful kate walking up to the stage, her enchanting blue eyes meeting yours from the crowd. kate wasn’t even sure of getting drafted for certain, but you had high hopes for her.

getting up from your desk, you walked over to the full mirror. you kept it casual, wearing a long black dress and minimalistic jewelry. would kate even notice me in the crowd? did she even listen to the voicemail? the thoughts were never ending, but you had to move forward. you grabbed your keys and headed out the door.

as you stepped into the draft building, you wouldn’t be surprised if you fell over right there. an endless sea of guests filled the room with dim overhead lights and a large sprawling stage up front. you found your seat in the way back and waited. recognizing all of the accomplished athletes was nothing compared to who you were really looking for. you craned your neck looking for kate, eventually landing on a girl with long blonde hair down her back, assuming it’s her. you stared at the back of her head as if it held a secret message, replaying your past memories with her in your head over and over. the girl you considered an extension of yourself was now in the same room as you for the first time in years, but far away, and on a completely different track in life. still, you thought of your voicemail, glad you at least reached out.

your eyes were glued to kate when all of a sudden she turned her head and looked behind her. immediately looking away, you were too late as she picked you out in the crowd, noticing your stare. out of the corner of your eye, you saw her do a double take on you. it was like the eye contact alone knocked the wind out of you, and your body rushed with emotion. kate now knows you’re here.

the draft was a long process, but something you were willing to sit through, because you knew kate had great things coming. at one point, a woman was announcing the 18th overall pick for the las vegas aces, and you monitored the movement around kate. people had moved near her with cameras, and all eyes were on her. your heart raced as you realized you were watching your ex girlfriend’s dreams come true right in front of your eyes, except you weren’t necessarily apart of it. you ached as you wished so deeply to be sitting next to her, still as her established lover, and supporting her through and through. you had told her during the breakup that you support her no matter what, but it was never the same since the split.

“with the 18th overall pick, the las vegas aces select, kate martin.”

you knew it. your mouth hung open as you watched kate get up and walk towards the stage, just as you imagined so many times before. the people who hugged her on her way up were watched with envy. yet you still joined in on the roaring applause, your eyes growing teary. it was all hitting you at once; how you regretted ever drifting from her, and how badly you desired to be with her every step of the way. why did i ever let that happen?

kate stood on stage holding up her new vegas jersey for a picture. her gorgeous appearance hadn’t changed much since you last saw her, except for the perfectly straightened hair and minimal makeup, which you remembered she never knew how to do complex makeup looks anyway. you then began to daydream about doing it for her, but snapped out of it when she began to step off stage. you didn’t want to make eye contact with her again, but couldn’t take your gaze away from her. and sure enough, you locked eyes again as she walked back to her seat. basically flinching, you looked away and felt irritated at yourself. you sat through the rest of the draft until it came to a close.

——————————————————————————

the stone wall was cold on your back as you stood outside for fresh air. you weren’t going to leave just yet in hopes for the traffic and commotion to die down a bit. you were checking your phone repeatedly, growing tired and doubtful, uncertain if you even cared about meeting up with kate anymore. it was late, and the night was cool. everyone you watched had someone, and somewhere to go home to. hand in hand with their other half, walking away into the night. again, your mind replaced every couple you saw with you and kate. you checked your phone once more for any updates, and felt nothing when there was none. the blank home screen kickstarted your brisk walk to the car, trying not to get too upset. you threw yourself down in the drivers seat when you felt your phone buzz.

“where you at?”

damn you kate. as your heart dropped to your stomach, you nearly teleported out of the car. forgetting to even reply to her, you aimlessly started down the crowded streets. numerous people gave you looks as you quickly shoved against the flow of people. one person in particular had muttered criticism as he moved past you. you stopped in your tracks to turn around and yell an apology, and kept walking with your head still turned behind you. suddenly, your whole body grew tense as you felt a stern grip on your shoulders. whipping your head around, you were face to face with kate martin. unable to stifle your reaction, you slightly yelped with wide eyes. kate laughed at both your reaction and the unreal feeling of seeing you again.

“kate!” you exclaimed, throwing up your hands in disbelief while looking her up and down.

she simply hugged you in response. it was a swift motion of being swept into her arms, a tight hold as if you were going to disappear. you could’ve stayed like that forever and wouldn’t mind. your body nearly went numb with the overwhelming feeling.

“congratulations, kate. i’m so proud of you,” you managed to say within her iron grip.

kate pulled away and thanked you. “you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for this moment,” she admitted. and now that you saw it, you noticed the emotion in her face as well.

before you could say anything, she moved her hands back to your shoulders saying, “we have to go, there’s still a ton of people trying to see me but i only wanted to see you.” she rushed the second half of the sentence but you could tell she was being genuine.

you grabbed her hand and led her to your car in order to escape from the media. hand in hand, the two of you were practically jogging. despite the fast getaway, kate was trying to tell you how she was happy to see you at the draft. giggling like an idiot, you both got in your car and caught your breath.

“i cannot believe you’re in my car right now,” you said, looking over at her with your best ‘i want you so bad’ look.

“i can’t believe i ever let you go,” kate said, casually looking away after saying the most un-casual thing ever.

your heart skipped a beat. the way you looked at each other was like you never left high school, and you never broke up. all the feelings were still right were you kept them, and kate reciprocated.

“so… where are we gonna go?” you asked sheepishly. the question was obviously meant to address the present moment, but you also hoped she would read between the lines and answer it in the context of your relationship. either way, you didn’t care what happened that night. you just wanted to be with her and nothing else.

“hm… the bars are gonna be packed so…” kate trailed off, looking back at you.

“are you saying you wanna go back to my place? wowww kate moving a bit fast,” you joked, making her laugh and blush.

“we’re not strangers babe. you know me so well,” she said with her addicting smile. it’s like she was purposefully trying to stop your heart. anything and everything she said or did made you crazy.

“fine we can chill at my place.”

as soon as you pulled out of your parking space, the years between you and kate not speaking were erased and forgotten. the conversation started up immediately and didn’t die down until you got to your apartment. hearing kate’s lovely laugh was something you missed so dearly while talking to her, along with the stupid jokes she would make. it was all the same old kate you knew before.

you keyed into your apartment and let your hands fall at your sides.

“well, this is where i’ve been livin’. it’s not much but it’s cute i guess.”

kate seemed weirdly impressed with your apartment. “you guess? this is actually so cute! the decorations…” she mumbled as she ran her fingers along the counter tops and looked all around.

here she was once again re-enacting the exact scenarios you imagined in your head. slowly walking through your apartment, taking everything in. it was as if the stars aligned, but you had to keep your cool. for what, you weren’t sure.

“so… i have a few drinks if you still feel like drinking,” you gestured towards the fridge as she closely walked past you. she smelled faintly of a nice perfume which made your head swim. all you wanted to do was climb on her and kiss the way you used to, but still weren’t certain she wanted to do the same just yet.

the night descended into many shared drinks sitting on the couch watching dumb shows. the two of you finished cup after cup, with almost no end in sight. kate’s draft gave an actual good excuse to drink, and both of you took it up without fail. your vision was growing hazy and you had trouble even speaking, but kate still looked stunning sitting in front of you. neither of you cared how late it was getting, although you were still concerned of kate’s plans.

“don’t you have to like… go to vegas or something?” you slurred your words, smiling dumbly at kate.

“no, not yet. i’m staying here for a few days.”

you could hear the intoxication in her voice.

“are you sure?” you questioned, laughing at nothing.

kate gave you a look and it became apparent that she had places to be, but simply didn’t care to leave your side. the way she looked at you made you proud of your self control. you didn’t want to move too fast after not seeing her for years, but the chances of taking it slow were becoming more and more slim. either way, she still made you nervous with her devious looks.

“i’ll be… right back, i just wanna… change out of this dress real quick. it’s so annoying,” you blubbered to kate and stumbled towards your room.

“woah wait you’re gonna fall,” kate laughed at you and got up, following close behind you.

“no i’m notttt!” you made it to your room and began doing everything but taking your dress off. your drunken state made it hard to actually change out of your clothes. you stood there merely tugging at your dress and pulling at the straps. both of you burst out laughing at your stupid mannerisms, another moment you missed.

“here lemme help you,” kate muttered.

you were still giggling a bit as kate gently took the hem of your dress and pulled it up above your head.

“i’m not looking by the way,” she said.

“girl look all you want,” you practically begged.

so there you stood in your bra and undies, in front of a fully clothed kate. she looked you up and down with a knowing smile. she stepped even closer to you and placed her hands on your waist. you looked up at her and you looked in each others eyes with the same desires in mind. your mind swam desperately, trying to find the perfect words to say, but too drunk to succeed.

“kate… i’ve been wanting.. missing…” you started off.

“i know, baby…”

she was still able to read you. although you were too drunk to acceptably articulate words, she gently cupped your face and pulled into a deep kiss. it was like a part of you was unlocked again, a part that was hidden away for so long. you ran your hands through her highlighted hair and grasped it, making her groan into the kiss. her hands were unable to stop roaming your body, a place she hadn’t explored in quite some time.

she broke the kiss to sit down on the bed, and gesturing for you to get in her lap. you laughed in excitement and also relief that she wanted to do the exact things you did. you essentially straddled her lap as she immediately reconnected the kiss. your mind was in disbelief that you were finally making out with kate martin again. the kiss was meaningful and hungry, it was a wordless way to tell you everything you needed to know. it told you about everything you had missed. you pulled away to breathe and she instantly connected her lips to your neck. remembering how she is, you realized you were in for several hickeys.

“kate baby… go easy on the… the hickeys…”

“yeah right,” she said breathlessly.

you bit your lip and succumbed to the melting feeling of her lips on your neck and collarbones, which was its own form of intoxication. you were willing to let kate do whatever she wanted to you. your trust was still there.

the effect of the drinks had still not worn off as each movement began to blend into the next, smudging together in your thoughts like a romantic impressionist painting. kate had less clothes on, and both of you were ending up in different positions than remembered. but things were objectively slowing down, as the both of you grew tired. kate had moved you onto your back, lazily and slowly kissing down your body.

you felt yourself beginning to drift off as kate simply rested her head on your chest. her blonde hair was now very messy, her beautiful face now exasperated and lips puffy from extensive kissing. you began stroking her hair and almost let yourself doze off before kate began to mumble.

“i love you.”

the phrase alone almost woke you up entirely.

“i love you more kate.”

it was then you could finally fall asleep, with the world in your arms.

#kate martin #kate martin fanfic #kate martin edit #kate martin x reader #kate martin smut #kate martin fic #wbb #iowa wbb #las vegas aces #wnba

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tomriddlehyperfixataion · 3 months ago

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A fathers love

Summary- The story between one Dark lord and his only son, Mattheo Riddle. And the first time Mattheo calls for his father when he's in trouble.

An idea inspired by a batfam fic and @anawritez-posts :3 is mostly a fic about Voldy and the relationship between him and his first born son Mattheo.

minor Tom/young Voldy x Reader, mostly just in the background-you can make up your own story for them and if they're romantic or not.

warning; Tom Riddle/Voldemort, heart aching fluff and angst, blood, injury.

Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had never exactly expected to be a father, not once as he grew up without one, or when he murdered his father, or even when the world began to know what the name Voldemort meant-and began to fear it.

But a ruler needed an heir, so he convinced an old cohort of his, (y/n) (l/n), to be the mother of his heir. It gave her plenty of benefits, being under his protection, being the mother of his child, and being known as his dark lady because with her becoming the mother of his heir-came certain pureblood expectations, so of course he married her.

After marrying her, came his first-born son Mattheo, who he allowed his last name because Voldemort had never exactly thought of a proper wizarding last name so Riddle would have to do for now.

Birth was…stressful, not just for his wife, but for Voldemort as well-who hadn’t exactly realized that the death of his mother had affected him so badly that he was…scared that (y/n) would die giving birth to Mattheo. But she was fine, and Mattheo was a little red wriggly potato of a newborn.

“Healthy lungs,” (y/n) commented, exhausted and happy, looking down at his firstborn in her arms that was crying as hard as he could with his new functioning lungs. Voldemort nearly cringed if he wasn’t staring in near awe.

He made that, they made that, they made a tiny little human. (y/n) looked up at him, examining the impossibly surprised and soft expression the dark lord was making, he was knelt beside the bed, staring at Mattheo who was cradled in (y/n)’s arms. “Would you like to hold him?” (y/n) asked and Voldemort swallowed, for the first time, scared of hurting somebody.

“Should I?” Voldemort asked, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable and (y/n) nodded, sitting up to place Mattheo in Voldemort's arms, who took him so gently it was almost comical. “Support his head, just like that.” (y/n) murmured, Voldemort slowly leaning back on his heels as he looked down at the tiny being in his arms-who had quieted as soon as Voldemort had taken him.

“He’s so small,” Voldemort murmured, his brown-red eyes staring down at the baby boy in his arms, warmth he never thought could’ve existed blossoming in his chest. The love of being a father.

Except, Voldemort isnt very good at showing love, considering he had never been shown it all his life. He had very few examples of a fatherly figure, he had Slughorn, he supposed, but he didn’t count Slughorn as a good example-considering how he hated Slughorn's coddling of him, though he did enjoy the praise.

So, Mattheo grew up going to his mother for all of his needs, which Voldemort was fine with, he didn’t know how to communicate with the boy, who was quite emotional-his heart on his sleeve unlike Voldemort, who had been emotional when he was young-but he was mean spirited, Mattheo was soft, like his mother.

Voldemort didn’t exactly try to stop the softness that Mattheo had in his heart, because while Mattheo didn’t know it, even the dark lord was weak to Mattheo’s doe eyes he gave when he wanted something from his mother.

Mattheo, however, grew up thinking his father didn’t exactly, care about him. The dark lord was distant and quiet, never showing affection even to his wife, Mattheo’s mom. This made Mattheo believe that he was only an heir to Voldemort, a means to an end, because his friends-or his future followers as the dark lord deemed them-all had relationships with their fathers, while they were stern and maybe a bit mean sometimes, they were still fathers, caring and loving, and when he was young, very very protective.

One time he saw Lucius call out for his dad when he scraped his knee and Abraxas had been next to him quicker than anyone could even say expelliarmus. It had only been a scrape too, and yet Abraxas had scooped up the 7-year-old and carried him into Malfoy manor, away from where he and Mattheo had been playing quidditch.

Mattheo always wondered what would happen if he called out for his father? If he started crying and called out for ‘dad’?

Mattheo, for the longest time, thought he’d never respond, that he had better luck calling for death itself to save him, because Voldemort would never care about anyone that much.

Right?

Mattheo hit the floor with a crack, groaning as his shoulder flared with pain. He could taste blood in his mouth, dripping off his lip and down his chin. He’d been assigned to a mission, either by his father or some other higher-up death eater, like Lestrange or something, but it was a stupidly dangerous mission, trying to convince the trolls of the western mountains to join his father's cause.

They hadn’t exactly reacted well to Mattheo’s offer, be it strained since he hadn’t exactly wanted to be there, so here he was, being thrown like a doll by mountain trolls.

He rolled onto his back, his vision blurry as he looked up at the trolls just a few feet away, one stomping up to him-raising its club high. Mattheo’s wand wasn’t in reach-blending in with the sticks and leaves on the forest floor, his heart seized in his chest.

Was he going to die here? Would he never get to see his mom again?

Would he never finish his Hogwarts education?

Panic bubbled in his throat and tears burned in his eyes-breathing heavily and quickly as he tried to scramble back. It came out by accident, the breathless cry of a scared 15-year-old who needed to be saved.

“D-Daaa-ad!!” The word was interrupted by blood in his throat, choking on it, making his voice quiet and almost pitiful.

The troll close to him didn’t even get the chance to arch down the club-because a swirl of strong black smoke and a blast of green lightning interrupted it. “AVADA KADAVRA!” a familiar voice bellowed, killing another troll-the shock wave from the two mountain trolls hitting the ground blowing Mattheo’s hair back as he sobbed on the ground, his shoulder in flaring pain and his chest hurting as he took shallow breaths between sobs.

He opened his eyes-seeing Voldemort-face twisted in rage-turn away from the mountain trolls that were fleeing. His father’s face went pale-paler than usual-and he rushed towards Mattheo, dropping his wand as he dropped to his knees beside his only son, carefully scooping the young boy into his arms, his head cradled in his elbow.

“Mattheo,” Voldemort breathed out, his eyes wide with worry, his jaw clenched as he looked over Mattheo for any injuries-finding many.

“Dad-“ Mattheo choked out, his hand tight against his father's sleeve-he doesn’t even remember the last time his father held him like this but right now he cant bring himself to try to remember-right now, he’s scared, he’s hurt, he needs his dad.

And his dad is right here, holding him, killed for him, protected him.

Mattheo doesn’t even know where he came from, how he knew Mattheo called for him, how he knew where Mattheo was. Perhaps Voldemort had followed him, perhaps it was fatherly instincts, perhaps magic.

It could’ve been anything, and Mattheo didn’t care, because his dad had come to save him-just like he always wanted.

“i-I’m-sorry,” Mattheo blubbered out as Voldemort found his wand and began enchanting healing spells under his breath, trying to reverse the worst of the damage.

“What?” Voldemort asked, his brow furrowed as he looked at Mattheo’s face. “Mattheo-no-“

“I shouldn’t be crying-I’m not a baby-I should’ve-been able to handle it,” Mattheo stutters out-fat tears rolling down his face-he hadn’t cried in front of his father in many many years.

Voldemort shushes him, it’s awkward and new, a copy of what his mother did when Mattheo got upset, but it’s still there-a gentle coo and a warm hand that brushed away blood and tears on Mattheo’s face. “Do not apologize, never apologize, you’re my child. You weren’t supposed to be on this mission in the first place,” Voldemort murmured, scooping his son completely into his arms, Mattheo clinging to his father’s robes.

Mattheo furrows his brows at his father’s words. He wasn’t meant to be on this mission? “I meant for this to be for Mulciber, who even told you to do this?” Voldemort said, it was a rhetorical question, but Mattheo answered anyway and Voldemort’s jaw clicked in anger. “I shall deal with him later, where is your wand?”

Mattheo sniffed and looked around, still in his father’s arms-which feels so odd-but finds his wand on the floor and his father grabs it, and in a moment he apparated them back to the manor-his mother already rushing down the stairs as Voldemort carried him through the threshold of the main foyer.

“I’ve got him,” Voldemort calmly said to his wife, who nodded, her fingers brushing through Mattheo’s hair as he leaned towards her-his eyes closed as he felt blood drying on his face.

He’s set down in his room on his bed and his father personally sees to his medical needs, wiping up blood and fixing bones that were broken from when he’d been tossed to the ground by one of the mountain trolls.

It’s quiet, awkwardly quiet for a long time, Mattheo watching as his father, Voldemort, patched him up-his brown-red eyes intense as he waved his wand, charming the slice in Mattheo’s hand to heal up and close.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Mattheo admitted softly, too scared, too shy, to look at his father, who froze at Mattheo’s words. His brows furrowed, looking up at his son.

“Why not?” Voldemort asked, putting his wand away and sitting next to his son, their shoulders only a few inches apart.

“I didn’t know you cared,” Mattheo said softly, looking down at his hands. Voldemort swallowed, he knows he’s been a very distant parent, barely interacting with his son over the last 15 years-not since Mattheo was a toddler and needed his father much more than he did now.

Voldemort struggles with his words, but he has to let Mattheo know how much he really cares.

“I never expected to be a father,” Voldemort admits, wringing his hands between his knees. Mattheo looks at him, his eyes wide-realizing what was happening, his father was opening up to him. “But upon making myself the dark lord, a ruler of the wizarding world, I knew I would need an heir. I married your mother because an heir needs a mother-and she was the only one I was comfortable with, making an heir with. I…” Voldemort swallowed, rubbing his brow.

“I never expected you. I watched you be born, I was terrified your mother would pass while giving birth to you, like my mother had, but she didn’t-and you had arrived. You were so small,” his voice becomes quiet, his gaze distant, fond. “I was terrified I would hurt you by holding you, but your mother insisted. Holding you for the first time-i…I never knew what it meant to be a father, I hardly know how to be one still but…when I held you for the first time, you were no longer my heir-you were my son. My very first love. I’m…I’m sorry I’ve failed to show it all these years.”

Mattheo can feel the lump in his throat, and he takes a small breath; he can't help but leaning forward-wrapping his arms around his father, and for the first time since he was a toddler, his father hugs him back.

Mattheo’s mother watches from the doorway, smiling softly before walking away, knowing her husband and son had finally connected once more.

-end-

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #harry potter fanfiction #fluff fic #angst #Mattheo Riddle #OOC voldemort/Tom #idk here have this

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milaeth · 2 years ago

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୨୧┊ 𝐈𝐈. 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇. ( lando norris )

ꖛ ─ you’re reading part two ∿ part one

✧.* pairings ─ lando norris x model! piastri! reader

✧.* genre ─ one-shot ⨾ slight angst & fluff

✧.* summary ─ in which Lando has to deal with the consequences of his indirect confession from a few weeks ago, and then finds out that you seem to have a boyfriend. after a crash with your brother and an annoying interaction with your boyfriend, frustration gets ahold of him and he ends up angrily confessing to you…

✧.* warnings ─ mention of crash, jealousy

✧.* mily’s thoughts ─ i got really lazy towards the end lmao but i still hope you guys enjoy <3

it's been weeks since the lie detector challenge where Lando confessed his crush on a mysterious girl, you, and he can't deny that he feels a tinge of regret. the aftermath has been overwhelming. his inbox has been flooded with messages from curious fans asking who his crush is. his friends haven't let him live it down either, teasing him relentlessly. it reached a point where he was even trending on twitter for hours, and the entire formula one community went wild. he’s been avoiding twitter and the comments section of his instagram posts ever since.

he has come across various wild fan theories, some of which are uncomfortably close to the truth. at one point, he stumbled across tweets that suggested you might be his secret crush. they even provided "evidence" in the form of photos capturing moments where he couldn't hide his interest, gazing at you as if you were the stars, no, the center of his entire universe. the sight of those tweets made him feel sick to his stomach. he didn't even realize there were photos of him talking to you, let alone ones that exposed his feelings so blatantly.

he’s incredibly grateful for these two weeks without any races, not having to face you and constantly worrying that you might have seen those tweets. the fear of your potential reaction has been haunting him throughout this entire period. would you feel flattered? no, that’s highly unlikely. you would most likely feel embarrassed. Lando has come across several pictures on Instagram where fans had taken photos of you and some random guy, and it appears that you two are quite close. he has found himself staring at those pictures for minutes on end, his eyes always drawn to the guy's arm, which seems to be permanently wrapped around your waist in those snapshots.

is he jealous? absolutely.

does he have a right to be? absolutely not.

but that doesn't stop him from constantly overthinking. is that blond man in the photos your boyfriend? you've never mentioned him, nor has Lando ever seen him by your side at the paddock before.

Lando lets out a heavy sigh, feeling a mix of anxiety and embarrassment. the last thing he wants to think about is Oscar, his teammate and your brother. the mere thought of Oscar accidentally stumbling upon those fan theories about you being Lando's crush makes him cringe inwardly. it would be beyond embarrassing for Oscar to find out through twitter that his own sister is Lando's crush, especially considering that Oscar had been encouraging him to confess his feelings.

the world of racing can be a whirlwind of emotions and drama, and Lando never expected his personal life to become such a public spectacle. the pressure to live up to fan expectations and media attention can be overwhelming. Lando wishes he could turn back time and undo the confession to save himself and Oscar from this potentially awkward situation.

but for now, all he can do is hope that Oscar hasn't stumbled upon those fan theories or the photos. the embarrassment and tension that would follow such a discovery is the last thing Lando wants to experience. he prays that this situation can somehow be resolved without straining his relationship with Oscar or, more importantly, with you.

but it seems impossible to avoid the strain on their relationship when Lando loses control during the race in austria and accidentally crashes into Oscar's car, causing a double dnf for both of them. fortunately, neither of them is physically injured, but the emotional toll weighs heavily on Lando. as he steps out of his wrecked car, he sees Oscar walking right past him with a tight smile his way. it feels like a punch in the gut, as guilt and anger wash over him like an unstoppable wave.

he can't help but feel ashamed of his stupid mistake, and the weight of it all is magnified when he sees you burst into the room after the interviews and immediately lock Oscar in a worried embrace. the sight of your worried and anxious expression hits Lando hard. it’s a painful reminder that he’s the one who caused this turmoil. he can only watch as you anxiously inquire about Oscar's well-being, and each time Oscar reassures you, telling you that he’s fine.

Lando feels a pang of stupidity as he longs for the day when you will seek comfort in his arms.

a faint smile creeps onto Lando's face as your gaze briefly meets his, and he stands there, seemingly pathetic and alone beside you both. Lando watches you break away from Oscar's embrace, concern painting itself on your features. it's as if you can sense his inner turmoil, even from a distance. he wishes he could find comfort in your arms, but the reality of the situation keeps him trapped in his own self-blame. how could he expect anything else when he is the one who caused this unfortunate turn of events? with a heavy heart, Lando takes a deep breath and tries to regain his composure.

"are you okay?" you ask hesitantly as you try to gauge Lando's well-being. you don't want to seem rude, but you sense that something is wrong. Lando, however, only manages a weak nod and is unable to return your gaze. awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck and replies, "yeah, i'm fine."

but deep down, you both know that's not the truth. the tension in the air is palpable, and Lando's hollow assurances only underscore his underlying turmoil. the weight of guilt, regret, and unspoken emotion weighs heavily on him, and it's obvious he's struggling with it.

as the seconds pass, the unspoken words hang in the air, their presence undeniable. at this vulnerable moment, a part of you longs to reach out to Lando, to be there for him, and to create a space where he can share his problems. the genuine concern in your eyes reflects the care you have for him, and is a silent invitation for him to overcome his defenses and confide in you.

the truth is, however, that the two of you don't know each other well, exchanging only fleeting glances and making small talk from time to time. yet despite the limited interactions, there has always been an inexplicable attraction between you, an invisible thread that seems to bind your hearts.

the moment is abruptly interrupted as the door to the room swings open with a loud bang. Lando's eyes snap to the source of the noise, widening in surprise when he sees the blond guy from the photos entering the room. the guy has a smug grin on his face as he casually walks over to you, trying to lean towards you but you take a step to the side. Lando's stomach churns, and a feeling of nausea washes over him.

his gaze shifts from the already annoying guest to your expression, noticing your discomfort. Before he can even process the situation, the blond guy speaks up again, his tone dripping with arrogance. "that move you pulled back there was really risky, buddy. i thought you were a professional. be careful, or i'll end up taking your seat." the guy's laughter grates on Lando's nerves, and he clenches his teeth, unable to comprehend why you would be with such a jerk. the use of the word "buddy" only intensifies his disdain.

Lando has had enough. all he wants is to escape this unpleasant encounter, forget about this terrible day, and put the image of you with your obnoxious boyfriend out of his mind.

"well, since you seem so confident about replacing me, you should know that taking risks is an inherent part of racing, right?" Lando raises an eyebrow, waiting for a response that doesn’t come. "exactly. there are multiple reasons why i'm the one sitting in the car, not you, buddy."

his voice carries a sharp edge, perfectly matching the forced smile plastered on his face as he brushes past the guy, giving his shoulder a patronizing pat. without saying another word, Lando storms out of the room and, seconds later, out of the McLaren facility. as he steps outside, he curses under his breath. it’s raining and he doesn’t have an umbrella with him. this day can't possibly get any worse, can it?

suddenly, a voice interrupts his frustrated thoughts. "do you need a helping hand?" you're standing there, slightly out of breath, holding an umbrella. it's evident that you must have run after him, but why? Lando stammers, caught off guard by your unexpected appearance and bewildered by the fact that you followed him. "i... no, it's fine." the truth is, it's far from fine, but he's too upset and overwhelmed by everything happening around him to be in your presence right now.

you smile softly, seeing through Lando's attempt to brush off his emotions. "stop lying, i know it's not fine," you assert gently. you find yourself unsure of how to handle an upset Lando since you've never seen him like this before. it feels like he's on the verge of exploding at any moment. "come on, don't be so stubborn. you don't want to get sick, do you? i can walk you to your car with my umbrella protecting the both of us."

Lando scoffs, lightly shaking his head. "i'll pass. your boyfriend is probably waiting for you." he cringes inwardly at the bitterness and extreme jealousy that seeps into his words. there's a brief moment of silence, only the sound of rain filling the air. "why are you jealous?" you ask, genuinely curious. Lando immediately turns red, feeling caught off guard. "tch, i'm not jealous. and now, leave me be. i want to be alone after what happened."

"absolutely not. I'm helping you to your car, and now shut up," you insist firmly, your voice displaying determination. Lando groans, eventually giving in after a few seconds spent in the cold rain. you two walk closely together, somehow managing to fit under your small umbrella. there's silence for a few seconds before you break it again. "why are you jealous?"

Lando rolls his eyes, feeling overwhelmed and increasingly frustrated with the situation, thanks to your lovely boyfriend. "i'm not jealous! i'm just so confused—like, why him!?" he can feel his control slipping away, the frustration and jealousy pouring out along with the rain.

"what do you mean, 'why him'?"

"are you fucking kidding me?!" Lando laughs dryly, shaking his head. "he's an asshole. why would you be with someone like him when you could literally have anyone in the entire world?! i mean, look at you! you deserve so much better than him!"

Lando gets carried away, his voice growing louder and louder as he vents his pent-up frustration and jealousy. as you continue walking towards his car, you remain silent, listening attentively. you realize that he's finally opening up, and it's clear that this is what he needs to do to feel better. so you let him get it all out.

"why do you care so much?" you finally ask, genuinely surprised by the intensity of his emotions, your cheeks reddening. Lando stops in his tracks, searching for the right words as he gazes down at you. "are you serious? why? because... because i like you, i really like you. i've wanted to tell you in a better way, well, that was until i found out that you have this idiot as your boyfriend!"

your mouth hangs open, and you can only stare at him, speechless. "he," you finally manage to say, "he isn't my boyfriend, not anymore." you confess, and now it's Lando's turn to have his mouth hang open.

"but... but i saw so many pictures of you two being together," his voice trails off as realization dawns on him. that blond guy must be the annoying ex that Oscar always complains about, the one who wouldn't leave you alone. "those are most likely old pictures," you give him a small smile. "he's my ex."

"but why was he here, then?" Lando asks, perplexed. you shrug. "i don't know. he probably knew i would come and watch the race. he's still not over me and often tries to win me back, which tends to get really awkward." Lando's mouth forms a small 'o'.

there's a brief pause, and then you break the silence. "so, you like me, huh?" you ask, a playful smirk forming on your face. Lando's cheeks flush, and he scratches the back of his head while looking away, a bashful smile on his lips. "well, yeah, i like you."

a mischievous glint sparkles in your eyes as you continue teasing him. "so, i'm the secret crush you talked about in the recent McLaren video?" you ask, accompanied by a playful wink. you already know the answer, but you can't help but revel in the moment. Lando feels himself relaxing, and he lets out a laugh. "yes, you are," he admits with a genuine smile.

as you resume walking, Lando's car now just a few meters away, you can't resist playfully prodding him further. "so, are you gonna ask me out or something?" you inquire, grinning from ear to ear. Lando chuckles in response. "if you want me to." a chuckle escapes you as you confess, "oh, i've wanted that for months now." Lando's eyebrows raise in surprise. "really?" he asks, seeking confirmation, and you nod, your smile growing wider. there's a brief moment of contemplation before he speaks again, "your brother is gonna kill me." both of you exchange grins, knowing the potential repercussions. you laugh heartily and respond, "he's gonna survive."

∿ people who asked for part two ─ @alilstressyandlotdepressy @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @dakotali @ophcelia @be-your-coffee-pot @81astri @readinsilenceplease

don’t forget to like, comment & reblog (it’s very much appreciated <3).

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gladiatorcunt · 1 year ago

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summary: priest!leto x afab!reader x priest!paul (title from scorpio by pour vous)

cw: blasphemy if i’m being so real, spit roasting, reader is lowkey losing it but they’ll be okay, dubcon, pwp-ish (there’s set up but it’s not that long imo), mention of paul being into predator/prey, daddy kink coded without the actual daddy kink, horror elements, unreliable narrator vibes, mention of them being willing to non con reader if things didn’t go their way, no incest between leto & paul 💀, reader’s their sad loser turned attic spouse, mention of eventual impreg, implied soft dom!leto & mean dom!paul, religious practice inaccuracies, possibly predictable plot twists, implied painful anal but reader’s too out of it to feel it, implied natural aphrodisiac in their spit, reader bleeds

wc: 2.5k

block & move on if uncomfortable,

do not translate/repost/give my works to ai

please consider commissioning me or leaving me a tip !!

You’ve been feeling… lost. The trees keep secrets from you and the clouds mix together like egg whites. You wish you knew what kind of pill you need to be on, you wish you knew what was wrong with you. You’re paranoid and seeing blank eyes watching you through the brick and mortar of your apartment. Your skin burns hotter than hell and sometimes you think that there are claws grabbing at your ankles when you sleep.

Church hasn’t been something you’ve bothered to attend since you were a kid, but you yearn for it now.

You pull your tattered coat around yourself as you step into the ancient building. The Church of Caladan is the oldest church in the country, if not the world. You hope you don’t look silly when you take caution with how hard your feet hit the stone. ‘You break it, you buy it’ must apply to old churches too.

Your unease rolls off you in waves, and a couple nearby priests seem to sense it in the same way that horses can sense fear. For a second you imagine bursting into flames, but there are hands groping your flesh through the great hellfire.

They’re about even in height, though one is clearly older. The gray hair weaved into his temples suits him more than it shows his age. The younger man has the same dark and wavy hair, but his gaze is a touch more haggard and rife with burden.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have burst in here…. I'm just looking around.” You rush to explain so they would go away, internally cringing at yourself.

“No, we want newcomers to feel comfortable enough to ask questions. I’m Leto,” He says and shakes your hand. “And this is my son, Paul. He’s recently started working here at the church with me.”

Paul steps up to shake your head as well, his mouth doesn’t move but you swear that the corners twitch. The stained glass windows cast a multicolored hue on his eyes and you find yourself lost in the swirling pools of light. Then black holes swallow the brightness in the irises, cosmic cannibalism.

You blink in alarm and awkwardly take a step back from the two priests. Father and son share a look between them that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing them.

Leto clears his throat and pointedly grabs your hands in both of his, encapsulating them in his warmth.

“You’ll have to forgive him, Paul’s never dealt with a lamb as darling as you before. He’s never dealt with one at all actually, you two can go through this together.”

Paul smiles but it fits all wrong, with teeth that should be fangs and with a tongue that appears forked. You blink again and all is well, the man before you fits his human skin like a glove. Maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt, you’re convinced you’re going crazy anyway and Priests would never be capable of hurting someone. Ghosts aren’t real and Demons are just a crazed mother’s bedtime story.

“Um, okay. Thank you for accepting me.” That’s all you want, deep down, and they know that. “I felt moved to be here, I can’t explain it.”

Leto nods and Paul rubs your shoulder in sympathy. They would hiss that they know full well what called you here, but you might bleat and scurry away. You make a sad picture, abandoned and half insane, but that’s what they are for. To soothe and to serve you, to purify you from the inside out.

“Then all the more reason to stay and sit for a moment, don’t you think?” Paul finally speaks, the boyish tone surprising you.

“Paul’s right, let’s get this jacket off you, poor lamb. You must be freezing to death.” Leto coos, shushing your protests and carefully pulling the cheap thing off of you.

They take you on a little tour of sorts, pointing out the architectural details of the building itself as well as passionately delving into its history. Centuries of worship and service to the community, strangely never having sustained any kind of property damage. The priests speak of the church as if they were wandering through the halls all this time, and they chuckle when they tease you about how relieved they were that you didn’t suffer from a nosebleed. They’re quite common apparently.

“I think that should do it, i’d hate to think that we’ve been talking your ear off, dear.” Leto says, rubbing the inside of your wrist and directing you towards the large piano on the stage at the front of the church.

He must notice the sudden spark in your eyes at the sight, because his crow’s feet wrinkles deepen as he pulls the black piano bench out. Leto’s palm spreads out wide and he gives the leather seat a firm pat, signaling for you to sit down. Butterflies swirl in your stomach with anxiety but you feel too shy to refuse the clearly eager offer. You take a seat in front of an onyx grand piano far grander than you’re used to seeing in a church.

Leto soon occupies the space next to you. The bench is small enough that your thigh is pressing against his, warmth bleeds through your clothes and the indication of muscle really makes you wish you were alone in your room with a rose toy. You place your fingers on the pristinely polished keys and clumsily play some hodgepodge of a melody that you remember from your childhood. A mix of tchaikovsky and children's church songs.

You jump and play the wrong note when you feel thick fingers slide up your thigh. Your cheeks burn with heat but you focus on the music. Leto sighs with sugary sweet satisfaction but doesn’t move his fingers any further. He also doesn’t try to play, it’s almost like he only wants to bask in the domesticity of watching you perform. You think you hear him whisper “That’s it, who knew such a talented lamb would be gracing our doorstep?”

You get a flash of riding him on the piano, gasping into his hair chest when it breaks under the weight of your passion. Thin fingers come from behind to caress your ass as it moves, much colder than the cock you’re bouncing on. Then it fades away, and you’re back to making a fool of yourself with your little song.

Paul watches from the pulpit, eyes drinking in the way your curves expand and move as you squirm. His grip tightens on the bright wood but you’re none the wiser. You almost forget that he’s even there, something which he realizes because he strolls to stand behind you and his father. The music stops once you feel his breath on your neck and he bends down to tenderly pull your hair off of your shoulder, getting himself acquainted with the texture as he rubs his fingertips down the strands.

A distant voice calls out for Leto and he stands, smiling apologetically and thanking you for the performance. You feel adrift as you watch him walk away, reminding yourself that a man like him has other things to do than coddle you.

Paul slides a hand down your back and guides you down to the pew right up front, with a view of center stage, sitting right beside you with a wink. Once Leto returns, you spot the silver tray of communion wafers in his hands. The tray is set on the pulpit by his side.

The older man's eyes darken as he puts one in his mouth, and your brain shuts down when he snatches your face in his rough palms and kisses you sense no less. The wafer cracks as his tongue passes it into your mouth, the salty crumbs oddly making you crave something even saltier. There’s a sticky sweet sensation traveling through your body as you exchange saliva with him, your brain feels so foggy.

You break away, curling your hands into the collar of Leto’s uniform.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your voice is small and not completely filled with disgust, you’re honestly too desperate for some form of human contact to make good decisions.

“We’re helping you, honey.” Leto purrs into the seam of your mouth, shaking his head in apparent fondness.

You’re too cute for your own good, at least they don’t have to worry about covering their tracks. Any incubus or succubus would be glad to get a hold of someone as lonely as you, but they wouldn’t love you like you deserve. You haven’t been watched by anyone as long as you’ve been watched by them. He hopes that Paul doesn’t shove his foot in his mouth and let it slip that he wished you gave them the opportunity to take you by force. His son carries a torch for a bit of predator and prey action, he likes playing with his food too much. You’re different from the scrambling mice that get torn to bits, though, you’re forever.

Plus, if you don’t get it now, he has no problems with explaining everything when you’re too weak to get up and try to run away.

Paul buries his face in your neck, spilling the vial of wine he had in his pocket down your shirt. It soaks the tank top underneath and though you try with all your might to wriggle away, the desire to resist gets brushed away under a heavy fog.

It’s nice to be touched, to be wanted after a lifetime of feeling the exact opposite. Perhaps this is why the lord guided you to his grandest home, so you could take his prophets into your body.

The black vanishes from Paul’s eyes and you sink against his chest, making out with his father as your eyes roll back into your head.

No words are uttered verbally as Paul shuffles to the side and pulls you to lie back on the pew’s cushion. Leto deprives you of his tongue and gives you a chance to breathe, which both men do with you in sync, resting their foreheads against you.

The nectar on your tongue tastes divine, little lamb, a voice whispers in your mind.

Let us give you purpose so you no longer need to roam, another begs.

You’re crying from the relief of having your mouth filled, Paul tilts your head up by your chin as he slowly slides his cock into your mouth. The ridges and bumps of what feels like piercings sends a jolt of arousal through you.

“Fuck-” He hisses and rubs your neck, watching you adjust to the stretch. “So warm-”

Leto tuts and clamps his hands around your hips, you’re already too fucked out to register sharp black claws taking care of your clothes. Leaving you bare. A shiver passes through your body as he drags his huge hand down to your pussy, being mindful not to accidentally scratch you. He intends for there to be no blood, this time, not a lot.

You gag on Paul’s length when Leto slams your hips against his pelvis, grinding not one but two large cocks against your cunt. If you were looking at his face, you’d see pitch black eyes and intimidating fangs, but all you can focus on is the hazy candle light and what must be someone playing an organ.

You catch a view of one of the stained class windows, a pair of angels cradling a lamb. It’s the only damaged part of the church, with cracks running along the angel’s wings. You’d think it’s a sneeze away from shattering entirely. Your view of it is blurred by Paul’s quick thrusts, gagging on it again. Drools drip onto the red carpet.

Leto grabs one of Paul’s curled horns and yanks his head to the side, scolding at him to be nicer to you. You’ve clearly never taken three cocks inside you, the one you’re servicing is proving to be overwhelming enough. Again, Paul’s new to this experience as well, just in a different way than you are. In a sense, it’s like he was born yesterday. The older man relays this to you through your choked moans and tears, assuring you that he’s taught Paul how to clean up his messes and be grateful. Something like this will be no different.

“Hush, beloved. I would have gladly speared your mouth but you would be dead before I could cum inside it.”

You see God in the sky when Leto slaps the tapered tip of one of his dicks against your slick entrance, God sees you when he gets the tight walls of ass to wrap around the other. Unbeknownst to you, it’s funny how so many things are, your blood pools around his balls. You’re in pain sure but you’ve never felt as much pleasure as you have in this instance. Both “Priests” smell your blood and well, only your body can tell the rest of the story. Later you’ll wake up to find that the building around you has ruby walls and it seems to be breathing. The shooting pain in your left hand is the result of two iron rings being chiseled into the bone of your ring finger.

The four leathery wings protruding from your back, with spikes poking out from the joints, are waiting to be discovered. As are the nubs sprouting out of your hair.

For now beads of sweat highlight your bouncing tits, Paul gropes one and Leto runs the edge of his claw along the side of the other. They’re hissing words that string together and disappear in the blink of an eye, voices slurred and sticky. Their babbling stops and starts again as you reflexively swallow around Paul’s cock when he skull fucks you without warning. They laugh too, but you can at least pretend that Leto’s tone is kinder.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough teasing.”

“But father-“

“I said no. And don’t think for a second that you’re getting anything else but their mouth.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You lack self control, it wouldn’t be suitable for conception to occur like this. As delectable as their quivering cunt is, demons shouldn’t abstain from courting.”

“You’re saying that as you’re balls deep inside of them.”

“Don’t start with me, Paul.”

All while you’re making gurgling sounds in between the younger priest’s thighs. You hear growls that sound like a mountain lion’s emitting from both men, and the heavy thumps of something flapping in the air gets you holes clenching around Leto. Both men feverishly scratch up and down your limp body, but you’re so enraptured by the chorus of angels happening outside. You have no sense of time, it’s minutes or it’s hours before their cum spills inside of you. There’s too much to possibly keep it all inside, a good amount of it leaks from your cunt and your throat. Leto feels like Christ incarnate when you squirt all over him and yourself with the dumbest expression on your face. Multicolored pieces of glass fall down around you with the loud chime of an invisible bell.

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deadpcnned · 2 months ago

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Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter six

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): references to abuse (luke)

author's note: i don't really love how this chapter came out, but it was needed to keep the story progressing :/ on a happier note, i've been getting more fun asks about sealed and i got one that i loved smmmm. i basically made an unofficial playlist for this series, if you wanna read that post

join the taglist | series masterlist

previous chapter | next chapter

To you, the lapping of waves against the hull of the boat is like the rock of a cradle for a nursing child. You had spent a large chunk of your formative years on ships where nautical turbulence was the norm. You can still remember those first few months when you’d joined Terrance’s crew, thinking there would never come a time you would accept it, let alone find comfort in it.

It comforts you now, too. The surrounding water has much less impact, considering you’re floating over a lake, not an ocean– waves replaced by ripples– but you can still feel that subtle shift in movement when you focus on it. You’re focusing on it now, trying to pass the time while you're cooped up in the cabin bedroom.

One ground rule you and JJ set was that during the day, you’d either stay on the boat or off until sunset to avoid getting caught. It has been a week since the night he brought you here, and your recent status of being unemployed has made your lack of a schedule painfully obvious. You spend most of your hours texting Cleo, but her responses come slow since she’s been taking shifts at Heyward’s shop.

You’ve been awake for over an hour but haven’t left the bedroom in fear of running into JJ. After the two of you had unpacked your backpacks that first night, the air between you had changed. The awkward energy between you was palpable as you tried to learn how to exist in each other’s space. With the limited square footage and your fractured relationship, you worry that any misstep could end with you stepping on his toes. You know it’s no way to live– hiding in the bedroom and wasting your morning– but it’s comfortable.

You sigh as you get up, accepting your fate and preparing to face it. After you’ve made your bed and brushed your teeth in the detached restroom, you take a few more steps and enter the lounge area. JJ’s there, lying face-down on the leather couch, and while you can’t believe he’s knocked out at half past noon, you also feel an immense amount of pity wash over you. He’s curled into himself– trying to make himself smaller to fit on the narrow cushion that curves around a table– but his legs are still too long to fit. His arm is bent under his head as a makeshift pillow. You don’t need to imagine how wildly uncomfortable he must be.

Trying to be quiet, you reach for an apple and a knife, which Sarah had kindly dropped off along with a few other essentials. You can tell the knife is from the set Rafe keeps in the apartment, but you appreciate it the same. Cringing at the taps of the knife against the counter, you try your best to complete the task more quietly. You slow your actions, but it’s to no avail because you hear a groaning sound behind you after a moment.

“Mmm,” Placing the knife on the black granite, you turn to see JJ stretching, his face set in a displeased expression. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply, returning your attention to the apple. “You sleep alright?”

“Uh,” You can tell from the sound of shuffling and his voice he’s coming closer. “Yeah, slept good.” You know he’s lying. There’s no way a man of his height and build could sleep comfortably on what is essentially a glorified rock. You let him lie.

JJ clears his throat, indicating that you should make space before he reaches his arm out in front of you to grab one of the two glasses in the corner. The limited counter space makes his hip rub against yours as he moves, the warmth of his touch bleeding into you. He flicks the sink faucet, filling his cup with water– downing it in two gulps. He goes to fill the glass again, and you’re about to snap at him to let you finish cutting your apple when he extends the glass out towards you.

“Drink up,” He instructs, his tone casual. You pause, looking up at him to see what he’s getting at, but his expression is so neutral you can’t make heads or tails of it. You take the glass from his hands while he remains silent. Without any gloating or taunting, he heads to the restroom.

You drop the knife on the counter too harshly, your fingers curling tightly around the glass. It’s irrational how deep those simple words bury themselves under your skin. You can’t be mad at him for being in your shared space. You can’t be mad at him for using the cups you share. Yet, you are.

“Drink up,” you mimic in a much higher pitch than JJ had spoken. You down the water in quick gulps, not registering the sound of the restroom door opening and closing.

“That supposed to be me?” The only reason you don’t jump at JJ’s voice is years of practice hiding your surprise. You remain silent, turning back to face your half-cut apples. You feel him then, inching closer. The minimal space highlights how close he really is with each step he takes. When his fingers pull at your forearm, you don’t respond, making him apply just a little more pressure to get you to face him.

He towers over you, his face mere inches from yours and an ever-growing smirk coloring his lips. “You know,” he starts, and his drawled words crawl further under your skin. “For someone who hates being told what to do,” his eyes shift to the blue glass for only a second before returning to yours. “You sure took that water without a fight.”

You’re holding your breath as he reaches past you to grab a slice of the apple, chewing on it slowly as he studies you. His bites twist around a smirk as his blue eyes study something intently.

“Interesting,” He hums, reaching for another slice and stepping back. That does it. That single, seemingly innocent word infuriates you because what could he possibly be putting together that you aren’t?

JJ sits on the lounge couch, resting his arms against the table as he swipes through his phone. An empty table. Because there’s no money to put food on it. Just like that, you find your jackpot.

“You need to get a job,” You all but bark at him. JJ looks up from his device, his brows furrowing. You walk closer to him, abandoning your breakfast, and cross your arms across your chest. “Waking up in the afternoon and sitting on your phone isn’t going to keep us out of any more trouble.”

JJ just watches you quietly as if he’s deciding how serious you are. His expression shifts, and then a despondent sigh escapes between his lips. You watch as he shakes his head, casting his eyes down at the table, making you both more angry and want to hide.

“Did you hear me?” You ask.

“I heard you just fine,” JJ’s voice is as sharp as yours, but he doesn’t raise it. “What job have you got, again?”

“I’ve been looking for one,” You tell him. You have. You’ve been calling numbers on listings in the paper– like this is the 1900s– for jobs you may be a good fit for, but the paper you’ve been using is a little outdated, and every job you’ve called for has been filled. “You’re not even trying.”

“Who said I’m not trying?” There’s an unreadable look in JJ’s eyes. He gets up, walks through the cabin door, and leaves you alone. You’re fuming at his audacity to leave you in the middle of what you’d consider a conversation when he returns, his fist tightly wound around a paper. He drops it on the table and leaves again. This time, you wait a few minutes, and when he doesn’t return, you lean over the table to look at what he’s left there.

JJ closes his eyes and lets himself slip back in time. He’s sixteen again. The HMS Pogue is rocking gently, the air thick with salt and laughter. He sees Kie sitting at the boat's bow, teasing Pope about his meager alcohol intake in the name of a history test. Pope reminds her – as he always does – that he plans to make it out of this town. John B is sitting behind JJ at the wheel. His mind’s only half on the task at hand, a palm resting lazily against the wheel, too focused on finding the perfect opportunity to add his own quips to Kie and Pope’s argument. The argument has branched into a tangent about whether college is necessary, and Kie calls Pope classist while Pope argues he can’t be because he’s the working class.

JJ’s lying smack dab in the middle of it all, his head propped against the edge of the boat, rolling a blunt between his fingers. The sun’s harsh against his skin, and he doesn’t have sunscreen on, but he likes to think his skin has grown accustomed to the UV rays the island offers at this time of year. He can hear birds in the background, their choice of music today since Pope forgot the speaker he got for Christmas four years ago.

JJ isn’t thinking about the problems waiting for him on land. The chaos of home and the weight of never having enough are forgotten on this sacred vessel. He knows his life outside the HMS Pogue is waiting patiently for him to return and deal with reality, but he’s not worried about that. His biggest concern is whether Kie will agree to bake them some special brownies since her parents have a fancy ass oven (‘the bigger the oven, the bigger the batch, Kie!’).

In his mind’s eye, nothing happens next. They become frozen like this – sixteen, careless, clueless, even after everything they’ve already seen. They don’t move forward. They don’t break.

JJ didn’t used to think he was happy. He was always searching for the key to that emotion, thinking it was locked away with a shitload of money. He’d been so eager to find the gold and leave that life behind, but he guesses what they say is true– hindsight really is 20/20. Because he’d already been the closest to happiness he was ever going to get and hadn’t even realized it.

Sarah and Cleo aren’t in his mental image. He doesn’t mean for it to be that way. The sentimental part of him he usually tucks away around the others likes to think that you’d all have found your way to each other somehow.

You aren’t there either. You’re here. Behind the door that he’s slumped against to remain hidden from wandering eyes. When he opens his blue eyes, it’s dizzying that the surroundings all look the same as the fond memory, but the people aren’t there.

Those times of never going a day without seeing each other are gone. Somehow, he’s gotten lucky and stretched that lifestyle a few years longer than most childhood friends. College didn’t tear them apart like he used to hold his breath for. Neither did getting his ass thrown in jail.

Nothing was keeping you guys apart. It’s a choice. Sarah and John B are choosing to prioritize the start of their family. Pope is prioritizing polishing his now muddied resume for a chance at college admissions. Cleo is prioritizing learning the ropes of running a business from Heyward. Kie is (suddenly) prioritizing her relationship with her parents.

You’re the only one who doesn’t have something that takes precedence over JJ. The remaining piece of the puzzle that’s been undone. The problem is, you can’t stand to be around him. He hasn’t missed how you run off to the bedroom each time you’re in the lounge together or how you hold your breath when he passes by you closely, an inevitable byproduct of the size of your “home.”

He thought you were making progress, starting to get along after the months-long drought your friendship endured. You were laughing at his jokes again, trusting him with secrets. Trusting him with the boat. The boat was huge. It was the first time JJ felt you’d put aside his mistakes and were willing to move forward. Now, it all felt like a trick of the light, and with one step to the left, the illusion vanished. He should be used to it; people not wanting to stick around.

His entire life has been about people not wanting to stick around. Luke, Groff. God, he really should be the poster child for Daddy Issues.

He figures he should be grateful Groff didn’t stick around this time either, but his absence does nothing to put his worries to rest. JJ hadn’t seen Groff around, and he’d heard through Sarah that Groff had apparently been a part of some pyramid scheme Rafe fell victim to and skipped town. If that intel is correct, Groff must be furthering his search for the crown, which means he’d be distracted from returning for JJ. JJ doesn’t know if Groff will come back after finding the crown, but Groff has to know the police found the body, so maybe that means he’ll never come back to the Outer Banks. JJ — maybe for the first time in his life — really hopes Groff will be one of the people who doesn’t come back. The further away Groff stays from the island, the further away the stench of Lightner's body will be from you. And him.

Throughout his life, JJ has tended to compare himself to Luke. He was so entranced by the concept of nature vs. nurture. He’d thought Luke was his blood, half his DNA. At the end of every internal debate, he’d come to the conclusion that it didn’t matter whether nature outweighed nurture in making a person who they were or not because all he’d ever known was Luke. If Luke’s blood was in his veins and Luke’s hand was the one that raised him, he had no choice but to turn into his father eventually.

That all is changing now. Luke’s genetics hadn’t played any part in creating him, but he had raised him — raised maybe wasn’t how most would describe it, but it was Luke all the same. So, now, what won? Nature or Nurture? Was he Groff, or was he Luke? Was he both?

Was his future going to be him constantly jumping between being a drunk and a con artist? Maybe he and Groff aren’t all that different. He’d known he was lying that day on the back road. JJ noticed how Groff talked faster when he told JJ he had locked JJ in to protect his son. He’d helped Groff anyway. Did that make him just as bad?

JJ, at sixteen, had been willing to go to any length to get any treasure they could. He’d been at the forefront of it all, leading the Pogues into this nightmare. He’d convinced Pope to abandon his academic dreams, which JJ knew were his only chance at stability. He’d let Kiara’s already contentious relationship with her parents worsen instead of letting them figure out their way over the bump of teenagehood. He’d let John B lose his father again. That rapacity seemed just as strong in Groff.

Could JJ ever kill for money? He hadn’t thought he could. He’d tried being that man. The one who totes around guns and threatens dangerous men. In the end, he couldn’t follow through. But maybe there’d been a teenage version of Groff who hadn’t been able to follow through either. Then, somewhere along the way, maybe Groff had placed his finger against the trigger and finally pulled it. That could be JJ one day.

Would life on The Cut, always in trouble and always full of want, turn him into a murderer. Could JJ kill his wife for money? JJ had pieced it together by now. The fact that Larissa Genrette’s death wasn’t the tragic but faultless result of a bad storm. His mother had been murdered. By his father. JJ used to wonder what his mom was like – the girlfriend Luke claimed skipped town when it got too much to take care of him. Now, the truth was settling into his bones, weighing him down more than ever. She hadn’t gotten tired of caring for him. She hadn’t looked at his face one last time and decided she’d had enough.

She was taken from him by the man who was supposed to love him and love her but loved money more. JJ felt sick every time he thought of it, every time he imagined his mother’s decaying body in that tomb. Had she been in love with Groff? JJ has never been in love but wonders if he will someday be. Would he hurt that woman like Groff hurt his mother?

A shiver runs up his spine as he realizes that you are his wife despite the unusual circumstances that have brought him to this point. It’s a borrowed title, not his to keep for you, but his for now. He doesn’t think he could put money above you. He’d promised you he was done with the treasure. After three years of being led by his thirst for more, he finally put down the glass, and it was in your name. In part, it’s because the reality of how dangerous this was was catching up to him, even if it was a few years too late. But mostly, it’s because that day, after he’d burned the knife, he’d been moved by the look on your face. Never in the past two years had he seen you so… rattled, helpless. Destroying the weapon Groff used had brought something out or maybe suppressed something in you, and you’d been turning to him for comfort. He can’t explain what it is that’s put a deep-seated desire to grant you that comfort, but he finds himself letting it take over. He let that need to protect you take him to the metaphorical altar, and he let it cause a rift between him and his best friend since kindergarten.

Even now, when he’s having one of those rare moments where his anger is justified, he wants to go back in and keep the job search going. He wants to put your mind at ease. Be the kind of man who protects, provides, and does all the other domestic bullshit he knows he’s not cut out for. It terrifies him how easily he could slip into this part – the part of a doting husband – if he let himself.

Realistically, he knows you both need jobs. He’s been trying to land something, but his reputation on the island’s never been too good, and the past few years have only made that worse. Every call he makes is met with the line being cut before he can say his last name or hesitant apologies – the latter are few and far between. He hasn’t even been able to lock down lawn-mowing gigs. Embarrassingly, he’d called the one listing searching for a dog walker and had also been rejected for that. It didn’t look like he could find a job, and he didn’t know how to tell you.

Sighing, JJ takes out his phone from its spot in his back pocket to check the time. He’d been out here for an hour and a half without realizing it. He decides it’s time to bite the bullet and stands — careful not to stand to his full height in case anyone passes by the dock. When he enters through the door, he doesn’t expect you to still be sitting in the lounge area. But there you are — sitting on the rounded couch, your finger trailing down the page of the paper he’d left for you to find. You’re holding your phone in your right hand — an old iPhone 7 Kiara had lying around and had given you to use when you’d moved here.

When he closes the door behind him, you flick your head up. Your eyes greet him with a flood of questions and something softer that he can’t place.

JJ lifts his hands. “I was just outside the door. No one saw.”

He watches your face fall a bit and wants to make his tone a little less irritated, but he’s always had a hard time not wearing his heart on his sleeve. Whatever he feels, always makes itself known.

“Okay,” you reply quietly. You avert your gaze from JJ and return to the list in front of you. You don't say anything else, and JJ decides he should go wash up — anything to avoid being in this cage of awkward tension with you.

Just as he’s turning, he hears you speak again, “JJ?”

JJ waits wordlessly for you to continue.

“Do you want to go through these listings with me?” It’s not an apology. It’s not even an acknowledgment. It’s your emotionally suppressed version of an olive branch, though, and he wants to take it. If you’re stuck in this living arrangement for the unforeseeable future, you’ll have to be able to get along, or it’s going to be hell.

JJ sits across from you, the table between you feeling like a safety net for potential fallout. You push the paper between you as you say, “I called the first five, and they’ve already been filled. Isn’t it weird that people actually respond to these listings?”

JJ shrugs, knitting his brows together. “Not really. Pogues kinda survive off these things.”

“Oh,” you mumble. “Well, that explains why I’ve had no luck.”

You and JJ start splitting up the listings, alternating between who takes each one unless you find one that seems like a perfect fit for the other. The process leaves you both in silence longer, only the occasional sound of the paper being pushed between you. But you break the stillness when you find an opening for a private surf instructor.

You scoot around the couch, closing the space between JJ and you until your arm presses into his. You speak with your hands moving in a flurry, excitement seeping into your voice.

“This is perfect for you,” You say, nudging your knee against his and tapping a spot on the paper. Your voice holds a note of confidence in him that almost makes him believe it, too. Almost.

JJ hasn’t mentioned that he’s gone through almost the entire list and got turned away from this position the second they heard his name.

JJ doesn’t want to burst your bubble and watch your expression change if he tells you now. He’s worried it’ll only prove to you that JJ is poisonous and his reputation has not been left unscathed. Before he can explain why that position may not be the best fit, you’re already dialing the number and putting the phone on speaker. When the voice rings through the opposite end of the line, you look at him expectantly, waiting for him to introduce himself. You jostle his shoulder when he doesn’t say anything before giving him a funny look and speaking on his behalf.

“Hi! My name is Y/N, and I was calling for your ad in the paper. The one for the private surfing instructor? Is it still open?”

He watches as you wait with bated breath like this one might be the one that sticks. Your anticipation makes his chest feel tight. He’d told you once, in passing, that he used to win free surfing competitions the OBX hosted when he was a kid. It was the only thing the Kooks who knew him ever gave him credit for. It never made them care about the boy behind the borrowed and battered board, but the brief applause he’d received made him feel like he was on top of the world. It’s why he still loved to surf as often as he could. It was one of the few things he knew he was good at. He was a great surfer, if not the greatest on the island. That just wasn’t enough right now.

“Ah, yes. Yes, it is. Are you interested?” The voice on the other end of the line belongs to a woman JJ’s never met but apparently knows him far too well. “My son Eric's in a bit of a phase but refuses to attend group lessons. If you’re willing, we can arrange a meeting and discuss everything.”

“I am interested!” You remark and then correct, “Well, not for me. I have a friend who would be perfect for the job. You may have heard of him. JJ May—”

“Absolutely not.”

You pull the phone back from you, looking up at him with a confused pout that he tries not to pay too much attention to amid this chaos. “JJ Maybank? He’s a really great surfer. Won multiple competitions—”

“I already told your friend I will not give him this position. If he tries to reach me again, I will call the police.” With that, the line cuts, and you look up at him, your eyes full of confusion and a hint of something like remorse. JJ can’t look at you, so he turns back to the paper and clears his throat. He’s dialing another number, not sure exactly what it’s for, when your hand rests against his, pushing the phone out of the way.

“How many of these people have you already called?” You ask. JJ considers lying and claiming the woman has no idea what she’s talking about, but he knows he’s lost any footing to make it believable.

“Um,” JJ clears his throat again, shrugging. “All of them except the last three.”

You’re quiet, then. He keeps his eyes trained on the table, still too ashamed to meet your eye. He wonders if you’ll be pissed he made you waste all this time.

“Gross, why would you willingly talk to those assholes again?” JJ’s head snaps up, and your face is morphed into a comical expression of disgust.

“Need a job,” JJ shrugs, not ready to test the waters of humor you seem to be threading, just in case he says the wrong thing.

You nod then, “Not with people like that.”

JJ’s never heard that before. As Pogues, there’s no being picky. There’s no sticking up for yourself. He’s always been taught to keep his head down and do as he’s told. He’s horrible at it, but that’s the advice he’s always been given. You’re the last person he’d expect to go against that type of thinking. Not only because you’re a Pogue like him but because you place survival above everything else. It’s like the mode you're permanently set to. There’s no place for pride and principles when a person’s just trying to get to the next day.

“What choice do we have?” JJ lets his head fall back against the stiff leather of the couch, getting reminders of how uncomfortably he’s slept the past couple of nights. You mirror his actions, resting your head against the unforgiving surface only to pull your head back up with a wince. That makes JJ smile.

“What’d you wanna be when you were younger?” You catch JJ off guard with your question. His fingers, which had been idly tapping against the table, still as he raises a brow at you. You’re waiting for an answer, your attention entirely on him, and he takes a moment to consider his reply.

“Not really sure, if I’m honest. Never really had the chance to dream like that,” JJ tells you.

“Oh, come on,” You push, not buying his answer. You tilt your head as if that’ll do something to make him reconsider. “Every kid has dreams.”

There’s an earnestness in your eyes that reaches out towards JJ and squeezes his heart. He’s never admitted this to anyone, not flat out, but he finds himself wanting to tell you. “The shop, I guess. Since I was twelve. I used to sketch out pictures of how it would look in my textbooks and everything.”

Your eyes gloss over, a film of sorrow that he knows matches his own, replacing the playful glint in your eyes. It still doesn’t feel real that you’ve lost the land. He watches as you reach out, and he squeezes it when you take hold of his hand. Despite any animosity, this pain is yours to share.

“It was one hell of a dream.”

“Yeah,” JJ nods, shooting you a sad smile. “It was.”

A moment passes with the two of you sitting just like that, gazing at each other. Then, JJ asks, “What about you? What’s your dream?”

You look down, your lips bashfully turning up at the sides as if embarrassed by your answer. “I wanted to be a CEO.”

JJ lets out a laugh before he can stop himself, and your smile mirrors his, though you add an unimpressed roll of your eyes. “I’m being serious!”

“Oh, I’m sure. Making money off bossing people around? Checks out,” You scoff, but don’t deny it, and JJ knows you couldn’t even if you tried. “What kind of company would you run? I can’t see you in, like, fashion.”

You scoff again, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you say, “Cause that’s the only thing girls can be in charge of?”

“I don’t know. What else do little girls dream of?”

“Oil and gas.” JJ stills at that, his mouth falling agape slightly.

“What? Oil and gas? That’s some Kook shit if I’ve ever heard it. How’d you land on that?” JJ’s too caught up in how unlikely your answer is to catch when your expression shifts back to serious, but he sees the moment you try to pretend it didn’t happen. You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Family business,” You say. JJ stills then, not exactly understanding what to make of your words. Family business, as in your family’s business? The one JJ knew nothing about. If your family was in an industry like that, that would make you… not the kind of Pogue he’d thought.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, breaking the silence he’s letting stretch over you two.

JJ shakes his head, “Like what?”

“Like, I’m not who you thought I was.” Your voice is more melancholic than JJ has ever heard, more than he ever thought it could be. You’ve never opened up about your past with JJ, not anything before you met Cleo. Your stories revolved strictly around that time, and he hadn’t even considered what came before that. It’s hard not to let it catch him off guard, but he doesn’t want to lose this moment to learn more about you. To learn you.

“I, uh, it's just surprising, is all,” JJ clarifies. Then, in an effort to keep you talking, he asks, “Your parents were in oil and gas?”

“Y-yeah,” You hesitate, your fingers fussing with the edge of your shirt, a nervous habit JJ’s picked up on. “My dad’s side. It was a generational thing. My great grandfather, I think.” You chuckle, though it’s entirely humorless. “I used to say I’d be the first girl to take over the company.”

“How…” JJ wants to ask you how someone goes from that to this. How’d you end up with Terrance? Why didn’t you take over the company? But you're begging with your eyes for him not to finish that question, and he doesn’t want to see that forlorn look any longer. Instead, he settles on, “I can’t believe you’re a Kook.”

You give a half-hearted laugh. JJ searches his mind for anything else he can say, but he’s drawing a blank. The best he can come up with is, “So, like, were you the country club kind of Kook?”

You sigh and bite your lip. “Worse. So much worse.”

JJ shifts towards you, leaning in and genuinely interested in what you have to say. “Give it to me. I can handle it.”

“I…” You give him a side eye that makes him want to laugh in this moment of faux seriousness. “I was in training to be the next season’s most sought-after debutant.”

JJ blinks slowly, then lets out a disbelieving laugh, and you shove your shoulder against his. “No way. You?” Without thinking, he throws his arm out and rests it against the cushioned seat behind you. He’s still laughing at your displeasure as he says, “I’m sorry. I just can’t imagine it. I mean, I’ve seen you punch grown men. I can’t line that up with dresses and tiaras.”

Your laugh is soft, but JJ catches the way your eyes flicker like you’re shuffling through those memories. He’s watching you, trying to find the puzzle pieces he’s been missing. He always thought that if he had a life like that – full of money and stability – he’d never know what worrying meant. But you had that, and now you’re sitting here, sharing this cramped space with him. Something had to have gone horribly wrong for you to give up a life like that and end up here.

“So, tell me, what were you like then? Did you actually enjoy that stuff?” JJ asks.

“Mmm, some of it. I liked wearing the dresses. Thought they made me look like a princess.” Your nose crinkles, like you feel silly admitting it. JJ had never seen you in a dress until the day of the wedding. Your style isn’t exactly edgy – mostly just plain, cropped shirts and well-fitted jeans – but it also didn’t scream hyper-feminine in a way JJ associated dresses with. “The other stuff… It's complicated.”

“How so?” JJ ventures to ask. He’s not sure you’ll answer with how evasive you’re being, but he still tries.

“I guess,” You stop for a moment, and he can see you analyzing every possible choice of words before you speak them. Then you shake your head and say, “The dresses could get itchy sometimes.”

You’re deflecting, using humor to throw him off the scent of what you want to say. You’re not as okay as you’re trying to present yourself to be in this moment, but he won’t push. He won’t make you relive something you’ve clearly tried so hard to forget. For now, he’ll give you a little piece of him that he’s scared to let go of. A piece of honesty that he’s trying to bury.

“You know, uh,” JJ starts, his fingers tapping against the cushion. “I’ve been thinking about it recently. What my life would’ve been like if I'd grown up a Genrette. Or, Groff, I guess.”

You tilt your head as you say, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ nods. “Like, would I have met John B? I can’t imagine my life not being defined by him. It’s always kind of been like before him and after him.”

“Wow,” you say, breathlessly. “That’s like really fucking beautiful, JJ.”

JJ gives you a lopsided grin because he knows it sounds dramatic, but it’s also what he truly feels. Before John B, JJ was a seven-year-old left to his own devices too often for them to be considered safe. After John B, safety still wasn’t a facet of his life, but at least he wasn’t wandering alone.

“I kind of feel that way about Cleo,” you offer. “I know what was before her, but after that, everything’s defined by her. I would’ve never followed Sarah and John B if she hadn’t decided it was best for us.”

“How can you find it in yourself to trust her so much?”

You lean the side of your head against the cushion, but JJ hasn’t moved his arm, so you’re resting against him. You don’t move your head away, and JJ doesn’t move his arm away. JJ’s feet are firm against the boat floor, but his torso is twisted towards you. Sometime in the midst of this conversation, you’ve brought your legs up and tucked them beneath you, making your knees brush against his upper thighs. The two of you are so close to each other, wholly invested in what the other has to say, as the baton of vulnerability passes from one to the other.

“Easy. I realized one day that her choices never ended badly for us. I trust her because she doesn’t give me the chance not to.”

JJ swallows thickly, his hand, which was resting against the cushion, now brushing against the top of your hair. He’s unsure where he gets the audacity, but he doesn’t take away his touch.

“That’s kind of a high bar,” he says, trying to keep his vulnerability at bay and away from his voice. “Only trusting someone who gets it right every time.”

“It’s the best I can do. I can’t afford to make mistakes.”

There’s a thread of hope that JJ didn’t realize he had left that frays at that moment. Any chance of you ever learning to trust him seems to go out the small rectangular window above the lounge table. As long as JJ is precisely who he’s always been, you’ll never be able to trust him.

Even with this reminder, he doesn’t find it in himself to want to pull back and put some distance between you. Instead, he stays right there, his fingers still deftly playing with the hair at the crown of your head.

You shake your head, making your hair tickle JJ’s palm. “It’s not about getting it right every time.”

“No?” JJ asks.

You shake your head again. “It’s about knowing that the mistakes won't ruin everything. That we’ll still be here after. Together.”

Your voice breaks at the last word, and JJ feels the crack extend into his heart. He doesn’t know if you’re doing it on purpose or if you’re so caught up in being honest that you don’t realize, but you explain exactly why you haven’t been able to tolerate JJ. Until the property hearing, all of this felt like his fault. Bidding all that money at the auction and then betting the rest at the enduro? It was exactly what had proven to you that he didn’t deserve your trust.

But you’re still together. Even if it’s just you two on this boat, it’s still a part of your family that hasn’t been taken away from you yet. He might be the last one you want. Maybe you don’t want him at all. But he could be the one to bring the rest of the pieces together. He doesn’t know what he can do, but he decides at this moment that he’ll figure it out and do whatever it takes.

“Look, I—” JJ’s attempt at making you a promise he thinks you need to hear is cut short by the melodic ring of your phone. Your heads snap to the phone that lies forgotten on the table. You're getting a FaceTime call, Cleo’s name written in bold text across the top.

As you pick up your phone, JJ expects you to get up and take the call in your room like you have every other day this week. Instead, you shift your body to face the table and pick up the call, but don’t move from your spot next to him. You swipe the answer button to the right, pushing the phone back so you’re both in the frame, and Cleo pops up on the screen.

Cleo is lying her head against a red shirt he recognizes as Pope’s, and when she registers that JJ's there, too, she pulls back the screen so Pope is visible.

“Woah-ho-ho,” Cleo sings. “Rudeboy, what’s up, man?”

Despite the tense moment that JJ is still coming off of, he smiles at the nickname Cleo gave him. He’ll admit he kind of loves it.

“Nothin’ much,” JJ replies. “What’s up with y’all?”

“Just chillin’,” Pope adds, resting his head atop Cleo’s. “Didn’t think we’d catch you both in the same room.”

You scoff next to him. “We live together. Why would we not be in the same room?”

Pope just hums and says, “Y’all look cozy.”

A warm flush of embarrassment creeps up JJ’s neck as he registers Pope’s words and your position. JJ badly wants to reach through the screen and slap the smirk off Pope's face. He considers moving his arm from behind you but then decides against it. Instead, he relaxes further into the seat, relishing how you press further into his touch just the slightest bit. It’s not enough for Pope and Cleo to notice through the camera, but he notices how your skin pushes further into his palm.

“We were looking through job listings,” You tell them.

“Hm, sounds boring,” Cleo says.

“But necessary.”

“And necessary.”

You and Pope laugh at your synchronized speech. JJ’s head falls back with a dramatic sigh.

“Great,” He groans. “Now, I’m stuck with two Popes.”

“How's the boat been?” Pope asks, his tone a little more serious.

“It’s been… manageable,” You say, looking up at JJ. “I’m glad we found it.”

JJ easily understands the real meaning of your words. It’s your way of saying thank you. He gives you a gentle smile, and you return it with a subtler one.

“Ooo, Kiara is pissed, by the way,” Cleo’s quip catches JJ’s attention pulling it away from you. He gathers she’s said something she isn’t supposed to by the way Pope quietly whispers ‘babe’ through the side of his mouth. “What, it’s true!”

JJ doesn’t have to ask what she’s referring to because he already knows. You, on the other hand, likely have no clue why Kie’s upset.

“At me? Why? What happened?” You ask, and JJ feels at fault yet again for something going wrong in your life.

“Oh…” Cleo trails off. “Cause JJ said he didn’t want to stay on the boat? When she suggested it for the two of them?” Cleo has always been a bit too blunt, but right now it’s really bothering JJ.

“Huh?” You ask, but your attention is trained on JJ. “She wanted to come with us?”

“Uh, not exactly,” JJ mumbles, side-eyeing Pope and Cleo on the video call. “ That’s not what happened.”

“Alright, well, I’m exhausted.” Pope is clearly finding an excuse to leave because it’s only five in the evening, but JJ lets it go, bidding the couple goodbye. Once the line clicks, JJ gets up from the couch, suddenly wanting to move his legs.

“JJ?”

“Hm,” He hums.

“Why’s Kiara mad?”

JJ sighs because he genuinely does not want to hash this out with you or anyone for that matter. Kiara’s anger – whether justified or not – has been something he’s been trying to ignore for the past week. He pushed it to the further corner of his mind, and it was easy until now. Everyone was so busy settling into their new places that he hadn’t seen her since the day she’d walked away from him. She’d suggested something he couldn’t bring himself to do, and his inability to follow through had severed something between them. Whatever existed between them, he felt it snap and morph into something much uglier at that moment outside their old house.

“She…” JJ huffs out a breath of annoyance. At what he’s not sure. Himself, maybe. “She suggested that we come to this boat. Like, just me and her. Before we found out about Sarah.”

Your brows furrow as you consider this. “Like, instead of you going to Sarah’s?”

“Yeah.” JJ stops his pacing – the three-step shuffle he's been doing because the walls of this boat are so damn close. “She said it’d be… simpler.”

“Ah.”

“But I said no because… I don't know,” JJ lies.

He told Kie that day, in the shadow of their old house, that he didn’t want to come back to this boat. The boat wasn’t just a way he made a quick buck when he was younger, but it’s where he’d seek refuge when things got especially bad with Luke. When the drunken insults were too much to swallow or the beatings seemed endless, he’d run away and seek shelter here. It was where he’d hide when the Chateau wasn’t an option—when Big John and John B were out of town or when the damage was so bad he couldn’t let anyone see him. Kie knew about it because sometimes, her or John B would find him here after he went AWOL for a couple days.

But when he’d found out Sarah was pregnant, this was the first place he thought of. He thought he’d put the days of hiding out in this boat behind him, but for you he didn’t think twice about returning to this haunted cabin.

“Ah,” You murmur again. You stand up but lean against the table, maintaining the distance he’s put between you two. “She can still come.”

JJ just looks at you in disbelief at your impossible suggestion. The boat is hard to manage between the two of you; adding a third person would be unmanageable.

“I can take the couch–”

“Y/N.”

“And you guys can–”

“There’s no–”

“Take the room. Then, when we start working–”

After you've thrown enough nonsense out, JJ crosses the space between you in one swift step, takes hold of your hands, and pulls you towards him. The sudden motion throws you off balance, and your eyes widen in surprise.

“Would you shut up?” Your look of shock from his abruptness changes to an indignant expression.

“Excuse me–”

“Kie’s not coming to stay with us,” JJ says firmly, unwilling to go down this line of thinking with you.

“I don’t want to come between you both,” You say, your eyes shifting away from him awkwardly. It’s a conversation you both haven’t had yet. One he's been actively avoiding like he usually does with most challenging stuff. JJ’s not sure what he’d say if you did. He doesn’t exactly know where he stands with Kie or where he wants to stand with her, so he wouldn’t know where to begin explaining the situation to you. “She’s my friend.”

“She’s my friend, too, " he concurs. "But our space isn’t big enough, and right now, I need to keep my focus on you.”

The second the words leave his mouth, JJ wants to take them back. This isn't the first time he's expressed that he has your back in all of this, but this time it feels different. Heavier and bigger in a way than he's ready for. He can't describe the tug in his chest when he's looking at you like this - eyes tilted up at him in wait. It's different from the panicked knot he gets when spiraling, which usually makes him unravel. This tug feels like a call to action. And it's telling him to not let anything bad happen to you anymore.

JJ knows he should say something to make his words seem like they mean less, but his brain short-circuits. For some reason, he doesn't feel as afraid as he should about wanting to be the one who keeps you safe.

"Okay," you say, sparing him from finding the right words.

"Okay." He repeats. He's not sure exactly what you're agreeing on. That Kie can't come? Or the fact that he needs you in his line of sight? But he knows he'll have to have that dreadful conversation with Kie soon. After that he'll have to figure out why when you step away from him, taking your touch with you, it feels wrong.

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drdemonprince · 1 year ago

Note

The article regarding about annoying queer people sparked a by now long forgotten memory.

When I went to my first pride I snuck out secretly and thus was there after the parade. Most people were already some form of drunk or high(didn't know that at the time, I was 15 and naive beyond hope)

That was also the first time I saw puppies ever. In retrospect I must have stared and seemed like one of those annoying "no kink at pride" puriteens. They probably just wanted to allow themselves a small joke but what happened in praxis was, that a grown, white man in only puppy mask and boxers crawled up to me, stood up, started sniffing my breasts and when I started panicking and running away he run after me and everyone else watched and laughed. I think I screamed for help or cryed to please leave me be and was ignored but I can't remember much past the fear.

To them it was probably a small joke but to me it set me back for years. I didn't go to pride in that city ever again and took years to move past "no kink at pride" opinions, an opinion I didn't even have before that.

I felt incredibly isolated and wearing a small rainbow bracelet and cutting my hair took so much bravery. And it earned a lot of backlash too?

So often I see coloured hair and pins as this cutesy cringe thing of no consequence, but for me it resulted in hours upon of arguments and insults. It was worth it, because it helped me built my own identity apart from my families bigotry, but it sure wasn't fun or cutesy. Ultimately it led me to becoming brave enough to actually discover who I am and start making connections with the wider queer community.

Thankfully I had no social media accounts or I would have had some truly stupid arguments.

What I'm saying is, yes young queers can be annoying and it can be tiring to deal with them but being an asshole and vilifying them isn't the solution.

Making fun of teenagers doesn't make yourself more valid and doesn't give you the status of being an old experienced queer.

I'm saying teenagers here but the fun thing about queer people is that we can discover ourselves at any point in time. So it's less teenagers and more people newly discovering themselves as queer.

I get how annoying they can be very well now, doing voluntary work at pride does that.

Do many of those we consider annoying queers hold some harmful opinions? Yeah sure. (The amount of white queers, teens or adults, not dealing with systemic oppression beyond their own is staggering and they more than deserve to be called out. Just to be very clear, when I talk about annoying behaviour I do NOT mean microagressions or discrimination in any way)

But annoying behaviour is not synonymous to that and maybe we should all just start being less mean in public spaces? I get how satisfying it can be to get a hit tweet via a bitchy twitter reply now, but quite honestly I am more ashamed of that now than when I was running around in hoodies and short hair being painfully naive.

Because then I wasn't being mean to anyone. I had some stupid takes sure but no outlet. On twitter I was making fun of people to validate my own queer-ness. (Personally I think I was covering up for the fact that I was afraid the queer people I worked so hard to be part of wouldn't consider me one of their own. So I worked hard to show how I'm not one of "those queers".)

Either way, thanks for reading all this and thank you for sharing the article because it is something I strongly agree with. Just let people be annoying without making fun of them for it. It doesn't need to be a big deal.

Thank you for this wonderful, vulnerable, honest message about your slow path to self-acceptance in the face of a lot of barriers, anon. I'm glad that despite everything you've found your way.

Yeah, I think queer people have many reasons to feel terrified at the rising "no kink at pride" discourse, but sometimes when we lash out at puriteens we sound a bit like the childfree people who say that they hate kids?? Like, we're blaming literal children for an ideology of protecting "The Family" that has been foisted upon us.

I'm guilty of it. I was HAUNTED by the social pressure to get married and pregnant and raise a bunch of kids. It caused me massive dysphoria and didn't jibe with my queer identity. But I rebelled against it for far too long by saying that I hated kids.

It was not the kids' fault! It was the ideological specter of The Family as an institution that isolates and attacks all nonconformity and 'deviant' sexuality! Me being an asshole to children was not gonna set me free, kids were even more disinfranchised than I was!! I don't think I was ever overtly cruel to children, just kind of aloof and freaked out by them, but I definitely *did* say some numbskulled shit to my friends with kids a few times. Completely missing how disempowered mothers (and it was usually mothers) are in society BECAUSE of these same forces .

And I think something similar is going on here. Queer people are tired of having "Family Friendliness" shoved down our throats by corporations and conservatives, and so then we lash out... at young queer people. it's fine to have 18+ areas and events; It's very, very important to me that spaces like Furfest have them. But that's not the same thing as claiming young people have no space in our community as a whole. And I do think we need to erode the barriers between the adult and child worlds in a whole lot of ways, and reorient our attitudes toward nudity, sexuality, roleplaying, etc in public life. but that also doesn't mean a pup should run you out of a pride parade actually fucking sexually harassing you.

It feels great to be able to talk about this stuff! Thanks for your message.

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todomochi-uwu · 1 year ago

Text

Who. (3/?) J. Y & S. M

Pairing: Poly! Jeong Yunho x reader x Song Mingi

Genre: Angst, Smut

Warnings: This content is for a mature audience

Synopsis: You can't remember when was the last time you spent time with them, the last "I love you", the last time any of them kissed you.

Other chapters: Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee ☕

“You remember the day we met?”

“How can I not? You were always running after me every chance you had.”

“Hey! I wanted to be your friend; I was a lonely child.”

Yunho and Mingi met when they were just children, on the playground, next to the swings. The younger one had been sitting on one of them, swinging his feet and looking at the ground, occasionally looking at the other children, wanting to play with them, but being too shy to ask. He had been there for a long time, until one of them pushed him off the swing, making him scratch the palm of his hands and the top of his knees on the ground, small teardrops started falling down his eyes, between the pain and the humiliation. He wanted to run back home and hide in his room until a small hand appeared in front of him.

“Are you okay?”

Mingi took the other boy’s hand, picking himself up and dusting his clothes off. “Yeah, thank you.”

The kid frowned, looking down at his scratched skin, “You are bleeding, come, my mom will clean you up.” He interlaced their fingers and made Mingi follow him.

And that’s how everything started. Mingi felt as if he owed Yunho for his kindness, so when he found out they went to the same school he made it his mission to follow him around everywhere he went, and while at first the older boy had thought it was a bit weird to have someone always on his tail, he quickly grew accustomed to it. They became a unit, there wasn’t one without the other, same group of friends, same schools, same everything; from children to hormonal teenagers, to young adults, and finally adults.

Yunho can’t remember when he started feeling the way he felt about Mingi, he just suddenly realised that the boy who had been next to him every day for the last twelve years made his cheeks turn red; that he would often find himself staring at him for long periods of times, admiring how much his features had changed from when they were children. He had lost all the baby fat in his face, a slimmer and sharper jawline, his piercing eyes had lost that innocent shimmer and now made his knees grow weak, and how pink and plump his lips were. Yunho wanted to die every day, knowing it wasn’t normal to think that way about his best friend, or any boy at all; crying himself to sleep wishing to wake up “normal”, luckily for him, his mom was a saint, and when she noticed her son’s feelings, she let him know that what he was feeling was completely okay and she would support him no matter what.

What he didn’t know was that Mingi was right in the same sport as he was. He had noticed the way his heart skipped a bit every time Yunho looked his way, how puffy his cheeks were and how the way he laughed made him look like a puppy, how nice his fingers looked when he was typing across the keyboard. He was in trouble, he feared rejection, he feared getting heartbroken, but amongst everything, he feared losing Yunho.

Funnily enough, all it took for their love to blossom was a shot of vodka and a game of spin the bottle, Yunho now cringes at the thought that their first kiss was drunk in front of their friends; Mingi finds it sweet—first kiss, first love, first everything. Mingi remembers Yunho’s face the first time they made love, his puffy cheeks reddening up, lips parted and small gasps left his throat, his lips swollen from making out; he looked ethereal. He remembers the way his boyfriend had been so gentle, so patient with him. Yunho remembers the way Mingi whispered sweet words of affirmation in his ear, telling him how much he loved him, and how good everything felt. And while the first may have been somewhat awkward, both truly inexperienced and nervous, it was a memory they were both fond of.

“You remember how you told me you loved me the first time?” Mingi giggled, laying his head on Yunho’s shoulder, leaning further down on the couch outside their apartment’s balcony. They were looking at the stars trying to distract themselves, feeling too anxious to do anything else.

“Oh god, please don’t remind me. I was such a fucking idiot.” He facepalmed himself, feeling the cringe cover his body.

“You came up to my house with a bouquet of lilies you stole from your neighbour’s garden, banged on my door, and when I opened the door, you just screamed, “Do you like me back?” No, I like you. No, do you want to be my boyfriend? No. Just, do you like me back?”

“I’m sorry, I was a little bisexual closeted teenager trying to confess to his best friend, I didn’t know there was formal etiquette to asking you out.”

Mingi let out another small laugh, taking Yunho’s face between his hands and leaned up for a kiss. Slow, gentle, full of love, just like how all of their relationship had been, until recently. They stayed silent for a little while, lost in their thoughts.

“Do you remember the day we met her?”

College days were blurred memories for both boys; too busy with law and med school, always stressed, always horny and always sleepy. That week Wooyoung had invited the couple to a party at his house, it had been the first time in months they had the time to have fun, so they eagerly accepted. The first task that night was getting drunk off their minds, the next one was to dance and chat all they could and the last one was to go back to the apartment and fuck each other's brains out, it sounded like a good plan. Only one thing got in their way, you.

Mingi had been sitting down on the armrest of an old and crusty couch, sipping on something someone had told him was “jungle juice”, a beverage that tasted like ass, but was getting him tipsy, so that was fine by him. He was looking around, trying to find his boyfriend in the crowd, when his eyes came across a view that had him questioning if what was before his eyes was real, or if he was just starting to hallucinate from the drink.

“Hey, Mingi! Haven't seen you in a while, where have you been, man?” Han side hugged me, and Mingi tried to focus on what he was saying, but he just couldn’t, not when you were right there. He prayed on the back of his head that you weren’t dating Jisung, “Oh, right, I'm sorry, babe. Y/n, this my friend Mingi. Mingi, this is Y/n.” He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, blood drowning the inside of his cheeks and air escaping his lungs, how does one talk again?

“Hi.” You smiled at him. He was done.

It would be a lie to say you were not feeling the same. The pain Chan had been leaving in your heart for the past months went away in a second, the weight being lifted off your shoulders. Jisung had pitied you the second he noticed the way you were looking at his friend, he didn’t know how to bring up the fact that Mingi wasn’t single, of course, that was until he saw he was looking at you the same way. Surprised and confused, he decided to excuse himself, not wanting to get involved in the potential mess.

You guys went outside, claiming the noise was overwhelming you, it was there where a tall figure crossed your way, going directly to your new friend. “Hey, baby.” The new stranger said, while leaning down and doing the same thing you’ve been wanting to do all night, Mingi kissed him back.

“Hi, love. I tried looking for you, but couldn’t find you.”

“I had to come outside, Seonghwa and San were becoming too much, and I'm tired. Do you want to leave?”

You stared at the ground, feeling your heart fall to your stomach, Of course, you had gone out to forget about one guy and another one had crushed you.

“Yunho, this is Y/n. Y/n this is my boyfriend, Yunho.”

Boyfriend, great. You never even had a chance.

You looked up, ready to say hello and get the hell out of there, but you made eye contact with him, and all of a sudden everything turned even more confusing in your head. Yunho’s eyes widened the second they saw yours, his heart stopped, and the spit in his throat made him choke. Easy to say, Mingi and Yunho didn’t leave that party as they planned, they spent hours and hours with you, getting to know you, making you laugh, flirt with you… Jisung had come back, ready to leave when the scene in front of him had completely startled him. There you were, in between the two men, one of them devouring your mouth like there was no tomorrow while the other one groped your hips and sucked on your neck. Han is a good friend because even though he wanted to leave after fighting with Minho, he decided to wait for you, wanting you to have a good time and forget about Chan, so he spent the next hours going and coming back to see if you were done. Finally, you were done and gone with two new numbers on your phone and the promise of a date the next day.

“I was so scared that night,” Yunho confessed for the first time.

Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, “why?”

“Well, yeah we both made out with her that night, but I knew I liked her the second I saw her, I wanted something more, but I didn’t want to lose you, and I didn’t even know how that would work.”

“We acted as if we knew what the hell we were doing, like some experts in polyamorous relationships.” The lawyer grinned, “I was also worried she would wake up the next morning and completely forget about us, or just see us as a one-time thing.”

Both smiled at the idea that that didn’t happen, but it turned sour the second they remembered that while they had managed to get you, they had also managed to lose you.

“I miss her, Min.”

“Don’t worry, Yuyu. We’ll bring her back home, I promise.” He wanted to reassure his partner, but the same he was nervous, could they?

____________________________________________

“Oh my god, Chan! I’m so happy for you.” You threw your hands around him, shaking him around excitedly.

“It's not that big of a deal, Y/n.” His cheeks turned red.

“It’s not a big deal? Chan, you finally got that promotion you’ve been waiting for years, this is huge!” You jumped around, making Chan laugh, “We have to celebrate, let's go out tonight, I’ll call Jisung.” She skipped to her room, not waiting for Chan’s answer.

You always made him special, like everything he did was amazing, and his heart couldn’t help but feel warm and heavy in his chest. It had been a little bit more than two and a half months since you had appeared on his doorstep, and his head had been going to the same place again and again the last few days, would it be okay if he tried anything? He didn’t expect you to answer right away or to even like him back, but he could still hope. He had noticed that in the last weeks, you had stopped crying, you stopped looking at your phone every five minutes or at every notification that popped up, and you stopped mentioning them all together, could you be moving on? This and more questions circled his head as he finished getting ready, he had taken a shower and chosen an outfit that didn’t consist of an oversized hoodie and baggy shorts; he needed all the luck and advantage he could get. He was wearing his favourite black combat boots, some black ripped skinny jeans, the ones that hugged his legs and ass just right (according to Changbin), a black crop top that Han had gifted him, claiming “it was a crime the world had never seen his abs in one of those”, but he had never worn it due to being too shy, a jean jacket and a bunch of black and silver jewellery adorning his hands, wrists, ears and neck, his hair straighten and slicked back, opposed to his usual messy curls.

He had just come out of his room, when you ran into him, “Jesus Christ, Chan, you look so good.” Your eyes were everywhere on his body, but his eyes. Chris couldn't help but feel a bust of confidence.

“You don’t look half bad.” You were wearing a tight black leather skirt with a blue spaghetti strap lace top (it was Mingi’s favourite outfit on you, it gave you confidence, and made you feel good about yourself, but Chan didn’t have to know that), on your neck was his favourite necklace, the one he had been wearing and had left on the bathroom counter, right before taking a shower and you had found. “You are wearing my necklace.” He gulped, and he scolded himself in his head, why was he acting like a hormonal teenager all of a sudden? You did weird things to his head.

“Oh yeah, I was going to give it to you, but it looked good with my outfit, I hope you don’t mind.” You batted your eyes at him, trying to look cute so he didn’t make you take the jewellery off.

His mouth dried up. Fuck, Chris, get it together, he thought. “I don’t, it’s okay.”

You smiled brightly at him, “I’m ready, I’ll just go and put my shoes on. Can you go get Jisung meanwhile?”

He nodded and turned around, hyping himself up the entire way to your friend’s apartment.

____________________________________________

“You said she would be here, Minho,” Yunho said, they were standing in front of Chan’s door.

“I didn’t know they were going out tonight, calm down Jeong.”

“Jisung didn’t tell you he was going out with them?”

Minho sighed, exasperated with the couple, “I forgot, okay? Besides now you know where she is, you can come back another time and…” Mingi was quick to cut him off.

“No, I'm not leaving until I see her. I've been going crazy for months and I’m not going without talking to her.” He sat down on the floor, next to the door, “I'm waiting here until they come back.”

Minho looked at him in disbelief, “You can not stay there, they’ll be gone for hours, and you might freak out some of the neighbours.

Mingi simply shrugged, looking down at the floor.

Minho turned to look at Yunho, wanting him to do something about his partner, but he was already sitting down next to him. “You cannot be serious.”

“We are not leaving until we see her. End of story.”

Minho threw back his head, exhausted and annoyed with their stubbornness, “Suit yourselves.” He disappeared down the hall.

____________________________________________

Han looked at Chan while he looked at her, the memory of their college relationship popped into his head. He remembers consoling you, trying to mend your broken heart as best as he could; he remembered why you ended things, why you moved on, how you did it. He also remembers finding out about Chan’s feelings, that same night Minho went to pick him up after he passed out drunk. He remembered feeling guilty for introducing you to them, for not having a clue Chan reciprocated your feelings. And tonight, he couldn't help, once again, but feel bad for the producer, if only he had said something, would things be different now?

“I didn't know you still felt that way about her…” Jisung said as he took a sip of his drink.

Chan looked at the floor, and shook his head, “Did Minho tell you?”

“He didn’t have to.”

____________________________________________

Minho couldn’t sleep. He kept turning and tossing in his bed, and no, it wasn’t the lack of his husband next to him, it was the pair of idiots down the hall that crowded his head. He couldn’t help, but feel bad for them, having been in the same situation as them, lost, heartbroken, fearing the uncertainty his relationship had been a few years ago. He wanted to ignore so badly that feeling in his gut, telling him to help them, but he just couldn’t, so he got up from the bed and made his way, once again, down to Chan’s apartment.

There they were, asleep. Mingi was lying on Yunho’s shoulder covering it in drool, while the other one had a look of discomfort on his face, even asleep he could feel how uncomfortable was the wall he was leaning against.

Minho crouched down, shaking his fellow rival doctor by the shoulder, “Jeong, wake up.” He whispered, “Come on, idiot. I don’t have all day.”

Yunho opened his eyes, at first alarmed, but then confused. Y/n wasn’t there, why was he being awoken?

“Be quiet, I'm taking you there, get up.” He got up, ready to walk away, “Hurry up and don’t wake up Mingi. I certainly don’t need two idiots in my car, and I doubt she wants to see you both,”

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